Chapter Six:

Navihm had no classes the next day. The students got one day in every seven with no scheduled classes where they were able to catch up on class work and practice what magical skills they had learned during the week. Most students treated it as a bit of a holiday and usually spent the day in town or picnicking with friends. Navihm always took the opportunity to exercise Equus. It was his practice to take him on a long ride through the countryside to an out of the way place and spend the day studying in the sunshine and exercising without an audience. The days he had classes he was only able to take him out on short rides and the only exercise Navihm got was a morning run before breakfast. If he wanted to keep his combat skills sharp, he needed to practice his drills, which he took the opportunity to do on his days off. Every so often he was able to spar with the guards. It was a good opportunity to learn the Lowlanders’ way of fighting.

Today Eamonn was going with him on his weekly trip. They had an early breakfast which the school’s cooks were kind enough to provide outside of the normal meal time and packed up the horses with a small picnic and Navihm’s weapons. Navihm particularly enjoyed these days off because he was able to dress in clothes from his homeland, rather than the stuffy uniform he was required to wear the rest of the week. He wore his loose pants that knotted at the ankles and waist. The top of the pants folded over the knotted belt and hung to just above his knee. Eamonn liked to tease him about wearing a skirt. Naivhm took this teasing good naturedly now as he buckled his sword sheath across his shoulders and chest, over his loose shirt.

They had lead Equus and Eamonn’s borrowed horse out of the stables and were just about to mount up when Professor Blaise caught up with them. Navihm had met with her after the incident and she had neglected to pursue any punishment for his hurting other students. Perhaps she still had more questions.

“Navihm,” she called, and they turned to greet her. “I know this is your day off, Navihm but I was wondering if you would consider spending some of your day practicing what we discovered at the hospice yesterday. I would love to have an opportunity to work one on one with you.”

“That would be fantastic, Professor.” Navihm had been trying to repeat yesterday's success without much luck. It would be a great help to have someone of Professor Blaise’s expertise to help. Navihm had asked Eamonn about the teacher after the incident and learned that she was the youngest teacher the school had ever hired. She had been at the school for almost thirty years and was one of the most skilled users of magic.

“Perhaps two hours after the midday meal?” Professor Blaise suggested. “I wouldn't want to cut your ride short.”

“I will meet you at your office, Professor.” Navihm nodded a short bow.

“Very good, enjoy your ride.”

The boys mounted and left the school. The guards at the gate waved them through, familiar with Navihm’s routine.

“Private lessons hey?” Eamonn teased. “Aren’t you special.” Navihm ignored him and waved a thanks to the guards who hoisted the gate up for them. He nudged Equus into a gallop, leaving Eamonn’s laughter echoing behind him.

“My name is, not ‘my name am,’” corrected Navihm in Nomadic. Eamonn was slouched up against a tree working on some language exercises Navihm had set him. Eamonn could understand a lot more Nomadic than he could speak but he was making progress. Navihm made a point to always speak to the other boy in Nomadic when they were alone and expected the same practice from Eamonn. It was the best way for Eamonn to learn.

“My name is Eamonn. What are yours?”

Navihm corrected him again gently, not even pausing in his weapons practice. They had stopped in a clearing by a small creek for their picnic. Navihm was drilling with his daggers today. About the length of his forearm, his daggers were unique and required a lot of skill to wield correctly.  It appeared much like a standard dagger except for an handle protruding at a right angle at the base of the blade. This formed an L shape at the hilt for both the daggers.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The short, sideways handle allowed the wielder to grip it and spin the dagger in a series of bewildering twirls. While the more traditional straight handle was used for stabbing and thrusting. There was also a short blade, around the length of a finger, attached to the bottom of the hilt to make the spinning weapon even more deadly.

Navihm practiced spinning the blunted blades, twisting them in front of his body and over his head. Stopping occasionally to grip the longer length of hilt and stab at an imaginary opponent or cross both daggers above his head as he would to block a downward sword strike.

The first few times Eamonn watched Navihm practice with his daggers, he was completely enraptured by the foreign fighting style.  By now he was used to Navihm’s drills and took their outings as an opportunity to practice his Nomad.

Navihm had removed his shirt and shoes. It was a warm day by Lowland standards and Navihm had been practicing his weapon drills in the sun for hours. He stopped for a break for lunch when the heat became too much and joined Eamonn in the shade.

“How is the weather… weather …” Eamonn was staring hard at the papers in front of him. “Weather, weather?”

“Weather,” said Navihm, taking a huge gulp from his canteen and pouring the rest of the water on his face. He had left the canteen in the shade by Eamonn so the water was cool and felt pleasant trickling down his back and drying on his overheated skin.

“How do you learn this so easily?” Eamonn asked as he abandoned his study for the soft bread rolls Navihm had pulled out of one of the packs. “You picked up Ianterran quicker than anyone i've ever met. It’s not fair.” Eamonn absently flicked over to the pages Navihm had added a few weeks ago to the makeshift book on his lap. Lines and lines of Ianterran script filled the pages in Navihm’s neat, sloping handwriting.

“It is something I am good at,” Navihm explained. “I traveled a lot and I love to learn, my mother made sure of that. The burden of being the son of a teacher is an insatiable hunger for knowledge. Some of that knowledge comes from people who speak a different tongue, so I learned their languages.”

“When did you learn to speak Nomad?”

“When I was sixteen, I lived with the Nomads for a season. There has been conflicts between the Nomads and the Tribes every so often for the last few centuries. I thought if I knew more about them, I would understand that conflict better.”

“And did you understand?”

“Too many questions,” Navihm said with a smile. “Not enough practice.” He scattered his half eaten roll amongst the trees for the birds and picked up his daggers.

“What is the time?” Navihm asked in Nomadic.

“It is midday,” Eamonn replied after a brief pause and a glance at Navihm’s notes.

“Two hours until my meeting. That means one more hour for practice.” Eamonn groaned but dutifully returned to his practice. Navihm launched himself into the cool water of the creek, the water rising to just below his knee, and began his drills again. The soft river bed and water made for treacherous footing and good practice. Navihm threw himself into his practice, splashing water around enthusiastically.

“My name is Eamonn. What is yours?”