“It’s a good move,” Jenos said. “But it takes a bit too long. In battle, better break his arm and run away.” The scarred warrior nodded in approval, as Atissa opened her legs to free Mark’s head and shoulder.

“This system…this type of grappling is probably best in a one vs. one situation,” Mark said. “But as you said, getting the right hold on somebody can take time. Atissa thought about using her knife but that means she loses that hand to control her opponent.”

Atissa rolled to her feet in the way Mark had shown her while Jenos thought about the problem. The man was in his mid-thirties and build like an ox. Delios had introduced him as one of Riadnos’ most experienced warriors. He was responsible for teaching both wrestling as well as weapons.

At first, the veteran had been reluctant to work with a scholarly-looking man and a little girl. Delios insistence had been necessary to get him to engage in some sparing with Mark.

Having seen Mark sparing with uncle Tatros and having trained with him many times since then herself, Atissa hadn’t thought much of it. The Riadnian seemed to see it differently. The other warriors training on the sandy practice field had been the first to interrupt their drills to watch the two. Then word seemed to have spread – Jenos was sparring with the sage. More and more people gathered until a sizeable audience had formed. Atissa even spotted Omiri at the back of the crowd.

To nobody’s surprise, Jenos dominated Mark initially. He was both the better wrestler and physically stronger, being one of the few people around that came close to Mark’s height.

The spectators gave credit to the sage’s abilities, but nobody was truly impressed. From warrior to servant girl, the Helcenaean knew their wrestling. It was their sport.

The atmosphere changed when they noticed that, while Jenos was able to take Mark down, he seemed to have trouble pinning him. Atissa noticed how some of the men around her started to lean forward with narrowed eyes.

“He’s working too hard,” an older warrior standing close to Atissa murmured.

He was right. Looking closely, Atissa could see Jenos breathing hard as he tried to hold down Mark, working towards a submission. Mark was working hard too but he seemed much more relaxed.

Atissa understood why. He had explained it to her. In his grappling style, Mark made extensive use of the legs. Jenos was stronger than him but not when Mark employed his legs against his upper body. Legs were much stronger than arms. To pin Mark down, Jenos had to get past the legs. And that was where all the traps lay.

In a short moment of inattention, Mark pulled Jenos forward. The warrior fell between his legs which immediately closed around his neck and one of his shoulders.

Jenos struggled for a moment but tapped before he went unconscious.

The audience was stunned silent. Jenos ignored them.

The two opponents started back on their feet again. This time Jenos went for a violent takedown right away. His arms closed around Mark, lifting him while a kick took his feet out from under him, and smashed him into the sand. Before his stunned opponent could defend, the warrior jumped on him and applied a headlock. Mark tapped right away.

The third round began with a surprise. After a moment of circling, Jenos shot for the same takedown. Mark saw it coming and evaded it at the last moment. He tried to step behind the warrior, but Jenos immediately recognized the danger and turned to face him. Mark crouched and shot for Jenos’ legs. It seemed a half-hearted attempt and the warrior only made half a step backward, ready to bury Mark under him. He never got the opportunity.

To everybody’s surprise, Mark’s lounge turned into a roll into Jenos’ legs. Before Jenos could react, the bottom man’s legs had snaked around his and he went down. Their legs strangely entangled, the two rolled around.

A warrior next to Atissa laughed. “What a mess! What’re you doing Jenos?”

“No,” Atissa said quietly. “It’s almost over.”

The man looked down at her skeptically.

“Just watch.”

Two heartbeats later Mark caught Jenos’ foot under his arm. He hooked the crook of his arm under the heel and turned slightly. “Stop!”

Surprised, Jenos ceased pulling on their entangled legs and looked at Mark. Meeting his eyes, the latter twisted the leg just a little bit.

Jenos tapped.

Murmurs went through the crowd.

“Damn,” the skeptical warrior said. “Why didn’t he push out of that?”

“The knee was isolated. Mark…master Mar’Doug could have easily torn it apart from that position,” Atissa said. “I can show you how it works.”

Again, the man looked down at her, one eyebrow raised.

A hand dropped on Atissa’s shoulder. “You think, you can do this to a man his size?”

Atissa turned her head to see Jenos towering over her. His brought hairy chest was still rising but his voice was normal.

“Yes,” Atissa said. “Master Mar’Doug started to teach me how to attack legs because strength isn’t as important, and you can stay out of reach of the arms.”

“I can see that,” Jenos said slowly. “Then show me, what he just did to me, girl.”

“Atissa.” Mark didn’t speak loudly but there was something in his tone that made Jenos glance over his shoulder.

“Of course,” he said. “If you don’t mind, Atissa? And you lazy fools better watch! I won’t have her show it twice.”

They sat down facing each other and Atissa showed how Mark had manipulated their entangled legs until Jenos right leg was exposed to the heel hook.

“Gods be dammed, you aren’t even half my weight, and you could tear my knee apart from there,” Jenos said more to himself than anybody else.

Atissa nodded eagerly. “And you can’t reach me.”

Jenos frowned. Reaching out with his long arm, he leaned forward but Atissa placed a foot against his torso, stopping him. When he grabbed her leg instead, she immediately tightened her grip around his heel to show she could cripple him in a heartbeat.

Jenos tapped on her leg. “You got me.” Then he looked around. “I hope you all saw that.” Turning his attention back to Atissa he scratched his beard. “I want to see how you strangle somebody with your legs, too. I’ve never seen it done like that before.”

“Yes,” Atissa said eagerly. “I can show you!”

Jenos raised his hand. “I believe you gir…Atissa. But I think it’s best if master Mar’Doug shows us that one. My wife might get angry otherwise.”

“No good having your head between girls’ legs at your age, aye?”

Both Mark and Jenos glanced over their shoulders. A heartbeat later a loud slapping sound came from the group of warriors and the two men turned back as if nothing had happened.

Half an hour later the crowd had dispersed and the warriors had split up into groups of two or three, testing the new technique. Jenos guided Mark and Atissa to the side of the yard to discuss their specific questions.

“A knife is always good,” Jenos said, considering Atissa’s idea. “Easy to carry but hard to parry, they say. If I can touch you with my hand, I can cut you with my knife. But if you hold a knife, you can’t hold on to the man.”

“If I’m on top of him”, Atissa said, “I want to hold him close, so he can’t hit me. But from here it’s hard to reach the knife on my belt. If I reach for it, he might throw me off.”

Jenos watched her demonstration intently. Then, without saying a word, he turned around and crossed the yard, disappearing through a door on the other side.

“Where is he going?” Atissa asked.

“I guess we’ll see when he comes back,” Mark said relaxed.

Atissa observed her friend as he meticulously knocked off the sand from his body. Like the other men training in the yard, he only wore a loincloth and the sweat made the sand stick to the skin.

She knew Mark didn’t like dirt. He really did not. But right now, he seemed to be surprisingly relaxed. In fact, his overall mood had improved since the night of the Assanaten attack.

In the morning they’d gotten up very early and trained. Then they’d taken a bath and eaten. Mark had given her a lesson in mathematics – that was what Mark called working with numbers. It was complicated and Atissa didn’t like it. It made her head hurt. He even forbade her to use her fingers.

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She would rather have trained with weapons or maybe learned to write a horse. Something to become stronger. She was quick to pick up the techniques Mark taught her but when she’d fought the Assanaten warrior she’d been powerless. That night not even her skill with the bow had been of use.

Atissa remembered how sure she’d been that she could stop the intruders. On the boat she’d been able to cause great damage, shooting the Assanaten rowers. But that was Mark’s idea and Iristos still died, she thought.

After their training, she would accompany Mark to the room where he worked with Elaiadoros. The scribe had apparently eagerly agreed to work with him. They mostly talked to all kinds of different people. Some came alone, some in groups.

The scribes were the most boring to listen to. They talked endlessly about all kinds of numbers. Grain stocks, animals, citizens, and even distances. Mark had it all written down.

Way more interesting were the older warriors and their stories about the last war and the merchants that told them about other cities. They mentioned many places Atissa had never heard of.

Hour after hour, people came and went. Some, like the craftsmen, left with detailed instructions to do something for Mark. Most didn’t understand why they were ordered to do these things but they rarely protested. And if they did, Mark liked to glide his hand over his staff and tell them that this was what the anax needed them to do for the defense of Riadnos. In the end, they all hurried off, promising to do as they were asked as quickly as possible.

Atissa wasn’t sure if it was Mark or the anax that had them intimidated more. If she hadn’t known Mark before, she might have feared him too after she’d seen him slay the burning magus in the street.

Atissa looked over to her friend, picking up his tunic, and had to suppress a smile. His hand fidgeted over a stain that had appeared during breakfast. For some reason, something like that seemed to irritate him more than armed Assanaten warriors.

“Have a look at this,” Jenos said from behind her. He held up a piece of leather that turned out to be a wrist guard. He stuck his hand in and held it up for them to see.

“Maybe you can carry blades in different places,” he said, pushing two fingers between the guard and his wrist. “You put your knife here, you don’t have to reach down when you’re holding on to a man’s neck.” He pulled the wrist guard off and handed it to Atissa. It was way too big for her.

But it’s a great idea, she thought. And she had another. Her copper knife was a functional tool, good for many things. But maybe a blade for killing should have a different form. She shared her thoughts with the two men.

“A tool should fit its use,” Jenos said nodding.

“You could even go beyond size,” Mark said. “I don’t know much about weapons but I’ve seen different models in the past. There was one, I think it was called a punch dagger, with the blade sticking out between your middle and ring finger. It‘s basically an extension of your fist. And then there was one formed like a claw with the blade on the bottom site. It had a ring for your index finger.”

With raised eyebrows Jenos watched Mark draw an outline in the sand. The warrior was even more excited about these ideas for new weapons than Atissa and she was grateful for their eagerness.

Still listening her eyes drifted toward the east. Somewhere over there in the mountains, Tepras’ group would hopefully have met her uncle and the other refugees from the valley by now. She still felt guilty about not accompanying them.

Atissa sensed Bel’Sara coming before she stepped onto the training ground. The sage had a smell very foreign to her. Almost as foreign as Mark’s when she had first met him on that clearing.

Delia accompanied her.

Atissa wasn’t sure what to think about the anax’s daughter. She always felt watched, almost stalked, when she was around. But looking at the young plainly dressed woman, she didn’t feel any danger.

Uncle Tatros had once said that humans were more difficult than animals. If an animal had claws and fangs, you knew where you stood.

“It has been a couple of days,” Bel’Sara said, skipping a formal greeting. “I had hoped to visit the local temple of Inashtar with Atissa.”

“We have been very busy,” Mark said politely. “But we already started to look into the initial list of potentials.”

“Potentials?” Bel’Sara frowned. “I heard that you talked to priests from different temples.”

“Yes,” Mark said. “There are a lot of deities being worshipped in and around Riadnos. The scribes helped me to compile a shortlist.”

“And where on that list is the goddess?” There was an edge creeping into her voice. “Considering Atissa’s background, maybe we should begin with the gods of her people.”

The warriors tried not to be obvious about it, but Atissa could feel the whole training ground watching them.

She still wasn’t sure how to feel about mistress Bel’Sara’s story of her becoming a god’s champion. It felt too unreal. Something that happened in stories about faraway places. Who was she anyway? And who were her people? She’d never known anything but the Half-Moon Valley where the inhabitants mostly sacrificed to the Helcenaean gods and Old Horto so he tolerated their presents in his domain.

But what if it could give me strength? She thought. The confrontation with the Assanaten warrior had made her current limits painfully clear to her.

“That is a valid point”, Mark said, shaking out his tunic,” but we also must look at desirability.”

“Desirability?”

“Yes,” Mark said. “Imagin you would take her to see this goddess Inashtar and she accepts her right away.”

“…yes?” Bel’Sara said, her frown deepening.

Mark pulled the tunic over his head. “We would be going with our first option without checking for better candidates first.”

“Candidates? The gods?”

Now everybody was staring at Mark. Including Atissa.

“Yes,” Mark said. He straightened his close and picked up his staff. Planting it firmly into the ground he stood in front of his fellow sage.

There was a change in atmosphere as the two faced each other but when he continued it was still in his normal polite tone. “I have investigated as many gods and their legends as I could in the available time. It seems clear to me that having a champion, a hero you sponsor, is a very desirable thing for a deity. People in this world”, he made a gesture that encompassed the entire ground, “often don’t point to a god as a role model, they admire their champions. And admittedly, sometimes their victims. If you are the patron of a significant hero people admire, it raises your profile. People will look at you more positively.”

Mistress Bel’Sara raised her hand. “You think a god should be eager to support Atissa because it will make him more popular with mortals?”

Mark shrugged. “From what I could gather, many gods are quite vain. Indeed, if you study their general behavior, it makes many look quite horrible. Lots of selfish or impulsive actions with grave consequences for their unfortunate victims. And almost always initiated by lower motives like lust or jealousy. Take the goddess Inashtar as an example. A goddess of love, war, and some other things. She likes this heroic king and gets turned down.” Mark looked over to Atissa. “Married woman by the way.” His eyes return to Bel’Sara. “What does she do? She sends a monster that ends up killing the king’s best friend.”

Bel’Sara inhaled, about to interrupt but Mark continued. “Then on another occasion, she has her husband sacrificed to get out of a tough spot, telling herself that that is ok because he did not quite mourn her enough when he thought her lost.”

“Inashtar is a fierce and ferocious goddess,” Bel’Sara said, clearly irritated. “Her champion would be powerful in battle.”

Atissa needed to become stronger but from what Mark described Inashtar didn’t seem to have a good character. Uncle Tatros had always said that a good character was important. A man of character would tab you on the shoulder and wait till you turned around before throwing the first punch. Even when drunk.

“I assume that is true,” Mark said. “But we have to weigh that against the downside. Advantages versus disadvantages. Potential gains versus risks.”

Atissa couldn’t tell if the sage was able to follow Mark. She had trouble understanding him sometimes, too. But mistress Bel’Sara is a powerful magus herself, so it’s probably fine, she thought.

“Risks?” Bel’Sara asked, squinting her eyes.

“Many of these heroes are sent on quests of unreasonable danger and difficulty,” Mark said. “Some die - heroically, mostly - but dead is dead. Others succeed but are turned into objects, for all their troubles.”

“What objects?” Atissa asked interested.

“Trees, stars, animals.” Mark shrugged.

“Really, stars?” Atissa asked. Being turned into an animal or a tree seemed to be more of a punishment. Becoming a star was something she couldn’t even imagine.

Mark pointed up. “Stars are just huge burning balls of gas. You would basically be a torch that floats in cold black nothingness.”

“That…is the coldest, driest description of the night sky I have ever heard,” Delia said a smile playing on her lips. “It would break the heart of any poet.”

Both sages frowned at her for a moment before turning back to their discussion.

“Are you saying then that you will not introduce Atissa to the goddess Inashtar?” Bel’Sara asked sharply.

Mark showed no reaction to her tone. “We are working through a list. The goddess is on it, as well. Actually, I believe the representative of our next candidate just arrived.” He turned towards the row of columns where Delios had just appeared. He was followed by a short stocky man.

Atissa eyed the older man with interest. Dressed in a common brown tunic showing faint stains and patches, he looked out of place.

Delios lead the man straight to Mark, acknowledging mistress Bel’Sara with a polite bow. “Master Mar’Doug, this is…”

“High priest Phylos, correct?” Mark said, interrupting Delios’ introduction. “Thank you for taking the time to see us.”

The man, Phylos, looked nervous from one to the other. “Of…of course,” he stammered. “I am honored.”

“Excuse me, I am not familiar with you,” Bel’Sara said, eying the man suspiciously. “Which temple are you from?”

“Oh, we don’t really have one, mistress, “Phylos said. “We have a shrine at our house, that is.”

“You are a priest of….” Bel’Sara stopped mid-sentence and closed her eyes as if listening to something. Her eyebrows rose as if she was surprised by what she heard.

Then her eyes flew open, and she whirled on Mark. “You cannot be serious! Hygios?”

Mark didn’t flinch. “Yes. The god of health and cleanliness.”

“And sanitation,” Phylos said.

Bel’Sara stared daggers at him and the man seemed to shrink.

“In addition to leading the cult high priest Phylos’ family is in charge of waste management in all of Riadnos,” Mark said.

Mistress Bel’Sara’s face worked through several expressions, seemingly swallowing her first response. And the second and third.

“Maybe you want to participate in the interview?” Mark said in a conciliatory tone. He gestured in the direction of the room he called the Office.

She looked at him, suspicion in her eyes.

Atissa was unsure if she wanted her to decline or not. On the one hand, she didn’t trust mistress Bel’Sara completely. On the other hand, the female sage wanted to rush her along in becoming stronger. What that meant she wasn’t sure, but she knew that her current self wouldn’t be of much help in the coming war. Her failed surprise attack on the Assanaten magus had shown her that much at least.

“Master Mar’Doug?” Siri approached the group.

Mark smiled at her politely, indicating her to speak.

“Master Mar’Doug”, the servant girl said, “your companion is awake.”

Mark frowned glancing over to Atissa.

“Hermistos!” Atissa said, comprehending Siri’s words. “Did he speak?”

“Yes. I was washing him as the master instructed and he…he held on to me.” Her face turned red, and she crossed her arms before her chest. “…he asked for you.”

Hermistos is awake, Atissa thought excitedly. His state had been a constant worry in the back of her mind.

“Why don’t you go and see how he is doing?” Mark asked.

“Are you not coming?” Atissa asked.

Mark shook his head. “I have to meet with high priest Phylos and Delios, as well as, a bunch of other people. I will look in on you guys later.” He turned to Siri. “Have you sent for the healer?”

“Not yet master Mar’Doug,” she said bowing her head.

“Please do that next.”

“Yes!”

He smiled at Atissa. “I will see you later.”

Atissa watched him leading the small procession of Bel’Sara, Phylos, and the anax’s children to the Office. Omiri stepped from behind a column and followed the group.

For a moment their eyes crossed, and the stone-faced nomad girl hesitated.

Yes, I was aware of you the whole time, Atissa thought. Omiri was very stealthy, but it took a lot more to hide from Atissa. Especially with that distinctive horse smell.

Omiri gave a slide nod and followed her mistress.

Was it a greeting or an acknowledgment? Atissa didn’t really care right now. Hermistos is awake, she thought happily, while almost running towards his room.