Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Annalise
“Today, we’re training reflexes and sharpening speed,” Captain Korr’s voice booms through the arena, his gaze pinning each of us in place.
“Some of you are so slow, you’ll get hit before you even get your weapons up to defend yourself.”
Well, shit, that feels directly aimed at me after my recent performances in class.
“When I say ‘Go’, you will each find a partner and practice shadow-tag striking,” Korr continues, his tone as sharp as the blade in his hand.
“You’ll move at the same time, trying to tag your opponent’s shoulder, hip, or thigh.
The goal is to strike and evade. Hesitate, and you lose—just like a real fight. ”
Perry leans toward me, voice low and dry, “Love that for us.”
Ariel elbows him in the ribs.
“Pairs, go,” Korr orders, snapping his fingers. “I want constant motion. No breaks. Do not stop moving before I call time; that is your only warning.”
Perry immediately grabs my arm, “I call dibs! Some of the class looks like they are ready for war, and I haven’t had nearly enough caffeine to survive whatever Korr’s punishment will be today.”
“You think I’m safe?” I scoff, letting him drag me a few steps away as partners form around us. “Ariel’s the one who zones out every time her boyfriend grunts.”
“That was one time,” Ariel says, already squaring off with a taller girl from the back row. “And I can’t help it if he sounds sexy when he grunts and it reminds me—”
“Nope. Stop Talking. I don’t want to know what it reminds you of,” Perry cuts her off, cheeks flaming.
Captain Korr prowls through us, judging pairs and correcting stances with taps of his boot. “Remember, hands up, feet light, and shoulder width apart.”
Perry wiggles his fingers at me like an absolute gremlin.
“Don’t hold back,” I warn him.
“Please. I’m banking on you not stabbing me.”
We lift our hands into position, “We’re tapping, not stabbing, remember?”
Korr raises his whistle. “Begin!”
The sound of feet shuffling across the floor is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline. Perry moves first, his blade comes in fast, aimed at my shoulder. It’s his classic move. Predictable.
I twist out of the way, barely beyond the reach of his strike. The air hums with the speed of it.
“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen, she’s wide awake this morning.”
Shaking my head, I watch for his eyes to tell me where he’s going, and sure enough, he goes with another predictable shoulder attack. This time, I duck low, feeling the scrape of air as his sword misses by several inches. In the same motion, I tap his hip.
He lets out a laugh. “See, you’re not totally slow.”
We move faster now, strike, dodge, pivot. I feel every shift of muscle, every breath in sync with my movements. We’re dancing, a blur of steel and sweat. My heart pounds in my chest, matching the pace.
Right when I think I’ve got control, Perry feints left and connects with my shoulder.
“Got you, slowpoke,” he sings.
“Oh, hell no,” I spin on the balls of my feet and do a quick tap to his right shoulder, then his left hip immediately after.
Ariel bursts out laughing. “She warned you.”
Korr’s voice slices through the air, “About time, Annalise.”
I’m ready to strike again when Korr continues, “Now, let’s really test you. Pair with…Ian.”
Where Perry’s moves are fast, Ian’s are even faster, faster than anyone else I’ve ever seen fight, actually. The moment we lock eyes, I know I’m going to leave here in pain.
We’re on each other instantly. My sword comes up to block, but Ian’s already there, tapping my shoulder before I even finish moving. My arms are trembling from the speed of his attacks, and sweat is slick on my skin.
“Don’t overthink it,” Ian calls out, voice steady and controlled. “React.”
I try to block, but his sword finds me again, right on the shoulder. “Shit.”
Ian doesn’t pause. “Don’t let it get in your head. It’s only a tap. Now attack.”
I don’t wait. This time, I feint high and drop low, striking for his hip. The move is instinctive and fluid.
“Yes!” Ian’s voice is more excited now, the edge of a smile tugging at his lips. “Great job! Your attacks are seriously perfect; you just hesitate before you defend yourself.”
“Thanks! I’m starting to feel the hesitation; I can’t seem to override it, though.”
“Practice will fix it,” he assures me. “Now keep going.”
We’re a blur of movement now: strike, dodge, tap, block. The noise of our swords meeting is a steady rhythm. I’m pushing past my limits. My feet are lighter, my breaths quicker but controlled.
Korr’s voice suddenly cuts through the intensity like a thunder crash. “Time!”
My muscles are burning, every joint sore, every breath ragged. But it’s a good kind of exhaustion, the kind that feels like progress.
“Get a drink and head outside for suicide runs,” Korr orders.
I thank Ian, my voice hoarse, and stagger toward the door. The hill from hell looms outside—steep and relentless.
I slip into my room, quickly downing one of the pain and anti-inflammatory tinctures that Sasha has been secretly making in her room to help her recover from her more physical classes, and change my clothes before running out the door to Combat Medicine.
As soon as the doors close, Healer Alric rises from his desk and stands in front of us.
“Broken bones aren’t just painful; they can be life-threatening if they are not treated promptly or correctly.
Today, we’re focusing on fractures and how to properly stabilize a splint, reducing further injury and, hopefully, preventing shock from setting in.
“The dummies will be your patients today.
You and your lab partner will take turns assessing each wound.
Using the materials in front of you, you will decide the best way to treat the fracture.
These are not to be rushed through. I want you to take in every joint, muscle, and bone as you determine which position and angle will be most beneficial to your patients' long-term recovery.”
Zeke slides into position as the first “healer” for our dummy. His confidence is clear as he begins wrapping the rod along the dummy’s forearm in quick, practiced motions. With a firm tug, he ties the cloth off and reaches for the second support piece.
I tilt my head, watching the way he’s positioning the splint. It’s straight like it should be, but it’s wrong. The angle is too sharp, too rigid. He’s pinning the wrist in a way that would trap the swelling instead.
“Zeke,” I say slowly, taking a step closer. “Hold on.”
He pauses, one eyebrow raised. “What? It’s aligned. I checked.”
I shake my head. “You’re right, but it’s too tight around the joint. If this were a real arm, you’d be cutting off circulation within minutes.”
He frowns like he doesn’t quite believe me, but I can see the hesitation flicker. Zeke is usually the one helping me with my mistakes, not the other way around.
A memory flashes in my mind of my dad slamming my wrist into the wall too hard, the white-hot pain I felt, and then the cold of the hospital as the doctor pressed gently on my swollen forearm.
“She was playing with the neighbor kid and fell from a tree,” my dad told him.
The doctor looked at him, then at me as he adjusted the splint with careful hands, “You really should be more careful. You’re lucky to have had your dad so close.
“Joints need room,” he’d told my dad. “If it’s too tight, swelling has nowhere to go. That’s how you lose circulation. Or worse.”
I breathe out slowly and gesture to the dummy’s wrist. “Here,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Leave a little space around the joint. If you wrap too tightly, you’ll crush everything underneath, and it’ll lose circulation.”
Zeke’s face shifts—confusion, then understanding, then a spark of concern. He loosens the cloth with careful fingers. “Like this?”
I nod, adjusting the angle slightly. “Exactly. See? It stabilizes without pinning the wrist in place. Keeps circulation open.”
He huffs a breathy laugh. “Huh. And here I was feeling cocky today.”
“Don’t worry, you can still be cocky when you fix all my mistakes in a minute,” I smirk.
He bumps my shoulder with his. “Thanks, and good catch. You weren’t kidding when you said you’re always studying for this class.”
Healer Alric appears behind us suddenly, closely inspecting the splint. His eyes crinkle with rare approval.
“Excellent correction,” he tells me. “That wouldn’t have been an easily noticed mistake, especially once he had the second step complete. You may have saved your patient's limb, congratulations.”
Zeke shoots me a look, half impressed, half teasing. “That’s high praise from Healer Alric. I’m surprised he didn’t give you a medal for your act of service.”
I roll my eyes, but warmth blooms in my chest anyway. I’m still not good at this, but I’m getting better.