Chapter Forty-two

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain had long accepted that Misery was going to be her name for the foreseeable future. Most of the elves weren’t even aware that she had a proper name, and those who knew seemed content to pretend it didn’t exist. She almost smiled as she thought about how accurate a match the name was to how she felt most of the time.

Kevin hadn’t been speaking to her much. Akela’s pups had been born a month ago, and that was the last time she’d heard the spirit speak a full sentence. At that time the spirit had got tired of the debate between Deni, Quenta and Tommi about what to name the pups, arbitrarily deciding that the two boys would be called Thor and Loki, and the girl would be Freya. Everyone had accepted the names — they sounded surprisingly good and only a little alien — but when Kevin suggested that Akela’s whole pack, or family, be given the surname “Ragnarok” — whatever that meant — they voted him down.

Krissintha didn’t like that Kevin wasn’t speaking to her much — she had got used to hearing his thoughts in her head, and not hearing him all the time felt… strange. Lonely.

Even Quenta and Tommi weren’t available most of the time. The sailors had settled in quickly, living comfortably in the small house provided to them by Third Rangers, and they had been busy. Krissintha wasn’t sure how it had come about, but the two of them had somehow ended up running errands for Gal-Themar’s Town Maintentence Committee, earning a small stipend. On top of that, Krissintha was almost sure that Kevin had devised a way to talk to the pair of them without her.

She saw the signs here and there: conspiratorial silence when she’d pop in to check on them on a day off, or suspicious boxes smelling of spices or fruits appearing and disappearing semi-regularly. Kevin and the sailors were up to something, Krissintha was sure of it. She felt left out, but she didn’t have the time or the energy to worry about it, much less to do anything about it.

‘Break’s over, trainee, on your feet! Up, up, up!’ Fenirig Arte bellowed at her all of a sudden, appearing from behind a tree at the edge of training ground.

‘Yes, sir!’ Krissintha yelled, jumping to her feet and grabbing her practice sword.

She jogged over to the paved clearing, murky snow and water splashing up, soaking her trousers. Every muscle in her body was aching after morning endurance training — Tovaron Ento’s training regimen wasn’t fast or intense, it was … a different kind of unforgiving.

She came to halt in front of Fenirig Arte — or “Hellspawn Fenar” as some of the braver trainees called him — and snapped to attention.

Fenirig Arte got down to business without further ado.

‘Sword out, defensive stance!’ he yelled.

Krissy drew the wooden sword and fell into a low-guard stance without thinking, ignoring the pain in her legs and arms.

‘By all the fucking gods, why am I being punished by having to train you?’ the man lamented loudly. Krissintha almost gave in to the urge to scream at him that this had been his idea to start with, but she knew better, and she knew more was coming. ‘Bend the knees more, back straighter, hold that damn sword a little higher! What is this stance, trainee? Are you inviting your foes for a roll in the sack or something?’

‘No, sir!’ Krissintha hissed through gritted teeth, adjusting her stance the best she could.

‘Of course not! Your stance should tell any bastard that you’re not to be fucked with!’ Fenirig Arte yelled while circling her, his hands behind his back, checking her stance from every angle.

‘Yes, sir!’ Krissintha yelled.

Fenirig Arte stopped a few paces away from her.

‘Alright then, you’ve embarrassed yourself with your stance, and now your foes think they can get a piece of your little, human ass. He’s on the offense, dodge!’

Krissintha leaped back, arriving into the same, defensive stance, avoiding the strike of an imaginary opponent.

‘Dodge again!’ Fenirig Arte yelled.

She repeated the action.

‘A slash from high! Parry!’

She parried the strike of her imaginary foe.

‘Stabbing at your chest. Evade!’

She sidestepped and knocked the invisible enemy aside.

Fenirig Arte yelled instruction after instruction.

Krissintha’s lungs burned, sweat was stinging her eyes, and as she squinted, she could almost see the enemy before her as the instructor from hell yelled the actions. She didn’t know for how long he’d kept her doing defense — it must have been about ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like it was an eternity.

‘Alright, have you had enough of being on defense yet?’ Fenirig Arte finally asked.

‘Yes, sir!’ she barked the answer, wheezing.

‘Alright then, the bastard’s stabbing at your neck. Counter!’

Krissy jumped back, arriving in a half-crouching position. Then she sprung forward immediately, keeping low under the imaginary blade that had been aimed at her neck. She stabbed at the unseen opponent’s belly.

‘Oh, he dodged that one! What’s next?’

What’s next?

Krissintha had gone through the stances, forms and actions hundreds of times. She knew she was never going to be as fast and graceful as an elf, but Fenirig Arte had never once said she had to be. So her opponent dodged? She knew what to do next, and she did it without thinking. She sprung up from her half-crouch with an upward slash. She was barely hearing anything except her own breathing, Fenirig Arte’s words were lost to her now as she advanced against her unseen foe, stabbing, slashing, executing practiced feints, and even employing unarmed techniques she’d learned from Toven.

‘Stop!’ Fenirig Arte roared.

Krissintha stopped, sheathed the wooden sword and snapped to attention in the middle of the training ground, panting and trying not to collapse. She felt as if all the trees around the paved clearing were looking at her, judging her performance. Fenirig Arte stepped closer to her, scowling.

‘That was shit …’ he said, but before Krissintha could react, he nodded and continued, ‘… but I’m willing to throw that shit at an actual opponent. Misery, you’ll have your first sparring partner tomorrow, same time same place. Don’t you dare be late, or I’ll nail you to that tree over there and use you as a target for archery practice. Are we clear?’

‘Yes, sir!’ Krissy barked.

‘Good. Dismissed.’

***

‘I’m not sure I want to know, but … why are you smirking, Misery? Food’s not that good,’ someone asked her in Elvish.

Krissintha looked up from her plate of roast meat and bread, and locked eyes with Arde as he sat down at her table with his own tray. The voices of the ten or so trainees in the cafeteria sunk into the background as she focused on the young man. Then she lowered her head again and took a bite of her bread.

‘I’m not … smirking,’ Krissintha replied, also in Elvish and with her mouth full.

‘Yes you are. Well, what happened?’ Arde asked.

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‘Nothing. Hellspawn Fenar just told me I’m ready to spar with someone,’ Krissintha said, and she admitted to herself that she was smirking, just a little.

‘Oh, finally. I mean … after four months it was time,’ Arde said, clapping his hands theatrically, almost laughing, but then he quieted down and leaned in closer over the table.

‘Listen, Misery, how about you spar with me? Tonight?’

‘I can barely move. Look, my hands are shaking. I’m going to bed.’ Krissintha said, holding up her hands for the young man to see.

‘Oh, come on,’ Arde whispered, leaning even closer. ‘You can use power, can’t you? I don’t want to spar with a trainee, I want to spar with a spiritualist. And who knows where your friend, Kiwa is.’

Krissintha looked around in a panic, making sure no-one was listening to them. Elves had good hearing, but the few, tired looking trainees in the cafeteria seemed to be immersed in their own dinners and conversations.

‘No one’s supposed to know that. Keep quiet, will you?’ Krissintha whispered back to the man angrily. ‘It’s weird enough to be a human here, so don’t make it worse. Why Toven had to tell you about me, I’ll never understand.’

'I didn't know at the time you were going to be in ranger training, ' Arde said, shrugging.

'But he did,' Krissintha said, sneering. ‘Listen, I’m not allowed to use power while I’m training.’

Arde took a sip of his tea, then smiled at her.

‘It wouldn’t be training, just … you know, two trainees having some fun,’ he said.

Krissintha drank some of her own, bitter tea, and said,

‘Arde, I had endurance training today, then sword practice, then I sat through a lecture on tracking and navigation. I’m going to bed after dinner.’

‘But … that’s pretty light, isn’t it?’ Arde argued.

‘Yeah, for you,’ Krissintha scoffed.

‘Oh shit,’ Arde groaned as he looked towards the entrance.

Krissintha turned to look as well. She saw a man walking in, ignoring all the heads that turned his way as he briskly navigated through the tables, coming straight to where Krissintha and Arde sat. The man stopped at their table and glared down at her.

‘Uhm … can I help you?’ Krissintha asked, looking up at the tall elf.

She had seen the man around — he was a trainee, but she didn’t know his name, and she certainly didn’t know why he was here, looking at her like his most fervent desire was to put an arrow in her.

‘I wanted to have a look at the human Hellspawn Fenar wants me to spar with,’ he said.

‘Oh shit,’ Arde mumbled, shaking his head.

The man glanced at him, and Arde smiled innocently.

‘Well, you’ve seen me now, so if that’s all, than …’ Krissintha said, then took a sip of her tea.

‘What is he thinking?’ the man said, scowling at her. ‘He’s wasting my training time. You’re human. You’re not going to last two seconds. Why does he want me to spar with you?’

‘If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him,’ Krissintha said, shrugging.

‘Hmph. Don’t be late tomorrow. Two seconds, human, two seconds,’ the man said, then he turned around and left as quickly as he had come.

Krissintha and Arde stared at each other for a few moments.

‘Who’s he?’ Krissintha asked.

‘Tivarra Mor,’ Arde said. ‘If he’s the one you’re sparring with, then you really might not last longer than two seconds.’

‘Is he that good?’

‘Yeah. He’s going to wipe the floor with you.’ Arde said, giving her a sympathetic smile.

‘What the hell is Fenar thinking?’ Krissintha wailed, massaging her forehead.

‘That I don’t know. But do me a favour, Misery,’ Arde said. ‘Try to last at least five seconds. I want to see the face Timo makes when his pride is hurt.’

***

The morning endurance training was as harsh as ever. Krissintha was gulping the cold, morning air as she walked up to the training ground armory. She went in, put the bow, the quiver and her bag back onto the shelves under the watchful eyes of Tovaron Ento. She breathed out long, then turned to leave the building, but Toven stopped her.

‘Tivarra Mor is good,’ he said. Krissintha raised an eyebrow — so even he had heard about the upcoming sparring session. ‘I’ve watched him train. He’s a swordsman through and through. He does a lot of feints and lures his opponent in. He likes low counters, prefers slashes rather than stabs. But he doesn’t do exceptionally well in unarmed combat.’

‘Are you … giving me advice?’ Krissintha asked.

‘I’m not your sword trainer. I’m just sharing some observations,’ Toven said. ‘Anyway, good luck. You have the day off tomorrow. Will you come visit the Deni? And the mutts?’

‘I will,’ Krissintha said.

‘Alright then, good luck with the sparring,’ he said. ‘Try to last at least ten seconds.’

***

Krissintha drew her practice sword the same time Tivarra Mor did, gripping it with both hands, assuming a mid-guard stance. They waited for Fenirig Arte to signal the start of the bout. Krissintha was as ready as she could be: she focused on nothing else but the tall elf standing a few paces in front of her, on his high-guard stance, trying to anticipate his first move. Even the slowest of the elves was faster then her — merely reacting to her opponent’s actions wasn’t an option. She had to guess and guess right what his first move would be. A feint, perhaps aimed at her neck, but ending in a low slash. Two seconds sounded about right. If she could dodge the opening move, perhaps she could last five seconds. Five seconds. Sounded easy, but she knew it would be anything but.

Fenirig Arte whistled.

Tivarra Mor leaped at her, his sword coming down, aimed at her neck. Krissintha jumped back and to the side, but she knew she wasn’t going to be fast enough. She had to parry. Despite instinct screaming at her to protect her neck, she swung her sword to protect her side. She’d been right: Tivarra Mor brought his sword down, and the force of the clash nearly knocked her weapon out of her hands as she protected her side.

The elf was surprised by the failure of his feint, and Krissintha took advantage of it. She stabbed at her opponent’s chest. The man dodged it with ease. She sidestepped, avoiding another slash at her belly, then backed away. The elf advanced on her, closing the distance faster than she could retreat. He stabbed at her this time, and Krissintha barely managed to dodge it, jumping back. She skidded to a halt, then sprung forward with a feint of her own, sword up, ready to slash at his neck. The man didn’t back away, but he didn’t fall for the faint either. He moved to parry as she stabbed at his stomach instead of his neck, but that wasn’t what Krissintha had in mind either. She barreled into the elf, elbowing him in the chin.

The man reeled back, eyes wide with his second surprise today. Krissintha didn’t waste a second. She was too close to swing her weapon at him, so she kicked at his knee. The man stepped back, faster than she’d seen anyone move. Her kick didn’t connect, but the distance was good now. She stabbed forward. Tivarra Mor twisted himself out of the blade’s way, and before Krissintha could do anything else, the man was somehow behind her. She only saw her opponent’s wooden sword from the corner of her eye. She felt the impact on her side, then half a second later, the pain. She blinked, and the next thing she saw was the wet ground, surprisingly close, and at a strange angle. She was down.

‘Grrr … awww …’ she groaned, rolling to her back, holding onto her sword with one hand, trying to reach and touch her side with the other. ‘I think … I broke a … rib,’ she wheezed.

Your ribs are fine, I just checked. You’re going to have a big bruise though. Kevin’s voice echoed in her mind for the first time in days.

Tivarra Mor stepped closer to stand over her. He glared at her.

‘What the hell was this?’ he demanded.

Seventeen, Krissy, seventeen. Kevin said, sounding excited.

Krissintha met the man’s gaze and tried to smile.

‘Seventeen seconds. That’s what it was,’ she said, pain flaring up every time she took a breath.

Tivarra Mor glared even harder, scowling like his life depended on it. Then he looked at Fenirig Arte.

‘This … this isn’t swordsmanship,’ he complained. ‘Master Fenirig Arte, what was the point of this? A human? And brawling?’

Fenirig Arte finally deemed it the right time to say something.

‘And just who do you think you are to tell me what swordsmanship is?’ he barked at the man ‘You shitheaded fool just got punched in the face in a sword fight, and you want to tell me what’s what? Un-fuckin-believable. Well, let’s see if you have enough of a brain to figure out what the point was, shall we? Dismissed.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Tivarra Mor said.

‘Heh! Seventeen. Not two. Seventeen,’ Krissintha hissed at him from the ground, feeling quite good about rubbing it in.

‘You counted,’ Tivarra Mor said, looking like he might just produce a real blade and skewer her any moment.

‘Of course I counted,’ she lied.

The tall elf shook his head and gave Krissintha one last look of disdain before he left.

Krissintha pulled herself up, every move coming with a pulse of pain in her side. She sheathed her training sword, swearing silently, and she managed to stand more or less at attention.

‘And what in the shit-drenched hell are you looking so satisfied for?’ Fenirig Arte thundered at Krissintha. ‘Do you perhaps think that you’ve done well?’

‘Uh … yes, sir,’ she said.

‘I see. I was sure you could go a minute against that idiot, and you went and proved me wrong, jumping right into one of his stupid feints. Well, at least you punched him in the face. Go have a surgeon look at you, then think about how to actually handle a fight like this! Dismissed.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Krissy hissed.

Fenirig Arte turned around and left, leaving Krissintha in the middle of the paved clearing.

I think you’ve done very well. Kevin said.

Krissintha smiled — she thought so, too.