by James Wisher
Gabriel lowered his sword and bowed. They’d been sparing for an hour straight and sweat dripped off his hair. He’d fought particularly hard today as it was the six month anniversary of his family’s murder. He knew with a certainty bordering on obsession that one day he’d find the creature that led the attack and face it in battle, he planned to be ready.
Someone clapped and he turned to see Uncle Duncan, his adopted father, standing off to the side of the sparing circle. “Quite a show you two put on this morning.” Duncan tossed him a towel. “What do you think, Master Zin?”
“Rarely have I had such a dedicated student. He brings great honor to his family.” Master Zin bowed to Duncan and left the ring.
“Where’s Morgrin?” Duncan asked.
Gabriel shrugged. “He didn’t show this morning.”
Duncan ground his teeth. “That’s the third lesson he’s missed this week. I hired Master Zin to train you both. How’s Morgrin ever going to improve if he doesn’t show up?”
Gabriel set his wooden practice sword down and picked up a weighted resistance sword. The wooden blade had a lead core that made it three times as heavy as a standard broadsword. “If Morgrin doesn’t want to learn he’d just be wasting the Master’s time even if he showed up.”
Duncan nodded. “What that boy needs is discipline. Classes at the Academy Martial begin next week, and Morgrin will attend. Perhaps three years of military training will improve his attitude.”
“The academy, Father used to talk about it. Could you arrange for me to enter as well?”
Duncan’s eyebrows rose. “Why would you wish to attend? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I thought the academy was where nobles went to learn about war. I hope to join the Watch when I come of age. Three years at the academy would assure acceptance, wouldn’t it?”
“Gabriel, I’ll be honest with you, the academy isn’t what it used to be. Now it’s more of a place for nobles to dump unruly children than a real school.”
Gabriel hung his head. “So they don’t teach what I need to learn to get into the Watch?”
“Well, no, the lessons are the same; it’s just that no one who graduated from the academy has amounted to anything in years.”
Gabriel’s head popped up and he smiled. “I’ll bet that’s more to do with the students than the teachers. If you could get them to accept me, I’d like to go.”
“Getting you in won’t be a problem, but why are you so obsessed with joining the Watch?”
“The Watch will give me the resources I need to find out who attacked the estate and killed Xander and my parents. While I’m searching maybe I can do a little good in the city. Father would have liked that.”
Duncan laid a hand on his shoulder. “I think he would have too. Consider yourself in.”
* * *
Four days later Gabriel, Morgrin, and Duncan rode through the city in Duncan’s carriage on their way to the academy. It was a short trip from the mansion but Morgrin insisted. He said he needed to make a proper impression. That the only people there would be ill behaved noble children didn’t matter to him. If Morgrin could show off he gave it his all, pity that was the only thing he gave his all.
They stopped and everyone got out. The academy was a grim stone structure built to resemble a castle. A short slight of stone steps led up to the keep entrance. According to the books Gabriel read the reason for the academy’s design was so the students could practice defending and attacking a castle. The ten foot tall wall around the grounds also made it hard for students that didn’t want to attend to escape. A burly man in leather armor waited at the top of the steps.
“Well boys,” Duncan said. “This is it. Only students and staff allowed inside. Your first break is in three months. Good luck.”
“Please, Father, reconsider. I don’t want to go to this awful place,” Morgrin said.
“Boy, I hired a teacher for you and you didn’t bother to attend his lessons. Here you’ll be forced to learn.”
“What will I learn? No one fights those stupid honor duels anymore.”
“That isn’t the point!” Duncan said. “They’re still part of the law. If you were ever challenged you’d get slaughtered.”
Morgrin snorted and stomped up the steps.
“Goodbye, Uncle Duncan.” Gabriel followed his adopted brother up the steps.
At the top the man looked them over. “You must be the new recruits. Identify yourselves.”
Gabriel snapped to attention like his father taught him. “Gabriel St. Jaques Kane, sir.”
“Morgrin St. Jaques.” Morgrin said in a bored tone.
The big man glared at Morgrin. “I can see your attitude needs work. Perhaps after you wash all tonight’s dinner dishes you’ll have a better outlook.”
“I don’t wash dishes,” Morgrin said.
The man’s arm shot out and grabbed Morgrin by the front of his shirt. He lifted the boy a foot off the ground. “You’ll wash dishes and anything else I tell you to. Refusal will earn you three lashes. A second refusal and you’ll get ten. Got it?”
“When my father hears how you’ve treated me he’ll have your head.”
“Your father knew the rules when he dropped you off. You’ll learn to do as you’re told or how to take a beating, your choice. Now follow me.”
They followed the instructor, at least Gabriel assumed he was an instructor, inside. The entry was a simple semicircular room that branched off in three directions. The unadorned gray stone seemed to bear down on Gabriel. They turned left and went down an equally undecorated hallway lined with doors. They stopped at the sixth on the left. “Kane, this is your room. Your bunkmate is in class, so you’ll meet later.” He handed Gabriel a key. “This opens the right hand footlocker. You’ll find everything you need inside. Get your uniform on and head for combat training. From the entryway go straight, it’s the second door on the right. You’ve got ten minutes before class begins so I suggest you hurry.”
“Yes, sir.” Gabriel stepped inside the room he’d be calling home for the next three years. It resembled the rest of the academy, severe and unadorned. There were two single beds just wide enough to sleep on with a footlocker at the end, two desks with hard wooden chairs tucked under them.
Inside his footlocker he found two gray tunics and matching pants. If he stood still beside the wall he’d disappear. He swapped his cloths for the uniform. He resembled a prisoner more than a cadet. From everything he’d heard about the academy these days that wasn’t far from how they saw the students.
Gabriel retraced his steps and had no trouble finding the classroom. It had a high ceiling, wooden practice weapons of every type he’d ever heard of lined one wall, three wooden training dummies sat off to one side. A group of boys around his age stood around talking, two leaned on their training swords like they were canes. A thick carpet covered the floor in the center of the room, no doubt to keep the bruises to a minimum.
He grabbed a wooden sword from a rack and went to join his class. One of the boys, a small blond fellow wearing a distant, bored frown came over. “You must be one of the new cadets.”
Gabriel nodded. “Gabriel St. Jaques Kane, pleasure to meet you.”
“Arthur Mennon.” They shook hands. “So what did you do to get sent here?”
“Nothing, I asked to come.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “You must be off your rocker.”
“I’m starting to wonder. What about you?”
“My old man caught me with a pair of dockside whores. Cost him a small fortune to cure me of the disease I caught. He shipped me here as soon as I was better.”
“Wow.” Before Gabriel could say anything else the door opened and an older boy came in. He grabbed a sword and moved to the center of the room.
“That’s Merrik,” Arthur said. “He’s a third year that handles teaching us first years basic sword forms. He can be a real shit. If you have something to say raise your hand or he’ll hit with that sword.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“All right, you lot, line up. Five feet apart,” Merrik said.
Gabriel took position five feet to Arthur’s right. When everyone had taken their positions Merrik continued. “Today we’ll review basic positions, because we have a new student and because you all did terrible on your last test. Swords up. High guard.”
Gabriel snapped his sword up and held it horizontally above his head. The other students held similar positions though most had an elbow too far away from their body or didn’t hold the sword high enough above their head. He waited for Merrik to correct them, but the older boy made no comment.
“Low guard,” Merrik said.
Gabriel snapped his sword down, angling the blade so it went from his right knee to the middle of his left shin. He ignored the other students and watched Merrik this time. Merrik held the position all wrong. His blade was horizontal at the thighs, his shins wide open, and his feet were too close together so his balance was messed up. Gabriel hesitated then raised his hand. He wouldn’t be doing the others any favors if he let them copy poor techniques.
“New kid confused already?” Merrik asked when he saw Gabriel’s hand raised.
“No, sir. I just wanted to point out that your low guard position is a little off. You need to lower your sword tip a bit and widen you stance.”
Merrik’s face reddened. “I’ve been studying at this academy for two years. How long have you been here?”
Gabriel thought a moment. “About half an hour.”
“And you imagine you’re more skilled at swordplay than I am?”
Gabriel couldn’t come up with a polite way to say he was certain of it so he said, “I just thought you should know your low guard was off.”
Merrik’s face now resembled an overcooked beet and Gabriel questioned the wisdom of trying to help. “Step forward, cadet.”
Gabriel left his place and walked over beside Merrik in the center of the carpet. Several of the other cadets chuckled as he passed. “Sir?”
“Perhaps the class would benefit from watching an expert like you in action.” Contempt dripped from Merrik. “We’ll have a little sparing match. On guard.”
Gabriel raised his sword to high guard, content to let Merrik make the first move. He’d didn’t have long to wait, he’d barely got his sword up when Merrik thrust at his stomach hard enough to rupture something even with the wooden sword. Gabriel sidestepped the blow. It told him everything he needed to know. Merrik wanted to hurt him, put him in his place for speaking out in class.
Merrik slashed at is head and Gabriel ducked, the blade whistled harmlessly by. He caught the return stroke and turned it aside. Merrik clenched his teeth and he was breathing heavy. Sick of playing defense Gabriel attacked with a sweeping uncut slash forcing Merrik to jump back. Gabriel spun a full circle and slashed at Merrik’s ribs, his opponent got his sword up in time, the attack forcing him back a step. Gabriel stepped back, inviting an attack. Merrik obliged, lowering the tip of his sword for another thrust just as Gabriel had hoped.
A simple slide step to the left and the thrust went past with inches to spare. Gabriel brought his sword down on the back of Merrik’s hands. The practice sword fell from his fingers. Gabriel stepped behind him and kicked his legs out from under him. Merrik fell on his back with a whoosh of breath. Gabriel put his sword under the boy’s chin. “Yield?”
Merrik started to get up but Gabriel pushed the tip of the blade harder into his throat. “Yield, now.”
Merrik lay back down and closed his eyes. “I yield.”
Gabriel nodded and removed his sword. Murmurs ran through the other students. He offered Merrik a hand up but the older boy slapped his hand away. “You’ll pay for this humiliation. I’ll see you work the rest of the year in the laundry.”
“I don’t think so.” They both turned toward the door. An older man, perhaps sixty, fit, with short gray hair stood watching them. “This boy will not be punished for your failure.”
Merrik clambered to his feet as the older man approached. “Master Benson, I’m sorry.”
“You certainly are,” Benson said. “How is it one of my third year students is bested by, how long have you been with us, boy?”
Gabriel winced. “About half an hour, sir.”
Benson laughed. “Half an hour? You obviously didn’t learn your skills here. Who taught you?”
“My father began my training when I was five. For the last six months I’ve been training with Master Zin Se.”
Benson nodded. “I know Master Zin. He’s considered one of the finest sword masters in the city. Who’s your father?”
“Jeremiah Kane, I’m Gabriel.”
Benson nodded again. “I knew your father. He served under me for the final three years of the war. I couldn’t have asked for a better man. I heard he passed. Did he die well?”
Gabriel nodded, his throat tight. Thinking about it, even six months later, nearly brought him to tears. “Yes, sir. He died in battle, defending his Lord’s estate. He took several with him.”
Benson sighed. “A true warrior’s death.” He sounded jealous. “Merrik you will report to the second year training class for a refresher. The rest of you will spar until your next class. Gabriel, come with me.”
Gabriel replaced his sword and followed the older man out of the training hall. Behind him the clatter of swords indicated the others had started practicing. They walked through the dreary halls for a few minutes before stopping in front of an oak door with a bronze shield on the front.
Benson pushed the door open and Gabriel found a room with personality. Shields and banners decorated the walls. A large cherry desk filled a quarter of the room, the surface of it covered with books and parchment. Two chairs sat in front of it Benson gestured for Gabriel to take one. He sat in the one behind the desk.
Unable to stand it any longer Gabriel said, “Sir, what happened? Father spoke as if this was the greatest school for warriors in the world. Uncle Duncan warned me things had changed, but I never dreamed… This can’t be the same place Father talked about.”
“In most ways it isn’t. The academy has become a nursery for spoiled nobles. We no longer train warriors to lead men into battle. Our job is to make their lives so miserable they’ll appreciate the gifts of privilege.”
“That horrible. Don’t they have any pride?”
Benson chuckled. “Not much, at least not the way you mean it. Everything went to hell after the war ended. With no enemy to fight the nobles became decadent and spent their time bickering over position. Your generation grew up with no enemy to fight. No outside force to bring you together.”
Gabriel frowned as he started to understand. “I wouldn’t have come here if my father hadn’t been killed. I wanted to train, so I’d be strong enough to avenge him.” The words left a bad taste in his mouth, they made if feel selfish like the others. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“Do?”
“To fix things. This place was great once, it can be again. There must be some students that wish to learn to be warriors. If we can find them and separate them we could have an elite class for those that really want to learn.”
“It’s a waste of time. All we have are kids so bad their parents don’t even want them around anymore.”
“We have to try; I have to anyway, if you’ll let me. I think Father would be pleased and I can’t stay here the way things are. I won’t just let my skills degrade.”
Benson smiled. “You are your father’s son, and I admit the other masters wouldn’t mind having a few willing students for a change. All right if you can find at least four others willing to work I’ll put your class together.”
Gabriel got to his feet grinning. “Thank you, sir.”
“Can you do it?”
“I don’t know, but it’s worth trying. I may fail; the gods know it wouldn’t be the first time, but this feels right.”
Chapter 10
When Gabriel l
eft Benson’s office it was lunch time and he followed the master’s direction to the mess hall. Inside all the academy’s students gathered, some sitting at rough cut tables and others standing in line to get food. With them all collected there were about fifty total students. He needed fewer than ten percent to join the special classes. The difficulty of the plan hit him. He knew none of these people, other than Morgrin who he immediately eliminated from consideration. The older students wouldn’t be interested either, so that left the first years less his adopted brother, twenty-five or so all together. Where would he start?
“Hey, Gabriel.” Arthur waved to him from his place in line.
Gabriel grinned; perhaps he had a place to start after all. He grabbed a plate and a fork and joined Arthur in line. “What are they serving today?”
Arthur grimaced. “The same thing they serve every day, some sort of stew and a biscuit so hard we don’t dare have a food fight for fear of hurting each other.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
When Gabriel’s turn came the cook ladled brown stew into a bowl and clanged a biscuit onto the tray, perhaps it could be that bad. He joined Arthur at the end of a half empty table. The stew wasn’t half bad if you closed your eyes and pretended it wasn’t a brown puddle. Morgrin might lose a little weight here.
“That was amazing what you did today,” Arthur said.
Gabriel swallowed his bite of stew. “Not really, I was just better than him.”
“I could never fight like that,” Arthur said.
Gabriel saw an opening and said, “That’s not true. If you're willing to work, you could learn to fight well. The thing you need to remember is unlike a title skill isn’t a birthright; you get it from hard work.”
Arthur shook his head. “I’m too small. Even if I worked hard I’d never get as good as you or Merrik.”
Gabriel’s smile was bittersweet when he remembered Xander. “My little brother wasn’t as big as you and he gave me all I could handle and he won about half the time. You just need to learn a different style. If you want to learn and be your best I can help. Master Benson says if I can find four more cadets willing to train hard we can start a special class and train with the masters instead of the older students, who frankly have no idea what they’re doing.”
