by J. R. Ford
“Know where I can learn how to fight, and where they,” jerking my thumb at Jacques and Emily, “can find jobs?”
“There was a girl came around here earlier, advertising sword lessons for a couple of silvers a head. I think she’s in Pradeep’s Square, just up the street.”
“Pradeep? Like the Beta player?”
“The very same. That old hero defended this city from his fortress in the north for practically the entire Beta. Anyway, as for work, there’s a quest board in the market square outside. Or, if you fancy something a little different, a man named Absame was recruiting. Looks like he’s forming a kind of city guard.”
“Aren’t there employees for that?”
“Nope.” The innkeeper smiled.
“Thanks for the tip.”
Emily spoke while I munched. “You just assume we want work?”
“You don’t have any money, do you? It seemed rational.”
“I’m more than capable of deciding what I’m going to do myself. And I’m going to the sword lesson.”
“Me too,” Jacques said.
“Whatever.” Returning aches in my ribs and shoulder had soured my mood. At least the bread tasted fantastic, better than anything out of Publix.
I took a moment to savor it. I wasn’t expecting the best food I’d ever eaten to be some video game loaf. Was it a result of the healing properties the innkeeper had hinted at last night? Would the burek here be even better than Mom’s?
We emerged onto streets bustling with activity. Most of the pedestrians had bright faces, contrasting their drab starter gear. There must’ve been a hundred of them. Not the press of a real city, but more than I’d expected.
Just past the inn, a square was filled with boisterous stalls and curious patrons. A board stood near the entrance, mainly offering quests in the caves beneath the city. A player had posted a notice of their own: “These quests will be attempted by THE ENLIGHTENED. Seek EDWIN CASPER to join the ranks of the Mage’s Guild of Bluehearth. Any nonmember attempting these quests will be repelled.” Yikes.
I found a tailor’s stall. “Can you repair these for me?” I asked, unclasping my cloak and gesturing at my bloody shirt.
He nodded. “One silver each.” I handed them over without complaint. My bandages were stained red, so I asked for a fresh roll as well. He passed a curtain and returned a moment later with my clothes mended and cleaned, and some gauze on top.
“No one wants to wait for laundry,” he said, handing them back. I suspected it was one of the few luxuries we players would receive.
The midday sun warmed my exposed skin. Still, shivers ran through me. Anyone who cared to look would see, not only my skinny torso, but my injuries. Emily considered my body with concern, making me cringe.
I’d saved her life. I could endure a look. Besides, there might be cute girls passing by.
I puffed my chest out and said, “Jacques, help me change my bandages.”
The soiled gauze tugged at my skin. Deep breaths. Come on, weakling! Are you going to cry out just from a little pain? Deep breaths.
Jacques tied the new binding and thumped his work. I hissed.
“Not so bad?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Gentle with the shirt this time,” only it came as a mumble. I wondered if he’d understood me but didn’t want to repeat myself in case he had.
He hadn’t. “Gentle!” I barked.
While I was buckling my cloak, something occurred to me. “How are you two going to pay for the sword lesson?”
“We’re broke, remember?” Emily said, giving me an expectant look.
“And?”
“You’re rich!”
“And?”
“It’s only 2 silver each.”
My aching ribs were tinder for irritation. “I told you to get jobs! I risked my life for that coin!”
“So that’s the only reason you helped us?”
“Aside from a few points, it’s the only good thing I got out of it!” I’d signed up for heroism, not babysitting.
“We need to be able to defend ourselves!”
“Maybe Absame can teach you.”
Emily fumed, and Jacques said nothing as they left. My throbbing wounds didn’t encourage further charity.
Friends are an important part of life. I choose mine carefully. There’s no room for freeloaders, no “gimme gimme,” “only-alive-because-I-saved-them-and-still-want-more-from-me” spoiled brats.
Then again, thinking about real life, perhaps I was too picky. I missed Farrukh.
A square stone column rose in the center of the plaza. A young woman offered, “Fencing lessons! Two silver!” She had a deep-auburn ponytail and stood a couple inches taller than me. Her trousers were bundled around her knees, revealing calves packed with lean muscle. A sword hung from her belt, and straight sticks were piled at her feet, along with a couple of quilted caps.
Deduction is among my many competencies. She was who I was looking for.
I paid and loitered, telling myself I was too grumpy to socialize with any of the others. It definitely wasn’t nerves. The column had a plaque on it: “Dedicated to Pradeep Lokesh, Level 3 Storm, Level 2 Visceral.” The shopkeeper at Murray’s Ford had said level 5 was the max, but it seemed players could mix and match among different classes. Judging by the name, Storms were probably offensive spellcasters.
The instructor interrupted my reverie. “Okay! Form a circle, and everyone grab a stick!”
Perhaps twenty of us gathered around. Most of them carried basic swords similar to mine, fresh from newbie shops, that they set aside. We swished our sticks.
“I’m Ana, and today I’ll teach you the basics of swordplay. The first guard is called watchtower. Raise your sword and put your nondominant foot forward.” She adopted the slight crouch of a fighter and raised the sword straight over her head.
The class emulated her. As my elbow rose over shoulder level, my entire arm tightened with pain. Wincing, I took the sword in my left hand instead.
“Now, swing the sword diagonally down and step forward with your dominant foot. Your target is your opponent’s temple.”
The motion didn’t feel natural for my left hand, but at least it packed some force. It would have to tide me over until my shoulder healed. The class was a mishmash hedge of sticks, including one girl doing it the wrong way. I squinted. No, she was just left-handed.
“Lock eyes with someone across the circle from you,” Ana said. “Use their head as a guide for where you should strike.”
I looked up from the left-handed girl’s grip and realized she was looking back. Her eyes were big and bright, and her mousy hair stuck out around her head. We took our stances, swords high.
I swung, focused on my sword, too focused. When I finally remembered to step, I stumbled a little on the rippling stone. My face did its best beet impression.
My partner watched me return to guard, hesitant to project herself. I returned her gaze for a moment, before mine again dropped to the ground.
My peripheral vision told me she’d decided to respond. Her step was clean, but her arm lagged behind, and it ended up being less of a step-with-strike and more of a step-then-hesitant-lowering-of-sword. I think it would’ve landed on my head, but my partner was too short for me to be sure.
After she regained her composure, I struck. I kept my eyes on the street this time and landed correctly. My sword/stick still felt awkward in my left hand, but I could improve. My partner tried again with a little more confidence. She didn’t look like she had the power and speed to strike someone down yet, but then, no one else did either.
Except our teacher, who went around inspecting her students and demonstrating powerful strokes at the same time. “Toes point at foes! Put your hips into it! Don’t overswing!” Her stick whistled where it parted air. With a real sword, that strike would turn a man into 5 points.
“Halt! I said halt, Blondie! Now, on to defense. No fight is worth winning if it costs you your life.”
Seemed like situational advice. But I paid attention as she demonstrated a block, sword held vertically near her hip.
“We have anyone left-handed?”
My partner and I tentatively raised our hands.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were a lefty, Heather! Anyway, you two pair up. The rest of you, partner with someone else right-handed and slowly — slowly! — try it. I don’t want anyone getting brained.”
Heather and I approached each other, the space between us disappearing in three quick heartbeats. I started to strike at the same time she did, and we both recoiled. I paused, quelled my embarrassment, pasted confidence across my face, and attacked again. She jumped a little but brought her stick down to block in time.
I gave her a nod of acknowledgment. Her turn.
In the same way as she’d first done, she kind of stepped in and lowered her stick onto me. I was so intent on watching her that I didn’t remember to block until too late. Her stick tapped my head. She gasped. “I’m okay,” I said.
She nodded, then did it again, even slower this time. I brought my guard up well before her strike came near, and when it did, her stick bounced off harmlessly. Our eyes met again then, our faces a mere three feet apart. Her hair glimmered golden in the sunlight, excitement gleaming in her blue eyes. A smile spread across my face, and I basked in the wonder of sharing an emotion, even just for a second.
We parted, abandoning our brief intimacy. When I struck again, her eyes were back on my boots.
“Now, spread out. We’re going to practice speed and intensity!”
All throughout the lesson, Ana radiated fiery charisma. Her strikes whistled in our ears and her demonstrations impressed us with their power. Her voice rang with unshakable confidence. She taught us a few more guards, strikes, and parries. Heather seemed quite interested in the street.
A blond dude in gaudy red robes watched all the while.
“Now, it’s time to put all that together! Everyone form a circle! Now, this circle is a line. Each pair will duel, starting with you two.” She pointed at the two people on my right and tossed them the padded caps.
Heather on my left looked up then, and again we touched gazes. I said, “I’ll go easy if you do, eh?” and winked.
What the hell, dude? Why did you wink? Suddenly I had to check for some mud on my boot.
Ana began shouting over the clatter of sticks. “Blondie, stop collapsing your knee! Green Shirt, stop looking like a frightened chicken! Blondie, he’s not attacking, what are you going to do about it? Good! Greenie, sitting around on guard will get you nowhere!”
Thunk, thunk, “Halt! Overall, not bad. Blondie, tighten up those swings and stop tripping over yourself. Greenie, the only exchange you won was when you made the first move! Take that to heart. Next up, Heather, Lefty!”
Heather and I stepped up and put the fighting hats on. Our eyes met once more. “Fight!”
We shuffled toward each other, hesitant. After a few seconds of inactivity, I swung, the basic strike we’d learned. Heather blocked it, then tried for a riposte. I hopped back. Her eyes were fixed on the cuffs of my trousers, but she had a grin on her face. We met again, both striking into each other, sticks clashing in the middle. I tried another strike, but Heather pushed my stroke wide. That left me leaning forward, my stick so far behind her as to be useless, and hers in position to strike. I weaved back. Her stick made a slow woosh down before my nose. “Lefty, don’t overextend! Heather, you have to react faster than that! Don’t be afraid to riposte, just don’t clobber him. Lefty, good block!”
Heather’s stick clacked against mine. We paused, then I swung horizontally for her midsection. She veered away.
“Press her, Lefty!”
I thrust, she turned it aside, I tried again.
“Come on, come on! Are you just going to lie there and let him thrust you, Heather?”
Could she please, please be quiet? I was surprised no one was snickering. My wits fled, and suddenly I was overextended again and at Heather’s mercy. She tapped me with her stick, smiling obliviously. That dispelled some of my anguish, and I found myself smiling back.
“Okay, halt! Both of you need to stop hesitating. You’ll never win an engagement if you freeze every time you touch. It’s called the lion’s confidence — the lion doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fear. The lion only fights, and wins. Next pair!”
I hadn’t hesitated fighting the bandits yesterday, at least not once I’d decided to attack. What did it say about me that I could deal death without hesitation, but when faced with a friendly spar against a cute girl, I was back to passivity?
Heather and I resumed our positions in the circle and watched the rest of the class struggle along. Watching the others, disappointment gnawed at me. I judged my own ability as middle of the pack at best, and something told me mediocrity wouldn’t be enough in the days to come.
What had I expected? Weakling to heroic sword master in one lesson? I’d ask Ana for some pointers later.
After everyone who wanted to fight had fought, she summarized some key takeaways and sent everyone off with a tentative promise of another lesson tomorrow. I loitered as the others dispersed, but the man in red robes approached her before I found my nerve.
I sat down to wait on the steps before Pradeep’s Column. My training partner settled beside me.
“I think I got your name during training — Heather, right? I’m Pavel.”
“Hullo,” she said.
“Where’re you from?”
“England. The West Country, if that means anything to you.”
“Nope. What’s it like?”
Her expression stretched thin. “It’s not so bad. I don’t often go into town, but the beach is nice. What about you?”
“Georgia.”
“You speak English well,” she said.
“Atlanta, Georgia, USA,” I clarified.
“I know,” she giggled. “It isn’t hard to tell you’re American.”
“Oh.” I mean, she definitely had an English accent, easily identifiable now that I knew she was from England. I supposed I had an American one, though it just sounded normal to me.
“You lotto, or buy-in?” I thought it was a foregone conclusion. Wouldn’t anyone in England rich enough to buy-in live in London?
“Buy-in.” Guess I make a poor oracle.
The instructor finished speaking to a scowling Red Robes and approached us. “Heather, Lefty.”
“Pavel.”
“Ana, pleasure. What do you need?”
“I was wondering if you could give me some more tips. I can pay,” I added.
“Sure, 1 silver,” Ana said. “Heather, I’ll catch up with you later?”
“All right.” Heather paused, then walked to catch Red Robes.
“What do you need help with?”
I flicked her a silver. “I think I just need more practice. I’m not used to using my left hand for things.”
“Aren’t you left-handed?”
I shook my head. “Hurt my shoulder yesterday. Makes going into watchtower pretty much impossible.”
“Oof. Hold out your right hand and rotate it.”
I stretched out my arm, palm up, and twisted. I could get as far as palm down before my shoulder began to tense and sting.
“That’s pretty good. I’ll teach you some thrusts so you can use your dominant hand. You can do them from boar stance.” She lowered her sword hand to her hip and pointed the tip at my face. “Though you won’t have the flexibility to manage one of them.” She demonstrated four angles of thrust, along with the guards that each defeated. I couldn’t pull off number one, but the sword felt a lot better in my right hand than it had in my left.
Heather screamed, and a thunderclap resounded through the square. Ana and I whirled to see her convulsing on the ground, her jaw locked shut over a wail. Red Robes stood red-faced over her, uncoiling a glowing whip from around his fist.
Ana rushed over, while I took a second to regi
ster the situation. His whip was inlaid with the same markings that riddled the city walls, though their glow was fading.
The last time I’d intervened between bully and victim, I’d nearly been killed. And this bully evidently had a magic whip.
“Back off!” Ana shouted, flourishing her sword. Heather cowered behind her, sobbing. Two thugs stepped up beside Red Robes, drawing swords.
“You dare face me, girl? Edwin Casper, leader of the Enlightened, the strongest mage in the game?”
“A made-up title for a wannabe wizard. I’ll cut your stomach open!”
The thugs fanned out. One was a massive East Asian–looking brute with blocky features and a frown that looked permanent. The other, a white guy of indeterminate origin, sported an ugly grin. Ana stood steadfast, her only sign of uncertainty a glance over her shoulder at me.
I sighed. Would I face down a wizard and his goons for two more strangers? I’d seen Ana’s skill during the lesson, but it would still be two versus three, with myself injured, awkward, and barely able to swing a sword right.
Morbid imagination showed me those blades entering my flesh, and worse, receiving a lash of electrocution and being put down while I couldn’t even scream. I’d drown in my own blood, like that bandit yesterday. The only difference was, he’d died a coward who preyed on the weak, not a hero who stood up for what was right. My throat went tight.
Then Ana’s eyes met mine. From there, there was no thinking, only the pure, unadulterated testosterone of a sixteen-year-old boy. Hello again, my old friend, leaping headfirst into the jaws of premature death. I stepped beside Ana.
“Why did you attack her?” she seethed.
The mage said, “This wench thought she could join the Enlightened! Can you imagine?”
“So you attacked her?”
“I showed her the level of power she needs if she wants to join our ranks.”
“You offered me a place two minutes ago, and I’m no mage. And what about your thugs? Are they mages?” She sized them up.
“The Enlightened is the Mage’s Guild, and I’m the mage. All one needs to join me is strength. Something you have that she lacks.”
