26

Quail was a lot tastier than Hamasa expected, but that might have been due to hunger. Even just riding was exhausting and had whetted Hamasa’s appetite beyond what he was used to. Arash had grumbled about sharing it, but Marya ignored him with a beaming smile. With it was a few more stiff tortiyas and a few ears of corn they had roasted still wrapped in their husks. Hamasa had liked it all, and felt satiated, but he couldn’t help but remember the spices the Garsias had used in every dish, no matter how small. He remembered the fresh crunch of green vegetables, too. Maybe they would find a hostal or cantina with new dishes to try in Róntraih Porto. He wondered idly what Mekshans did with seafood, Marya would have plenty of… Abruptly, he cut the musings short. He might not have a chance to try something new with Marya.

As Hamasa sat cross-legged on the ground, hands clasped on his lap, he refocused on what was in front of him. Marya and Valerius stood across from each other, both down to a single layer of clothing, sweat darkening their collars and armpits and trailing down Marya’s face. Marya nodded, mouth tight and eyes on Valerius’ over-exaggerated and slow movements. Even though they did this multiple times a day, it was still odd to see Marya so serious and not talking back at Valerius’ every word and command.

Then, he moved. If while mostly asleep he was snake-like, a fully awake Valerius moved like lightning. There was no excess movement, no flair or embellishment. Marya managed to shuffle back, arm rising automatically to knock his first jab aside. His second fist aimed for her cheek, and she ducked under it. When she stood up, her elbow thrust into Valerius’ lower chest. He grunted aloud, feet shifting over sand and his arms moving to grapple her. She wrapped her wiry arms around one of his biceps, shoved her shoulder into his breastbone, and, teeth gritting, heaved him over her head. Although she finally managed the throw, she shrieked in surprise not even a second later as she went tumbling with him, dragged by the back of her shirt in his fist.

Arash chuckled as dust flew. “She’s a lot stronger than she looks. Didn’t think a human that small could lift something twice their size like that.”

“What all humans can do is impossible to learn in a single lifetime,” Hamasa murmured. “There were so many stories of gallant knights and human mages accomplishing these impossible deeds, but the more people I meet, the more I see, the more I think some of those deeds aren’t so impossible after all. Marya is another person meant for a hero’s destiny, I can tell.”

“Heroes don’t always live happily ever after,” Arash said with an ugly little twist to his mouth. “In the end, humans suffer. Humans die. All they’ll do is drag you down with them.”

“Dragons die, too,” Hamasa whispered, eyes closing, jaw tensing. The same tired argument, over and over again.

“You’re not your father, Hamasa. You don’t need to try—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Arash,” Hamasa said.

“It’s been twenty—”

“Seventeen!”

Hamasa dug his fingers into the dirt. In front of them, Valerius and Marya looked over, startled at the sound of his warning snarl. Marya was once again under Valerius’ torso, working on her footing to compensate for Valerius’ weight. They disentangled, Marya stepping towards them until Hamasa got to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants. Arash’s head tipped back, frowning with his eyes closed.

“Hamasa, please sit down. I’m not going to let you run away,” his eyes opened, gleaming in annoyance, and met Hamasa’s, “not yet.”

“It’s my turn,” Hamasa said, raising his chin and walking towards the two wrestling.

“If you’re willing, my lord,” Valerius said easily. His eyes honed in on Hamasa’s face, eyes narrowing somewhere around the corner of Hamasa’s mouth.

“I guess I could use a rest,” Marya said, eyebrows rising. She plucked her tunic away from her chest and flapped it to cool her sweaty skin. Glancing towards Arash, she frowned. “Are you…?”

“Yes.”

She looked between the two of them again. Finally, she nodded and walked past, patting Hamasa’s shoulder as she went. Hamasa licked his lips and turned to Valerius.

“Are you going to teach me to throw you, too?” he asked, tone sharp.

“Hn,” Valerius crossed his arms over his chest. “Hit me.”

The sudden order startled Hamasa out of his black mood. His eyes widened, hands awkwardly hanging by his sides. Just… hit him? He stepped closer, eyes darting over the relaxed set of Valerius’ shoulders, his expectant gaze, the rising of an eyebrow as Hamasa hesitated.

“You’re not going to give me any advice?” Hamasa asked. He licked his dry lips swiftly. Valerius shook his head.

“I want to see how fast you are.”

For a challenge, it wasn’t much of one. Not that Hamasa responded well to most challenges anyway. He pressed his lips tightly together and lowered his body, feet spreading further apart and knees bending. From all his sideline observations, he knew that using Valerius’ center of gravity against him was his best bet, the way the knight was obviously teaching Marya. The difference, or one difference of many, was that Marya was surprisingly stronger than she looked, and definitely stronger than Hamasa. Strength had never been something Hamasa had, especially not now. Valerius didn’t so much as shift when Hamasa readied himself. That was not a good sign… Sighing inwardly, Hamasa leapt forward.

Vaguely he heard Marya’s gasp, a shocked whoop that choked and fell silent.

Hamasa was fast. It was what he was good at: being small and fast. But somehow, despite how swiftly he had flung himself forward, Valerius had stepped out of Hamasa’s path, snatched Hamasa’s extended wrist, and his other hand had gripped the back of Hamasa’s neck, fingers pinching nerves that sent terrified shivers down his spine.

“For someone pretending to be human, you don’t do it very well,” Valerius said quietly. Hamasa cringed out from under the knight’s hand, only to be tugged back by the iron grip around his wrist. Slowly, Valerius raised Hamasa’s hand between them. While no longer quite… clawed, his fingers were still spread wide and curling forward slightly. “Humans don’t have claws. Not even long fingernails can rend like a dragon’s talons.”

Hamasa swallowed. “I don’t kn-know—”

Valerius used his free hand to carefully bend Hamasa’s four fingers in towards the base of each, then curled his bent fingers into a tight fist. The thumb Valerius tucked over Hamasa’s knuckles under his palm. After he was satisfied, Valerius set his hand on Hamasa’s chest and pushed him up straight, and then, using his feet to push Hamasa’s here and there over the ground, positioned Hamasa to be mostly facing forward, his left shoulder a little more forward and his fist near his cheek.

“Raise your other fist—watch the thumb, under the palm. Hn. Now, raise your fist by your other cheek. Try to always keep a fist near your face to be ready to block or protect your eyes,” Valerius instructed. His words were low and blunt, but mellow. A voice that neither praised nor condemned. In a way it was soothing, and Hamasa’s twitches and nerves ebbed under the quiet monotone of Valerius’ simple commands. He shoved down on Hamasa’s shoulders, ignoring the surprised yelp, to bend his knees into something not quite a crouch.

“This isn’t how you fight. You used the flat of your hands,” Hamasa said twisting his fists back and forth to look at them. Valerius sighed and yanked his fists back into place.

“I was using a different style of fighting that requires more finesse and experience. You can’t throw a punch yet. You can think about style some other time,” Valerius said dryly. Hamasa scowled up at him.

“When you jab, which is a straight quick punch, you need to turn your wrist so that your palm is parallel to the ground,” Valerius continued to explain. He gently guided Hamasa into an overly slow jab. While one arm was extended, Valerius reached under to slap Hamasa’s other elbow. “Keep it up.” Hamasa hissed and raised his fist a little higher. “Good, try again. This time, when you jab, move your body with it, turning on the ball of your foot to put some weight behind it.”

Hamasa frowned. Valerius demonstrated, once slow, and then fast. So fast Hamasa blinked and stared where Valerius’ fist had jabbed across and then back right in front of him. With hard exhale through his nose, he jabbed forward, his foot slipping over the ground and his balance tottering.

“If only humans had tails!” Arash called as Hamasa flailed wildly to stay upright.

“Where’s your tail, frosty?” Marya snapped.

“Ignore distractions,” Valerius ordered, tapping Hamasa between the eyes with a finger. Hamasa cut a sharp glance up at him, but re-positioned himself as taught. Valerius hummed. One hand cupped Hamasa’s shoulder to hold him still and Valerius nudged his back foot further forward. “There, your feet were too far apart. Try again.”

“I’m just hitting air. Shouldn’t I be hitting you?” Hamasa asked.

A quiet scoff answered him. Just as Hamasa gritted his teeth to try the jab again, Valerius came around in front of him. Hamasa stared incredulously. Valerius held up his hands, palms open and flat in front of him.

“You’re right. Your right fist should punch my left hand. Go,” Valerius ordered.

Hamasa’s fists clenched, but he paused. “Are you going to move your hand?”

“Of course not. My lord.”

“Stop calling me that,” Hamasa muttered. Then, squinting and jaw tense, Hamasa struck. His knuckles hit Valerius’ palm with a resounding smack, his body just barely twisting and his heel up as his foot balanced on the ball of his foot. Valerius smiled, a real smile, and pulled his hand away to shake it. Like Hamasa’s punch had hurt. Even a little.

“That’s it. Remember to bring your fist back immediately. Do two jabs, right, then left.”

Hamasa grinned, actually baring his teeth and his body heating. “I did it?”

“Yes, you did. Somewhat. We still need to strengthen your core,” Valerius said, holding up his open palms again. Hamasa blinked at him.

“My core?”

“Your stomach!” Marya shouted.

“What?”

The flat of Valerius’ hand cuffed him around the ear, and Hamasa sputtered and scrambled back. Valerius, the gulero, merely stared at him. “Stop being distracted, my lord.”

Hamasa scowled and raised his fists. “Fine.” He could handle a few days of learning to punch and strengthening his stomach. It shouldn’t be too hard.

By the end of the thirty minutes, Hamasa decided: no. No, he couldn’t. He was wheezing, every muscle trembling, his skin searing hot, and his core felt weaker. He usually didn’t notice his stomach unless he was hungry, and now he wished he didn’t have an abdomen. His ears rang from the constant cuffing of Valerius’ open palm wherever he let his guard—or his fists—down. And though he had punched Valerius’ hands what felt like a thousand times and his usually pale palms were bright pink, the knight barely shook them out as he eyed Hamasa impassively.

“You’re fast. We can work with that.”

Hamasa grimaced at Valerius’ back and fought the urge to stick his tongue out like Marya. Arash and Marya came up, Marya clapping his shoulder and Arash bracing his arm on Hamasa’s head. Hamasa groaned, drooping under their weight, minimal as it was.

“You did good, Hamito. That was almost a compliment,” Marya teased. She quickly pulled her hand away and shook it out. “Ay, you’re burning up, but you haven’t sweated a drop. How do you do that?”

“You looked ridiculous,” Arash told him, ignoring Marya completely. “But it was really cathartic seeing you punch him repeatedly.”

“It looked more cathartic than it felt,” Hamasa muttered. Marya burst into laughter, slapping his back. Hamasa grunted and fell to his knees.

“Ay! Hamasa!”

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Arash said. His icy cool hands lifted Hamasa up under the armpits like a particularly lazy cat. “You’re a reader, not a fighter.”

“I’ve never been more aware of that in my life,” he agreed. He blinked as Marya tucked herself under one arm and Arash did the same on the other side. Between Marya’s beaming smile and the chilly comfort of Arash’s arm around his waist, Hamasa huffed a small laugh. “Thanks.”

“You’ll be a fighter in no time,” Marya promised.

“It’ll take a lot of time,” Valerius disagreed.

Hamasa glanced up, frowning, only to interrupt himself before saying a word with a loud groan. The knight had already finished buckling Nerva’s saddle back on her and he waited at his mare’s side for the trio to approach.

“Not more riding!”

“We still have a long ride to Róntraih Harbor,” Valerius said. He held out a hand to Hamasa. Hamasa considered it. Walking while every muscle shook like a newborn kid’s, or suffering on the back of a horse that did most the work for him. Sighing, he extricated himself from Arash and Marya and grasped Valerius’ hand.

“If I fall asleep and fall off, it’ll be your fault,” Hamasa warned. It was easier, with all his practice, to get his foot in the stirrup, but actually heaving himself up made every quavering muscle protest in unison. Hands on his waist lifted him off the ground, and he scrabbled to grab the reins and throw his leg over in time.

“I won’t let you fall, my lord,” Valerius promised.

Hamasa looked down and met Valerius’ eyes. The moment stretched out, silent and heavy, and Hamasa’s hands involuntarily clamped around the leather straps in his hand. After everything, after days of wanting to be anywhere else, after the past thirty minutes of hoping he could punch hard enough to make Valerius wince for once, Hamasa’s heart thumped too hard in his chest. He tore his gaze away and shuffled forward in the saddle so Valerius could swing up behind him.