If it doesn’t challenge you, it won’t change you.

Pre-Fall saying

“So, you’re a kind of mace specialist,” the army sergeant said.

“More like any blunt stuff. Fist, pommels, hammer, those mace things,” Tom said.

“Well, I don’t know anything about that Hero thing. The only one I know would be Warden’s own swordmistress, and while she’s a cut above anyone I’ve ever seen… it never felt supernatural to me.”

Tom Milton shrugged.

“So, show me,” the sergeant said.

Tom winced.

“It’s kinda hard. I need a target. A real one, not a fake one. When that woman wanted me to hit those wood men, I couldn’t do it. Not properly.”

“Sounds like you’re a grifter, then. I can do it. Show me. Well, I can’t really do it right now, but if I could just…”

One of the soldiers interrupted the sergeant.

“I was in the main courtyard. He did it, sarge. Ran like a Felid, whacked Pfeiffer good. Without that Saint, she’d be out. Maybe even heavily maimed.”

The sergeant looked at the soldier first, before fixing his gaze back on Tom.

“That still doesn’t help. How am I supposed to train you if you need real enemies?”

Tom frowned, then paced slowly backward.

“What are you doing, Milton?”

He raised his hand.

“Testing.”

Then suddenly he sprinted. Before the sergeant could even flinch, he reached him and slapped the soldier on the arm.

“OUCH! What the…”

“Little tap.”

“Goddamn. It feels like it’s going to be a bruise. You just slapped me like a welcome home. How can it hurt so…”

The sergeant kept massaging his arm, frowning at the same time.

“Okay. You are really a Hero, looks like. Still doesn’t help.”

Tom shrugged.

“So, how do your talents work?”

“That’s mostly it. I run very, very fast to any enemy. And when I hit them, I do a lot of damage. But that has to be an enemy. Can’t do it on objects. Or my wife or my friends.”

“So… I’m your enemy then?” the sergeant said, half-laughing.

“Haven’t volunteered for this,” Tom simply replied.

“Well, the real enemy is north, not here. If the wild tribes and their furry savage friends break through the Gap, don’t think they’ll stop with us. They didn’t like old Victor, they dislike his son as much. You’re from west, Valetta, right?”

“Yep.”

“Unless you’ve got a big enough army to defend the Narrows, you’re as much at risk as New Benton. Don’t forget this, Milton.”

An hour of sweaty work established a few things on Heroic talents.

First, Tom could turn on and off the “enemy” switch. He simply had to think about it. Was the soldier who had offered a suggestion helping? Then he found out he couldn’t rush him. But if he decided he was an ally of the evil sergeant, then he could.

As long as he “tapped” him. That was the second, or maybe the first requirement for the rush. He had to try to hit his target, even if lightly. If he didn’t, he did not get to rush, to have his legs pump suddenly without him consciously starting to run.

That why it never worked when I tested.

The sergeant put some armor on a few soldiers, so Tom’s “love taps” wouldn’t cause massive bruising. Then, he had him rush back and forth across the entire outdoor training yard for almost an hour in different distances and groups of people, trying to see if Tom would tire, slow, or something. It made almost no difference in speed until, after three-quarters of an hour, Tom suddenly had a cramp, stumbling and almost face-planted mid-run.

Then Tom started to sweat when he discovered he could no longer rush. He could run, but the rush failed to start, no matter how hard he thought about his “enemies”. And his taps didn’t bruise anymore. He was suddenly normal.

For a few terrifying minutes, he feared he’d broken something. As did the sergeant, grumbling about “being eviscerated by the Warden for breaking the Hero.”

Until, suddenly, he could start a rush. It almost immediately ended like the last one, stumbling with a cramp, feeling empty.

“Looks like you do need to rest,” the sergeant said. “You’re a Hero, but not one of those Ancient machines that always worked, never tired.”

“Like my wife. She can sustain fire for some time, then it stops coming. And it’s hard to get back to full. You need a good night’s sleep to be back in shape.”

“You never reached your limit before?”

“No.”

“Well, think about it. Better to find it now than on the battlefield.”

“Don’t think I’d be spending my time running.”

“We’ll try to find the maximum range tomorrow, I think,” the sergeant said. “But for now, we’ll switch to some non-heroic exercise.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Tom’s eyebrows shot up.

“Just because you can hit doesn’t mean you can’t be hit.”

“Oh.”

“Yea. You’re going to run – normally – at me, and I’m going to use one of those practice swords on my left or my right. You need to pass me on the other side.”

The sergeant grinned evilly while massaging again his arm.

“If you fail, you get bruised.”

Tom laughed.

“No biggies. Laura will fix that later.”

“What?” the sergeant blurted.

“Friend. She’s a Saint, can erase wounds, bruises, burns. Even scars.”

“Well… let’s stretch that session then. So you will feel them for longer.”

Tom sighed, then spread his feet to prepare himself.

Going to be a long morning.

Johanna finally joined Tom at dinner. It was served in a room dedicated to the Lordship’s guests. They were supposed to meet with the Warden himself, but at the last minute, he sent someone to excuse himself. “Too much work,” was the stated reason. Both she and Laura took seats at the large table.

“The guest-trainee contrast is weird,” she said.

“We’re treated like honored guests, and then sent to be tortured by a madwoman, you mean,” Laura laughed.

“Normal army trainers don’t seem any better,” Tom complained.

“I suppose Peter’s going to suffer too,” Laura added.

“Suppose too,” he said.

“Recruit’s training is supposed to make sure they don’t die,” the voice from behind them said.

Johanna turned her head and spotted a man that had just entered the dining room. He didn’t look like the local service, and then she spotted a scarred and clawed right hand, and instinctively rose.

“Lord Maistry?”

“Managed to make it after all,” the Warden said, before adding “Sit down, please,” as the other two rose.

“You must be a very busy man,” Johanna said.

“I shouldn’t even come, as there’s work for more than one man to be done, but then… I have to make sure we’re ready for when the cold sets in. It’s only early October, but it’s Montana. The tribes have retreated, probably for the harvest season. Even barbarian tribesmen need to eat. But when the temperature drops or worse, when the snows begin, that’s when the Wendigos will come out.”

Johanna’s next question was cut by the waiter putting bowls of stew in front of them. She waited until everyone had been served.

“Why do they attack the Marches?”

“We’ve been at war pretty much since the Fall. My ancestors have known conflict pretty much every generation. They sought to keep the Marches safe, and we’ve strengthened the Montana at every occasion. But this one… when my father Victor died, they sought to take advantage of the transition. Hoping I wouldn’t be the worthy son of my father.”

The man paused and smiled. Johanna thought he looked fearsome with that expression.

“They thought wrong. Although we all hoped the war would be short, for different reasons of course, we’ve held our own, and they grow desperate. They wouldn’t talk to the Wendigo savages otherwise.”

“That’s why you drafted levies?”

“We both took losses. The standing recruitment for the army isn’t enough, so it’s either the draft, or we risk losing. Although I was mostly expecting to simply hold this winter… maybe the tide will turn.”

He looked at the three.

“Agnello knows his business. If he says you can change the equation of war, I trust him. Having a hero, a saint… a sorceress… that can change things, indeed.”

“Lady Worchester… seems powerful,” Johanna said.

“Mostly in defensive positions. Her fogs make it hard to conduct a proper attack… both for us and them. She’ll help to draft a proper strategy to best use your own talents in the field of battle.”

He looked at Laura.

“Speaking of which, she wants to have a talk with you. Not today, but tomorrow.”

“Me?”

“Of course. Apparently, you might be some kind of saint and sorceress rolled in one, so she wants to figure out exactly what goes on. Before she makes recommendations.”

“I’m surprised not to see her,” Johanna said.

“She usually takes dinner in her room. She’s a busy woman as well and not too sociable.”

Maistry looked at Laura again. She was watching his right hand. He raised the clawed non-functional hand.

“Wondering how that happened?”

“Yes. It looks weird,” Laura said.

“Seven years ago. A pair of tribes were trying to flank us, bypass the forward garrisons. I was a bit foolish and was leading the fight. We were holding our own despite the storm. That was before Elena was helping. I faced off one of their leading generals… and lightning struck. My hand was in the way.”

“Lightning?” Johanna asked.

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that was a sorcerer. Or I was very, very unlucky. My troops were well trained. When I woke up, they’d managed to inflict a draw, both sides retreating. But despite the best efforts of my medics… the hand was a loss.”

“May I…” Laura said.

“You think you can fix it? Agnello said you needed to perform a miracle immediately during the battle itself, or not at all.”

“I have different ways of healing.”

“You do, don’t you?”

The Warden extended his hand across the table and Laura hesitated before taking it. She frowned but started passing her thumb very slowly over the hand. Maistry watched her, looking very interested.

After a minute, Laura sighed. The hand… looked normal. But the fingers were still unnaturally curled in a claw.

“Can’t do more,” she said finally.

“That is still impressive,” the Warden said, examining his right hand.

“Although… it’s a bit of a shame. The scarring reminds me of my mistake.”

“Can’t unfix it, alas,” Laura said.

Laura heard a small knock and simply said “get in,” without looking. But an instinct made her raise her head as the door opened… She wondered about who it was before she realized that Peter was there. In the room.

She bounded off the bed and rushed him.

“Hi, babe…” he said in a small whisper.

“You got a pass already? On your second day?”

“What do you think?” he replied, holding her.

She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you snuck out.”

“Why not. Okay, there are guards at the military barracks, but there’s plenty of room to sneak behind them. And the castle is almost as easy.”

She laughed and he smiled. Then he realized they were already next to the bed as she pulled him down.

“Whelp!”

“You said ‘on top’, remember. Or is it Peter Vogel already?”

“How are Jo and Tom doing?”

“Training hard. We got a maniac sword teacher. Once she figured out I can fix almost anything, and even clear some muscle soreness…”

“You can?”

“Looks like. It’s not perfect, but it works.”

“They work us hard too. I probably need some.”

“Let’s see if that soreness can be removed,” she said, lowering her hand.

“Will they notice you’re gone?” she asked.

“Some of the other levies – the ones that arrived before us – says they only start doing night inspection of the barracks later.”

“Then they will. And your secret life will come out.”

“Okay,” he admitted, “I’ll head out. Pass my hello to Jo and Tom.”

“Will do. Now shoo.”

“I’ll be back.”

“Hello,” Elena Worchester said, looking at yet another impossibly young woman.

Of course, she’d already seen her trying to hold a sword and mostly failing, but based on what she’d heard from Johanna Milton, she was someone who she really needed to talk to.

“Evening,” Laura Donnall replied.

“Come, sit. It’s going to be weird for me.”

“Johanna said you thought I might be a sorceress, not a saint?”

“Saints are known for their miraculous healing, which is what you do. I’m not familiar with Saints and the Panoply of Miracles, though. New Benton is heavily new catholic, so we have a bishopric here. I’ve asked them, and they don’t have a copy, but it shouldn’t take long. And they are very interested in the appearance of a Saint. Rumors have already started.”

Laura winced.

“Can’t be helped. The Warden will probably invite the Archbishop soon. What interests me, though, is the dreadful gaze. That one is sorcerous.”

“It is?”

“It’s what is usually classified as mind sorcery. Talents like yours, detection of lies, empathic sense, muting people, or even telepathy.”

“Tele… pathy? Like in the novels?”

Elena laughed.

“Not you too. It’s mind speech. Nobody’s seen a talent to read one’s mind, but sending a silent voice across distances, to communicate, yes.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t tell me you can do that?”

“No. I don’t think so. Maybe I should see if I can…”

Laura fell silent. Elena waited a bit before continuing.

“A big question will be how strong your gaze can be. How long you can sustain it.”

“I’ve never tried. I’ve used it in battle before, but…”

“Then let’s see. Can you use it on me?”

“On you?” Laura asked, surprised.

“Yes. Based on what I know… it’s going to be slightly disturbing, but not too much… oh. Oh.”

“I’ve used it mostly on beasts,” Laura said.

“It is… disturbing. Never met a mind sorcerer, but that’s something. No, keep it up.”

“You want me to?”

“We need to know how long you can keep it up. You can affect multiple targets, right?”

“Anyone I’m seeing. I can’t turn away my eyes, or it stops.”

“Let’s see then. If you can talk at the same time, that is.”