MITCHELL – AGE 16 – OUTSIDE MARAGON’S TOWER, NEAR GARET, KLYDOR
14TH MORHEL, EARLY WINTER, 842 PBM
“Why do we have to train outside when it is so cold?” asked Mitchell. He was standing outside the warm and inviting tower, in drizzling rain, and a cold, biting wind, wearing nothing more than a lightweight tunic and a pair of light breeches. Clothing specifically picked out for him by his trainer.
“Cold? This is not even close to being cold!” laughed Ragnar Gunnulf, in his thick northern accent. “And we are outside because fighting is about being tough. And you are not tough enough to survive, little one.”
‘Easy for you to say. In the North you all live in the ice and snow. This is probably the middle of summer for you. You are also the largest and most physically powerful man I think I have ever met, and that includes Sir Balinor and Lord Sarek. How am I supposed to compete with you on being tough?
Ragnar stood before him as a mountain of a man, six and a half feet tall, incredibly broad across the shoulders and neck, and with both the muscles and scars that come from fighting for nearly three decades. He had long sandy blond hair, and as was often the custom for the raiders from the north, wore parts of his hair and beard in tight braids. He wore no shirt, a pair of linen trousers, and rugged, sturdy boots. He did have several rings, chains and bracers scattered across his fingers, arms, chest and ear. The bracers and the leather girdle were both runed and contained several large gemstones, making them look quite impressive and valuable.
“Choose your weapon,” instructed Ragnar. “I will go easier on you if you pick up something new. And no casting. You must learn to fight naked. Steel vs steel.”
‘Seems slightly pointless, as most of the time if I am in melee, I will be enhanced with at least one magick spell or enchantment, but OK, you are the teacher. Even if you are a brutal, savage warrior.’
Mitchell looked at the training weapons laid out in front of him. There were many weapons to choose from: long sword, bastard sword, sabre, rapier, battle axe, warhammer, mace, short sword, quarterstaff and spear. Each looked just like a normal weapon of their type, except the lethal part was blunted, padded or had in some had its lethality significantly reduced. These weapons could still wound, and possibly even kill, but the chances of taking a mortal wound while using them was substantially reduced.
‘All one-handed weapons, as I will often need a hand free to cast, although the spear and bastard sword can both be wielded quite well using two hands when required. I have trained by far the most with the longsword. It is the traditional blade of Klydor and her Knights. I will use that. Not sure I will need to be an expert in too many different weapons, given I will always have magick as well.’
“I choose the long sword. It is the blade I have trained the most in, and I think it is best I master one weapon and use my magick to make up for any weaknesses that weapon might have,” Mitchell explained.
‘Maybe if you agree with the reasoning, you will elect not to go harder on me for choosing the weapon I already know the best.’
“Ok. But you were warned. Now I will not go easy on you,” chuckled Ragnar. “Prepare yourself. A savage warrior approaches.” Ragnar immediately rushed forwards, somewhat recklessly, with an axe raised high and held in both hands.
Maragon had trained him for this exact scenario, so he prepared to deflect the attack and dodge the bulk of his rampaging opponent. He brought his blade up and parried the large axe. Ragnar was far stronger than he, even if he was likely pulling his blows, so he didn’t try to truly block the weapon. As he had been taught, he tried to just deflect the weapon enough so that it would miss down his right-hand side. As his sword connected with the axe, he also quickly side-stepped to the left so that Ragnar passed on his right-hand side. He tried to whip his blade around and tag Ragnar on the back, but the impact with the axe jarred his hand, and he couldn’t reverse the blade fast enough.
Ragnar turned, a grim smile on his face showed he clearly enjoyed this. He again raised his axe in a somewhat exaggerated stance and swung it downwards. Mitchell again deflected the blow with his blade, and this time he stepped inside the reach of the big man and with his blade ran it along his stomach.
“Good. Many warriors fight too aggressive. If you just wait, they will give you an opening to defeat them. I see you get better at deflecting, rather than block,” commented Ragnar.
“Yes, Master. Your strength last time knocked me on my backside more times than I can remember, even when I did parry in the right place. The bruises lasted weeks. Maragon and I spent a lot of time since then improving my technique at deflecting blows,” explained Mitchell.
“Forget the Master thing. I am nobody’s master,” replied Ragnar gruffly. “I haven’t had slaves in a long time now, and I don’t want anyone calling me that again. Ragnar is fine. If we spill blood together you can call me Brother.”
They sparred for another fifteen minutes. Ragnar picked up different weapon combinations and simulated different styles of opponents. By the end of the fifteen minutes, Mitchell was lathered in sweat, and had more than a couple of red welts which he suspected would be angry bruises by morning. He found he was panting, and concentration was harder to maintain as his fatigue increased.
“Least you are not cold now,” laughed Ragnar. “I want you to pick up the sabre. I think it might suit you better.”
“Not many Klydorians use a sabre,” replied Mitchell skeptically. But he did as he was instructed, and reluctantly exchanged his longsword for the lighter, slightly curved, single-edged blade.
‘Will be hard to get respect from other warriors carrying this on my hip.’
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“Most Klydorian warriors are bigger than you,” replied Ragnar simply. “They can use the weight of the blade to their advantage. For you, it is likely slowing you down. Your style is to defend and counter-attack. Normally I would teach you heavy weapon and shield, but weakling wizards cannot use shields as you need a hand free for all those silly gestures you make. So you must parry and attack with same blade. So, you should use lighter blade like sabre.”
Mitchell’s face clearly showed he was torn. The logic of what Ragnar said made sense, but Mitchell desperately wanted to be accepted as a man within the social confines of Garet and his friends. Ragnar apparently guessed the cause of his reluctance.
“Much better to be alive, little one. You will earn respect from worthy warriors when you show you can carry your weight in a fight. You will win admiration when you can carry more than your share,” advised Ragnar. “What weapon you use to do it is not important. I should know. I have been laughed at for many of the weapons I have taken into combat.”
“How so?” asked Mitchell. “You are a massive mountain of a man, who is a master of swords, axes and hammers. Who would laugh at you?”
“I wish to master every weapon. Yes, I can use axes, swords and hammers. But I learn to use anything as a weapon. If I meet a person with a weapon I do not know I will try to learn it,” replied Ragnar. “When I carry their strange weapon into battle, others will laugh at me. Balinor laughs at me all the time. But then, he isn’t as good as me. So I laugh last!” Ragnar laughed loudly at his own joke.
‘This man is not like other warriors. Beneath the gruff exterior lies an artist who takes weapon fighting as a craft. It is no wonder Maragon speaks in awe of his martial skills, and sometimes even compares him to Zankeine. Imagine being so good with weapons you are compared to the Laurabel hero who was so good at fighting he literally became the God of Combat after his death.’
“But how does that work? I assume often you will not see someone has a strange weapon until you are fighting them?” supposed Mitchell, “You cannot then stop the fight and ask them to teach it to you.”
“This is true,” chuckled Ragnar. “But I suspect I do not fight as often as you might think. So often I can ask, and many warriors are happy to show you. I will then try to get my own weapon that is the same, and I practice with it. Even if I think it is a rubbish weapon, I will practice to get at least good with it. Sometimes you learn techniques that assist with other weapons. Sometimes you learn something that assists in fighting other weapons.”
“But there are times I have seen a new weapon only when it is being used against me,” Ragnar said, nodding as he did so. “I try harder to knock it’s wielder out, so he can teach me once we have defeated them. If he dies, then I try to teach myself how it works.”
“By copying how it was used against you?” asked Mitchell.
“Well… I try to do better than that. How it was used against me lost,” replied Ragnar. “The thing to realise with weapons, is many have a specific purpose. Ideally you use the right weapon for the right job. Let us try some easy ones.”
“Skeletons?” The laconic northman asked the question with just a single word, but referring to an all too common magickal construct of a corpse’s bones used by necromancers and other dark casters to do their bidding.
“Bludgeoning weapons like a mace or warhammer to break up the bones. Slashing and piercing weapons are way less effective,” replied Mitchell.
“A knight in plate-mail armour?” Ragnar asked.
“The same. A mace or warhammer will be more likely get through the heavy armour,” replied Mitchell.
“True, but the best choice is a crossbow,” Ragnar pointed out. “The crossbow is designed to punch through heavy armour, can be done at a safe distance, and is such a simple weapon to use that any peasant… or wizard… can do it.” He grinned broadly.
Mitchell bowed his head in acknowledgement of the point.
“A skilled warrior with a shield?” Ragnar asked next. Mitchell considered his answer.
“A flail?” he answered, the uncertainty clear in his voice. “The chained ball allows the weapon to strike over and around the shield.”
“A difficult weapon to use, but one that is designed for that purpose,” replied Ragnar, before asking his next question. “A mounted warrior?”
“Using the same logic as your earlier answer, a crossbow,” replied Mitchell.
Ragnar grunted his agreement. “And if you must be closer?”
“A polearm. Something like a long spear or guisarme,” replied Mitchell. “The very long shaft hopefully allows you to dismount the rider before he can strike you with his lance or melee weapon.”
“You know the theory. You are book smart like Maragon,” commended Ragnar. “Let us teach you the sabre so perhaps you can survive on an actual battlefield. I am sure paper cuts hurt, but mistakes on the battlefield tend to require more stitches.”
That session went for another two hours. Ragnar refused to end it even when it was clear Mitchell was exhausted. Pushing through fatigue and fighting for longer was one of the strategies for defeating a superior foe. While Mitchell found trying to outlast Ragnar was an exercise in futility, it did prove he could push himself further than he realised.
Mitchell also realised by the end of the first session, that he much preferred the sabre. Ragnar also spoke of a rapier, which was lighter and faster again, but Ragnar insisted it was a weapon for those more interested in looking like a warrior, than actually being one, and refused to teach Mitchell how to use one until he had reached an accomplished level of expertise with the sabre.
“Rapier wielders usually care more for the fancy basket hilt, than they do for the quality of the tiny little blade at the end. Gold, diamonds, gems, there is nothing I have not seen in these hilts.” Ragnar shook his head scornfully. “Often the pretty things they put on them completely throw off the balance of the entire blade.”
“But you have some gemmed and runed items,” queried Mitchell genuinely, pointing at the girdle and bracers, “What is the difference?”
“Oh these,” Ragnar smiled as he looked at the items he was wearing. “These are trophies I took from people I defeated. Everything you see on me, I took from another. Never theft,” Ragnar shook his head sternly at his own words,” but taken because we met on the field of battle and I won. On the battlefield you risk everything and if you lose, then by rite you lose everything.”
Mitchell considered the grim message contained in that. Training was one thing, but if the fight were ever real, the cost of mistakes would be much higher.
For the next two weeks, Ragnar patiently taught Mitchell the sabre, throwing knife, crossbow and warhammer, the last two being situational weapons for scenarios where the sabre would be of limited value. After those two weeks, Mitchell felt competent with the sabre and the crossbow, and perhaps barely adequate with the throwing knife and warhammer. Ragnar gave him training exercises to do to improve his skills with all four weapons.
Mitchell was weary and sore when Ragnar left the tower. He liked Ragnar, but he was glad this aspect of his training was over for now. While his martial skill had improved remarkably, he still much preferred magick to martial training. Perhaps the best part was he thought he could feel a difference in the composition of his muscles from all the physical exertion they had been doing. He did like that.
For two weeks afterwards he found himself walking around with his shirt off, and frequently eyeing himself in the mirrors. Maragon warned him to stop. He did not. So Maragon started implementing more chores, and instructed Bossy Owl to do the same, every time he was caught outside his room with no shirt on. That soon cured him of the behaviour.