Valentin departed Hubert’s company in great confusion and continued in the room in the back of the longhouse. His thoughts drifted closer and closer to the conclusion that Hubert was, in fact, not capable of fulfilling Valentin’s desires for suitable punishment. Whatever suitable punishment looked like.
He pressed his fingers to his lips, the thoughts that came with that consideration also came with memories that he did not face. He felt that the offer for death blinded his mind from other options. Either way, they would be stuck in the same area. A guaranteed distance was better than nothing.
As he passed through the doorway, he saw Ferron sitting at his central table. He sipped at a drink that emitted wisps of steam into the air. Across him sat the witch in ebullient shades. She looked over her shoulder and offered a thin smile to the entering boy.
“Ah Valentin, how was your first lesson with Hrost?” Ferron welcomed Valentin into his room. He motioned to his drink, “Calda?”
“Oh, yes please,” Valentin responded, taking a seat at the table. “Hrost is an intense person, he hit me with an attack that I couldn’t see.”
“Oh did he now?” Ferron asked with eyebrows raised in an interested expression.
Ferron grabbed an ornate vessel painted in whites and reds and golds, each leg of the fired clay container was modeled in the shape of a taloned foot grasping onto a rock. Steam poured out of the top when the lid was removed followed by the sound of liquid pouring into a clay cup. A reddish liquid was added from another pitcher into the drink followed by a few pinches of coarse grinding from a small wooden box.
“He said you never mastered the way of the spear,” Valentin commented. “That you prefer brute force and inelegant acts.”
The cup was handed to Valentin and the boy sipped the spiced beverage. The warm drink delivered heat to his cooled extremities and reminded him of his mother’s blend of herbs she was always so proud of.
“Hrost never withholds his words, even towards those that he serves. In my eyes, men fear the hammer more,” Ferron explained simply. “Which would you rather face in the heat of battle? Besides, Hrost used to be a shit teacher, always too impatient.”
“I think if I were in the field I would trust my armor to stop a spear thrust rather than a heavy blow to the head,” Jaela commented with a contemplative expression. “What do you think, Zunjing?”
Valentin spun his head around to see the crimson-garbed man standing near the doorway on the other end of the room. The man stood rigidly but shrugged his shoulders when asked by the witch. Valentin found it strange that the man showed emotion at all, like a marble bust smiling. It was unsettling.
“I fear the man more than a weapon. I fear a highly trained favored more than I do the conscript even if the latter were armed with a weapon imbued with a legendary spirit pact,” the bodyguard spoke in the international tongue.
“Well that goes without saying,” Ferron commented, dissatisfied with the crimson man’s rare words. “We were discussing weapons in the hands of equals.”
“Then why do I have to learn the spear?” Valentin complained, slightly forgetting the display that had just been inflicted upon him. “I want to learn the sword.”
“Sword? You’re much too small to wield any sword of value,” Ferron teased, dismissing the idea entirely like the steam from his cup. “Show up with a little blade and you’ll be stabbed to death before you even know what happened and anyone could even break a sweat. The spear should be the first weapon that anyone learns.”
Valentin sighed in disappointment and drank from his cup. He wished to use the sword to pay homage to his uncle in some way, but it seemed that he had to take a detour. The pain from the recent demonstration of the power of reach still echoed in his body, but it had dampened now that he had drank Hrost’s potion.
“You should learn everything you possibly can from Hrost while he is still active,” Ferron advised. “He was a martial prodigy in his younger years. In fact, if we were both in our primes and fought, he would likely win easily.”
Valentin perked up to Ferron’s admission. “He’s that strong?”
“I speak the truth,” Ferron reaffirmed. “You have more spiritual potential than he ever did, even more than I do. Perhaps if you meet his expectations, you can become something untouchable on the battlefield.”
Valentin looked down at his hands in wonder. Could someone like him truly become so great? He didn’t feel as though Ferron had been lying to him but his emaciated body did not imbue him with great confidence. However, what good would empty words do either of them? Valentin should trust the one that will teach him to be strong.
“So you need to do exactly what he says or it won’t work,” Ferron commanded. “I know from personal experience. Well that and he told me I was too ‘oafish’ to be graceful.”
“I will try to meet your expectations of me.”
“Anyways,” Ferron dismissed, departing from the matter at hand. “I wish to speak to you about another topic. Jaela has graciously offered to teach you Diplomat’s Tongue as well as foreign cultures. You will meet her here after your training with Hrost for your tutoring.”
“I have heard that your druids use it in their incantations, surely you have been taught the Overtongue in some way,” Jaela commented, hoping to understand the mastery level of her new student.
Valentin smirked at the statement. He was a merchant’s son after all and one would need to know how to speak the international lingua franca to trade beyond the nation’s border. He had also been taught some Hetecian phrases to interact with their close neighbors. This would be the time to impress everyone with his abilities.
Valentin spoke some phrases in the foreign tongue and warrior and witch glanced at each other with questioning eyes. The boy sat in his seat with a face devoid of emotion as he desperately tried to keep his smugness contained. This was the sole ability that he had learned with more ease than his sisters and he had always been proud of it.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“Uh, Valentin,” Jaela started. She pressed her fingers together and adopted a pensive expression. “That was better than I thought. However, your accent…”
“You don’t have to hold back, Jaela,” Ferron reassured. “Valentin, you used the proper words and I’m impressed. But, that accent of yours makes the words almost unintelligible. Some of the pronunciation bordered on gibberish. Like you were talking with your mouth full of food.”
“I’ve been told that I was one of the most eloquent speakers in my region,” Valentin said sheepishly, his confidence hurt.
“So, the problem lies with you Southerners,” Ferron remarked with a knowing nod. “You already have an accent speaking our own language, no wonder it sounds so strange. Chin up, boy, it’s far better than anything I expected so you should be proud. Though I am curious about that last phrase that you uttered, I’m not familiar with it.”
“Oh,” Valentin repeated the phrase again with the same tone that he had been taught. “Uncle Gilles told me that it was a phrase spoken between good friends about meeting again. It’s supposed to be a secret phrase.”
The color drained from Jaela’s face and even Ferron barked up some laughter that he had tried to suppress. Valentin could even hear the stoic man in the corner of the room stifle a laugh of his own. Perhaps his accent made the word sound like another?
“Valentin,” Ferron gasped, some tears beading in the corners of his eyes. “Gilles has led you astray. That is an insult about having sex with the other person’s mother. It isn’t all that hilarious on its own, but with that accent!”
The boy clenched his fists as a wheezing laugh passed through Ferron’s lips. Even Jaela’s lips quivered with polite restraint. Just how long was Gilles going to hold on to that important information? Despite his embarrassment in front of Ferron and Jaela, he was encouraged that there was something that he was already competent at.
The witch reached over and handed the boy a worn tome that had been resting upon the table. He felt the leather cover in his fingertips and looked through the handwritten contents within. The letters had been penned meticulously with small flourishes on the lettering to denote the author’s style. Colored drawings demarcated different short stories contained within.
“This is a tome of collected parables from around the continent,” Jaela informed her pupil. “It is transcribed in Overtongue. I wish for you to read all of the contents within to not only learn the grammar and the language more intimately, but also to learn about foreign stories. I only ask that you keep the book within this room, it is a highly valuable article.”
“Thank you,” Valentin quickly began to handle the book with much more care than earlier.
“If there are any words that you have difficulties with, please let me know and I will be happy to explain it to you.” Jaela stood up and departed from the room and Zunjing silently followed.
The boy gently placed the book down on the table and slowly lifted his hands away. Valentin sipped at his drink and looked at Ferron expectantly. The warband leader’s eyes seemed to be staring off into the distance as though he were lost in thought.
“Will there be a lesson with you as well, Ferron?” Valentin inquired, eager to be taught some of the knowledge possessed by a renowned warrior.
“Huh?” Ferron snapped out of his faraway thoughts and returned his attention to the boy in front of him. “I suppose I can fill in the gaps in your training. Tactics, politics, how to win the heart of any person you meet.”
Valentin tilted his head at the last topic. “Why would I need to win people’s hearts?”
Ferron finished his drink and heavily placed it down on the table. “Because, every person of legend inhabits the hearts of people in some way or another. Why is it that Tarvi Urgras is remembered over any of the other war leaders of the First Ampoli War? How did Gerrick Head-ripper repel an entire enemy army without felling a single enemy? Why was Callarm Rilleon the man that made rival warriors wish to elevate him as their liege in an age where they would rather die than submit to another?”
The warrior stood and made a flourish with his arms to accentuate his following statement. “Charisma. Those whose actions and personalities reach the ears of the people are the ones that will live on long after their ashes have spread into the wind. If you wish to make an impression on others, you must have this as well.”
“I thought it was something you were born with,” Valentin responded. His personality was never something that was complimented by others, unless it was to say that he was polite.
“Ridiculous, it’s something that you learn over time,” Ferron disputed. “It just comes easier to some than others. However, those lessons won’t begin until you decide what kind of person you plan on becoming. For now, just exude confidence and others will begin to naturally believe in you. Let’s start on tactics. You know what a deg is, yes?”
“A group of ten warriors led by a Deggan,” Valentin answered confidently. “One hundred warriors make a cant and a thousand make a mil.”
“Correct,” Ferron said with a nod. “Our warband rarely has many more than one hundred warriors on any given campaign so we deal primarily with degs. Could you tell me why we assign warriors in groups of ten?”
The question caught Valentin off guard and he descended into thought. It wasn’t something Valentin had ever considered before, a fact that was told but never explained. He glanced over to see Ferron watching him patiently. The man seemed to have returned to his own thoughts and left the boy to his own devices.
“Well, uh. It’s easy to control?” Valentin ventured an answer after giving it some more consideration.
“A respectable answer for a novice,” Ferron complimented. “Not too large so orders can be quickly relayed and not too small that it is impotent if separated in battle. In actuality, it is rare that a deg is perfectly split into ten warriors. It’s usually closer to fifteen or twenty.”
Valentin exhaled in relief.
Ferron then grabbed a small leather purse. He pulled the string that tightened it and tipped the contents onto the table. Numerous coins of silver spilled forth over the map in the center of the table. With his tremendous ringed fingers, Ferron began to move the coins around into various, neat lines.
“Pretend that this coins are warriors,” Ferron ordered and Valentin nodded eagerly. “Just as it is important as knowing how a warrior fights, it is of similar importance to know how to best arrange your warriors in any given situation. There are numerous cases where equal or inferior armies win the day through the ability of their commanders. I will teach you a few basic formations and you will try to memorize them.”
Ferron pushed the coins around endlessly. He showed the best formations for fighting in the open plains or the forests. He meticulously organized his warriors for dry heat or heavy rains or snow. He showed how to move when you have the numerical advantage or when you are outnumbered.
Valentin watched it rapt attention. He imagined that all fights were lines of armies sprinting at each other at full speed. He was not entirely incorrect, as Ferron showed him when that would be encouraged. However, the sheer depth of formations available made his head spin. Picturing a commander standing behind the battlefield and changing formations on what he saw captivated him. More impressively, that the warriors would respond and move immediately to this commands issued through horn or whistle or the beating of the drum.
“There is a question I want you to think about before I teach you anything further,” Ferron announced, terminating their lesson. “What do you think is the way to never lose a fight?”
“By having better tactics?” Valentin ventured, feeling confident after his lesson.
“No arbitrary guessing,” Ferron chastised, his voice raised to show his seriousness over the question. “Give it proper thought before answering me.”
Valentin did not have the opportunity to think as the man stood up and adjusted his clothing.
“Come,” he said, gesturing for Valentin to stand. “There is a meeting of the elders. You will be attending all the meetings I have from this point on. Listen and learn from these exchanges. Later, I will ask you what you saw and heard.”
He nervously stepped to pursue Ferron, wondering if his presence would be unwelcome amongst the stern adults. But, as he worried, a thought appeared in his head. If this was a meeting of the elders, would Guin be there? If so, there may be opportunity yet to undo his previous failures.