Menacing Misfits: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Darkthorn Academy Book 1)

by Robyn Wideman

  “I believe you; I’m just saying that I think a sword would be better. All the mercenaries and fighters that we know use a sword at the very least.”

  “And what do you have in common with the mercenaries and fighters you’ve met?”

  Jack frowned. “What do you mean? Are you saying that I’m too short to use a sword? I’ve met fighters who weren’t much taller than I.”

  Ramy shook his head. “You’ve also seen men not much taller than you who carried swords taller than them, it doesn’t mean it is the best weapon for them. Also, you have to stop comparing yourself to full-blooded humans. You aren’t one. You’re half-dwarven. That makes you different. You’re shorter, with shorter arms and stubbly little legs. You can’t outrun the average man because of that, yet you have broad and powerful shoulders that can grow to be as big and strong as the biggest warriors. You may never be fast, but you are deceptively quick, and with training you could be stronger and quicker, but you probably won’t get much taller. You’ll always have the natural disadvantages of your size. However, you’ll also have those advantages.”

  “I suppose. I guess I’ve never seen my dwarven blood as anything but a disadvantage.”

  Ramy laughed. “Farthest thing from the truth. Your body, and bloodlines, are different, not inferior. Learning how to use what you have will make you a better fighter. Learning how to control your emotions might keep you alive long enough to realize that.”

  Jack sighed.

  “Now, quit stalling and defend yourself.” Ramy lifted his sword over his head.

  Jack frowned and stepped back. He lifted the wooden dagger up to his face in a defensive position.

  “Don’t move,” Ramy said.

  Jack froze.

  Ramy tapped Jack’s legs. “Your legs are too straight and your feet too close together. If you had to stop a blade, you’d end up tripping or losing your balance. Falling on your back during a fight is a good way to end up with a blade in your belly.”

  “How should my feet be, then?” Jack asked.

  “First, turn your body. You don’t want to be standing square to your opponent. You want to be almost sideways. What’s easier to hit? A big target or small target?”

  “A big target.”

  “OK. If you are square to me, do I have more of you to hit or less?”

  Jack thought about it for a moment before answering. With Ramy, the simple answer wasn’t always the right one. “It depends. If someone was trying to stab me or come with an overhead attack standing sideways would present less of a target. But if they’re using a slashing attack, I would be more exposed sideways.”

  “Correct. Now take into account your weapon is in your right hand. It is the only protection you have against my sword. Where do you want your body?”

  “Behind the dagger,” Jack said. “That means I should be turned with my right foot forward.”

  “Yes, with different weapons or with a shield this can change, but since you’re using a dagger you know that you are trying to accomplish two things. One, make your body as hard to hit as possible, and two, make sure your weapon is always in the best position to defend and attack.” Ramy suddenly brought his sword up and slashed at Jack.

  Jack brought his dagger up and blocked the attack.

  “Better. Now look at your feet…”

  …

  The next morning, Jack groaned when he felt Ramy poking him again. “Again?”

  “Again,” Ramy said. “Every day we’ll be doing this, you better get used to it.”

  Jack’s body hurt. After the morning exercises and run, they’d trained with the dagger for an hour before getting back in the wagon. But Ramy had made Jack get out of the wagon twice more that day to run, and they’d done a second sparring session with the dagger that evening before supper.

  Despite the pain, Jack worked his way through the exercises. When he was done, Ramy had breakfast waiting for him.

  After finishing his plate of food, Jack spoke. “Dagger training again today?”

  “Dagger training every day.”

  Jack nodded. He figured that would be the answer. “What about magic? I thought you intended to teach me about magic.”

  “Eager to learn about magic, are you?”

  “Not really. But that healer made it sound like magic could be dangerous.”

  “It can be, and she was right, I should’ve been training you in magic this whole time. But I’m not sure either of us was ready for that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m an old man, who has many regrets about the life he lived and how things turned out. I’ve always known what your destiny was, but I’ve been avoiding it for selfish reasons. You, on the other hand, are volatile. A volatile mage is dangerous. Before you learn magic, you will have to work on controlling your emotions. Training and exercise will help that, and I do believe you’ve come a long way in that regard, despite recent events.”

  Jack wasn’t sure what Ramy meant by destiny, but the comments about controlling his emotions did hit a chord within him. “What else can I do to control my emotions?”

  “Besides maturing? Meditation and breathing techniques can be an effective way to center one’s self.”

  Jack sighed. It wasn’t the first time Ramy had mentioned meditation, but he’d never paid attention or been willing to learn. “Teach me.”

  Ramy paused. “I’m no expert, but I know enough to point you in the right direction. One of the techniques that I’ve found effective has always been to close my eyes and focus on a memory. One that makes you happy and content. Something that fills your heart.”

  Jack closed his eyes.

  “What are you thinking of?” Ramy asked.

  “Fresh bread and butter.”

  Smack. Jack felt the side of Ramy’s practice sword along the side of his head.

  “A memory that fills your heart, not your belly.”

  Jack frowned. “But it does. I’m thinking of when Nanna would make bread and sing to me.”

  Ramy sighed. “I suppose that isn’t bad. And the witch could cook, even her frying pan bread was delicious.”

  “Now that I’m thinking of grandmother, what do I do next?”

  “Remember that thought. Later, I’m going to make sure you need that memory. Now finish cleaning the plates and pan, then get your practice dagger.”

  When he was done cleaning and preparing the wagon for travel, Jack grabbed his dagger. Ramy was smoking his pipe and talking to the horses.

  “Ready,” Jack said.

  “We’ll see about that,” Ramy said with a grunt.

  Ramy came forward with a series of attacks. Jack did his best to stop the attacks, but more than a few blows landed. Unlike the previous day, Ramy’s blows were hard, and each hit stung. The more and more blows that connected on Jack, the more it started to frustrate him.

  “Can you ease up? You’re hurting me.”

  “If you don’t like getting hit, block me,” Ramy said.

  Jack’s forehead furrowed in annoyance. He was trying to block him.

  Jack blocked another attack, only to have Ramy reverse his blade and smack him across the face with the side of the practice blade.

  Ramy laughed. “You’re just as soft as the butter you were talking about earlier.”

  Jack gritted his teeth and lifted his blade. “Whatever.”

  Ramy attacked again and Jack did his best to block him. But the blade hit Jack across the forearm and his hand went numb. He dropped his blade.

  “Pathetic,” Ramy said.

  Jack had had enough. “I quit.”

  “Why? Are you mad that I keep hitting you?”

  “Yes,” Jack hissed.

  “Good. Now is your opportunity to use your meditation techniques. I want you to close your eyes. Take several deep breaths, and think about your grandmother, think about the smell of bread, the way her voice sounded as she sang her songs.”

  Jack did as he was told. He took several de
ep breaths and thought about his grandmother. He could smell the bread, and the song in his head was a lullaby.

  It took a few seconds, but Jack felt a wave of calm float down and embrace him like a thick blanket. He opened his eyes. “Wow. That actually worked.”

  “Yes. Wow indeed,” Ramy said. “I didn’t think a memory of your grandmother would be powerful enough to work like that, but I just remembered something about your grandmother.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She couldn’t sing worth a lick and certainly never sang to you on purpose.”

  Jack frowned. “But I remember it.”

  “Your mother had a voice from the heavens. You were awfully young, but I do remember she always sang to you.”

  “Oh,” Jack said. He had no real memory of his mother—that it was her voice he heard when he thought of that memory was strangely comforting. Like he’d regained a piece of her. He had so little knowledge of her, but just knowing that she had sung to him meant a lot for some reason.

  A dull pain in his arms and face brought Jack’s thoughts back to the present. “You were hurting me on purpose.”

  “I was getting you angry. And showing you that you have a long way to go if you can’t even block an old man like me.”

  After another hour of training, they got into the wagon and started heading northwest again.

  Ramy handed Jack his whetstone and another one the exact same size, only a different color. “I want you to just hold both of them. Move them around behind your back so you don’t know which one is in each hand. I want you to focus on the stones. Feel the difference between them.”

  Jack closed his eyes and put his hands behind his back, he moved the stones around until he was confident that he couldn’t tell which was which. He then held them. The stones were almost exactly the same size, shape and weight. Jack could feel that they were slightly different. The one in his right hand was smoother, while the one in his left felt slightly thicker. But he couldn’t feel anything else different about them.

  Ramy must’ve seen the frustration in his face. “Just keep holding them. You aren’t trying to feel the rock, but the magic inside. Imagine you are a river of energy. Allow your energy to flow into the stones, allow that energy to flow back to you.”

  Jack had no idea what a river of energy looked like, but he pretended that it was like fire roaring through his veins and coming out his hands. He’d once seen a mage performing magic and he’d been able to make a flame appear over his hands. Jack imagined himself pushing magic into the stones.

  He waited and waited, but he couldn’t feel anything different. He opened his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t feel anything. Maybe I don’t have magic.”

  “Perhaps,” Ramy said. “Open your hands.” Jack pulled his hands from behind his back and opened them. One of the stones was glowing.

  “Can you tell which stone is magical now?”

  “Did you do that?” Jack asked.

  “No. That was all you. Now you know you have magic in you. Enough to trigger the magic in my whetstone. But it isn’t enough to know you have magic. You need to be able to feel the magic, feel the connection to the stone.”

  Jack put the stones behind his back and tried again. He still couldn’t feel anything, but it was still neat that he’d made the stone glow ever so slightly on his second try. He’d keep trying until he understood what Ramy meant by feeling the magic.

  After a few hours of travel, Ramy stopped the wagon and looked at Jack.

  “Run again?”

  Ramy nodded. “Run again.”

  Jack sighed and jumped off the wagon.

  5

  The journey from Hampton to Sunder took almost a full month. It normally would’ve only taken around twenty days, but the frequent training stops, along with a few days in the towns of Morna and Purton, had slowed the journey down.

  During that time, Jack ran and trained every day. His endurance was significantly better, and he could now block most of Ramy’s attacks, but he still couldn’t feel magic the way Ramy described it. But every time he really focused hard on the whetstones the magical one did glow, so he wasn’t a complete failure when it came to magic.

  As they rode into town, Jack noticed how different it felt from other cities they’d been to. He asked Ramy about it.

  “It is a lot rougher town that you’re used to,” Ramy said. “Lots of transients wanting to make their fortune trading or going into the Ancient Lands. The locals are also hardened, and aren’t easy to trust. Crime is higher here and the local constables have a reputation for being very willing to look the other way for the right price.”

  Jack took another look around. Ramy was right, it did feel rougher. There weren’t many young mothers with children walking around, or old folk. Lots of young, stern-looking men and women.

  “Has it always been this way?” Jack asked.

  “For as long as I can remember.”

  It wasn’t long before they left the main road and went up a side street that led to a series of small acreages and estates. They entered the driveway of a small estate. When they got to the house they stopped.

  “Who lives here?” Jack asked.

  “Mostly ghosts,” Ramy said.

  A tall grey-haired man opened the door. “Hello, sir, good to see you.”

  “Hello, Tolliver, it has been a long time. You got my note?”

  “Yes, sir, the house is in working order. There are some other things we need to discuss, though.”

  “Yes, I imagine there are. Jack, why don’t you park the wagon and put the horses in the pen beside the barn behind the house while Tolliver and I discuss things.”

  Jack wanted desperately to ask Ramy about who Tolliver was and what note he’d sent him, but knowing Ramy, he wouldn’t discuss anything until the horses were taken care of.

  Going around the back, Jack found the barn. It was small, but clean. In fact, it was immaculate, like it was never used. Jack grew more curious by the moment. He removed the horses’ gear, gave them a quick rubdown and then put them in the pen. The grass in the pen was waist high. The horses certainly wouldn’t go hungry.

  Done with the horses, Jack went back to the front of the house. The door had been left open for him.

  Much like the barn, the home was immaculate and looked like it hadn’t been lived in. There was a small entranceway that led into a large open den. To the right, Jack found the entrance to the kitchen. There Ramy stood talking to Tolliver.

  “Done with the horses,” Jack said loudly to announce his entrance.

  “Come grab a bite to eat,” Ramy said.

  On the table was an assortment of meats and cheeses. Tolliver handed Jack a plate.

  “Thank you, sir,” Jack said. He loaded up the plate and took a seat at the table.

  “Tolliver Faulkner, this is my grandson Jack.”

  “A pleasure to see you again, Jack. I haven’t seen you since you were knee high.”

  “Tolliver is my business manager. He oversees my affairs here in Sunder.”

  Jack was even more confused now. Ramy had a business manager? For what? As far as Jack knew Ramy was just a tinker. Why would he have a business manager?

  “You look like your head is about to explode,” Ramy said.

  “It may,” Jack said. “I’m a little confused. Why do you have a business manager?”

  “That is a question I ask myself daily.”

  Tolliver chuckled. “Your grandfather, before he was a tinker and traveler, ran one of the most prestigious blacksmith shops in all of the Westdrift Empire. When he decided to leave, he kept the business and his estate. I’ve been keeping an eye on things here for him, although I’m glad he’s back. He’s been avoiding certain decisions for far too long.”

  “You were a famous blacksmith?” Jack asked.

  “I would hardly call what I did blacksmithing, it wasn’t much more than what I do as a tinker, just better equipment.”

  “Again, Ramy is a little mo
dest. Before he left, his business was in high demand.”

  Jack had no doubt that was true, as a tinker Ramy had built an excellent reputation. That he’d have the same reputation as a blacksmith made sense.

  “What else aren’t you telling me?” Jack asked.

  “I’m dying.”

  Jack was just about to take a bite of food when Ramy hit him with that. He put the food down. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me. I’m dying, haven’t got long to live, am preparing to meet the gods or the devils, whoever claims my soul. About to take a long dirt nap, goin—”

  “How?” Jack said.

  “My lungs,” Ramy said.

  Jack thought back to the healer in Cottonridge. “You’ve known this for a while.” Jack shook his head. Surely, he was wrong. “But you seem fine. You’ve been training me every day. You don’t look sick at all.”

  “Thanks to Margenna, that elven healer we met in Cottonridge. Her magic has dulled the pain and made it so I can move and breathe without pain, but it is becoming harder and harder every day.”

  “I don’t understand. How could this happen?”

  “Dying? It isn’t a hard concept, boy,” Ramy said.

  “Your grandfather has lived a long and hard life, Jack. Some of the things he’s endured are very hard on the body, and unfortunately are beyond even what magic can cure. Most of the soldiers that served with your grandfather have already passed, and they didn’t make it worse by working in a blacksmith shop for so many years,” Tolliver said.

  “You were a soldier? What has that to do with your lungs?” Once again, Jack was caught off guard by the depths of what he didn’t know about his family and the man he’d lived with every day of his life.

  “I served four years in the Westdrift Empire’s army. At that time, the empire was trying to retake part of the Ancient Lands. We were stationed deep in the Ancient Lands and were attacked by a group of warriors and mages. They used magical gases to subdue their enemies. I was lucky. I only breathed in a little before we retreated, but it was enough to damage my lungs. When I returned from the wars and returned to my father’s blacksmith shop, I started having problems. I went to the army’s healers. They did what they could for me, and it helped tremendously, but they always warned me that with old age the symptoms of the magic gas poisoning would eventually return with a vengeance. Tolliver here thinks that working in the blacksmith shop for so many years is part of the problem, but the truth is that it is simply growing old that has made my body weak enough that magic can no longer take my pain away or stop the poison from finishing the job.”