Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (12 page)

*        *        *        *        *

Soft morning light scorched Marik’s red eyes.  Whoever
shook his shoulder so insistently had better throw it over as a bad job before
he punched them in the jaw.  Aches had worked their way through every muscle,
declaring dominion over his body as the direct result from having drunk too
much last night.  He knew how foolish getting into a drinking contest with
Chatham had been without the stabbing throb behind his temples driving the
point home.

And whoever bothered him would not go away!  One gummy
eye cracked open, risking exposure to the torturous light.  Colbey’s bleary
form loomed over him.  The scout looked twice as irritable as normal.  Already
fully dressed in his normal garb, the only difference today was that he carried
a loaded pack.

Colbey barked, “Get up.  I need to test you.”  When no
movement disturbed the blanket, he yanked it away and exposed Marik to the
cold.

“What the hells are you doing in here?” Marik meant to
demand, but his grumbling speech could have been mistaken for cows lowing. 
Colbey never respected the unwritten rule of only entering another barracks
when invited.  Still, why was he intruding so early today?

“Get dressed.  If you’re not outside in five minutes,
I won’t go easy on you.”

Marik blinked, and the scout vanished.  Grumbling the
foulest oaths he could recall helped him force his body from his cot, then lean
against his closet.  Colbey had picked a fine time for a workout session! 
Still, though angry enough to spit nails, he pulled on his clothing, knowing
the scout would be as good as his word.  He never pulled his blows when he was
fighting seriously.

The raw sunlight outside struck his face with physical
force.  Wincing through the pain revealed Colbey already moving away.  He
sympathized not in the least for Marik’s condition.

In the elite First Training Area’s miniature forest,
Colbey drew his sword without preamble, saying only, “Show me.”

The familiar command instructed Marik to attack
without holding back.  Unfortunately, this morning he could summon nothing by
way of coordination.  Unsure he would be able to until he actually did, he
cleared his blade from its sheath and made a sloppy cut at his opponent.

Colbey scorned to take advantage of his poor form
through a counterattack, instead merely stepping aside.  He stood motionless in
anticipation of the next attack.

Marik closed his eyes to collect his wits.  He
commanded his body to ignore the aftereffects of last night.  He pulled the
sword closer and forced a precise slash through his protesting muscles.

This time the scout met the attack.  He turned it away
but still returned no strikes.  Marik continued delivering blows, slowly
working through his hangover.  On the twelfth attack, just when he began to
feel better, Colbey laid him low.

A sweeping kick struck his ankles after Colbey
deflected the sword.  Marik hit the dirt.  Months of practice kept him from
falling on his blade as instinct took over during the plummet.  He lay on the
ground in a daze.  Overhead, Colbey muttered, “Outlanders.”

Marik had noticed that disparaging comment often.  He
was in the dark about exactly what his instructor meant by it, other than an
obvious scorning of anyone foreign to his homeland.  Exactly where that might
be in Colbey’s case he still guessed at.

He’s up to something.  That much is obvious. 
Concentrate!
  You’ve learned so much.  Use it
against him.  Now!

Marik pushed through the lingering aches to open his
senses fully, absorbing as much information as he could.  Every sound around
him registered, every leaf fluttering on each tree caught his eye.  The aches
were still present, yet distant and forgettable.

Keenly aware of his surroundings, he struck with
renewed determination.  Colbey deflected the blow but Marik already swung into
a follow up.  This too met Colbey’s sword.  Marik jumped back when the scout
struck at his waist.

He blocked the scout’s next strike, sending it
downward, then thrust for the scout’s head.  Colbey stepped aside while the
sword passed and raised his own from below to strike at Marik’s wrists.

There was no time to pull back.  Instead, he released
his left hand from the hilt while jerking the sword away to the right.  Colbey
advanced immediately when his strike missed.  He slashed at waist-level.  Marik
made no move to block the blow this time, knowing he should never react the
same way twice against a single foe.  Predictability would get him killed.

This time he let the blow pass before him with the
intention of stepping forward the moment the blade cleared his gut.  Except
Colbey knew better.  Somehow, when the blade arced away, he reversed direction
in an instant.

Marik leapt into a space he expected to be clear. 
Instead he stepped into the blow from his left.  It crashed into his mail and
knocked the wind from his lungs.

The blow dropped him to one knee where he gasped for
breath.  Colbey tapped his sword against the top of his head to signal a kill. 
It was unnecessary but the scout always obeyed the formalities he had insisted
they train by.

Despite his hangover, Marik smiled.  This was the
first time he had ever launched three consecutive attacks against Colbey.  In
the beginning he had always been knocked down after the first.

A skyward glance preceded Colbey’s announcement of, “I
suppose you’ve learned enough to survive this next summer.”

Colbey usually insulted him without meaning to. 
Marik, accustomed to it, refrained from comment.  He had
already
survived two summers without the scout’s assistance, after all.

Still…  “There’s two eightdays until the fighting
season, Colbey.  I still have that long to train with you before you march out.”

The scout shook his head.  “I’m going out today.”

“Today?”  As irritating as Colbey could be, Marik
appreciated the valuable lessons from a superior swordsman.  Suddenly losing
two eightdays worth of advanced training felt like having a bulging purse
stolen.  “Why?”

“I’m going to Tullainia.”

Marik waited.  No additional information followed. 
“Second Squad’s been hired by a Tullainian again?” he guessed.

“No.  I am going alone.”

“What?  You’re leaving the band?”

“Not yet.  I wanted to test you before I leave.  And
to remind you of your promise to me.”

“I remember.  You’re not calling it in, are you?  I’m
not going to quit the band for you.”

“No.  I simply wanted to keep it fresh in your mind. 
And I want you to keep training while I’m gone.  If you cannot perform better
than that when I return, I’ll discontinue all further lessons.”

No bluff tinged the scout’s voice; he meant every
word.  Doubt for Colbey’s safety tugged at Marik.  “If you return.  Tullainia’s
a hotbed of rumors.  The refugees are still streaming across the border.  I
know how good you are, but Tullainia could be a hundred times worse than the
Green Reaches.”

Colbey’s expression darkened subtly.  “I will return. 
I want you at your best when I do.”

He sheathed his blade and turned to leave.

“Hey!  Why are you going to Tullainia alone?”

The scout continued without pause, ghosting into the
trees, never once looking back.

In the Ninth Squad’s barracks, Marik joined with
Dietrik for breakfast and discussed what had happened.

“That’s a bit off the normal route, I’d say, mate.”

“
I’d
say is a
lot
off the normal route. 
What’s he up to?”

Dietrik shrugged.  “Who can fathom the workings of his
mind?  But look at the facts at hand.”

“Which ones?”

“Take what you know and see where that leads you.  For
one, he said he is not leaving the band.  Torrance would surely expel him if he
struck out on his own for any reason, so whatever he’s doing, the good
commander knows about it.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“For two, he’s going to Tullainia.  That kingdom has
been turning inside and out ever since last summer.  No one knows what’s truly
going on over there.  For three, Colbey is going alone, without the rest of his
squad, and four, he is a scout by profession.”

Marik nodded.  “I see how that adds up.  Torrance is
sending a lone man into a trouble spot.  A lone scout at that.”

“Indeed,” Dietrik agreed.  “I’m sure Colbey is going
‘behind the lines’, as it were.  He’ll be finding out everything he can so
Torrance will have a whole picture of the situation instead of scattered
pieces.”

“Except…that’s not all.”

Dietrik’s eyes widened in silent question.

“I don’t know what, though.  I’m sure you’re right on
all counts, but I think we’re missing a piece.”

“What might that be?”

Marik picked at his hash for several moments.  “Do you
remember how Colbey kept acting after we left Rawlings?”

“After we heard the first rumors out of Tullainia,
yes.”

“And then he vanished for a few eightdays before
winter.  I’m sure there’s something else going on.”

They tossed it back and forth for the rest of
breakfast but failed to uncover any secrets.  While they cleaned off their
dishes Marik decided on the day’s itinerary.

“I don’t feel like normal training today, and going to
the Tower is out of the question, so let’s work on your visualizations.”

Dietrik’s enthusiasm for that equated with Marik’s
enthusiasm to work with Tollaf.  “I’m about ready to call it quits on that
score.  I don’t think I’ll ever manage it.”

“Sure you will.  You only need to keep practicing it. 
I’ll practice my strength working while you concentrate on that.”

He swept Dietrik along in his wake, returning to their
closets to prepare for the day.

*        *        *        *        *

Three large figures populated the shadows among the
trees growing in the south end of the Second Training Area.  One in particular
focused intently on a different pair far across by the shacks.  The larger of
the pair swung his blade randomly in no particular sword form.  On the ground
nearby, the scrawny one sat cross-legged, eyes closed and seemingly asleep from
this distance.

The center figure in the shadows had watched the pair
for over a mark, studying them with avid concentration.  Beside him, the other
two fidgeted, either bored or nervous.  Beld hardly cared, as long as they kept
from alerting the others to their presence.

At last, Albin asked, “So we gonna attack ‘em today or
what, Beld?  We gonna teach ‘em a lesson or not?”

Beld offered no answer.  From his other side, Veji
voiced his concern.  “You sure ‘bout this?  The one’s a magiker.”

“So what?” Albin replied.  “Conk him on the noggin
right quick and he can’t talk none of them funny words.”

“But—”

“Shut it,” Beld commanded, and they fell quiet
instantly.  “No, we ain’t gonna mess them up today.  I still need to think
about how to handle them.  I don’t want that one up to any of his cheap-boy
tricks, like last time we had at them.”

“Just keep his mouth shut so as he can’t talk none.”

“How you plan on doing that, Albin?  I saw him up on
that wall.  He was using his tricks to screw up Dellen during the trials, like
he done on us.  No, we need a plan for that one.”

“You been saying that all winter.”

Beld punched Albin’s ear.  “You rush things, you end
up dead.  Don’t be dumber than you already are.  We’re going.  I’ve seen enough
for today.”

Veji needed no encouragement to leave, though Albin’s
grumbling persisted.  Beld looked one last time across the way at the pair
before abandoning the training area.

*        *        *        *        *

With each day warmer than the previous, new growth
graced the bare tree branches around town.  Kingshome’s silence struck Marik as
eerie.  The only time he could recall it being so quiet previously was during
his first summer when the Ninth had been between contracts.  Even most of the
tavern masters and shop keepers on the Row had chained their doors shut and
left for other towns to visit their families during this, their off-season.

This year, each full squad had marched on spring’s
first day, nearly every one heading west to Tullainia’s border.  Contracts from
the border barons had poured in continuously all winter.  The western lords
were concerned about the turmoil broiling up next door.

Whatever transpired in Tullainia was Tullainia’s
problem, as Marik saw it.  Enough occupied him already without borrowing
troubles from another kingdom.  Tollaf had ceased hunting his head but the old
man compensated by taking a tight rein over Marik’s life since the destruction
of his precious mirror.  Most of his days were spent practicing what little
magecraft he knew without end, leaving him scant time to get in any sword
training.