by CJ Brightley
You can see a man’s personality in the way he fights, and I grew more fond of Hakan as I taught him. He was intelligent, smart enough to realize his own weaknesses. He was not naturally aggressive, and at first I thought him dangerously passive, waiting to be attacked. But as he learned more, he grew more confident.
One day when we were training with the wooden swords, I made a stupid mistake. I could fight him nearly with my eyes closed, and I let my mind wander. It was late spring by then, an unusually hot and sticky day, and I was wondering whether the Fliscar River, which merges with the Purling to the south, was one day’s walk north or two. I wanted a swim, and I wasn’t paying attention at all when he lunged exactly as I had taught him. The sword point caught me hard a few inches below my ribs on the right side.
He cried out in surprise, already apologizing as he stepped back.
“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. Now finish me.”
I made him continue and taught him some of the many ways he could finish a wounded opponent. Most of all, I tried to teach him to remain cautious. An opponent is dangerous until he is dead. I had him repeat his successful stroke, fell to one knee, let him approach for a final cut. I brought up my sword for a killing strike, for he was too close and too confident. Too trusting. He nodded that he understood, but it worried me; he didn’t expect deception from an opponent. I resolved to focus on that more in the future.
When I stripped off my shirt that night I had a black bruise on my side topped by a bloodied scrape. Hakan’s eyes widened.
“I’m sorry!”
I grinned. “You should be proud.”
He smiled, still a little shaken.
We bypassed the larger towns as we headed for Senlik. The smaller, more remote village would serve us better while Hakan trained, and Hayato knew this place would be our final destination. I’d never been to Senlik, but I knew the road to it well. We’d passed by on our way to my last battle, the one in which Yuudai had died.
“Strike!”
His lunge was better than the last, but he still wasn’t aggressive.
“Hakan, when you’re fighting, your opponent is an enemy, not a friend. Losing is not an option.”
He nodded.
“Attack again.”
He blocked my strike and struck again. I barely suppressed a sigh.
“Kill me, Hakan. Don’t fight. Win. If you don’t kill your opponent, he will kill you.”
He didn’t fear me anymore. He trusted, because we were friends. So I attacked.
My wooden blade slid across his throat, not hard but firmly enough to frighten him.
Again. My blade crossed his stomach. It would have gutted him if the blade had been real. A few minutes later, a jab to his stomach that doubled him over, though he straightened in a moment, his face pale and his eyelashes damp with tears.
It worked, somewhat. He clenched his jaw and attacked again, not well but more strongly than before. “Don’t let your anger make you careless.” My wooden blade tapped the back of his knee. “That would cripple you. Don’t forget to block.”
He nodded, his mouth tight.
I gave him the opening because he wasn’t good enough to make his own opportunities. But I was pleased when he took it, the wooden point of his sword raking across my stomach.
“Good.”
You learn how to strike by striking. When Hakan struck, I let him hit me. Not every time, of course, but when his strikes were good. A man needs to know when his efforts are producing results.
That day was the best of his training thus far. When I stripped that night to bathe in the Fliscar River, I had half a dozen more dark bruises across my ribs. Hakan frowned, and when he tried to apologize again I deliberately dipped my head beneath the water and ignored him.
I train hard, and am used to the bruises and scrapes that go along with it. I enjoy teaching, and I flatter myself that I’m good at it, partly because I don’t mind the bruises. Every time a student strikes me well, it is more practice, more experience, that may help him when he needs to use his skill. Maybe that last bit of intensity in our training together would save his life.
I’ve never been good at floating, I’m fit enough that I tend to sink, but I lay on my back in the water and watched the sun set behind the trees. The frigid water was refreshing and my skin felt tight and alive with the chill. Tiny merlkina fish nibbled at my shoulders and I wondered lazily whether they were aware enough to tell that I was salty with sweat, or whether to their little fish minds I tasted the same as a leaf or a waterbug.
When Hakan grabbed my foot, I was so startled I inhaled water and came up choking and sputtering.
“What?” I spit river water and glared at him.
“I thought you were asleep. You were drifting downstream.” He looked like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure if I was so angry smiling would be dangerous.
“It’s called relaxing. I don’t do it often.”
10
We stayed the first night outside Senlik with a family by the name of Priven, a reference I suppose to their proximity to the river. Names in Common are not as clearly derived as those in Kumar or the High Tongues. They may be taken from a family’s location or profession, a physical attribute of some ancestor, or something else which may be impossible to determine. My name was given to me when I was found, else I would have had a name in Darin. Kumar, the warrior tongue, is my native language, the one in which I was trained. Everyone speaks Common, and I’ve studied enough High Tongue to indulge my interest in names, but I wouldn’t claim I’m fluent.
I approached the man as he was entering his house for the evening. “Sir, I would ask your hospitality for the night.”
It was a common request in the country, and generally granted. Hospitality is a vital part of Erdemen culture, one I hadn’t appreciated until my service in the army took me out of the kingdom. He had the good grace to try to hide his fear of me.
I inclined my head with the proper measure of respect of a warrior to a commoner. Soldiers are in between classes, not nobility, but certainly not common. Courtesy is one of the marks of a warrior, and I’ve exercised mine more than most to overcome the “demon-child” epithet I heard when I was young.
“Aye then, welcome.”
“My friend as well?” I smiled at his nod and waved Hakan to follow me. “We are grateful for your generosity. My name is Kemen Sendoa; call me Kemen. Do you need help with anything before the evening meal?”
“No, I’m finished, except for feeding the horses. You’re welcome to come if you wish. My name is Feo Priven.” He glanced at me nervously, flicking his eyes toward my sword before hurrying toward the barn. I followed, keeping pace with his quick steps easily. I moved down the stalls, patting a few horses on their noses.
“Your horses are beautiful.” It was the right compliment, and a grin split his face.
“Thank you, sir. This one is Hragar, and this Hrana, her foal born just two days ago. Light and purity, of course.” Both were bred for speed, probably for suvari use.
“She’s early.”
He nodded. “Aye, quite early. But she seems to be doing well. I think she’s strong.”
I nodded. The little foal was nursing hungrily, a good sign.
“Then Harpan, Strength, the gelding.”
He was a massive draught horse who turned calm eyes on me and nosed my hand gently, hoping for a bit of an apple.
“And this is Phrena, fleet-footed. She’s due in about two weeks.”
The mare was beautifully rounded with pregnancy, waiting eagerly for her bucket of grain, fine clean lines showing her good blood. Her foal would be valuable.
“Where’s the stud?” I asked.
He talked as he finished working. “Both foals are by Hroth, over at Thosin’s place. He’s a good stallion, strong and very fast. Last year I only had Hragar, but with the money from her foal and some extra I saved up, I bought Phrena. This year I scraped together enough for the two stud fees, and I’m hoping to get a colt
from Phrena. If he’s good enough, I can keep him for my own stud in a few years.”
I nodded. “You’re going to sell Hrana then? And maybe Phrena’s foal?”
“Aye, certainly Hrana, but mayhap the other one as well, if it’s a filly.”
They were far too young for Hakan and me, of course, but horses would be necessary soon. “I wouldn’t mind buying a good horse or two, if you know who has some for sale. Broken, not foals.” We headed toward the house, Hakan following quietly.
Priven nodded. “Thosin has quite a stable. Come inside. Mira, we have guests!”
I ducked as I passed through the doorway. Doors always seem a bit too short to me, and I had to keep my head uncomfortably ducked as we made our way inside. Priven turned back and smiled at Hakan.
“Ah, this is your friend. What’s your name?”
I answered for him. “His name is Naoki.”
Hakan smiled and inclined his head, but it wasn’t the proper bow for a soldier to make to a commoner. Priven’s eyes narrowed in irritation but he said nothing. His wife appeared in the doorway, smiling nervously as she caught sight of me, and I bowed more deeply.
“Thank you for your hospitality, madam.” It was a slight promotion from gooduf, the standard greeting for a common woman, and she smiled again cautiously.
“Sit. Make yourselves comfortable.” Priven pulled out chairs for us from the table as his wife moved to the stove. The room was small and close, and I was uncomfortably aware that we must stink from our weeks outside. I had bathed, of course, but my bath in the Fliscar was three days before.
Priven and his wife were a few years older than I, maybe forty or so. There were four chairs around the small table.
“Do you have children?” Everyone loves to talk about their children, and it would be useful if they liked us.
Priven smiled proudly. “Aye! Our older boy, Baso, is in service at Thosin’s stables. He’s sixteen. Neel is fourteen, and he’s apprenticed to Mullin. He’s the blacksmith.”
Only two children. I wondered how many they’d lost. His pride in the children stirred a bit of envy in me. But envy does not suit a warrior, and I stifled it as best I could. Not to mention that I envied him a wife. At my age, I could have had a son nearly Hakan’s age, maybe a few years younger. Those pleasures were not for me, however much I might wish it. No woman would want me, and I’d come to terms with that long ago. I realized that I was staring at the center of the table, and glanced up at Priven. He flinched back and muttered something about helping his wife with the food.
I wonder what I look like when I’m thinking. Priven wasn’t the first to be unnerved by it. I missed that about the army; surrounded by other warriors I didn’t stand out so much. People like Priven didn’t remember how the army used to be. It was strong and proud. Honorable. There was no tolerance of abuse of power, nor of looting, nor of any other base behavior. Training was grueling, but I excelled both as a child in training and later as an officer. I’d risen in command and respect very quickly. My downfall was my complete and utter inability to do figures and to read. The letters swam on the page before me, and I could not seem to make them make sense as others did with ease.
It had first become a problem in training. With a bit of effort, I could enlist the aid of other students in reading and writing my work. The answers were easy, the problems and strategies came naturally, but I couldn’t put my answers to parchment, and I couldn’t turn the mess of cryptic symbols into words. Maps I could read, pictures, but the letters and numbers of soldiers, the logistics of supplying them, I could not manage those. A commoner doesn’t need to read, but as an army officer, it was a constant humiliation. I had to rely on a scribe or a friend to even read my orders. Yuudai Urho had been most helpful, and we’d been sword brothers until that last battle. His name fit him. Yuudai means great hero, and Urho means brave, and he was both of those. He was a good friend.
Mira Priven put a plate with some thick mutton and vegetable pie in front of me and another in front of Hakan. Then there was a basket of bread and cups of wine well diluted. She stood nervously while her husband sat down with us.
I nodded toward her. “There’s no need to wait on us. Come eat.”
She smiled a little nervously but turned back to prepare her own plate. In a moment she was seated and we began to eat.
Priven had apparently gathered his courage again, for he began to ply me with questions. “Where have you come from?”
“South, from Stonehaven.” I smiled my thanks at his wife. The food was better than I’d expected, and certainly better than my simple fare. She smiled tentatively.
“What news of the king? I heard he was ill, but we’ve had no news in months.” He leaned forward eagerly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hakan watching me. I hoped he would hold his tongue.
“The king is dead.”
Priven’s face showed no emotion. “And the prince is crowned then?”
He was curious, but nothing more. Like as not, nothing in the capital had affected them for years out here. I said, “Nay, the prince is missing.”
He stared at me curiously. “Missing?”
“I can only repeat rumors, of course, I have no certain knowledge.”
He nodded.
“I heard that Nekane Vidar had sent assassins after the prince. He’s taken power for himself.”
Priven slammed a fist into the table. “Cowardly bastard!” He glanced at me with sudden fear. “You’re for the prince, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “I served under the king. He had his faults, but I’d take the prince over Vidar any day.”
He nodded eagerly. “Aye, right enough. You know the problems we’ve had here.”
I shook my head, and watched him as I continued eating. Hakan sat quietly, and I was right glad of it too.
“Raids over the border have gotten much worse lately.”
“Which border? North or east?”
“Both.” His voice was grim. “Rikutans have been over the passes to the east for nearly a year. Last summer I nearly lost my younger boy to them. When I was young, there were soldiers here to control the passes. Taxes have gone up but we don’t have soldiers any more, and the roads are falling apart. I want to know what we get for our money!” His voice had risen in irritation, but his wife put her hand on his arm with a look of fear, and he suddenly looked at me. “Begging your pardon of course.”
I nodded. “What about the northern border? That’s been secure for years.” I made a concerted effort to not look threatening. Information is a tool, a weapon if you use it well, and I needed more of it.
“Didn’t you know? The soldiers posted there have decreased steadily for the past six years, and just last summer Fort Ilkanao was closed, despite the raids. We’re protected, closer to the mountains, but my wife’s family lives a bit west and north, not far from Highden near the plains, and they’ve lost livestock every year. It’s hard, and getting harder. They’re thinking about moving south if it doesn’t get better.”
“Raids by the Tarvil?”
“Aye. That whole stretch from Highden to Ironcrest is nothing but a wasteland. They come and steal cattle, sheep, horses. They’ve killed a few people, but thieving is the goal. They’ve kidnapped a few girls too.”
Hakan spoke up at this. “That’s barbaric.” His voice was filled with scorn.
“They’re barbarians, that’s what they do.”
Hakan started to rise in anger at Priven’s tone, but I put one hand on his shoulder and held him in his seat. “Naoki, sit down.”
At the sound of his new name, he clenched his jaw angrily but sat.
I turned back to Priven deliberately, keeping my voice very calm. “We would not take advantage of your hospitality past this one night, though you’ve been most generous. Yet I would ask you for more information.”
He nodded.
“Do you know the mountain passes well?”
“Well enough.”
“Do you have any parch
ment? I’d like your help on a map then.”
He hesitated.
“I’ll pay for it.”
He smiled, a little embarrassed, but moved off toward a chest in the corner. Parchment and ink are dear in the outlying regions, and I couldn’t blame him for hesitating. His wife stood and ducked her head respectfully.
“Would you like any more pie?”
Hakan nodded. “Thank you.”
She looked toward me, still a little nervous, and I could see a bit of strain around her eyes.
“Thank you, but no. It was delicious though.” I smiled as gently as I knew how.
I’d made an effort, those last years since I was discharged from the army, to not seem so frightening, but my success had been limited.
She ducked her head and scurried off to refill Hakan’s plate. Control. Self-denial. I had to remind myself because I was still rather hungry. They didn’t have much, and I wouldn’t take more than necessary.
Priven returned with several sheets of precious parchment, a quill pen, and a small bottle of ink, which he spread out before me. I slid a silver eagle across the table to him. I’d always been good at making maps, though not so skilled at labeling them, and I devoted myself to the task with a will.
There was the capital Stonehaven, and there the great forest that spreads along the length of the country from east to west, north of the great plains just above the southern border. The Sefu mountains ranged from far in the north to the south and slightly east, forming the border with Rikuto. Sefu is an old word, from a language long lost, meaning sword, taken from the knife sharp edges of the jagged peaks. There are few passages through the mountains during the summer, and none of them reliably passable in winter when the harsh winds rake over the hills and mountainsides and tear away layers of ice and snow to crash down on any foolish travelers who may try to cross. The three great rivers come from the mountains and flow away west until the northern two, Greentongue and Silvertongue, join not far above Stonehaven, then turn south to join the Rivlin which itself turns southwest and flows to the sea. There are smaller rivers of course, and lakes, but those were the main features.
