I wasn’t happy with Master Meh-len’s reactions to my dad teaching me quat-lo, though I had expected as much. It took great effort to put aside my anger so I could accomplish what I’d come here to do. I’d just show the Quat-lo Master what I was capable of, and then maybe he’d accept that my dad did actually know what he was doing in teaching me. And if Master Meh-len didn’t, well that was too bad. No one was going to make me give this up. For me, it was more than just a fighting discipline, it was years of new memories spent with my dad, and that was priceless.
So I grounded and centered myself just as my dad had taught me, and I began the first quat-lo set I had ever been taught. It wasn’t long. Maybe three minute, but it served as a good base to all that I later learned. My arms loose and constantly moving to throw off any opponent that might be watching for telling jerks or swings that might be coming their way. My feet firm and planted to support my weight and keep me grounded. My breath steady and even.
The thing about quat-lo was that it really wasn’t so different from any martial art that I had learned on Earth. Sure, the moves looked somewhat different. The palms and sides of the hand were the most used weapons in this particular combat technique. I discovered that a lot could be done with an open hand as long as the person wielding it had the correct control and discipline.
Speed was certainly important, but even more than that was the strength in the strike. That could only be developed over a long period of time, and from what my memories had shown me, I’d been training at this since I was nine years old. Probably longer than any of the trainees here had, but I wasn’t going to say that. I’d probably piss them off even more than they already were.
I moved through the form with precision and strength. I didn’t worry about if dad had taught me wrong. I decided I’d address that if it was a problem later. For now, I was the moment, and the moment was me.
The form ended with me standing legs together and palms back at prayer position. I gave Master Meh-len a slight bow, whether he appreciated it or not, and then stood up straight and waited for his assessment of how I did.
The Master said not a word. He simply stood there giving me the full brunt of his glare. It was a moment before he grunted. “Your execution was clumsy and poor. Next set.”
Bullshit.
My execution was spot on, I don’t care what he said. But I didn’t argue with him. Instead, I settled into the starting position of the next set, and glided through that one too. I did the same with the next three. Each time I finished, Master Meh-len would make some snide comment about my execution, or that I was hunching my back or that my steps weren’t quite right, but the longer we went on, the more I realized he never once said a word about the actual forms, or that any of my movements were truly wrong.
That made me smile. Inwardly, of course. Dad hadn’t messed up anything at all. He’d taught me true. Eat that Master Meh-len. Again, a sentiment I kept strictly to myself. Instead, I just moved into the next set. I was finishing up the fifth one when I saw a blur from the corner of my eye that was coming my way.
I was right in the middle of a deflection move that ended with my hands up and out to my sides. It was a great opportunity for someone to move in and take a punch. Only this wasn’t just a simple strike that was coming my way, it was the Hand of Death.
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My mind didn’t even have time to fully register the fear as my muscle memory took control. The first thing I did was to anchor my feet firmly to the sandstone and leaned far enough backward that when the hand came my way, it only met air. Next, I brought the side of my right hand down like an ax on the palm’s wrist. While I was still delivering that strike, I was already twisting my body so it was moving off to the left. Then, I was in position to deliver a flat palm of my own to the shoulder of my attacker.
I wasn’t a bulky person by nature. Tall, yes. Rippled in muscle and heavy weighed, not so much. Dad wanted to make sure I could go up against those in a higher weight class than myself, so he’d taught me to leverage my weight to make strong and powerful attacks, even against someone bigger or more skilled than I. And I was under no illusions that I could actually win a fight against a Quat-lo Master. My goal was to disrupt the Master’s flow enough to hopefully bring this fight to an end.
My locked knees and slightly bent body helped me create a thrust powerful enough to make the Master stagger backward. Like I had hoped, Master Meh-len hadn’t expected such a powerful blow from me. A look of surprise flashed across his face and he hesitated. I took the opportunity to quickly step back and give the Master a low bow.
“Thank you, Master Meh-len for your instruction,” I said as I straightened and hoped to god he didn’t try to start the fight up again. Yes, I’d managed to counteract him, but it was a near thing. I wondered how badly this was going to mess up my assessment. I figured my chances at befriending this man were long gone, and by the heated glare and wave of anger coming off him, I had presumed correctly.
“What do you think you are doing, Master Meh-len?” I heard the angry voice of Master Kiev coming up behind me.
The older man quickly stepped around me and positioned himself directly between Master Meh-len and myself. I couldn’t see Kiev’s face, but I could certainly feel the rage emanating from him. I found myself taking an involuntary step back from Master Kiev because of the intense emotion coming from the man. When I did, I was able to get a look around Kiev and saw that Master Meh-len’s furious gaze was now aimed at the man standing between us.
“I was assessing the Prince as I was instructed to do by Commander Jordem,” Meh-len answered in a clipped tone.
“That was more than just assessing, Master Meh-len. There was no cause for you to interfere with his demonstration, and certainly not in using that particular move.”
Master Meh-len raised an eyebrow. “And what qualifications do you have to tell me how to do an assessment in quat-lo, Master Kiev? I certainly wouldn’t tell you how to do an assessment in the Mind Bending Dome-ni.”
Kiev’s jaw hardened, but he didn’t seem phased at all by the last comment. “An assessment is to demonstrate a progress of skill. In no way does that mean the direct involvement of an instructor.”
“And how can I properly assess someone’s progress in just watching him do forms? The true essence of quat-lo is about how a person responds to attacks, especially ones that are unexpected. Tell me, Master Kiev. How am I to assess that particular skill if I don’t get involved?”
“You could have seriously injured the Prince, maybe even killed him. And yes, I know very well you are one of the few who can kill with that move. Besides, I was under the impression there was a sparing segment in the second half of his testing where you could have fully assessed the Prince’s response in a fighting situation. Was I wrong in this?”
Master Meh-len didn’t say a word. He stood there with his a stoic expression plastered on his face, but I could still feel the anger seething inside him. The courtyard was deadly silent as the two Masters faced off with each other. No one seemed to want to get in the middle of this particular fight, and I didn’t blame them.
“This assessment is over.” Master Kiev suddenly declared, he then wheeled around and marched for the exit. “Highness, if you will follow me, I will take you back to the chalet.”
I didn’t even hesitate as I turned and followed him out. I was more than ready to leave this courtyard far behind and the glowering man standing in the center of it. I could feel Master Meh-len’s fiery gaze all the way to the exit, and I couldn’t help but wonder how I had managed to upset yet another person without any seeming effort on my part. It was becoming a new skill that I could certainly do without.