Bad Luck Charlie

by Scott Baron

They didn’t have telephone poles on the planet. That would be silly. Not even Earth had telephone poles anymore. Those outdated bits of lumber had vanished as wireless transmission took over the globe. And on Ser Baruud’s world? They would serve no purpose whatsoever.

  What the Wampeh teacher did have, however, were dozens of logs, stood on end and looking an awful lot like the telephone poles of old to Charlie’s eye. The students had trekked through the woods all morning to reach the distant clearing. What they found upon arrival looked like some sort of alien obstacle course, so far as he could tell.

  The assistant teachers quickly divided the students by skill and seniority, then set them to work on a variety of drills, ranging from simple balance training at ground level, all the way up to what could best be described as pole hopping.

  It was exactly as it sounded––the men would take turns climbing a pole, then balance atop it before jumping to the next. They were only five meters high, so while egos would bruise every time someone took a fall, no bones had broken. At least, not yet.

  Charlie had scampered across the poles faster than most, his reflexes sharp and his legs strong.

  “Good. Now the water,” Teacher Azman instructed, leading Charlie to a much lower pole, no more than a stump, really. “Climb up,” he commanded.

  Charlie did as he was told, while the teacher filled two small buckets with water. They were tiny things, perhaps a liter each at best, but far larger than the tiny cups he and his companions had been forced to hold on their first day of training.

  “Wrap these around each bicep,” Azman said, handing him two straps made of prickling thorns.

  Charlie did as he was told, twisting the ends to secure them, then holding his arms up and out to avoid jabbing himself.

  “Now take these.”

  The buckets felt light in his hands, and their grips were padded and comfortable. Not what he’d expect for such small vessels.

  “Ouch!” he exclaimed as a thorn stabbed his side.

  “Arms extended,” Azman ordered.

  Charlie held the little buckets out, his arms feeling strong and solid after all of his labor and training.

  This is it? Piece of cake.

  Teacher Azman looked him over as he balanced atop the stump, buckets in hand, nodding approvingly. “Good. Now stay this way until I return.”

  He then walked away, leaving Charlie on his own to watch the others train. After a minute, the buckets seemed to be getting heavier. By five minutes, sweat was beading on his forehead. At ten minutes, his shirt was drenched, and several fine pricks of the thorns had left tiny crimson blossoms spreading on his shirt.

  “Breathe, Charlie,” Ser Baruud said, walking by as he surveyed his students. “Your energy flows through your arms, and that is what holds the water, not your muscles.”

  “Ser Baruud?” Charlie said, hiding the strain in his voice as best he could.

  “Yes?”

  “May I ask a question?”

  “What is on your mind?”

  “You are a free man, but you were once a slave, like me. If it is not inappropriate, I wondered how one gains their freedom.”

  The Wampeh smiled, an amused look on his face as he recalled something from long ago.

  “A slave rarely earns his freedom, Charlie. It is simply not the way of things. But a gladiator––well, we are different in that regard.”

  “How so?”

  “If a gladiator is brave and true. If he shows exceptional skill and cunning. If he puts on a truly spectacular performance in front of the right crowd with the right, powerful people present––then, if he is lucky, he may be granted his freedom. It is exceptionally rare, but in those circumstances the act of granting it earns that owner great renown for their show of largess to their slave. And the gladiator so freed finds many opportunities to put their fame and skill to use as a free man, such as what you see around you.”

  “And how did you win your freedom?”

  Ser Baruud merely smiled and left it at that.

  For nearly an hour after Teacher Azman finally let him down from his perch Charlie’s arms refused to function. His shoulders, though strong from his training, felt like lead weights were strapped to his arms every time he moved. Gradually, however, they loosened up. Had he attempted the task right after crashing in this galaxy, he doubted he’d have been able to use his arms at all for a week.

  Things change, Charlie boy, he mused as he sipped a cup of water.

  “Charlie. You are to run to the top of that peak and retrieve the konus hidden atop the tallest tree,” Azman instructed. “Then you will return here for the rest of your day’s training.”

  Charlie nodded once and took off at a quick run. The peak wasn’t that far, really, and he felt confident he could make it to the top and back before nightfall. After using his arms and shoulders to such a great extent, putting his legs to use felt quite refreshing.

  He made good time up the hill, cresting it well before the sun began to set.

  Now where is that thing? he wondered as he scanned the trees.

  All of them seemed tall, but one stood out, not because it was taller or bigger, but because of the slight disturbance of the ground at its base.

  Gotcha.

  He scaled the tree with ease, his arms fully recovered. At the top, there was a konus tied to a branch, as he’d been told. He claimed the slender band and slipped it around his wrist, then climbed down and began the run back to the others.

  No one was there when he returned to the training grounds just as the sun went down.

  “Hello?”

  Silence.

  “Oh, that’s just great. Y’all went and forgot about me. Not cool, guys, leaving me out here in the dark.”

  Charlie scanned the training grounds and looked up at the emerging stars. It had been a long trek there, but he felt he knew the way back.

  “Better save me some dinner, is all I can say,” he grumbled as he began the long trek through the woods.

  He’d only been walking an hour when he sensed he was not alone. It was not that he heard anything, but something was tickling that warning bell in the back of his mind.

  Cute. They’re messing with me now, he grumbled to himself.

  He had walked another ten minutes before the attackers fell upon him. There were three of them, all dressed in ragged cloaks. In the dark, he couldn’t tell who exactly it was attacking him, but from the way they moved, he guessed the teachers had sent some of the less experienced students.

  Fine. I’ll show them what I’ve learned.

  Charlie spun in the dark, using his ears and senses rather than his eyes. With a konus on his wrist, he even used a few minor disabling spells, which seemed to land with great effect. Then two more men rushed from the darkness. And that pair had more skill than the previous trio.

  Charlie found himself hard-pushed to avoid their blows, fists and staffs swinging at him in the darkness. The glancing crack of wood across his head made a loud report that echoed through the woods.

  “Sonofabitch. That hurt!” he shouted, his anger leading him to retaliate with a bit more force than he’d intended, the spell cast by his konus shattering the staff in the man’s hand. The attackers quickly realized they were outclassed and scattered into the night.

  “That’s right, bitches. You better run. And we’re going to have a little talk about this when we get back to the compound,” he called after them.

  Charlie felt his head. No bloody wetness, so that was good, but there would be a nice bump come morning. Just great, he groaned to himself and walked the rest of the way back.

  “There you are,” Ser Baruud said as Charlie walked into the eating hall. The others looked up with curiosity, their meals nearly finished. “I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost on the way back.”

  “You left me in the dark, way out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yes. And?” the Wampeh said plainly.

  “And? And luckily it was a clear night
and I could use the stars to find my way back.”

  “As I knew you would.”

  “And which of you thought it would be fun to attack me in the woods, huh? That was not cool.”

  Ser Baruud’s smile took on a slightly serious air. “Charlie, they’ve all been here. You must have encountered the local ruffians who roam the outskirts.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “They are the reason we mostly stay within the compound. Not out of fear, mind you, but it would be annoying having to constantly fight them, and none of us really wants to kill the poor fellows to make a point.”

  Charlie digested what the Wampeh had just said.

  “You left me out there with bandits? I could have been killed!”

  “Yes. But you weren’t,” he replied serenely, an amused look in his eyes.

  “Was that a lesson?”

  “Of sorts,” Ser Baruud replied. He then returned his tray to the wash bin and strolled out of the room.

  Charlie took a deep breath, then let it go. The Wampeh had challenged him, and he had come out the other side intact. That was all there was to it. He grabbed a tray of food and sat down at the nearest table.

  “Don’t take it so hard,” Teacher Fazool said. “That he is confident enough in you to allow such a test speaks of his respect for you.”

  “An unusual teaching style,” Charlie said.

  “And an unusual man,” Fazool replied.

  The two ate in silence before Charlie spoke up.

  “Teacher Fazool, what did Ser Baruud do to gain his freedom?”

  The older man smiled at the thought. “Oh, that was one for the ages, let me tell you. And I was there to see it. Mind you, I was much younger and not in that fight. It was a massive death match. A dozen men with only one survivor. I was not fit to participate, thank the gods, but watching, oh, what a performance.”

  “So he fought well against a dozen highly trained men? That is impressive.”

  “Oh, it was far more than that. You know Baruud. He’s a Wampeh, but possesses none of the ‘unusual’ gifts a few of their type are known to have.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen one such man,” Charlie said. “It’s horrifying.”

  Fazool seemed surprised by that news. “Yes, it most certainly is,” he continued. “Well, Baruud, as you know, is a gifted fighter, but he is still just a man, and against a dozen fierce opponents, the risk of defeat was very real. However, being a Wampeh, he realized he had a secret weapon.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You see, he put the legends surrounding his people to good use.”

  “How?”

  A big grin spread across Fazool’s face. “It was amazing, really. He had a false set of fangs made in secret. Only the others of his species possess the ability to grow them at will, but Baruud was a savvy fighter. He knew it would be his toughest fight yet, so he started spreading the rumors early. Leaking news that he actually was one of the few deadliest Wampeh. That he actually was able to take the abilities of other men. To drink their blood and steal their power.”

  “But he can’t.”

  “No, that he cannot,” Fazool said with a laugh. “But his opponents did not know that. Not for sure, anyway, and the false fangs he flashed just as the fight began threw the whole thing into such delightful turmoil. It was chaos, I tell you. He got into their heads, you see? Seasoned fighters, some of the best, and he had defeated them before they even began. And I tell you, it was a bloodbath, that bout.”

  “A dozen men all going at it at once? It’s no wonder.”

  “Yes, it was brutal. But Ser Baruud was so very clever. After the first pointy-toothed smile, the others avoided him as best they could, but he would race through the arena and crouch over every fallen man and pretend to drink their blood. He even wiped some on his lips for effect. The others didn’t know who among them possessed power of their own and who didn’t, but with his act they were so scared of his potential stolen magic building up that they began casting wildly.”

  “And if they were relying on slaaps and konuses instead of their own power, those charges could run out.”

  “Exactly. All Baruud had to do was avoid their spells, which he did easily. Panic makes you sloppy, you see. And when he did get close enough to engage, he used conventional weapons, totally the opposite of what was expected of a power-filled Wampeh.”

  “He psyched them out.”

  “Yes. And at the end of the bout he was the only man standing. Not only that, he had not cast a single spell the entire match, yet had taken out nearly all of the dozen opponents. It was incredible. Something never before seen, and the crowd went absolutely wild. And with such fervent support––and the fact that his trick would soon be known among the top gladiators, leaving him vulnerable in future bouts––his owner seized the opportunity, playing up the victory and freeing him there on the spot. It greatly enhanced his fame and reputation, while cementing Ser Baruud as something of a legend.”

  Charlie couldn’t help but feel an even greater respect for the man. Yes, he was a great teacher, but he now realized there was so much more to learn from him. Lessons he hoped the great Wampeh would one day share with him. For now, however, he would keep his head down and work hard.

  Any gripes about being left to fend for himself in the woods melted away. He was being trained by a legend, and he would make the most of it.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  For three months Charlie trained harder and harder with the scarred and grizzled assistant instructors, each of whom had joined Ser Baruud after winning their freedom in the gladiatorial arena. Some were men the Master had fought with in group events at one time or another. Some he had even battled against in the past. Now they were bonded. Friends and peers.

  All were cut from a cloth that Charlie had only seen among the most elite of the fighting forces his space teams occasionally had the fortune of crossing paths with. And even then, only a few of those men lived up to that high a standard.

  With each lesson, his skills sharpened. No longer was he training with only his friends and other lower-level students, though he still bunked in the dormitories with Gok, Bini, and the others. Now, he learned from the most knowledgeable of the higher-ranking within the grounds, and every day his skills grew.

  But it was in his absorption of the Master’s more cryptic lessons that he had surpassed them all. Watching him progress, Ser Baruud would occasionally pull him aside for private instruction, the human listening intently, absorbing every word with sharp attention.

  “How do you feel, Charlie?” Ser Baruud asked him one evening about six months into his residency within the school’s walls.

  He had been performing better and better, and no longer did he wake in pain from the prior day’s beating as before.

  “Good,” he replied, honestly assessing himself. “It all feels like it’s finally coming together.”

  Earlier that day he had disarmed three separate opponents in both magic and unarmed combat, though greatly underpowered in his konus, and outweighed in size.

  “Your progress is heartening, but I worry you still need a push to reach the next level. To overcome your own insecurities.”

  “Master, what would you have me do?” Charlie asked.

  “Eat. Sleep. Prepare. Tomorrow, you will be tested.”

  Charlie had no idea what “tested” entailed, but knowing Ser Baruud’s proclivity for pushing his students to the limit in order to achieve breakthroughs, he didn’t know how well he’d sleep.

  Well, I suppose given how hard we work, at least it can’t be that much worse than our normal training.

  “This is going to be much worse than our normal training,” Charlie said as the small ship rattled and lurched its way through the atmosphere. No Drooks powered this craft, but rather, a layered series of spells, carefully applied by powerful emmiks and even a visla who owed Baruud a favor after he rid him of a troublesome priest stirring up the locals in his realm.

  The ship, therefor
e, flew under the guidance of one pilot, a single man controlling the craft. While Ser Baruud was unequaled as a fighter, his piloting left something to be desired.

  “You know, I might be able to help with that, if you like,” Charlie offered.

  “No. I am fine.”

  “Okay. It’s just, I trained to be a pilot before I side-slipped into engineering and––”

  “I said I am fine. Just relax and prepare yourself mentally. This is no trifling matter. You must not embarrass me, young apprentice.”

  Charlie couldn’t help but take note. It was the first time he had called him anything other than a student, which was already a step up from his original title upon arrival: burden.

  Ser Baruud was taking Charlie and a pair of other students from the training facility off-world to a nearby solar system. It was his first time out of the training center’s walls since his arrival, and now he was off to another planet. And not just for a supply run. A tournament was being held, and Ser Baruud had seen fit to enter a few of his pupils as combatants.

  Charlie, much to his surprise, was one of them.

  When they finally landed after a long day of space travel, the first thing that struck him about the new world was the odd, burnt umber tone the sun cast on everything. It was a little unsettling after so much time on a verdant planet.

  The next thing that struck him was the smell, which assaulted his nose like a wet fist thrown with stinking malice. The denizens of the city were not the most cleanliness-oriented of people, he noted. He only hoped the man he would be fighting at least bathed more often than they did.

  “Give me your konus,” Ser Baruud commanded as they stepped inside the walls of the small arena. Charlie handed over the device as he looked about the facility. They stood inside a small preparation area, where all of the combatants shared a common space.

  “Shouldn’t we all be separated?” he asked. “Isn’t there too much risk of violence like this?”

  Ser Baruud looked over the assembled gladiators and nodded with satisfaction. “No, this is not a concern here. Not one of these men is your enemy, Charlie. But one of them is your opponent. Learn that difference, for only a brute animal treats his fellow gladiators with disrespect and anger. This is not a high-level event. There will be no fighting to the death. You are here to entertain the locals for the magistrate’s birth month celebrations. You will fight, and you will fight hard, but you will not kill. It is far too costly to train a gladiator to waste their lives with every low-level bout.”