Read Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 Online
Authors: Mark Ryan
Chapter 34
Tetra Bicks
They trained every night. Every other night or so, Corporal Mikkels warned of Healer Alma being about, and instead kept a post outside the main infirmary door. Even on those nights, he’d duck into Tetra’s room after a few hours and they’d work on his stances and forms until just before dawn. He didn’t lighten his wooden sword and shield during these practices, and his arms always felt like cords of wet rope by the end.
He learned defensive stances first, designed to let him brace against charging enemies or turn quickly to block attacks from any side. Reynolds made Tetra focus on his feet, ignoring what the upper body did. Just turning his ankle to the side as an attack came in, letting his leg and hip follow suit, Tetra found stability. These exercises also strengthened his legs so they didn’t quiver, and he stopped falling so much—at least, when left to his own devices.
Once Tetra’s reflexes were getting quick with the hip twist, Mikkels added a step to the stance, having Tetra drop his shoulder as he twisted. The full body motion threw him at first. Dropping his shoulders would make his back flare, sending agonizing needles of pain coursing through him. But he never gave in. Tetra got used to just gritting his teeth, ignoring the pain.
Once he took a stance, Mikkels always prowled around him, studying and correcting any flaws. Often, his correction came in the form of shoving or kicking Tetra in one direction or another. “Hit the weak spot, teach by example” seemed to be Mikkels training philosophy, Tetra figured. Whenever it happened, Tetra collapsed with joints clicking and muscles clenching in pain. Then Mikkels would lean against the nearest wall and tell him everything wrong with his stance while watching him fight to rise. He never offered a hand, but just looked bored, as if he expected Tetra to remain on the ground after every fall.
Tetra always proved him wrong, and would’ve slapped away any hand offered, anyways. He hated Mikkels. At least, he wanted to. But at his core, he was grateful, thankful, to this soldier. Finally he was learning. They hadn’t spoken of orocs again, but Tetra held it close to his heart. He was learning to fight them.
The other exercise the two focused on was slap fighting. Tetra had done this with the other boys in the village. They would gather round, slapping at each other while pretending to be great knights, fighting for the kingdom. What Mikkels did was nothing like those fond memories Tetra had. The soldier would square off and almost immediately throw out “test jabs,” lightning fast punches that would hit Tetra’s chest, neck, and face before he could even flinch.
He learned quickly to keep his elbows in, protecting his chest and face. A few kicks to his ankles helped Tetra stand with his knees bent slightly, ready to absorb incoming blows. After only a couple weeks of training, Tetra was blocking most of Kellian’s attacks, and even launching a few of his own.
Those days and evenings which they made it to the training court, Mikkels drilled him through offensive maneuvers, teaching him angles of attack that wouldn’t leave his sides or head exposed. He learned how to cut in and pull his sword back before his opponent could trap it, and to string together multiple attacks at a time instead of just getting in one knock and then withdrawing.
Of course, Mikkels slapped aside all his early attacks with ease. He didn’t even shift his own stance, but his sword diverted Tetra’s like a branch in a breeze. No matter how much strength he put behind his hits, he couldn’t make the corporal so much as flinch.
During one session, Mikkels sighed and stepped aside just as Tetra struck. The missed blow sent Tetra stumbling forward, but he caught himself and turned in time to block a cut at his face. Mikkels glared at him over their crossed swords.
“What’re you trying to do, boy? Pound a nail into me?” He shoved at Tetra’s sword, pushing him further off balance.
Tetra stepped back, chest heaving from the effort. “How else am I supposed to hit you?”
“I’m not a tree you’re trying to chop down. And even though orocs have plenty in common with trees, they’re not just going to stand there and let you whack away. An oroc is a lot stronger than you. Even with your Graviton magic, you won’t be able to force your way through that often.” He moved his sword through several positions.
“There are a few ways to get past your enemy’s guard. You try for brute force. A better way is to slip past it. That means outsmarting them, guessing where they’re going to be and when. Just like your earlier attempts to practice, the way you guessed where and when Healer Alma would be. Every defensive position has its openings, weaknesses. Instead of just relying on luck, you’ve got to be thinking during the fight, even if you don’t realize you are.”
“Thinking without thinking?” Tetra leaned on the practice sword, catching his breath. “I don’t—”
“Are you thinking about your breathing right now? Thinking about blinking? No? That’s because it comes naturally after you’ve been doing it for so long. I bet there are times you don’t even think about using your affinity. It just comes to you, doesn’t it?”
Tetra considered this and nodded. His grandfather had spoken of the same thing. How affinities could become a second nature with enough training. They might still require focus from time to time, under greater moments of stress, but their use could be as familiar as a heartbeat for some.
“Right. Give the training enough time, and it’ll be the same way. Thinking without thinking. Instinct.”
“What’re the other ways to get past the enemy’s guard?” Tetra asked.
Mikkels scratched a stubbled cheek. “Well, you could keep the fight going long enough for them to tire and drop their guard from exhaustion.” He eyed Tetra up and down. “Hate to say it, but that’s not likely in your case. With a stronger enemy, they’re going to wear you down first—and right now, I know a few stable boys stronger than you.”
“Or I could always just break through their guard,” Tetra said, thinking of his sword shattering a particular oroc club.
“What’d I just say?” Mikkels raised an arm across his chest. “Unless you come at them with a battering ram, you’ll just bounce off.” He lunged forward, thrusting an elbow at Tetra.
Tetra hopped back just out of each. One calf twitched, but he steadied himself. “I’d … I’d use my affinity then.”
Mikkels rolled his eyes. “Everything is just about power for you, isn’t it? You think once you’ve got enough weight, enough strength, everyone else will just fall in front of you? What if someone dampens you? Then you’re left on equal footing, and only skill and perception can make up the difference, see?”
He sighed. “I’m not saying don’t use your other talents. They can be weapons too, sure enough. But if you only ever rely on one trick or tactic, eventually it won’t work and then you’re left with nothing to keep yourself alive. That’s why you need these skills to give you another leg to stand on.” He glanced at Tetra’s legs, which had started shaking from the effort. “So to speak.”
With a quick sweep, Mikkels launched an attack on Tetra’s ankle. Despite the shaking, Tetra scooted back, twisting his ankles and turning to the side on reflex alone. The blow, which should have knocked him flat, glanced off his calf instead.
“Just like that. Reflex.” The corporal cocked his head, hearing something Tetra didn’t. Frowning, he pointed over to the nearby training dummy. “I’ll be right back. You go practice the eight main attacks until I return.”
He headed off while Tetra did as ordered. Facing the training dummy, his mind turning the wood and straw construct into a seven-foot oroc, he shifted his feet and swung.
He went through the exercises Mikkels had drilled into him, going for the arms, then cutting low before slashing high. He didn’t let himself stop, even as his arms and back protested. Old complaints he’d long-ago learned to ignore. Using the momentum of his previous swings helped, but he still tired quickly. Despite the exhaustion, he didn’t let the pain or fatigue impair his technique. Whenever he missed his target or made a weak strike, he stopped, repositioned, and then attacked again until he got it right.
He pictured himself in his burning home, walls and ceiling streaked with flame and smoke as he faced Gnarrl in the hall. In the mental rematch, he drove the oroc back, away from his grandfather’s body. A blow left one of the oroc’s arms dangling. Another struck the monster to his knees. Gnarrl looked up in surrender, begging for mercy.
Tetra would show him none.
He aimed for the dummy’s chest and thrust. His affinity woke and the sword condensed for half a second—but something new happened. He felt his muscle get denser, stronger. Throughout his body, magic coursed, flowing within his blood, powering ever cell.
The wood practice sword slammed through the dummy’s wooden chest, burying itself to the hilt. Tetra didn’t stop. This surge of power, of strength, was addictive. He slammed a bare fist into the false Gnarrl’s shoulder and the dummy cracked. Like lightning, he spun, straightening his hand into a blade, like a dagger, and slashed the dummy’s neck. The wooden head cracked off the post and went tumbling.
Kill strike complete, Tetra felt the boost of energy vanish. The use of his talent piled exhaustion on top of his prior weariness. He sagged and trembled. It was too much. He leaned forward, palm against the dummy, using it as a support, and gasped for breath.
Footsteps sounded nearby. He raised his head, fearing Alma had discovered him again, but Corporal Mikkels marched back into the court instead.
“Voids, boy,” he said. “I leave you for a few minutes and a big stick drops you?” Then he frowned as his gaze traveled to the dummy. Wood sword still impaled it, and the remaining body was cracked and destroyed. His eye searched till he found its head, rocking a few feet away. He went over and picked it up, studying the splintered wood. After a moment, he tossed it back to the base of the post. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Can’t train if you aren’t rested. Let’s get you back to bed before you fall asleep out here.”
Mikkels didn’t help him along, but kept a slow pace by Tetra’s side as he shuffled back towards the infirmary. Before they left the training court, though, Tetra checked over his shoulder. A figure watched them go from one of the opposing archways. While the shadows hid his face, Tetra thought he recognized Sergeant Reynolds.
***
Chapter 35
Malthius Reynolds
You asked to see me, Sergeant?”
Reynolds looked up as Petrius entered the small conference room, Kafa at his side. He motioned for the healer to take a seat across the desk from him. The man complied and rested a hand on his hound’s head.
“How can I help you?”
Reynolds planted elbows on the table, hands clasped. “It’s about the boy.”
“Tetra? I did mean to thank you for assigning one of your men to guard him. The boy has shown remarkable progress now that he’s getting more rest.”
Reynolds smiled. “Yes, I think his training is progressing well, too.”
Alma’s brow pinched. “Training?”
“The man I’ve posted has been teaching Tetra the basics of combat. He reports it’s slow going, admittedly, but the boy shows promise. And where he lacks skill, he makes up for it in dedication.”
Alma shot up, shoving his chair back. Kafa came to all fours, wagging tail drooping.
“How dare you? How dare you go behind my back and commandeer my patient? Are you trying to kill the boy?”
Reynolds sat back, keeping his voice level. “How dare I? How dare you try to keep Tetra bedridden, wasting away? The boy has spirit. You won’t keep him from trying to learn to fight unless you tie him to a bed. Do you really think that will help him? I say that with the compulsion laid on him, restraint will crack his sanity. He needs activity! Healing his body will do no good if his mind and soul wither away.”
Alma scowled. “You’re a soldier, not a healer. You kill others, and know nothing of keeping them alive.”
“Exactly. I’m a soldier. And so I know a fighter, a soldier, when I see one,
Healer
. You’re so focused on the injury, on the weakness, you’ve let it define the boy in your mind. You can’t accept his potential, and you’d rather lie to him than admit you might be wrong.”
“I never lied. Tetra’s the one who broke our agreement and continued sneaking out at night. I took the steps I felt were necessary to protect him from himself.”
“They aren’t.” Reynolds stood to match Alma’s glare. “You asked me to help protect him, and I have. His training has continued under supervision, under safer conditions than he would’ve had by going at it alone—which we both know he would’ve done with or without my interference.”
Alma thought about it, then shook his head. “No. I’ll go to Lord Drayston. He understands the need to protect our resources. What will he think when he hears you’ve taken one of your men—his man, actually—and wasted his time on training a cripple?”
Reynolds came around the desk, forcing the healer to back up. Kafa interposed himself between them, not growling, but giving the sergeant a clear sign that he’d protect his master if it came to violence.
“What will you tell him, really?” Reynolds asked. “That you’d like to deprive the guardsmen of an inspiration that keeps their spirits and hopes high? That you want to remove someone who could prove a valuable resource? That you persist in calling a boy who can now walk again a cripple just because his legs don’t work as well?”
“Are you serious? His back is broken and his spine was partially severed. Why can’t you get it through your thick skull that if the bone breaks again, it could kill him? The limited mobility he has needs to be coaxed, carefully guided so the boy doesn’t end up dead.”
Reynolds took a deep breath. “I apologize, Healer Alma. I believe we are at each other for no reason. My weariness is making me, perhaps, too sharp with others.”
The old man nodded. “I understand Malthius, we’ve all been there.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me, though. I believe in my course of action. What I don’t believe is that we are at odds. We both care to see the boy healed and whole. And I think there are things about his condition you do not know.” The sergeant went to the window and gestured for Petrius to join him.
When he did, the healer’s eyes narrowed. Kafa came over as well and put paws up on the sill, tail wagging again. The sun had just set, and dusky light still cast shadows over the castle, but Corporal Mikkels and Tetra already stood in the training yard. Mikkels had been ordered to bring the boy out early and set him through his paces.
When one of Mikkels’ ripostes sent Tetra staggering, Alma gasped and moved to rush out. Reynolds grabbed his arm and forced him to stay put. “No. Just watch.”
The training court had been swept clear of snow, and the muddy squares had frozen into choppy clearings with a thin sheet of ice. Mikkels and Tetra traded blows as they tromped around the area. It was plain to see that the corporal held back, not taking obvious openings, and offering ones in his own guard for Tetra to take advantage of. Still, the boy struggled and took an ongoing beating.
It impressed Reynolds to see how he contained his obvious frustrations. Early on, Tetra often shoved all his energy into a few furious attacks and then would be worthless the rest of the session. He’d rise to Mikkels taunts, verbal or physical, and leave himself vulnerable for the easiest parries and strikes.
Now he had a more calculating air about him. He kept his distance from Mikkels more often, circling with hitching steps, studying. He tested the guardsman’s defense, rather than just throwing himself forward and hoping for the best. He also stayed in proper stances more often than not, and didn’t spend so much time trying to find the proper strike or block for the situation.
“Now look up.” Reynolds directed the healer’s attention to the guardsmen patrolling the walls. A number of them had turned inward to watch the sparring. Of the thousand men garrisoned at Drayston, more than half tried at least once a day to see the boy in action.
“I don’t understand,” Alma said. It was obvious that he didn’t approve, but on the heels of Reynolds’ apology, Petrius was attempting to be civil, to understand. “They’re being distracted from their duties.”
“No.” Reynolds motioned at the combat below. “They’re enjoying what they see here.”
“What sort of brutes are your men, Sergeant, that they’d enjoy watching a boy being battered to a pulp?”
“Men who were once boys themselves. Boys who trained and grew strong, just like this. They are reliving their youth, in a way. And that is only the beginning of it. They also see a young man with an unbreakable spirit. One who never gives up. That is why it inspires them.”
“I doubt any of them ever had a broken back. Though …” The healer leaned on the sill, examining his patient’s movements below. “He is far more capable than I have been led to believe. Why would he have hidden this from me?”
“Easy.” Reynolds leaned against the opposite side of the window, looking at the healer. “He fears you. He fears that exposing himself to you will result in him being tied to a bed. He doesn’t trust you. You are his healer. He should be able to trust you.”
Alma sighed, staring off at the horizon. “You are right, he should. I will consider this. Perhaps leniency is the right way. But must they do this out here? Can’t they practice in his room, somewhere where everyone isn’t watching the boy flaunt his doctor’s orders? You are doing me no favors here, Malthius.”
“Think about what they’re seeing. It has nothing to do with you, or your orders. They see a lad who was wounded near to death, who was told he’d never walk again, never have a chance to fight for what he cared about most … and now here he is, refusing to give up no matter how difficult it is. Refusing to surrender, no matter how much it hurts. That’s the kind of man we want guarding or fighting for this castle, Petrius. And if I can’t have him on active duty, then I want all thousand of the Drayston men to at least see him as an example.”
“Being an example could get him killed,” Alma said, frowning. “The cold, the ice, the motion—any of these things could kill him.”
“We all die sooner or later, no matter how well we’re healed. You talk of my being trained to kill, whereas you are trained to heal. I can tell you one thing. You worry day in and out about how people may die, but I know I will die, so I worry instead about how I live. Stop worrying about how the boy might die, and look at how he wants to live.”
Petrius stared at the sergeant. “You surprise me with your insight. … I find myself agreeing. He can train.”
Reynolds grinned. Not only had he succeeded in getting Alma’s agreement, but he felt as though he had started to get to know the man better. Perhaps they would be able to forge a friendship after all. “Thank you, Healer Alma.”
“But …” Alma straightened and shook a finger. “This doesn’t remain unconditional.”
The sergeant nodded. “Go on.”
“Let me at least make a back brace for him to lessen the chance of him being re-injured. In addition, I want to be present during his training sessions. That way I can monitor his condition and handle any serious wounds he takes.” He waved off Reynold’s dubious look. “I won’t coddle him, damn you. I’m not saying I’ll heal his every scratch and bruise, but if he starts bleeding internally because of a blow to the head, I
will
be there before the damage becomes permanent. He is an example to your men; let him be an example of my craft as well.”
“Very well,” said Reynolds. “Provide the brace and you can supervise whenever you want. But you don’t have the authority to stop the practice or drag him away just because you think my men are being too rough with him. He needs real opposition to toughen him up.”
As if to emphasize this, a harder blow sent Tetra tumbling. Alma winced, but the boy lurched back to his feet and resumed his defensive stance, though with one shoulder hunched as if he fought a stitch in his side.
“Agreed. And Sergeant?”
“Hm?”
“Aspects damn us both if he dies at our hands.”
“A risk I’m willing to take.” Reynolds turned back to his desk, more reports waiting to be signed off. “And one I believe he’s accepted as well.”
***