Chapter 12

  It is chilly this morning, but the sunrise promises a beautiful day is coming, Glem thought as he walked the quiet streets of the early morning. The sound of barked orders and the sharp clack of training swords carried softly to Glem’s ears well before the keep was visible. The squat building that served as a keep and training grounds for the guard showed itself as Glem came around the corner.

  I’m too old for this. Hopefully, I haven't lost too much… that would be embarrassing.

  Glem stopped to talk to the men standing guard at the entrance to the keep. "Good morning. I was told to find Jorick here this morning."

  "He's in with the Master at Arms, training the cadets. You're Glem?" the guard asked.

  "Yes."

  "He said you would be coming this morning. Follow the edge of the courtyard to the north wall. This early, they are usually standing in the first of the morning sun.”

  "Thank you."

  The clatter of the practice swords was getting louder as he stepped through the gate. Hmm, primary forms. The occasional yelp of a hit was remarkably familiar. He turned his back to the wall and watched, unconsciously rolling back to parade rest with his hands clasped behind him, weight settled on his heels. Glem smiled to himself and felt an odd sense of homecoming at the familiar practice.

  ***

  Rues and Alyra woke up to the smell of bacon frying and the sounds of a bustling kitchen. Oarf and Eiriean’s inn was well known for its breakfast, and neither was inclined to miss another serving of its famous pancakes. Early by city standards, the two girls were still accustomed to waking before the sun peaked over the horizon.

  “Last night was awful,” Rues said sleepily. “I only had one ale, but it hit me hard. I sweated through my blanket.”

  “I’m not surprised. You looked pretty rough when you excused yourself. I stayed up a few more hours after you went to bed and found you tossing and turning when I got up here. You were also talking in your sleep. Unintelligibly. Almost like you were awake,” Alyra joked.

  “Did I keep you up?” Rues asked.

  “You did and woke me up several times in the night. All joking aside, you worked hard in the forge yesterday. We both did! I’m not surprised one bit that you had a bad night. It was so hot in there! I don’t know how you swing that hammer the way you do. I can barely lift it,” Alyra answered.

  “Good. I’m glad I got to share the discomfort. Let’s go downstairs and get some food. I’m starving!”

  ***

  "Why am I not surprised to find you standing here like this?" Lorne said as he arrived quietly at Glem’s side. "You standing here watching makes me feel like a green kid just learning to hold a sword again."

  "You've come a long way from the kid I was worried would cut his own leg off," Glem laughed. "The sun feels good this morning. Shall we meet with the others and see if this old man remembers anything of what he taught you?"

  The men walked over to where Jorick was standing with another man, one who watched the cadets with sharp eyes. "Good morning Jorick, Garen. This is my... this is Glem. He is going to be doing a refresher with us this morning. Glem, Garen is the Master at Arms here," the Captain said. He glanced over at Glem, who was engrossed watching the cadets, "I think we should probably start with a couple of the more experienced cadets and go from there."

  Lorne pointed at the rack and benches near the corner of the yard.

  "Glem, why don't you get a practice sword from the rack over there, and we’ll get ready." After Glem moved to prepare, he said softly to Garen and Jorick, "Garen, clear the yard if this goes as I expect. It will be... instructive. Jorick, grab a bottle of brandy from my office. We are all going to need a drink by the time we get done."

  Garen looked in askance at the Captain, and then his gaze drifted over to where Glem was peeling out of his mail shirt and gambeson, laying them next to his neatly folded cloak.

  Reconsidering the old gray man, he bellowed, "hold swords!"

  Silence fell over the yard. "Assemble!"

  The guard trainees rushed to the formation and stood at attention.

  "We are going to have some practical experience today. The Captain has asked for a refresher of the sword for a friend. We are going to provide that refresher. You are all going to take the benches around the yard. I expect you to pay close attention, and anyone not doing so will spend the afternoon with me as their practice partner."

  Watching the shudder run through the trainees, he smiled to himself. Garen gestured to several of the most experienced trainees with his practice sword. "The five of you are the most advanced, so you are going to help out. You five stay here; everyone else, take a seat."

  The yard was rapidly emptied of trainees.

  Glem looked around as he slowly stretched the practice sword across his shoulders with a hand on each end, twisting back and forth. Glem walked out to the center of the paved yard and the series of interlocked rings engraved on the stone used for training.

  He silently studied the rings for a moment before stepping into the center. Glem then balanced on the balls of his feet and started to trace the patterns of the rings. He circled the first one, then another, tracing the design on the ground, slowly at first but picking up speed with each repetition. The practice sword began to move through the pattern independent of his footsteps. Slash, block, thrust, parry. Faster and faster, his breathing came deep and slow.

  Eyes closed, he moved faster and faster still, losing himself in the movements of his youth, before stopping suddenly. He opened his eyes to find everyone in the yard staring at him.

  "I'm ready,” Glem rumbled.

  "Born, you're up first," Garen said. "You just saw him go through the forms. Now you know what to expect, so don't let him surprise you."

  Born and Glem faced one another across the engraved rings on the ground. They nodded in respect as one soldier recognizing another.

  "Good morning. Born, is it?" Glem asked the young man.

  "Yes, I didn't get your name, though," Born replied.

  "I'm Glem; I appreciate your help this morning."

  "Ha, I do what I'm told," Born said with a smile. "I'll try and go easy, though."

  "No, lad. Please, do your best. If I can't keep up, sore ribs are great teachers."

  Glem stepped back and took a deep breath; he let the sword fall to a loose low guard position. "At your pleasure."

  Born brought his sword up as he stepped forward, a smile on his face. I must be careful not to kill the old man by accident, he thought.

  Feint and thrust. The practice sword rang painfully in Born's hands, the quick flick of Glem’s sword deflecting the thrust and leaving a stinging line across his ribs.

  “What the hell?”

  "Come on, lad, no need to hold back. I'm old, not dead,” Glem said.

  He stepped back out of reach, realizing this may not be as easy as he’d thought.

  Born brought his sword back up to guard. He circled to the right, forcing Glem to turn to face him as he moved slowly around. Born feinted.

  Glem shifted to the side to let it slide past without reaction, then he waited for the attack as he considered his opponent. He is leading with his left foot and telegraphing his decisions with the tip of the sword. Hm. Sloppy.

  Born moved in rapidly and attacked with a quick series: overhand stroke, parry, thrust, advance, thrust, parry, always attacking and moving forward.

  Glem stepped forward into Born's attack, gently dropping the tip of the practice sword and raising the hilt slightly to use the upper part of the blade to block Born's sword. He slid forward past him, flicking the blade under Born's guard and slapping it against his ribs. Glem turned in to slap using the momentum of the attack, the flick of the tip driving into the tendons of the forearm of Born's sword arm. Finishing the smooth rotation, he came back to a low guard.

  Born dropped his sword, clutching at his ribs and arm. "Aagh! What the hell was that?"

  "Hmm, sorry lad. That arm is going to be numb for a bit. If you massage the tendons just in front of your elbow, you'll get the feeling back faster,” Glem said, scooping up Born's practice sword and handing it back to him.

  He looked over to the side to the watching group. "Another?" Glem asked.

  "Two?" Garen offered.

  Glem nodded sharply.

  "You saw how easily he just thumped Born. Pay attention and work together, or you'll sleep sore tonight," Garen said, nodding at the next two in the line.

  Glem stepped back into the first circle, practice blade loosely held.

  "Beautiful morning isn't it?" he said as they both stepped up, separating to make it harder for him to defend against their attacks.

  "Whenever you are ready."

  Both suddenly attacked. Glem slipped forward between them, bruising each of their shins in the exchange. The movement was so quick it was hard to follow for the young swordsmen.

  With sore legs, they attacked continuously for a few long seconds.

  Both young men were disarmed on the ground clutching various parts of their anatomy before either had time to even get winded. Glem stepped back and took a deep breath.

  "Thank you, that was a good beginning," Glem said as he offered them both a hand up.

  "Garen, thank you for your assistance. Some warm rocks wrapped in a towel and held to the bruises will help with the healing. You can send out the next volunteers whenever they are ready."

  Glem stepped into the rings, and as he awaited his next opponent, he began to work through the forms again. He slipped through them smoothly, eyes closed, breathing slowly and steadily.

  He moved faster with each repetition until he was hard to see by those watching him.

  His body remembered the long hours spent under a harsh tutelage, the warm sun on his face reminding him of the years spent on a practice ground in the hot sun, and the thin switch of his master that left narrow stripes on his body each time a form was in some way imperfect. Unpleasant, but it forced him to learn faster, everything his master could teach. His practice sword moved faster and faster, form flowing into form, and becoming a blur to those watching. Each form was perfect in Glem’s execution of it.

  "Holy shit, will you look at that?" exclaimed Jorick to the others standing with him.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "I can barely even follow his motions," Garen replied.

  Glem was still moving unceasingly, continuing to go faster, his blade causing the dust on the stones of the yard to swirl in the vacuum of its wake.

  "Who is he?" Garen asked softly, never looking away from Glem’s practice.

  "Years ago, he was... is... he used to help the King's Master of Arms train the students that showed the most promise with the sword. He seems faster now than I ever remember him being." Lorne paused for a long moment. "He was my own master a very long time ago."

  Glem went through the motions of sheathing his sword as he finished. He took a deep breath and then relaxed as he exhaled. The specter that had been Death while he moved through the forms was released by the smile on his face.

  "One more time," Lorne said to Garen and Jorick. "Our turn, gods help us. We have to work as a team, or we aren't going to last any longer than the trainees did." Looking up to the two trainees that remained standing, he said, "You, go sit with the others and observe."

  "Well, that was enlightening," Jorick replied to the Captain. "I'll start the exchange; you two look for a weak spot." He moved toward Glem in the middle of the training yard.

  The three men shifted into formation, each of the fighters one hundred and twenty degrees from one another with Glem standing loosely in the middle of the circle, his practice blade in the low position he had used earlier.

  Unable to see all three opponents at once as they circled him, he cocked his head slightly to the side, listening carefully for a scuff or whistle that would indicate an attack from behind.

  Unmoving, he let them circle him as they moved in and out of his view.

  A soft rustle came from behind him, and Glem stepped backward toward the sound rather than away, pulling his blade close to his body as he turned. He slipped inside Jorick’s thrust and pushed it off target with his practice blade. Glem slammed his empty hand into Jorick’s elbow, then slid it toward Jorick's wrist while his other hand drove the point of his practice sword between the stones of the training field and left it standing upright.

  Glem dropped his shoulder and pulled on Jorick's wrist.

  Jorick's body promptly sailed in a smooth arc over Glem’s shoulder but Glem’s freehand disarmed Jorick as he went over Glem’s head. He drew his blade from between the stones as he stood back up into his relaxed guard position, just as Jorick hit the ground several feet in front of him. Glem held both practice blades now, his in a low guard position, and Jorick's at mid-guard. All three opponents in front of him stared and tried to figure out what just happened.

  "Jorick, you seem to have lost your blade; you’ll need another," Glem said.

  He looked away from his opponents for the first time, to the trainees along the walls of the yard. "Someone get Jorick a new sword. He's dropped his other one," Glem said.

  One of the trainees chosen earlier ran out to Jorick, who was back on his feet, dusting himself off. "Here, Sir." He offered his practice blade hilt first to Jorick, who nodded quickly to him without taking his eyes off Glem.

  Sweeping across all three of his opponents, Glem looked carefully for any sign of attack while Jorick rolled his shoulders to loosen them after being bounced off the stones.

  All three moved in to attack at once, working as a team.

  Garen went high while Lorne thrust at Glem’s stomach, and Jorick tried to swing wide toward Glem's leg. Glem again stepped into the attack, using one blade to push Lorne's practice blade high and causing it to interfere with Garen's stroke. Glem dropped his other sword to block Jorick’s wide stroke, causing it to skate along his blade.

  He took another step forward.

  Now, Glem balanced on his back foot as he leaned back to let Garen and Lorne's swords pass over his nearly horizontal body. One blade flicked against both Garen and Lorne as he moved. The other slapped hard against Jorick's blade, forcing it away, and twitched once to draw a thin line against the side of Jorick’s neck. Clear of the three of them, he turned, ready to attack. They were still moving away from him and just starting to turn his direction.

  "Three dead men walk into a town... too bad they can't stop falling down." Glem sang the child's nursery rhyme. "Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm—da dee, dee dum."

  "You're faster than I remember. One second you are in front of us, the next behind us. I barely saw you move, but I definitely felt it," Lorne said as he raised his shirt with one hand to look at the bruise rapidly spreading on his ribs.

  "Haven't fought with two in a long time. Techniques are a little rough,” Glem said as he threw the extra blade to the trainee who had handed Jorick his. "Think I should concentrate on one until it all comes back, and if there is time left, we can go back to two. "

  "I don't think all of us together can give you a decent fight, Glem," Lorne said. "How do you want to train?"

  "First, the three of you should put on your gambesons. It’ll be hot but will help keep down accidental injuries. Second, let's pad my practice sword. Then, I think we work together, go slowly, and focus on technique. I'll work the three of you through the forms, and we will do practicals after each set,” Glem said.

  "Yes, Sir," replied Lorne. "So, what you are saying is that you are going to work us like we are green and beat us up between rounds? Lorne laughed, "Just like old times, huh, Sir?"

  “It's just Glem now, Lorne. I am not your master any longer, only a tired old man,” Glem replied. "Line up, and we will get started. You can change into your gambesons after we review for a while."

  ***

  Standing in the intersection of the city’s two most significant thoroughfares, Kiiryas studied the crowd flowing around him. Human and beast alike walked past his position, slightly adjusting their trajectory as they neared. None appeared to even notice he was there. Their eyes slid right over where he stood, with no recognition of his presence.

  He concentrated on being ignored, forgotten, overlooked, silently ordering those around him to erase his existence from their memories. It was working.

  Kiiryas had discovered his new ability at the tavern earlier in the day; as he sat in his usual corner observing the crowd, one of the more annoying and chatty regulars headed his way.

  For once, please, don’t notice me, he thought as the overly talkative man moved toward his side of the bar. Don’t notice me, don’t notice me, don’t notice me.

  To his shock, the drunk walked right past.

  In his gut, Kiiryas knew that he had affected the outcome of the encounter by wishing him away. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t understand why, but he knew.

  Another ability had manifested.

  He had tested this new ability on Oarf with complete success.

  The tavern owner, who was expecting him at the time, walked right past too as if he wasn’t even there. And it was easy. Amazingly easy.

  Out in the city streets, however, was a different matter. It was draining. Exhausted, he could feel his physical and mental stamina being sapped at an alarming rate. After just a few short minutes, he was spent. Drenched in sweat and sufficiently fatigued, he released his concentration on remaining undetected. The results were… informative. Startled, those in his general vicinity took notice. Many looked surprised though most just glanced at him and looked away. But no matter how they reacted, everyone knew he was there.

  Drained by his experiment, Kiiryas headed toward the Gate Street Market for some food. His new ability was relatively easy to control around one or two people, but he didn’t have the stamina to use it for any length of time in a crowd. For now, at least.

  Kiiryas suspected that he could build his stamina through practice.

  Gate Street Market was bustling with activity. As the closest one to the city’s main entrance, it was the easiest to visit for those from outside the walls. As one would expect, the market contained a wide variety of goods and services for sale and trade. Everything a man could want was sold here from food to armor, beasts of burden, livestock, and jewelry. Smaller shopping areas, deeper into the city, catered to those living in town, but they didn’t interest Kiiryas.

  It was much easier to disappear into the horde of traders at Gate St. than to visit areas where the traffic was low enough that people might take notice.

  As Kiiryas neared a stand selling kabobs with some kind of meat that smelled particularly delicious, he noticed the two new girls who were staying at Oarf’s tavern.

  The girls, hilariously overwhelmed by the market, were garnering stares and chuckles from the other patrons. What were their names, Kiiryas asked himself. The loud one is Alyra. What was the other? Rues. That’s right. Rues. Weird name.

  Dropping a few coins into the vendor’s outstretched, demanding hand, Kiiryas took his kabob and walked toward an alley that would lead him out of the market.

  He spared a glance at the two girls, fully intending to be on his way when a question from the loud one piqued his interest.

  “Where is Cerya’s shop?” Rues asked the vendor. “This place is huge, and we can’t find it.”

  The vendor pointed toward the shop they were looking for, a little disgruntled that he would not be taking any of their coin.

  What are they up to, and what are they shopping there for, he wondered? They aren’t going to find any dolls at that shop.

  Chuckling to himself and knowing full well that his curiosity was likely to lead him into a worthless waste of time, Kiiryas angled to follow. He didn’t have any plans for the next few hours other than finishing his lunch.

  He entered the shop a few minutes after the two girls, finishing his kabob before going in. The premises’ main room was a smorgasbord of different styles of armor, weapons, and other accessories that would be useful to anyone who wished to travel and intended to stay alive.

  The leather armor on the racks—there was no chain or plate here—were just examples of what the proprietor could produce. The weapons, made by several local blacksmiths, were being sold on consignment. For a hefty fee, of course. Packs and footwear lined the shop’s far wall, and the larger, bulkier items were stored in the center.

  The shopkeeper’s muffled voice floated to the front, informing Kiiryas that the girls had been brought into the workshop behind the sales floor.

  “Hold up yer arms and let me get a measure, girl. Stand still! You, the blonde one, hand me that quill and parchment.”

  Getting measured? For armor? Maybe this wasn’t a waste of time after all.

  Why would they need armor?

  Neither girl spoke as the shopkeeper finished taking the measurements needed for the armor. The shopkeeper, conversely, cursed and complained for the entirety of the fitting. A short time later, the three women reentered the main room of the building.

  All three noticed Kiiryas immediately. He had not attempted to conceal himself.

  “What are you doing here?” the shopkeeper asked haughtily. “I have no information to sell to you. I take my customers’ privacy as seriously as I take their coin.”

  “I’m not here for your information today. Though, don’t act like you wouldn’t sell out these girls the second they walk out of here. No, I’ll not be buying second-hand information from you today, full of inaccuracies and conjecture, when I can just ask them for myself” Kiiryas responded, nodding toward the girls.

  That silenced the old woman and nearly caused the girls to panic.

  “Information from us?” Rues asked. “What information could we possibly give you? We are new here. We didn’t even know where this shop was.”

  “That is a great place to start,” replied Kiiryas. “How did you even know this shop existed?”

  “Oh, I know that one,” answered Alyra, “My grandfather told us to come here and get fitted for the things he’d paid for, stuff like—”

  Rues roughly clasped her hand over Alyra’s mouth, silencing her before she could say another word. “I think you’ve said plenty, Aly,” said Rues. She turned to face Kiiryas, “Stranger, no offense, but I think we will keep our business to ourselves.”

  “Suit yourself,” Kiiryas shrugged as he took a seat in the shop. “I’ll just wait here and watch you peruse, then perhaps pick up a bit of armor for myself.”

  “Really? You are going to buy something today? Well, stay then. I was about to show you the door. I’ll be done with these two in a minute,” said the old woman, oblivious to the fact that Kiiryas was only staying to see what was on the girls’ shopping list.

  “Can’t we do this in private?” Rues asked nervously. “I’d rather keep this between us.”

  “Nonsense, girl. You’re not buying anything special. This is a public place, isn’t it? You heard him; he’s here to buy.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Shop, or don’t. I’ll not be kicking out paying customers for two nervous girls who are obviously out of their element.”

  Resigned, Rues nodded and pulled out her list.

  Fifteen minutes later, the shopping spree was concluded. Construction of the armor would take a full day to complete even as basic as it was. The girls promised to return at lunchtime the following day. Gathering their newly purchased goods, the girls headed toward the shop exit. Kiiryas stood to follow them out but was stopped by the shopkeeper.

  “I thought you were here for armor. What will it be?”

  “Ah, I forgot about my cat,” replied Kiiryas.

  “Your cat? What does this have to do with your cat?” the woman asked incredulously.

  “Yes, my cat. I need armor for my cat, but I neglected to bring him. A mistake, as I hadn’t considered the fitting. The armor must fit him properly. The rats here are getting feisty, and I will not see him injured! I’ll return some other time,” Kiiryas said.

  Let her think about that one for a while.

  “Cat? Really, a cat? Why would a cat need armor…”?

  Kiiryas didn’t hear the rest of her incoherent rambling; the door blissfully closed behind him and shut out the awful sound of her voice. How can anyone deal with that woman? A screech owl being beaten to death would make a more appealing sound.

  The girls had wasted no time in the short moments that he’d been delayed.

  They were halfway across that market when Kiiryas spotted them. It’s not like I have to guess where they’re going, Kiiryas thought. May as well see them back to the inn.

  ***

  Hours later, the sun that was now high overhead beat mercilessly on the stones of the training yard. All the trainees and their trainers were stripped to the waist and pouring sweat.

  "Again," Glem barked loudly. "Don't worry about how fast you are going through the form. Do it right. Concentrate on making each form perfect. Slow, steady, perfect. With each movement of both body and blade, create order from the chaos that is combat."

  Glem walked among the rows of trainees and their masters, using his practice blade to correct a hand or foot; a word here to adjust the position of a hand on a hilt, or a reminder to breathe steadily through the form. "Lorne, you have gotten sloppy. I expect that when I get back from scouting with Jorick, you and Garen will be approaching the standard I expected from you in your youth. Jorick I will train myself."

  "Yes, Sir," Lorne replied to Glem.

  "That is enough for today," Glem said. "What time do we leave? I would like to eat and gather my equipment."

  "We'll leave just before the gates close tonight. I'll send a man to the inn with a horse for you in a couple of hours so you can prepare." Jorick said.

  "Thank you, Jorick," Glem replied. Turning to Garen, "Master, the class is yours."

  "Atteennshun!" Garen bellowed.

  He watched the class straighten and fall into orderly lines. "Disssmmissed!"

  Glem watched the class walk to the racks and barrels and replace the practice blades as he thought. They all look so young. A couple of them have potential, though. I'll have to speak to Lorne when we get back. "Jorick, bring a couple of practice blades, and I will attend to your instruction as time permits. Thank you for the morning, gentlemen. I almost feel twenty years younger,” Glem said. He slipped back on his shirt, gambeson, and mail, and left the practice yard.