A Knife
“Three and a half! Get a move on!” Maiken’s harsh voice cut through the trees to Rydan’s ears as he dutifully hurried his feet faster in their sprint at the command.
Panting, Rydan wiped a hand across his brow, clearing it for barely a second before the sweat poured out again. His hair was dark and plastered to the sides of his face where he had pushed it. The summer morning’s heat was relentless; the humid air trapped beneath the canopy of the forests promised no relief. It didn’t help that he’d already done nearly an hour’s work of riding and sword practice before he’d started the course.
He could hear the thud of Maiken’s horse’s hooves draw near and pass him as he sprinted along, but he didn’t turn his head. Instead, he kept it looking ahead, careful to leap over the occasional tree root or duck under low hanging branches without missing a step. He’d run parts of this course before, but this was his first chance to do it all at once, and he was had to make it under six minutes. If not, Maiken would make him run it until he did get it under six – without rest. His breath came in bursts as he reached a tiny clearing, his eyes immediately going up and looking around for whatever danger could appear.
Truthfully, there wasn’t any danger to be found in these woods, not for a ten year old in his physical training class for the day. The only danger could be Maiken, who randomly materialized on the three quarter mile run through the trees to force Rydan to defend himself with a randomly picked weapon, one either on his person or one thrust at him with no time to adjust himself to it. Everything part of the course was timed, from his short sprints in between the weapon practice, to the long sprints and the weapons work themselves.
“Sword!” Maiken appeared out of nowhere, his blade flashing in his hands. Born from nearly five years of the man’s teaching, Rydan hastily pulled his own sword out to meet Maiken’s with a ringing noise that echoed through the trees.
Grunting with the effort, he whirled in a half turn, parrying and thrusting, attempting to disarm the man. Miaken was a true swordsman, putting his opponent down with words as he wielded his sword. He cursed Rydan’s poor street-life past, called his mother a whore, called Rydan a bastard child, and the list went on. His ten-year-old effort would never win against the forty-year-old man, even at the man’s half-effort, but he tried, attempting not to listen, pressing Maiken until he had his back against a tree. Maiken wasn’t tired in the least and easily dodged under and around Rydan, reversing their roles.
Rydan thrust his blade up, to block a hit inches from his face. Maiken pressed down on him, and Rydan tried to hold him, his arms shaking with the exertion. Maiken’s unpleasant face filled his face beyond the gleam of the interlocked sword blades. “Whore’s brat, you know you should just give up. Go on back to your old life,”
Rydan glared right back at him, clenching his jaw. Don’t break, he told himself.
Don’t break were the famous words of Maiken. Feel no emotion, feel no pain, no glory, no anything until it was over. Show no weaknesses and announce no strengths. Be akin to stone. Betray nothing in your eyes, your expression; keep your body language covert, whether you were receiving a beating or praise. Rydan had grown to live by those words since they had been spoken to him. Maiken had taught him the truth those words held through occasional punishments harsh enough to need the phrase to escape to an empty corner in his mind so he could nearly alienate himself from the signals his nerves gave him of pain or ailment.
Maiken’s pockmarked face had begun to perspire, dampening the roots of his black hair. He was about a muscular as a man could come without being fat, and taller than even Kyrr. He towered over Rydan, and pulled his blade free, whirling with speed his stout form seemed to deny, only to lock hilts again. Rydan held him as best he could, his brain numb to the pleas of his dead locked muscles. Don’t break.
Maiken grinned suddenly, twisting his blade free of Rydan’s and sidestepping out of the way. Rydan stumbled forward from the momentum as the man barked out, “Horse! Two minutes!” Maiken reached for the horse he had kept ground tied nearby, and was on the gelding’s back in a flash, already off through the trees.
Without a thought, Rydan glanced to see his mare, Dust, waiting a few yards away. He sheathed his sword and with a quick lunge, vaulted upon her back, kicking her forward without a thought for the stirrups or a proper hold on the reins. He pressed his legs tight to her sides and braced himself against her surging neck, keeping his center of gravity low to help his balance. He followed the marks on the trees as best he could, steering Dust around trunks and obstacles for a minute, until Maiken’s voice barked out again for him to stop.
He pulled Dust to a sliding stop, and leapt down, throwing her reins around a low hanging limb. He quick stepped into the clearing where Maiken already waited, taking up the proffered bow and quiver.
“Three targets, straight across,” Maiken instructed from the back of his horse, nodding in the direction of the red-painted targets.
The bow was already strung, and without a thought for the condition of the string or bow, Rydan pulled out an arrow and fitted it onto the string. He tested the bow’s tautness as he squinted and aimed across the meadow at the red board settled on a tree trunk. He released the arrow with a smooth motion. He reached for another; aim, release, fit, aim-
Rydan cursed as the sting popped, breaking somewhere three fourths of the way down. He held the useless bow in his hands, breathing hard as his mind raced for a solution.
“Forty-five seconds!” Maiken said from where he leaned against a tree.
Don’t break, don’t break - think! He told himself, emptying the quiver to see if an extra string happened to be in the bottom. No such luck; nothing but arrows fell from it. He pressed a hand to his hot face, his exhausted mind completely blank of any answers.
“A knife perhaps?” A silky voice interjected into Rydan’s thoughts.
Rydan whirled around, “Kyrr?” Kyrr wasn’t supposed to get back until the next day! He was supposed to be staying at the capitol fixing some important matter.
But Kyrr was standing there, as arrogant and immaculate as ever astride his equally well-groomed black horse, holding a silver handled dagger in one hand. “A knife?” He repeated, tossing it the ten yards to Rydan. Rydan bent to pick it up gingerly, as Maiken shouted out again.
“Thirty seconds! Throw it or run, you’re going to be out of time!”
The voice cut through his brain’s shock at seeing Kyrr, and he turned, the target in his mind, and threw. He didn’t wait to see it thud into the board - he was already twenty yards sprinting back into the woods, the last hundred-yard dash before he was done.
Heaving with effort, he passed the marker tree and only then made himself slow down. His breath came in gasps as he let his head fall backwards, his hands on his hips. Shaking his soaked hair out of his eyes, he walked back toward the last tree as Maiken and Kyrr rode up.
He lowered his head and dropped his hands, waiting for the results.
“Well, you made it. Barely.” Maiken stated, sounding disgusted. Maiken would have loved the opportunity to curse Rydan through another course.
Rydan cast a quick glance at Kyrr as he nodded. Kyrr looked unusually pleased with him for some reason. His blue eyes thoughtfully examined Rydan from head to toe, and Rydan looked back to Maiken, trying not to shift uneasily at Kyrr’s scrutinizing gaze.
Kyrr didn’t address Rydan though, he turned to Maiken, who had dismounted, and began a conversation with him in a low voice.
Maiken paused him for just a moment. “Fetch the supplies and your mare. Make sure they’re all clean before you put them away. Clean yourself up too, before you come in. Dismissed.” Then the two men turned, disappearing in the direction of Kyrr’s tower, deep in conversation.
Rydan sighed, forcing his exhausted legs back over the hundred-yard stretch of trees to the meadow. He bent his head as the glaring sunlight beat through the gap in the trees while he trudged to the targets. One by one, he pulled the weapon outs. The arrows were each just a little off center, but the knife was buried through the target into the trunk of the tree. He had to wiggle it until he could get it to come out.
Sighing wearily, he managed a smidgen of approval at his throw. He’d taken up knife throwing easily for some reason. Of all the weapons he had been taught, Maiken had been most pleased with his quick improvement in throwing knives. Dropping his head again, he stuck the knife through his belt and made his way back to the tree line.
With a groan, he bent down to gather all the arrows he had dumped out as well as the bow when he reached the trees. He slung both over his shoulder before he made his way to where Dust had been tied.
Murmuring softly to her, he leaned his head against her neck, drained of all energy. She curiously bumped him with her nose, making soft noises. Despite Maiken’s intentions and beliefs a horse was only a tool, he and the mare had grown close.
He mumbled under his breath to her, and tugged at her reins for her to follow him. He would ride the last half of the thirty-minute journey home. He’d learned the hard way, through painful cramps and strained muscles; it was better to walk and stretch after an exertion like that than sit on a horse and let his muscles seize up.
About twelve minutes of walking later, he started stumbling over his own feet. Pausing, he scrubbed at his eyes in defeat. He just couldn’t walk anymore. Dust stepped up beside him, turning her head to him. His tired green eyes met her liquid brown ones and he rubbed her soft muzzle before mounting. Again, he didn’t bother with stirrups, finding them much too tedious for his weary body to use. Rather, he slumped across her back with horrendous posture, letting her amble back toward home.
Copyright:
LaurenBlewett