by Cody Loewen
Rayfe takes her hand and gives it a firm shake. He does the same to mine, his eyes meeting mine, and I feel my cheeks burning again.
“It’s nice to meet you two, Caria and Lykara,” He announces, releasing my hand and returning to the middle of the circle. He jumps into a story about chasing a domesticated pig through the forest after it got out of its pen. He runs wildly in place, turning this way and that as if dodging trees, jumping over fallen logs, and ducking low hanging branches. Suddenly, he dives at the ground toward the edge of the circle, as if tackling the pig to the ground. He imitates the squealing of a pig as he “throws it over his shoulder” with both hands and begins walking back toward the center. He deposits his imaginary pig into its pen and slaps his hands together to remove the real dirt from his dive to the ground. The crowd around him laughs and applauds as he takes an exaggerated bow in conclusion to his dramatic storytelling. I catch myself smiling and clapping my hands together along with them.
A voice near the fire announces that dinner is ready, and the group breaks into another cheer, converging on the cook, now cutting the deer into strips and handing them out on wooden discs cut from small tree trunks. I sit with Caria, Martin and his new friend, Camille, while we eat. Rayfe breaks off from his group and moves to join us, dragging a short stump with him to sit on.
“Are you guys ready to start training tomorrow?” He asks us, shoving a slice of meat into his mouth. “I’ve been here sparring for the last week, and I’m ready for some formal instruction.”
“You’re a recruit?” I ask in surprise, my voice small and shy. “I assumed you were one of our instructors by the way you were fighting earlier.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Just a recruit. I have been practicing with the swords since I was young, but I’m in the same place you are. My experience does not go past one-on-one sparring, and I’m excited to learn about battlefield tactics and strategy. Coordinated fighting with a partner also sounds like it’s going to take a lot of work to master, but I’m sure I, and whoever gets lucky enough to be my partner, will get the hang of it.”
We spend the next couple of hours learning about the others who share our desire to join the army. The clearing darkens further as we eat until eventually, the only light remaining comes from the fire. Tired from our journey and not knowing exactly what to expect tomorrow, we all agree it would be in our best interests to get some rest for the morning. Rayfe, having already been here for many days, leads us out of the clearing, holding aloft a torch. Several rows of small tents come into view as the light reaches them.
“These tents are designed for two people to fit in,” Rayfe explains to us as we maneuver through the rows. “Everyone sets their boots outside, making it easy to see which ones are taken. Good night ladies. See you on the field bright and early.”
He shoots us one more grin before moving deeper into the tangle of tents, climbing into one a few rows further back from us after dropping his boots beside the door flap. Caria and I locate an unoccupied tent. We pull our boots off, sighing together in relief, and crawl into the tent. Two thick blankets await us, and we do not waste any time wrapping ourselves up in their warmth. Even though it is warmer in the forest than it was outside its shelter, the chill of the coming winter still seeps in. I soon hear Caria’s peaceful breathing, but it takes me much longer to fall asleep as I fight with the demons in my head, pushing back the horrible memories, and barely holding back tears, not wanting to cry and risk waking Caria. Eventually, sleep finds me, and I drift away.
Chapter 4
I awake, my hearting beating out of my chest, to the thunderous sound of metal banging on metal outside of our tent. My brain is telling me that I have been asleep only a few minutes, but as I peek my head out, I see the sun starting to rise. I blink rapidly, my eyes not fully awake yet, and my vision focuses on Ambrosius. He stands in the middle of the tent-filled area banging two metal pots in his hands together.
“Rise and shine, initiates!” He shouts over his banging. Be in the clearing, ready to go in five minutes. Your training starts now. If you aren’t there in time, you will be leaving our group!”
At the end of the announcement, he spins around and walks back toward the clearing, the metallic ringing still resonating in my ears, even after he lowers the pans to his sides. I duck back into the tent, where Caria is already tying her boots. I do the same, letting out a yawn. I grab my sword on my way back outside and attach it to my hip as I stand up and look around. All around me, sleepy-eyed humans and elves are donning boots and coats and grabbing their weapons. There has to be at least fifty of us. I continue to take in all the faces around me as we make our way towards the clearing, and I catch the smell of food before us, my mouth beginning to water. There seems to be an even split between elves and humans, but there are far more boys than girls among the group. I look forward to digging in to the hot meal, and have to stop myself from instinctively moving forward.
“I’m sure you are all very hungry,” Ambrosius says loudly to the group, his voice easily carrying across the silence. I can’t tell if the quiet stems from the fact that we all just woke up, or a deep respect for the impressive elf before us, and I decide that it must be a mixture of the two. “Here in the training grounds for the Reavers, though, you must earn every meal. Your training starts now, with a morning run through the forest.”
“How will we know where to go?” I hear a voice speak up from amongst our group, and all eyes turn towards a human man near the middle, whose face turns a bright red at the attention. “Will we know how to find our way back?”
Ambrosius nods at the question, and then scans over the entire group, raising his voice to answer the question for all of us.
“The training grounds have been set up, not only in this clearing, but throughout the entire surrounding area of the forest, for this training. There are several different paths leading throughout the trees that have been designed as running trails for the initiates. Whenever you are sent on a run, I will show you the path to take for that run. There will only be one route to take on that path, and it will bring you right back here to the clearing at the end of the workout. These paths will vary in length, and the difficulty of the terrain will also be different for each different one, allowing me a variety of different intensities for the workout I want you to have at that moment. This morning, you will be taking this path.”
He turns to the side, and points out a small break in the trees to his left, and I can make out the cleared dirt path on the ground leading into the forest, which quickly disappears as I try to follow it, but I trust that it continues, like he said.
“The terrain for this run will be light and easy, and the distance is two miles before you will return to the clearing. Breakfast will be cleared in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”
As he finishes, I barely have time to process before our group is running for the path, not wanting to fall behind and miss the first meal of our time here. I find myself near the middle of the pack, running along the path that is just wide enough for two of us to run side by side, my feet pounding on the flat ground with every step. After an alarmingly short amount of time keeping pace with the group as they begin to separate, my chest burns from the exertion of the run, and my lungs feel ready to explode. My legs feel heavy, and each step begins to feel harder than the last. While I am no stranger to hard physical activity from my time working in the fields, and I haven’t spent as much time running and actually training as many of the others have, and I begin to find myself drifting towards to rear of the group, and completely losing sight of the leaders of the pack, already far ahead of me.
I let out a determined growl, and force myself forward faster, gasping for air with every step, but continuing to put one foot in front of the other, refusing to quit before we even really get started. I may be at a disadvantage when it comes to the physical fitness, but when we get to the fighting, I will show them what I can do. After what feels like hours of running, I burst back o
ut into the clearing, hardly realizing I was even so close to the end before I stumble into the wide open area, struggling to catch my breath, and immediately bending over gasping, my hands on my knees. Ambrosius stands over me, at the edge of the clearing obviously waiting for each of his trainees to emerge from the forest.
“Stand up straight,” He instructs me kindly. “Your breathing will slow easier if you allow air to enter your lungs, and you will recover faster. Every day that you spend here, this will get a little easier.”
I nod in response, and force myself to stand up straight, my hands going to my hips as my chest continues to rise and fall violently for many moments. I start to recover slowly, and before long I can breathe normally again, but my legs still feel like they might fall off at any moment. I look up ahead into the clearing and see that the tables with food have already been removed, and my stomach growls loudly in response. I hand my head in defeat, having not started out this journey very well, and steel myself to do better at the next part of the day.
I make my way to the middle of the clearing, where the trainees who had already made it back are standing, some looking much better off than I must appear, and wait for the last few stragglers to make it back. I look around the circle, taking in the wide variety of people and weapons. I see a couple of huge, muscular men holding heavy weapons like war hammers and battleaxes. Many of the elves carry two smaller blades or a sword and a shield. One of the humans carries a pike, the long pole topped with a brutal spike.
How would I fight a weapon like that? I think to myself, imagining my single sword against the long reach of the pike. I just hope that I won’t be matched against a fighter like that for any of my fights.
The last of the trainees bursts into the clearing, and I recognize the huge man that Rayfe was fighting when we arrived. He looks about ready to collapse and die, his breath so ragged I don’t know how he even managed to get all the way through the run. He walks over to our group, every step a struggle, and it takes him many minutes before he looks up, ready to continue on with whatever comes next.
“Alright, everyone, listen up!” Ambrosius declares, slowly turning around the circle. “Today marks the start of your training. From this point on, you will do as I and my instructors direct you without question. If you are late for a meal, you will go hungry. You are to report here every morning, and training starts when the sun clears the horizon. If you are late, you will be disciplined. We break for lunch at midday and training ends when dinner is ready. The time after dinner is your own, but curfew starts when the sun has gone down. Are there any questions before we go over the training itself?”
He turns, searching the circle of faces that are all shaking their heads back at him. His eyes briefly meet mine as he turns, and I instinctively shake my head no, too. After a full rotation he nods, and I see his chest expand as he inhales.
“As I explained last night, the first two weeks here, you will train individually. During this time, we will evaluate your fighting ability and style. At the conclusion of this stage, if you don’t make the cut, you will be asked to leave. If at any point, you decide that you aren’t made for this, you are free to go. The Reavers are not meant for everybody, and many of you will not make it. Those of you fortunate enough to stay, will be paired with a partner who complements you in combat, and the remainder of your time here will be spent training as a pair. You will fight primarily with your weapon of choice but will be taught to use a wide variety of weapons. This morning, we will start with light sparring. Pair up among yourselves and space out around the circle.”
I turn to Caria, who is already looking at me. “Obviously, I will be your partner!” she says cheerily. We find an open space in the clearing and wait for everyone else to do the same. A lithe elven man walks up to us, drawing a slim wooden wand from inside his jacket.
“Draw your weapons,” He orders us. I draw my sword from its sheath, and Caria pulls her dagger from her belt. She also draws a longer, hooked knife from a hidden sheath in her boot. We both present our weapons to the instructor. He points the wand at each weapon and speaks a word under his breath that I don’t understand. “This will protect you from injuries during the fight.”
He turns and walks to the next pair of fighters, repeating the process around the clearing. When he is finished, he moves to the outside of the circle, and nods at Ambrosius, who now stands beside him.
“The spell put on your weapons will protect you from any harm. You will feel the strike as if it were real, but no damage will come to you,” he explains to us. “You may now begin your sparring. The fight will end when one of you concedes. My instructors and I will be coming around to evaluate you this morning.”
I look at Caria, standing easily with her two blades, smiling at me.
“Are you ready to do this?” She asks me, adjusting her grip. I take my sword in both hands, take a deep breath and give her a smile.
I size my longsword up to her two small daggers, liking my odds against the two weapons. I know that my best shot in this fight will be to use strong blows that she won’t be able to stop with her daggers.
I swing my sword in a heavy side chop at shoulder level. She easily ducks under the blow, stepping forward to close the distance between us. I strain to stop my swing, bringing the sword in a long turn up and around into a vertical chop. I step back, trying to put some distance between myself and Caria. She raises her two blades in a cross up above her head to block my sword. Knowing how much stronger my blade is, I throw my weight into the chop, hoping to break through her block. She catches my sword with her crossed blades, and smoothly steps back, sliding her blades down my sword to the tip, stealing momentum from my strike. She hooks her curved dagger on the end of my sword, pulling it out wide, releasing her other dagger and stepping forward.
I pull hard with my blade trying to free it, but I know that she is too far inside my reach to be able to use it. I throw my hips out to the side, narrowly avoiding her stab at my stomach, but the blade still slashes across my side. White hot pain shoots down my side as the feeling of her dagger scraping my ribs courses through me. I gasp, and finally free my sword, taking another full step to the side to disengage from Caria and her deadly daggers. Chest heaving from the pain in my side, I grasp the hilt of my sword tightly, knuckles turning white.
I have to move quicker, I tell myself. She can’t get through my defenses again.
I swing my sword horizontally again, but without the full force of my weight as in my first attack. As she ducks, I pull the feint and send my sword into a swipe the other direction and much lower. Crouched already, Caria has no way of rising fast enough to get out of the way of my strike, so she goes the other direction. She falls to her back, under the blow, and immediately rolls sideways to put distance between us. I quickly step in the same direction, and as she rolls back to her feet, I stab at her rising form. She tries to fall back out of the way again, but my sword is faster. The blade, perfectly aimed at her heart, hits an invisible force an inch before it connects. I watch her eyes go wide, her daggers falling from her hands as she grasps her chest.
Instinctively I drop my sword, dread flooding my mind as my brain tells me I have just killed my friend. As she lays on the ground, her breathing begins to return to normal, and I remember the enchantments on our weapons, and how the burning on my ribs from her blade was now no more than a painful memory. I reach down to Caria to help her up, and she immediately grasps my hand, pulling herself back to her feet. She retrieves both of her daggers, returning them to their sheaths. I slide my sword into its sheath as well.
“Good fight, ladies,” I hear a voice to the side say. I turn to see a tall elf watching us from the edge of the clearing. He stands straight and strong, and his body has been hardened by years of training and battle, but the grey in his short hair, and the wrinkles that surround his alert and watchful eyes give away the fact that he is well past middle aged. While his age clearly shows, I have no doubt that this elf could still wiel
d his weapons in battle with deadly efficiency if he was needed.
This must be one of the trainers, I think to myself. That would make sense. Who better to teach us how to fight than someone who has been doing it for years and years.
I was so focused on the fight that I didn’t even notice anyone standing there until he spoke. “You both look like you know how to handle yourselves in a fight. What are your names?”
“I’m Lykara and this is Caria,” I tell him, unsure of what he is going to say next.
“Lykara, with your much longer and heavier blade, you hold an advantage in power, as long as you stay at a good distance. You learned your lesson when Caria got in close and you were powerless to defend yourself. Remember that in a real fight, your sword is not the only weapon you possess. Use your body to your advantage in that situation to keep the daggers away from you however you can. As you just saw, sometimes the extra power provided from your blade is not always helpful because it can throw you off balance and compromise your positioning.”
He nods at me as he finishes talking, and then sets his eyes on Caria. I hear the ringing of several fights still going on around us.
“Caria, great job dealing with your opponent’s longer reach. The way you blocked the heavy blows at an angle with both of your daggers was masterfully executed. You worked hard to get inside the range of Lykara’s sword, and got a strike off, but you need to watch for the feints. When a strike has full weight behind it, you can tell by the way the stance of the fighter and how they hold their weapon. When Lykara pulled her strike, you should have seen it and taken advantage of the weak attack to get inside again. Overall, good work to both of you and good luck in your next fight.”
Once the sounds of combat have faded away, and each sparring match has determined a winner, Ambrosius walks back out into the center of the clearing. We are told to find a new opponent, and I end up across from a large man with a single sword, much like my own, only larger. He is obviously older than me, but it is hard to tell his age behind all of his facial hair. His neck is thicker than my thigh, and he holds his sword easily in his hands. Once Ambrosius walks back out of the circle, we introduce ourselves and begin circling, squaring each other up.
