Kalos felt the village growing smaller behind him. He glanced down at the bracelet tied to his wrist before looking over his shoulder at the one who had given it to him. There, by the main entrance of the village stood Nava, where she had been standing for the last several minutes as they slowly rode away.
Nava had been his best friend for as long as he could remember. There were others around their age, but they rarely spent time with anyone else like they did with each other. He had traveled to Blefcynn and been on several hunting trips before, but this time something felt different. The reality that he might not see her for a very long time dropped like a hammer against the anvil of his heart.
Kalos cast a big smile and tall wave her way. She slowly lifted a hand and smiled back before turning toward the village and walking away without another glance.
A strange blend of nervous, lonely emotions that’d been churning in his gut were slowly being replaced by excitement and anticipation for the journey ahead. Finally he was escaping the village toward the beckoning voice that'd been calling him for years. He kept telling himself that he would be back as soon as their business was concluded. Such thoughts at least helped him feel like it would be a much shorter journey in his heart. Despite the difficulty of leaving Nava behind, he still felt more alive than he could ever remember feeling before.
#
Nearly an hour passed by before Kalos and Grimm located the long, curvy bend that eventually led over the mountains. Toward Rasmont Range, the ancient road Grimm had chosen stretched on through the wilderness. Their village was now completely hidden from view by thick, lush foliage on every side. Ancient groves of tall evergreens and massive hardwoods threatened to devour the route entirely in only a few more years. Hidden beneath countless ferns and young plants was the well-worn trail of hard-packed dirt and stone that would eventually lead them to their destination.
“Kalos,” Grimm had been watching from nearby for several minutes. “It’s been many days since we last practiced. I have a special lesson for you, tonight. We’ll make camp soon.”
Kalos had been training with Grimm since he was seven. He had been learning the subtle nuances of multiple weapons and combat strategies for years. They had covered everything from defensive maneuvers to group attack formations dating back at least several hundred years from some of the most powerful kingdoms throughout history. The idea that there was still a special lesson to learn after all that time was a thrilling prospect for him.
Grimm interrupted his thoughts, “We’re going to have to be extra careful from here on out. We don’t know how fast they’re actually traveling, now. I imagine those pirates aren’t happy about what happened, and I bet they’ll never forget your face, now.”
“Pirates?” Kalos flinched, causing the horse to bob his head in surprise, “How do you know they were pirates and spies?”
“Their clothes gave that one away. Port Blefcynn has many fine tailors who frequently receive exotic silks from sea merchants, but only wealthy nobles can afford them. Those thugs will wear their silks down to the very last thread. Even though they were old and tattered, giving up such finery for newer, less expensive varieties is not such an easy thing to do. They could never have afforded those silks on their own, so they must’ve procured them from some ill-fated vessel, or unlucky traveler along the way long before they joined that caravan. Such things are also like badges of honor for pirates; Rites of passage if you will, for becoming worthy and equal crewmembers of a successful raiding crew.
“Aside from that, they both had crosses branded into their forearms. That means they’ve been living a bandit's life for a very long time. Brutal consequences like that have been lost to Ceirlan for nearly two decades now.”
“You mean since the Order took over?” Kalos questioned.
“Yes, that’s right.” Grimm’s eyes drifted skyward. Anytime that the Order or talk of the old way was mentioned, Grimm would get a far-reaching look in his eyes that, for Kalos, usually meant the conversation had reached its end. He wanted to know more, though.
“Crosses? What does that mean, exactly?”
Grimm blinked in surprise before returning his attention to Kalos. Clearly he hadn’t expected such a query from his son.
“Well, having that cross branded on the skin means someone has been marked as a thief for the rest of his days. Petty crimes like stealing bread never warranted such a harsh consequence. Only criminals who have dedicated much of their lives to violence and thievery receive such a punishment.
"Specifically, seasoned pirates always got one when they were caught.” Grimm shifted uncomfortably, “Sometimes even without a trial at if tempers were high. Whether they might be enslaved, executed for their crimes, or even released if found innocent made no difference. Lesser sentences didn’t exist for those who partook of a life of piracy in any form when caught by the King’s Lawmen. They were quite generous passing out such sentences in his name, too. Despite how barbaric the practice used to be, it was effective at dissuading others from making the same poor choices with their lives.”
Kalos knew Grimm was wise in the ways of the world, but it still surprised him to find out just how familiar he always seemed to be with how things were before the Black King’s rule. His mind was racing about how his dad could've learned so much.
“The Good King, who was the successor of the Wise King before him, was a just and honorable man. He ruled with a soft tongue like his father, but also like his father, he had a terrible temper and an unwavering standard of right and wrong to uphold for his people. Under the Good King’s authority, punishment was swift and merciless when deemed necessary.”
Grimm continued as though he were having a casual conversation with a close friend about how things used to be.
“Our kingdom was greatly ‘blessed,’ some might say, for no matter how lowly or insignificant the citizen, he or she could be richly rewarded for leading a good example in society. They might display remarkable courage, or provide something of great value to the benefit of the king and his people, and so would receive some great honor as a reward.”
The trail straightened ahead, revealing a long, narrow pathway as far as they could see up to Rasmont Peak.
Grimm furrowed his brow as he scouted ahead while speaking, “For example, long ago a terrible sickness swept through Ceirlan. A particular healer with a low family title committed everything he possessed to finding a cure. He sold almost all of his worldly possessions from his family’s land and estates to some of his most coveted treasures, and traveled far and wide to gather healing wisdom and rare ingredients from every witch doctor, magician, and healer he could find before successfully creating a remedy that could cure the population and minimize their suffering in the meantime.
“As soon as he realized how effective his formula was, rather than selfishly retaining the recipe for his own benefit, he sent riders with all the ingredients and necessary details for preparing the medicine to every corner of the kingdom for immediate use. The Wise King’s eldest son happened to be one of the very first to receive it, and he was completely healed in a matter of days.
“The selfless healer requested nothing in return, just that his family name be honored by the king’s grace rather than continuing to be despised for the great misfortunes they had been cursed with over the years. The king actually rewarded the man greatly by christening him with a new name altogether. He became known as Lord Curan Magnus, and was given a prime estate near the castle before being appointed the royal title of Lord High Regent of Magicians and Healers within just a few short years. Lord Magnus was second only to the Wise King himself, and was regarded as an equal among his closest confidants even after the king's passing, enabling him to accomplish many great things for Ceirlan for many years. He saved countless lives and discovered many exceedingly powerful magicians before the Black King seized authority from His Royal Majesty, Akalon the Good, son of Arkadios the Wise.
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Kalos watched Grimm with eyes wide. He’d never heard anyone use the full,m proper titles of the old kings, which were forbidden to be spoken of at all by the Black King himself on pain of death.
All the pride of an imperial knight marching at the behest of the Good King himself radiated from Grimm as he continued riding at a casual pace next to Kalos.
#
Dusk was beginning to fall by the time Kalos and Grimm finished setting up camp. They had secured their horses to a sturdy tree along the path. To one side of it was a clear, peaceful stream flowing from the mountains above over a bed of limestone pebbles that sparkled in the light.
Twenty paces from the stream, they had spread a large, woven blanket beside a small campfire. Resting on it were two thinly crafted mats, each one covered by a wool blanket of its own. It was a simple arrangement, but would easily provide more than enough comfort for them to get a good nights’ sleep.
Kalos could see the Mercari camp in the distance. At minimum, it was a couple hours away by foot up the mountain, meaning they were relatively safe from any unwanted visitors coming their way. He couldn’t make out exactly where their wagons were, but the glow from their lanterns would shine at least until early the next morning, clearly revealing their location to any watchful eyes lurking in the dark. Kalos lifted his gaze, fascinated by how brightly the half-moon beamed in the night sky.
“Kalos, are you ready?”
Standing to his feet, he glanced over at his dad with a fiery grin. The older man simply watched with emotionless eyes as he waited for him to approach.
“What I’m about to teach you must never be forgotten. It will surely mean the difference between life and death for you one day.” Grimm had a way of utterly desensitizing himself when it came to training. Kalos remembered that lesson particularly well after the many injuries he had received over the years as a result of poor responses to deadly maneuvers that were thankfully for practice only.
“You will face opponents who feel nothing but pure hatred for you. You must meet them with remarkable valor and equal force of will. Not from the wolf of evil, as they do, but from the wolf of good in your heart, and with unmatched ferocity in your mind.”
Grimm’s intensity was unsettling. He controlled his breathing flawlessly as he spoke. Kalos had never been approached like this before during practice.
“You have learned everything you need to execute these movements successfully and overcome your foes without delay, just like I have taught these many years. Watch carefully and commit them to your heart. This is known as the Fyerden Dance. Only a handful of individuals who’ve had the misfortune of witnessing it at the end of a blade have ever learned about it. None have survived. Follow every step, every stroke, and every motion flawlessly.”
Kalos’ expression vanished as he watched Grimm close his eyes and take a long, slow breath. With the grace of a serpent poised to strike, the man lowered his stance and opened his eyes, snapping the air in front of him with his right hand while mimicking the tip of a blade with his fingers. The unnatural power behind his strike caused a wave of sound to echo in every direction like the pop of a ships’ sail against the wind.
Afterwards, his left hand rose to attack an imaginary opponent in the exact same place in a blur, but with complete silence. Kalos didn’t even see his second hand until it appeared frozen in front of his eyes, as if it had been hovering right there at the end of his attack the entire time.
Grimm lowered his right arm as if to block an incoming punch at his ribs and countered with a left hand strike where the opponent’s liver would be. He gracefully turned to face a second, imaginary opponent and instantly raised his left hand in a vertical line, slicing the inside of his opponent’s arm with his fingertips.
A few quick movements later, Kalos immediately recognized that Grimm had just revealed twelve simple, brutal attacks, all targeting an enemy’s most vital weak points in combat. Any one of the demonstrated strokes were capable of disabling or even killing an opponent with a single blow. He also noticed that Grimm adapted the techniques for use in close-range combat for his benefit.
“Now, I will show you one more time. Stand beside me and follow each motion precisely.” Kalos quickly stepped beside Grimm, adopting the same posture as exactly as possible.
For an hour or more, the two of them practiced until the sky had completely faded to black. Eventually, Grimm told Kalos to continue practicing alone while he watched and began scrutinizing his every effort.
“You must flow more smoothly from one movement to the next, and with less wasted energy. If you don’t do it right your enemies will see your attacks coming and counter when you least expect it.
“Anytime you use one of these techniques you must end the fight in one or two moves. The longer the confrontation lasts, the less likely you are to prevail. These attacks should only be weaved in between the techniques you have learned over the years when the time to strike is at-hand.”
Kalos began to recognize that the twelve motions he was learning were designed for attacking only the most fatal points of contact with remarkable efficiency. They were the same points of focus Grimm had been teaching him about for years with many different weapons. Not only had he been taught to attack those points without remorse during training, he’d also learned how to protect those same places from attack on his body no matter the cost.
“Better...”
Kalos’ discipline and breathing was deteriorating as the sweat escaping his pores increased over time. He lowered his arms, finally relaxing after what seemed like many hours of repetition. When he wiped his brow with one arm, he unintentionally smeared more liquid across his forehead than was already there.
“Now, let’s practice.” Grimm tossed a sturdy limb from a nearby tree his way. Kalos sluggishly lifted his hands, barely catching it. It was about the same length of his foot, but heavy with fresh sap.
“In a real fight you won’t have time to take a breath or calm your nerves. After you’ve dispatched a dozen enemies, a dozen more will appear to avenge their comrades. Their attacks will be fierce and they will not relent.”
With that, Grimm silently leapt straight at him with a much larger cutting the length of a short sword. As soon as he came close enough, Grimm slashed down at Kalos’ head with full force. The boy quickly stepped to the left and attempted to slice Grimm’s exposed forearm from the side. The older man simply tilted his weapon and rolled forward, avoiding his blunt dagger by an arm's length.
As he came to rest on his knees, Grimm swung his branch at Kalos’ lower back with ease. Kalos barely saved himself from a painful strike to the kidneys by jumping as hard as he could away from the makeshift sword.
Kalos spun to face Grimm, who was already on his feet and moving in for another strike. Before he could even come up with a strategy about how to exploit his opponent’s weaknesses, he was reeling from a blow to the chest that made his body clench from shock.
Grimm stepped forward, thrusting straight at the boy’s stomach in an attempt to take advantage of the superior reach his weapon afforded him.
Without thinking, Kalos parried the attack and stepped forward, stabbing at Grimm’s neck just slowly enough to avoid contact. Though his branch was blunt and basically useless in a real fight, a blow from such close proximity could easily injure or even kill someone with enough force.
As soon as Grimm saw Kalos attempt to strike his throat, he balled his hand into a fist and delivered a strong cross-blow to Kalos’ cheek that sent him sprawling to the ground in a heap.
Eventually, Kalos’ eyes fluttered open again. All he could remember was attacking one of the weak points his father had taught him without success. The next thing he knew, he was staring at the stars.
Slowly his vision cleared. Grimm was quietly sitting right next to him, looking up at the stars as well.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I tried to...” Grimm glanced over, gently cutting him off, “Kalos, the only reason you failed is because you hesitated long enough for me to hit you back. If you hadn’t, I might very well be the one down there, myself. You did well.”
Despite the throbbing of pain and the adrenaline in his blood, Kalos was completely stunned by his father's words. All he could do was sit in silence while those unexpected words ran through his mind again.
Kalos suddenly realized how many hours, days, and years Grimm had spent teaching him everything he knew. His father had just given him the greatest compliment a student could ever receive from a master. He had carried himself confidently for at least the last few years, but now he knew he could handle himself in any situation.
Kalos drew a long, slow breath from the cool, night air. The tension in his chest melted away despite the pain that lingered from Grimm's makeshift sword. It felt like a mere pinch compared to the warmth in his heart.
“I have nothing more to teach you,” Grimm admitted calmly. “You have proven to me that you are ready to take the skills you have learned and forge your own path. There are many kingdoms full of knowledge and experience out there. Entirely different combat styles, entirely different strategies, and philosophies exist. More than you can imagine, in fact. Make no mistake, any of them could be stronger than yours, but most will be weaker. Do not think that your learning is complete or you will only come to understand how little you truly know when you draw your last breath on the flat of your back... Much like you were tonight.”
As harsh as his words sounded, Kalos only saw an expression filled with pride. It was the kind of pride only a father could feel when his helpless little boy transforms into a formidable, young man right in front of his eyes.
©2024, K. M. Plum, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED