Rise and Fall (57 page)

Several men cast each other looks but eventually the group dissipated and mumbled conversations broke out.

The whole castle will know the story before the next group arrives for training.

Jonrell resheathed his sword and approached Kaz. “You may want to put that away now. I doubt I’d beat you in a fight,” Jonrell said with a slow grin creeping across his face.

Kaz followed Jonrell’s glance and realized he still held his sword at the ready. He stood straighter and lowered his sword.

“Better. So what happened?”

Kaz thought about telling Jonrell that if it wasn’t for the obligation he felt to him for all of Jonrell’s help, he’d have slit Glacar’s throat long ago. He finally had enough of the ridicule from Glacar and he was unwilling to take it any longer. He thought about saying many similar things but decided against it. Still, he owed his commander a response. “Glacar hates any man who he feels threatened by, especially one whose color is so different. Today, I had enough.”

Jonrell stared at him for a moment. “Is that it?”

“What more is there?”

“So you were ready to kill him?”

Kaz shrugged.

Jonrell shook his head. “I’ll talk to him again later tonight after he’s cooled off. I’ll make sure he stays as far away from you as possible. I need you both.”

“You need every able body you can find. So move me and keep Glacar here to train the men. I think many will take you up on your offer and leave.”

“Perhaps. But it is a chance I’m willing to take. I’ve watched you both instruct the men. Glacar is a fierce fighter, but that does not make him a great teacher. He fights from pure passion and instinct. You fight off of instinct as well, but there is a reason behind what you do. You don’t waste a single move. Right now, these men need that structure. They need something to fall back on when things get heated.”

“I will do my best.”

“I know you will. That’s why I’m talking to you now and not Glacar.”

* * *

Fluid as a gentle stream, the blade swept around his body. The sword sang with each slice. His feet padded lightly across the yard like that of a prowling wolf, twisting and turning, in balance with every stroke. Each thrust was as quick as a striking snake. He was at peace.

Kaz could not recall where the memories had come from, but it didn’t matter because where his mind had forgotten, his body remembered, flowing from one sequence to the next. He recalled countless forms that simulated the various scenarios of a sword fight. Some one-handed, some two. Others required the use of a shield or dirk held in the person’s off hand. He knew hundreds of them, all tucked somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Each night after he finished training the men, he practiced in isolation. Each time he lifted his sword at the ready he would remember another drill, dancing to and fro across the open ground, jumping over obstacles, ducking, bobbing, and weaving. Many nights he didn’t even need to imagine an opponent for one often presented itself to him. Flashing images from what he assumed was his past faded in and out of his conscious. The only commonality was that his old life was a bloody one.

He knew the images were real. They had to be. The smell, the feel of warm blood touching his skin, the yells, and cries of battle ringing in his ears. There was too much detail for it to all be his imagination. Yet his recollection always stopped at those desperate faces dying under the stroke of his sword. His former life seemed to be one that was entirely filled with death and destruction.

Yet, each pleading voice, each distorted image of pain, suffering, and anguish never deterred him from returning night after night to his forms. Maybe he was reliving those harsh moments to come to terms with who he truly was. He hoped deep down that something would spark a different memory.

There had to be more to my life than just blood.

He was here now in a strange land, set to go about killing a new host of people. The only difference was that their skin was unlike his. He remembered the men he killed on Slum Isle while saving Jonrell.

He assumed that if he ever could return home, he would not be a welcome sight since all his memories dealt with destruction.
Would it be better to be hated among my own kind where it would seem they have reason? Here, any hatred seems to stem from one thing.

He had a couple of people he could call friends, especially Jonrell who had stuck his neck out for him on many occasions. But those relationships were few. He could see how hard it was on anyone who showed him the slightest bit of kindness. His presence often seemed to do more harm than good, even with the men he trained. Some had come around a little since the confrontation with Glacar. They listened more intently to him than they had to Glacar, but what did that mean?

Probably just trying to understand my accent is all. Either that or they are doing it out of fear for what Jonrell will do to them.
Outside of the training ground, none of them even acknowledged his existence and he wondered again why he was still here.

The answer was another reason he practiced each night. While others found joy in drink, song, and fellowship, Kaz had resigned himself to seeking his own form of happiness in the feel of steel in his hands and the memories of battle. Those haunting images of his past seemed the only time in life he knew joy. Battle. War. Death. Three things it seemed he had a knack for. Maybe that’s why he stayed on with the Hell Patrol then. With an army approaching, perhaps he would be truly happy again.

Kaz spun and stepped onto a fallen barrel, launching himself into the air. Gripping the sword with both hands, he prepared to chop into the log lying on the ground. Only the log was partially covered. So lost in his own thoughts and the repetitive motion of his forms, he failed to notice when the boy had taken a seat there. Kaz heard a loud yelp as he saw the boy fall backward in terror. He turned his body away from the boy as he crashed into the ground, jarring his shoulder on impact.

Kaz gritted his teeth and rolled to his knees, crouched and ready with sword in hand. His recovery was instinctive. It wasn’t that he feared the boy so much as he had little reason to trust him. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

The boy uprighted himself with legs flailing about, looking embarrassed. “I’m Drake.”

“I did not ask who you were. I know you are Raker’s student. I asked why you are here.”

“Oh. Uh, I was just watching.”

“For how long?”

“Tonight? Or in general?”

“You’ve watched me more than just tonight?”

Drake nodded and Kaz felt his anger rise that he hadn’t noticed such a thing.
Perhaps I’ve been too focused while training. That could be my end.
Drake must have noticed Kaz’s displeasure. “You misunderstand. This was the first time I’ve come down to the yard to watch. Before, I would steal…er, borrow a spyglass and watch you train from one of the eastern towers. I would lie and say I was checking on equipment though, if anyone asked what I was up to.”

“Why lie?”

“I didn’t want Raker to know. He uh, he isn’t very fond of you.”

Kaz started to relax and stood up. “Few are.” He shoved the blade into the ground. “So why come down to watch now?”

“I couldn’t get a spyglass and I didn’t want to miss you train.”

Kaz inclined his head. “Why are you spying on me? Are you trying to figure out a pattern to my style?”

Drake waved his hands. “No no. Nothing like that. I’ve been trying to learn.”

“To fight?”

Drake nodded.

“Raker has not taught you anything?”

“Well, he is of the opinion that I should be focusing on the siege equipment and castle fortifications rather than fighting. But that doesn’t necessarily take all my time.”

“And what does he expect you to do, if the fight comes in close? You cannot load a catapult and shoot it at a man who is three feet from you.”

“I made the same point. He just told me to find something heavy and hit them on the head if that happens.”

“A mace? Similar to his.”

Drake nodded.

“That seems too large of a weapon for you to handle.”

“My point. I want to learn to use a sword but I have no idea how and no one will show me.”

“And you want me to teach you?”

“Well, you are the best fighter.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather go to Glacar?”

Drake shook his head. “Trust me. I may be small but what I lack in size I make up for here,” he said pointing to his head. “I know what my eyes tell me.” He smiled.

“What about my skin?”

“What about it?”

“Does it not bother you like it does the others?”

Drake shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. I don’t see how the color of someone’s skin makes them a bad person.”

Kaz grunted. “And what will Raker say if he finds out?”

“Well, I hoped he wouldn’t. At least for now anyway. He doesn’t have to know, if you know what I mean.”

“I see. So, I teach you how to fight. What will you do for me?”

Drake shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. What can I possibly offer you in return?”

Kaz thought for a moment then grinned. “This. What we are doing now.”

“What? Talking?”

“Yes. I still struggle with the language and my accent. I want you to help me with that. While we train, we talk. It doesn’t really matter what we talk about, so long as I can practice.”

“So you’re going to teach me how to fight and all I have to do is talk to you?”

“That’s it.”

Drake smiled. “Deal.”

“Good. Grab a sword. We will begin now.”

* * *

Drake shuffled through the inner courtyard, doing his best not to fall over from exhaustion.
What was I thinking?

For the tenth night in a row Kaz had trained him. Hours spent working on forms and drills left him barely able to walk, let alone fight. He was sore in places he didn’t even know existed. Keeping his fatigue hidden from Raker during each day was nearly as exhausting as the time spent sparing with Kaz at night. He began to wonder if all his effort would even be worth it. He sure didn’t feel like a more capable fighter. Yet Kaz told him that he had potential and in time his efforts would pay off.

I can’t quit, not after what he’s been doing to help me, and the things he’s shown me he hasn’t shown the other men. Maybe I can ask Wiqua for some sorcery to loosen things up. He doesn’t ask a lot of questions so no one will know why I need the healing anyway.

He decided he would do just that in the morning but first he needed to grab a few hours of sleep. Looking up, he realized someone was crossing his path from the left. The figure’s head was down and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath.

“Mal?”

The figure jumped. He saw Drake approaching him and noticeably relaxed. “Drake, what are you doing up at this time of night?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Yeah, but I asked first.”

Drake shrugged. “Training. What about you?”

“You’re lucky. They have me running errands like some little message boy. Nothing important either. No, it’s trivial things to cater to the needs of Lord Caliva and his stuck up household.”

“At least it’s something.”

“I want to fight and train. Yet, I get moved from one person to the next.”

Drake shook his head.
I’m getting so tired of this same conversation.
“You keep getting moved because all you do is complain about the person you’re taking orders from. No one is going to teach you anything of importance until you pay your dues first.”

Mal scowled. “What do you know? You’re just some pet doing whatever someone tells you to do.”

Drake felt his face turn red. A moment before he had considered asking Mal if he wanted to train with him and Kaz but he quickly changed his mind.
He would complain the entire time, give half efforts, and not appreciate any of it. Kaz would never put up with that. And neither would I.

Drake started walking again and purposefully brushed his shoulder against his friend. “When you grow up, let me know. Until then, try to learn a little humility.”

* * *

Jonrell rubbed at his temples and narrowly avoided a passing servant as he left the war room. He wasn’t sure what time it was, only that it was late. He moved his thumb and forefinger from temple to eyes.

He waved a hand at the apologetic servant, unable to do much else. All he cared about was crawling into his bed under the warm furs. He hoped to catch a few hours of sleep before dawn jarred him awake and he started another long day.

He blinked, focusing his eyes in the dim lamplight coming from the metal wall sconces that illuminated the staircase and hallways. His blurry vision told him he had pushed himself more than he should have, but he saw few other options. Caliva was a good enough man but being a good man meant little in a war. Many good men knew little of the boring, but necessary administrative tasks of a commander. The endless parade of requests and meetings made his head hurt just thinking about them.

He thought of Amcaro, a man, who despite his age, never seemed to tire and was always eager to learn and work even harder. “There will be plenty of time to rest when I’m with the One Above,” the High Mage used to say.

I wonder how well he’s sleeping now.

Dark thoughts. Nothing good ever came from them. Yet, it was hard to think of anything else when one of his old mentor’s teachings or sayings would pop into his head.

He shook his head again.
Keep your head straight, Jonrell. Almost to your door. Then, you’ll have at least a few hours to relax and escape. One Above knows you deserve it.

But apparently the One Above didn’t know. Jonrell jumped at the sound of a cough. He turned and drew the dirk at his side. “Who’s there?” he said facing the shadow of a corner.

Mal stepped out with hands raised, and lip trembling. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jonrell sheathed his blade. “Mal? What in the name of the One Above are you doing in the shadows?”

“I was hoping to talk to you,” he said looking down.