“It is understandable,” Rindu said. “Let us practice on concentration. Now that you have ‘warmed up’ your rohw with the parrying and blocking, we will work on shielding. Please sit down over there.” The monk gestured to a location twenty feet away. “Assume the khulim and prepare a shield for yourself as we have practiced, visualizing your aura and then hardening it to prevent my attacks from passing through.”
Sam did so. They had practiced this technique before, and it had come in handy when fighting with Ayim Rasaad. Of course, he had been in harmony with Rindu and Nalia at the time, so he was able to create a stronger shield than he had either before or since. Rindu wanted him to practice until his shield would thwart almost any rohw attack.
The Zouyim monk recognized that Sam had raised his shield. “I will repeat that last attack, the one that caused your focus to fail.”
Eyes closed, Sam nodded, knowing Rindu would sense the gesture.
Within his mind, Sam saw himself sitting on the floor, a shining bubble surrounding him for four feet in all directions. Then, he saw—and felt—Rindu’s rohw pulses strike it. It felt to him like hard rain hitting a t-shirt. It didn’t hurt precisely, but he felt the impact.
Rindu kept up the barrage for a long time. At least, it seemed like a long time, but it was probably only a handful of seconds. Like rain, the number of pulses—droplets?—that hit the shield ebbed and flowed. Sometimes there were a dozen at one time, sometimes only half that. When the attack finally slowed and then stopped, Sam felt relief. None had made it through. He began to relax, though something deep within him warned him against it.
A sudden, powerful rohw pulse blasted through Sam’s shield. It wasn’t extremely fast, but it moved with the implacable force of a boulder rolling down a hill. It crushed the shield, got to Sam, picked him up, and threw him ten feet back.
Sam’s arms and legs spun as he tried to gain his balance and land safely, but the thought came through his mind that he wouldn’t be able to maneuver his body in time, so he prepared for the hard landing.
It never came.
He felt like he landed on some type of cushion or pillow. His body bounced slightly midair and then settled to the floor without a bump or jar. Eyes open wide now, he looked at Rindu. The monk had a hint of a smile on his otherwise expressionless face.
“My apologies for scaring you, Sam,” he said, “but I wanted to show you the limitations of your shield defense also. As you just experienced, a particularly strong or large rohw pulse can defeat the shield quite easily.”
“Yes,” Sam said, gingerly getting to his feet, expecting to feel sore or bruised. He didn’t. “I noticed that. Is that because I am not good at making shields yet, or is it that you are just so strong, or both?”
“Those may contribute, but primarily it is because defenses with the rohw must be tailored to the situation. You saw that the shield easily defeated the attack that you were unable to counter with parries and blocks. So, too, you saw that it was not able to withstand my last attack. Do you know why?”
“Because it was the wrong defense?” Sam asked.
“Exactly.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “I can understand that, but what is the correct defense?”
“Think on it,” Rindu said. “Ponder how it would be if we were speaking of physical attacks.” The Zouy paused for a moment. “Perhaps a story would make it clearer?”
Sam thought he knew the answer, but it was too late. The monk had the twinkle in his eyes he always got just before telling a story. There was nothing to do but hold on and listen.
“There was once a ferret—” Rindu started.
“Are there ferrets here?” Sam asked. “I haven’t seen any or heard them mentioned.”
Rindu eyed him coolly and Sam looked toward the ground. He felt bad for interrupting. The monk shrugged and answered.
“Yes, there are ferrets, though they are wary creatures and so do not show themselves readily. Especially when the lookers are with rakkeben.
“But to continue—” Rindu cleared his throat, and Sam felt a pang of embarrassment “—there was a ferret, and he trained hard at becoming the best fighter on Gythe. He was smaller than many of his opponents, but he was fast and his technique was flawless, no doubt from his constant practice.
“He found himself in the grand tournament, the contest of the best fighters in the world, and he was determined to win. His tiny whiskered face showed his astonishment as he walked around the tournament grounds, noting other competitors he had only heard of. There was snake and crane, pantor, rakkeban, monkey, even a hapaki fighter, which seemed to the ferret to be a contradiction. His eyes were wide as he saw them, but inside he was watching, calculating, planning how he would beat them all to be the supreme champion.
“The fighting commenced, and from the beginning, Ferret did well. He was small, but his fast strikes and evasions make him nearly unbeatable. One by one, his opponents fell and he rose in the rankings. Soon, there were only three competitors left. Ferret watched the match that would determine which would fight him for the title of Grand Champion.
“The match pitted a kuwpo—the large, intelligent gorillas of Gythe—against a bison. The two bowed to each other, and when the referee signaled the start of the match, they charged.
“Both of the fighters were many times the size of Ferret, and when they clashed in the center of the ring, the ground around them shook, almost knocking poor Ferret off his feet. It actually did knock some of the other smaller competitors standing near the ring onto the ground. How could Ferret compete with either of these monstrous opponents?
“The match soon ended, Bison pummeling Kuwpo into submission despite the clever tactics the simian utilized.
“And then it was Ferret’s turn.
“He swallowed hard as he made his way to the ring. Bison looked even bigger close up, his black eyes reflecting no light as they stared at the smaller fighter. Ferret felt like he was going to be swallowed up by that eye. It was almost as big as his whole body. Bison nodded in greeting as Ferret went to his side of the ring, but others in the crowd were not so respectful. He heard comments that made him blush beneath his fur. One voice jeered that they had better have a healer close by.
“The competitors bowed to each other formally, and then the referee started the match. Bison did not move, waiting for Ferret to attack first. Ferret obliged him, rushing in and striking at the monstrous opponent with his best techniques.
“His speed was unmatched, and he had surprised many opponents with the power he was able to generate with his perfect form and his ability to infuse his strikes with rohw. Neither of these helped him with Bison. Ferret danced in and out, striking multiple times and then ducking clear before Bison could counterattack. He struck Bison a hundred times in the first few minutes, but none of his attacks did any damage that anyone could see.
“It was when Ferret struck one of Bison’s eyes that the bigger fighter started attacking in earnest. The eye strike—not with full force, but enough to make the huge orb water—maddened Bison so that he wanted to finish the contest and be done with it. So it was that Bison went on the attack, striking with all four limbs as well as his horns and other parts of his massive head. He even whipped his short tail around to strike at Ferret.
“Ferret, for his part, evaded most of the blows. He parried one or two, but with the sheer strength in them and the curving nature—Bison did not favor straight line attacks—his parries most often did not move the strike far enough away. The consequence was that the smaller warrior was struck glancing blows and thrown around the ring.
“Next he tried to block some of the blows. That he only tried once. Bison jabbed with one of his front limbs, and when Ferret tried to block it, the strike blew through the block, almost broke both of his little arms, and struck him in the chest so hard he was thrown ten feet in the air to land roughly on the far side of the ring. If it hadn’t been for Ferret’s flexibility and extraordinarily honed reflexes, the matc
h would have ended there. He was still in fighting shape, but how long could he keep this up?
“Bison began to press hard, relentlessly attacking, needing only to get one solid strike in to end the match. Perhaps to end Ferret’s life. The tiny fighter did not think Bison was trying to hurt him seriously, but one of those attacks could easily kill if landed squarely.
“Knowing his time was growing short, Ferret decided to try something another competitor, Mongoose, had discussed with him and demonstrated for him. He danced in and out, tempting Bison, taunting him. Soon his dangerous work paid off.
“Bison rushed in with an attack to which he committed his entire body. He focused all his power, all his mass, on one strong punch with his front hoof. This was what Ferret had been waiting for.
“Ferret deftly slipped to the side and, as the strike came past him, he turned it aside and redirected it, grabbing it with both paws and pulling this way, pushing that. His redirection was enough to cause Bison to twist—too caught up in the momentum his body had generated—and to get further and further out of control. At exactly the right time, Ferret rotated his own body, twisted Bison’s wrist, and—to the astonishment of all the onlookers—threw his massive opponent completely out of the ring.
“Bison landed in a heap—on his back—with a loud groan. He rolled painfully to his belly but still did not get up. He tapped his other front hoof on the ground signaling that he had given up.
“After going to make sure that Bison was not hurt seriously—his pride was damaged, but he would be fine—Ferret patted his opponent on his massive head and went back into the ring to be announced the Grand Champion of Gythe. The voice he had heard before suggested that the healer take a look at Bison just before the entire crowd erupted in cheers for the new champion.”
Rindu stopped talking and looked at Sam as he normally did when he finished a story.
“So,” Sam said, “the ferret won.”
“Yes.”
“And he did it by redirecting the bison’s force and using it against him.”
“Yes.”
Sam waited for Rindu to say something else.
Rindu looked at Sam
“That’s what I need to do with the rohw,” Sam said.
“Yes, that is correct,” Rindu responded.
“Okay.” Sam paused again, waiting for Rindu to speak. When he didn’t, Sam continued. “How do I do that?”
“Ah,” the monk said. “That is the question, is it not?” When he saw the exasperated look on Sam’s face, he added, “Think upon that, turning it over in your mind. Ponder all the other lessons you have received, and when we meet again to train, perhaps you will tell me the answer to your question.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sam said. “Thank you, Master Rindu.” He stood straighter, saluted the monk, and bowed. Rindu returned the salute and the bow.
As Sam was leaving Rindu’s room, the monk spoke again. “Oh, Sam. While you are thinking, do not neglect the importance of the kori rohw and the movements of those exercises.”
Sam nodded as he left, his thoughts bouncing so violently in his head he thought he might have a headache later.
Chapter 20
The party continued their travel through the rugged mountains, with Togo Cairn leading them to passes they never would have found on their own. Even Emerius commented on the skill of the guide. Their path was strewn with obstacles, and the vegetation thick in most places, but they were making progress. Ix thought that was about all anyone could ask.
Well, anyone else. Personally, it drove her crazy that she couldn’t use her ability for fear of triggering one of those traps. Walking and riding for miles each day rather than teleporting—how barbaric. She hadn’t realized how dependent upon her means of travel she had become. Their slow pace was maddening.
She looked over at Nalia and couldn’t help but to allow a small smirk on her mouth. The Sapsyr was all right, she supposed, if a little stiff and formal. Ix did enjoy poking at her, though. At first, she did it because the other woman was fairly asking for it, with all her accusations and biting comments.
It had changed, though, over the course of all their travels. It was lighter, more humorous, more like teasing than the verbal attacks from before. They acted almost like sisters, picking at each other for their own, as well as for others’, amusement.
Ix didn’t know how the woman warrior felt about her. Did she still hate her? Did she still not trust her? She thought about how it would be if they were friends, and her little smirk turned into a small smile. Eventually she’d win her over. They may never brush each other’s hair or giggle and gossip—Ix had never done that anyway, even as a child—but the assassin thought they could have a solid friendship built on mutual respect. Once the Sapsyr got over the whole you-tried-to-kill-us thing.
“Something funny?” Emerius asked her.
“Nah,” Ix responded, putting on her fake smile that looked exactly like a fake smile. “Just thinking of something amusing.”
“Uh-huh,” the hunter said. “Are you planning on putting itch powder into Nalia’s bed?”
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t being as circumspect as she had thought.
“Mind your business, hunter,” she said to him with mock severity, “or you may find a surprise or two yourself.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your little play vendetta. Just wondering, that’s all.” He moved up toward where Togo Cairn was picking their path.
The hunter did move softly, even through the tangled and twisted vegetation they were going through. He was skilled, that one, and smart. She had never really been a person for partnerships or for being in groups, but she liked working with him. He was no-nonsense when it came to the task at hand. She appreciated that. He also had a dark, twisted sense of humor. She appreciated that even more.
She looked over to the stupid manu bird that was her mount and tugged the reins so it would stop wandering. She wondered if any of the rakkeben would bond with her. It had been a sore point with the Gray Man—she supposed she should respect Sam’s request and call him Grayson—that the rakkeben would not bond with someone who was…creative when it came to morals and ethics, to put it delicately. He had his own code of ethics, a strange one, but his tendency toward killing for apparently trivial things seemed to preclude him from bonding with a rakkeban.
He had tried several times with different groups of wild rakkeben. Most often, they wouldn’t even show up as he waited. A few times a wolf or two showed up but made it clear he was not suitable for a bond-mate. Two of them actually growled warnings at him.
She wondered if she had changed enough for them to accept her. Was she one of the “good guys” now? Nalia didn’t think so. Did Sam?
Anyway, none of this pondering was getting her anywhere. She would try to get one of the wolves when they had a spare moment to do so. In the meantime…she looked at her manu again and sighed. “C’mon Feather, we’re falling behind.”
She realized that everyone else had stopped when she almost ran into Rindu’s back. The monk glanced over his shoulder at her, face as expressionless as it always was. She backed up a step so she wasn’t breathing on him.
Togo Cairn gathered the others in a small circle. She joined as he began to speak.
“There is a group of men ahead. They have a temporary camp. We can go around, but it’ll take us an extra two hours or so to do it. There are twenty-one of them, some injured.”
Sam looked thoughtful. “Are they armed? Do they look like traders or trappers or something else?”
“Yes, they’re armed,” Togo Cairn said. “Very well. They’re soldiers.”
“Soldiers?” Sam said.
Togo Cairn looked Sam in the eyes. “Yep. They don’t have uniforms, but I know soldiers when I see them. They look to be handy with the weapons they carry, and they jump when their leader issues orders.”
“What kind of soldiers, Togo Cairn?” Rindu asked. “From where?”
“Ho
nestly, Master Rindu, they look like the Gray Man’s soldiers. I’ve seen quite a lot of them in my time, living so close to the Gray Fortress.”
“Show me where these men are,” Ix said, stepping up to the tracker.
The man looked to Sam, as if for permission. Ix gritted her teeth. Sam nodded and Cairn started moving toward the north. Ix followed him. To her surprise, Sam and Nalia came with her.
“You have to try to move quietly, Sam.” She winked at him. He knew he wasn’t as skilled as the rest of them in stealth, but the wink softened the reminder.
It wasn’t long until they came within sight of the soldiers’ camp. The tracker had brought them through a gap between the sentries they had put out. It seemed that the men were so used to not being attacked, they were lax with securing their campsite. Ix thought about it. Who would attack a group of more than twenty armed men? Still, it shouldn’t have been as easy to get close as it was.
It was as Togo Cairn had described. The tents were set up in an orderly manner, lined up and spaced so that they made straight rows. There were only three manu birds—they were picketed near the center of camp—and no rakkeben. It confirmed what she had expected to find.
Scanning the scene, she saw a man who must have been the commander. He was a big man, dark hair cut short on his blockish head. Ix knew him, though he looked more competent, tougher, and a little leaner than the last time she had seen him. She drew the others away from the camp so she could speak.
“They’re soldiers of a kind,” she said. “They’re the Gray Man’s Collectors. In fact, they are Collector Unit 1, the first and finest of them.”
“How do you know that?” Togo Cairn asked.
“I used to work for the Gray Man, remember? I’ve met the man, talked to him, though briefly.”
“Why are they here?” Sam asked. “Or maybe more importantly, why weren’t they with the Gray Fortress forces we fought and defeated?”
Ix rubbed her chin and thought. “I think I remember hearing something about a long mission for one of the groups. I guess it could be that. If they were gone for several months, they might not even know that the Gray Man is dead. News doesn’t travel easily over the Bongana Mountains.”
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 116
