The Name of Fate
T his was just great, Karigan thought as she and Zachary circled one another.
Fate had it in for them, constantly throwing them together into situations that made it impossible for them to keep a distance.
In this case, fate was named “Drent.” She now understood Colonel Mapstone’s frequently expressed desire to throttle the man.
Karigan had faced Zachary in a training exercise before, again thanks to Drent, but fortunately this time they weren’t using swords.
Not that she thought she’d best Zachary, but because she didn’t want to be responsible for accidentally stabbing Sacoridia’s king.
And, of course, she could not bear the idea of harming him.
But whenever she decided they should keep apart, fate intervened.
The way he gazed at her, he looked a little distracted.
It would be to her advantage to make a first strike, and she decided she had better do so before Drent barked at her.
She leaped forward to engage, and the surprise on Zachary’s face and the fact he barely raised his staff in time to deflect her blow, confirmed he had, in fact, been distracted.
They backed off and circled again, and almost cautiously he initiated a series of forms. They were slow, careful. Karigan was sure Drent would berate them for not putting their all into it. The other trainees filled the training room with the clash of their staves and grunts of effort.
“You two, pitiful,” Drent said when he came around to observe them. “And boy, you will do no good coddling her when it comes time for her to defend herself for real. Put some speed and muscle into it.”
Having had his say, the arms master went to yell at some of the others.
“How is your back holding up?” Zachary asked Karigan.
She had been flogged nearly to death the previous winter by a sadist who had shredded her back, and for some time, believed she’d never be able to handle a sword or staff again.
However, with excellent mending in the very beginning, and further true healing performed by Rider Mender Ben Simeon, plus special training sessions to strengthen damaged muscles, she was doing well, though she’d never be quite the same.
“It’s fine,” she said.
“Good,” he replied. “What do you say we give our arms master a bit of a show?”
She smiled and nodded.
The exchange seemed to relax the tension between them. Zachary’s suggestion turned the awkward situation into a fun exercise, and it reminded Karigan of her school days when a teacher pushed students to do better and they responded with more than was asked of them.
They launched into a series of showy forms, delivering and countering blows that clacked in a most satisfying cadence. Staff fighting allowed freer movement than the style of swordplay Karigan had been trained in, and she spun and leaped, her ponytail whipping around the back of her neck.
As one took the measure of the other, they increased the speed of their bout. Karigan pressed Zachary back with a rapid and intricate series of moves.
“Hah!” he cried in delight, before responding in kind.
She leaped over a blow meant to sweep her feet out from beneath her. He leaned far back to avoid a high blow, only to return with a jab to her midsection which she handily blocked.
It went on like this, the back and forth in their ring, sliding and leaping in the sawdust, circling and engaging with shouts of “Well done!” when one or the other got a point.
Karigan laughed in joy at the speed and movement.
In this they could be free with one another when they could not otherwise.
They did not hold back. Time became irrelevant. Karigan admired the fluidity with which he moved, the precision of his blows, but she could not linger on such thoughts lest he score too many points due to her lack of concentration.
She stepped in toward what she perceived to be an opening only for him to pivot around behind her and trap her against his chest with his staff. She froze, feeling his heart pound against her back, his breaths upon her neck.
“Do you surrender?” he asked softly.
Yes, yes, she wanted to say so close to him, her form fitting so well against his.
Instead, she said, “Not hardly,” and rammed her elbow into his ribs.
He loosened his hold of her with an oof and she ducked and slipped away.
She whipped around to deal him a blow, but he recovered just in time to catch it.
She was relentless, however, and pushed him to the edge of their ring.
They stood firm, staff to staff, almost nose to nose.
His position was precarious, and if she pushed him out of the ring, she would win.
“Do you surrender?” she asked.
He blinked. She had never noticed how long his eyelashes were before, or the gold flecks in his brown eyes.
“Always,” he whispered.
They stood there locked together for an eternity or a fleeting moment. She didn’t know which. She realized, with a start, the room had gone deathly quiet. They jumped apart and found all the trainees watching them. Drent gave them slow, mocking applause.
“Very entertaining dance,” he told them. “So nice that you can show off when you aren’t facing a real enemy.”
So, they hadn’t pleased him after all.
“Since you like to work together,” Drent continued, “you two will face off against the rest.” He drew a line in the sawdust with his foot. “If they push you over this line, you’re dead.”
Karigan exchanged glances with Zachary. Eight against two?
And all of them swordmasters. Some would be going to Breaker Island to further their training to become Weapons.
Others might continue to train to become arms masters.
The rest, like herself, would simply work to maintain and improve their skills.
The lot of them would roll over her and Zachary, though some were looking a little uncertain about it, especially the Weapon candidates.
She wasn’t the only one, it seemed, who had qualms about engaging Sacoridia’s king.
Karigan and Zachary stepped over the line to a spot in the center of the training room as indicated by Drent. They stood at guard.
“Begin,” Drent said.
The other trainees sprang to and mobbed Karigan with staves flailing. She was whacked and knocked and rammed. No one attacked Zachary and only defended themselves when he tried to keep them from attacking her.
“STOP!” Drent roared.
Immediately the trainees backed off.
“Are you all right?” Zachary asked her.
Fortunately she, like the rest of them, wore a padded jack, and she hadn’t been hit badly, but it left her frazzled.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “Maybe a little bruised.”
Drent gave the other trainees a tongue lashing about engaging Zachary, much like the one he’d given her.
“He needs the practice,” Drent exhorted, “and he’s a better fighter than you lot. Don’t go easy on him.”
There was still trepidation in the gazes of the trainees.
Karigan knew what they were thinking. What if they injured him?
What if they injured him badly? Raising a weapon against the king brought severe penalties, except in specific cases like arms practice.
Still, the natural inclination was to protect him, not attack, and the fear of consequences should something go wrong was great.
“Begin,” Drent said.
This time the trainees engaged Zachary in addition to Karigan, but there was still hesitation.
He made them pay for it with punishing attacks.
A sound strike to Karigan’s leg reminded her that she needed to concentrate on her own opponents.
Staves whipped through the air all around her and their blows buffeted her.
She fended off her attackers as best she could.
Intuitively, she and Zachary closed the space between them to fight back-to-back and began to move in concert as though they were one.
Together they forced their attackers to be on the defense.
Though she no longer focused on Zachary, she could sense him beside and behind her.
With the peripheral vision of her one eye, she saw his opponents flail and fall.
Drent might mock it, but it truly was a dance between the two of them that came naturally.
It wasn’t too long, however, before weariness took its toll.
One could manage under an onslaught for only so long.
A jab to her shoulder, a hit to her knee, and repeated thrusts to her torso that connected even through the padded jack, left her stumbling and winded.
The trainees pushed her and Zachary across the line.
She dropped to the floor gasping for air, sweat streaming down her face. Zachary leaned on his staff.
“Enough of that for today,” Drent said.
While the other trainees filed out to the arming room, Zachary extended a hand to Karigan.
“Thank you,” Karigan said, “but if it’s all right with you, I think I’d like to sit here for a minute.”
“Have you been hurt?” Zachary asked.
“Even more bruises than before, and winded, but I’m all right. You?”
“The same.”
He didn’t look winded.
“Mmph.” Drent gazed at them with his arms folded across his chest.
Karigan braced herself for the criticism that was sure to be heaped on her. Maybe on Zachary, too, but probably mostly on her.
“You,” he told her, “can handle a staff, but I knew this. No battle axes for you, though.”
She tried to decide if he was joking, but it was often too hard to tell with Drent.
“Donal and Fastion told me,” he continued, “that you two worked well together in the last battle. Swords then. So today I decided to test you myself with staves. See how you did together.”
“Was it as they said?” Zachary asked.
Drent grunted, then nodded. “Interesting. Sometimes Weapons are paired together who complement one another’s fighting style, work well together. Makes them a stronger unit. You two, similar but different. Good.” Without another word, he headed for the arming room.
When Karigan looked up, Zachary was grinning. “That was high praise,” he said. “I think.”
Drent stuck his head back into the training room. “Boy! Laps. And you, Rider, get out. You’re done for the day.”
This time Karigan accepted Zachary’s hand up. His grin had turned to more of a grimace. “It would appear my training session has only just begun.”
“Good luck,” she told him.
He gave her hand a lingering squeeze before setting off at a run around the perimeter of the training room.
She might have stayed to watch, but Drent’s dismissal had been very clear.
She smiled to herself as she crossed castle grounds thinking of how much she had enjoyed fighting beside Zachary and how they had worked so well together.
It had been as if they were naturally connected to one another.
Whatever it was, it warmed her even as a cold wind cut in from the north.