Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
TYNAN
Soldiers occupied the larger, open part of the gardens.
Numerous men wearing blue leathers trained with rapiers, the standard weapon for guardsmen in the capital.
I swung my arm, getting used to the whistling sound that the thin steel produced while cutting through the air.
I started fighting when I was a young boy, and I had gone through numerous useless weapons, but never before had I dealt with something so underwhelming.
I would bet the idea behind choosing such a weak weapon was to ensure a civilized fight until first blood was drawn.
But, what would be expected from these men should they ever face crawlers instead? Not just one or two, but a whole herd?
I glanced up from my blade, and my eyes shifted from group to group.
Many of them had formed bonds and trained as units against each other.
That encouraged codependent relationships, which undermined swordsmanship discipline.
The leaders of those groups were selected not by merit as warriors, but because they were more aggressive than the others.
“Hey, bodyguard!” someone shouted from the crowd. “What? Do you think you’re better than us? Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
I ignored him, sheathing and unsheathing my good for nothing weapon.
“Look, he doesn't even know how to use a sword!” another voice joined in.
I did not need to look to know that it was just a weaker member from the largest group who wanted to please the leader.
“Are you deaf? I’m talking to you!”
Someone reached out and touched my shoulder.
I reacted, more because of instinct than anything else.
My body moved, and with one motion, I got ahold of his arm and threw him over my head.
He landed on the ground, hitting the side of his body, hard.
He could not hide the pain he was feeling.
I raised my eyes, silently daring anyone else to challenge me.
“You fucking rat!” Another man stepped closer, drawing his rapier.
Slowly, I unsheath my weapon, watching him pace a circle around me.
Anger gleamed in the man’s eyes, but I stayed calm.
In many ways, my almost daily training in Darragh had prepared me for situations exactly like these.
I was a bit surprised when I realized that the confrontation comforted me more than I thought possible.
Fighting was such a familiar part of being me.
My body knew what to do, and I knew how to use every advantage against my opponent.
I also knew that staying cool headed would give me more opportunities to win than anything else.
I switched my blade from my right hand to my left, and held it closer to my face. Someone laughed.
“He doesn’t know how to fight!”
That was it. That was the burst of confidence he needed to charge at me.
I was prepared, and easily deflected his outstretched sword.
In one motion, I freed my dagger with my right hand, and slashed his shoulder.
His scream made me clench my jaw, but still, there was something satisfying in spilling the first drops of blood from your enemy.
“Cheater!” someone yelled.
What did those delusional fools expect? That both parties would stick to the rules or act civilized during a real fight? Did they ever think that the outcome for the loser could be death or mutilation?
I spun the long, flimsy blade and peered back at the man who kept his distance as he clenched his shoulder.
His eyes were wide with anger, but I could clearly detect the edge of fear that was creeping within them.
He already regretted starting anything, but his buddies were watching, and his idea of climbing some imaginary ladder of dominance had not lost its appeal yet.
“Are you done?” I asked.
“Fuck you!” He lunged again.
I took a step to the side, blocking his attack with the rapier.
While his body was so conveniently placed close to mine, I could not resist booting his knee sideways.
A distinctive, and loud, pop sounded. The crowd around us stilled.
The man collapsed onto the dirt, screaming and writhing in pain as he clutched his dislocated knee.
So much for being the alpha male.
I straightened and sheathed my blade. If they wanted to take me down, they would have to attack all at once. But in that case, I could easily kill a good dozen of them while injuring even more. And I was certain none of them were ready to face the elder dragons yet.
“Fall in!”
The thundering voice echoed across the grounds. At once, all the guardsmen formed a crooked line facing the officer. Except for the man I just crippled, who struggled getting up.
A tall, broad man, built like a warhorse, stepped into the center, his eyes narrowed as he watched us. His dusty gold uniform and the scars on his face told me he had seen real combat.
He shifted his eyes to the man on the ground, and his upper lip lifted, showing his teeth.
“Woodrow?”
“Yes, sir.” A short, lean, black haired, junior officer, wearing sandy-colored uniform stepped forward and stood at attention beside him.
“Assist in the proper formation.”
“Yes, sir.”
Woodrow walked through the disorderly rows, pushing the men into their spots with the hilt of his hefty sword.
Meanwhile, the commanding officer crouched beside the wounded man.
“Take your spot, private.”
“Commander, sir. I can’t stand up, sir.”
“What happened, private?”
“I fell, sir.”
The elder officer grabbed his knee and squeezed. The sound of cracking bone filled the air and the soldier cried out.
“What’s the matter? Is this too much for a delicate little girl like you? Warriors aren’t afraid of a little pain.” The commander leaned over him. “Stop embarrassing me,” he hissed into his ear.
“Yes, sir.”
“You. Take your comrade to the healers.” The officer stared at one of the soldiers.
“Yes, sir!”
When the rows of men had been straightened, the commander waited for his assistant to return to his spot and proceeded.
“My name is Commander Roth and this is Lieutenant Woodrow. We are going to turn you into a combat ready unit, worthy to defend the queen.”
I scowled, watching the two figures move through the lines of soldiers. Becoming a part of the regime for real was not something I had planned on doing.
After the hours of running and strength training were over, we all walked back to the guards’ quarters too tired to talk, or even acknowledge each other.
If the officers planned to rebuild the units and put a stop to the bullying, that was a good way to do it.
But, it really went against what worked for me.
I did not care about the exertion, growing up the way I did, taught me how to deal with physical discomfort and pain.
But being constantly watched was irritating and prohibited me from doing what I wanted.
I shoved past a group of soldiers as I headed to the washroom.
The long, stone paved space was moist and wet.
It was clear that no one in the palace cared about the soldiers’ comfort enough to give them any respect or privacy.
No wonder the units acted out the way they did.
Not planning to stay long in the moldy, stale smelling space, I quickly pulled my leathers off and splashed myself from a bucket of cold water.
Then I grabbed a thin sliver of almost rancid soap and ran it over my hair.
“What are you crying here about? Want to go home to your mommy?” someone said in a fake, whiny voice.
I turned to see a young man, barely old enough to grow a mustache, with wavy, auburn hair, facing an older soldier.
The kid was avoiding looking at the man who spoke to him. That was a sign of weakness that should never be shown, not if you want to survive. The bully, reassured by the smirks and sniggers from his friends, stepped closer.
That pissed me off. I clenched my teeth, rinsing the soap off my hair. While I dried myself with a towel, I watched the man lean into the younger soldier and grab the back of his neck.
“You look like a girl. Show me what else you can do like a girl.”
Slowly, I folded my wet towel and tossed it over my shoulder. Then I moved to the corner where the man was forcing the kid’s hand to touch his pants.
“Too ugly to get a real woman?” I said, loud and clear.
All sounds in the room ceased. People extended their necks trying to see what would happen next.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
Someone in the back laughed nervously, but abruptly stopped.
The man brushed past the kid and stared at me with eyes that plainly showed something was deeply wrong with him – at least mentally.
I have come across people like that before, and some of them I knew personally.
They had never experienced the more common feelings of remorse or even sadness.
They were built differently, and incapable of such emotions.
They saw the world as one big playground where the strong always dominated the weak, and derived pleasure from the sufferings of others.
When dealing with sickos, it was important to stay calm. They always let their rage control the fight, making it easy to anticipate their next move.
“Care to repeat that?”
“Like hearing it?” I smiled.
“I will mess you up so bad that your red haired whore will not recognize you.”
Instead of answering, I flicked the towel from off my shoulder and whipped his face with a wet corner. I clenched my teeth, summoning all of my self-control not to beat his face to a pulp. I really wanted to. I would enjoy splitting his skin, and breaking his bones.
So much for keeping my cool.
“My eyes! My eyes!” he wailed, covering his face.
I stepped closer, watching his face.
“If I ever see you talking to anyone here. I will cut your body into pieces. And feed you to the crawlers outside the walls,” I promised in a low voice.
I threw the towel back over my shoulder, and walked through the room, not caring to check what his friends were up to.
“Look at his back!” someone whispered when I was picking up my boots.
As I walked down the corridor, I could hear someone running after me. I stopped and turned my head slightly, almost welcoming a second round. But it was not to be. The kid I had just helped appeared from around the corner.
“Mister?” he said as his voice cracked.
“What do you want?”
“Thank you.”
“Sure.” I resumed my walk.
“Wait! Can I . . . Can you . . .?”
“What? You have to speak up.”
“Can you teach me how to fight?” he blurted out and bowed, waiting for my response. “I know I don’t look very promising, but I’m a good scholar, I can learn anything.”
“You're joking, right?”
“Please, sir. I need to get stronger if I want to survive the year.”
“Year?”
“It was the only path to become an officer.”
“Why officer?”
“My family, sir. I’m the youngest son and I had to enlist. My grades are excellent, but I’m lacking military training and did not pass all the tests to skip private.”
“Is that so?”
I don’t need this. I don’t have the time. I need to concentrate on what’s really important. When would I have the time to help out the kid?
“Sorry, I don’t have time for you.”
“But, sir?”
I turned to walk away, but he mumbled something and I turned back.
“What?”
“Can I stay close to you when we’re in the quarters?” His face had turned beet red.
I sighed.
“My name’s Matthew, Matthew Mayer.”
“Hm.”
“And your name, sir?”
“Kent.” I frowned.
“Could you show me some of your moves?”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“I don’t tire so easily, sir.”
“Good for you. I’m going to bed.”
“But, sir, after everything . . . Will you be able to sleep?”
“Why not?”
“They’ll ambush you.”
“I really hope so.”