A Crumble of Walls (The Kin of Kings Book 4) (33 page)

Cleve stumbled only a bit, recovering before Basen could hope to counterattack.

“God’s mercy,” Basen complained, shaking his hands. His palms felt on fire. Why had he thought he could catch Cleve’s punch? He’d even been stupid enough to drop his weapon.

“That’s not how you block a punch,” Cleve said with a snicker. “Although I must admit I’ve never seen that method before. Were you never taught how?”

“No. There was no punching or kicking among swordsmen in Tenred.”

“Why?”

“That’s a good question. It’s too bad I don’t have the answer.” He picked up Abith’s sword and flicked off a blade of grass. “So how do I block your boulder fists?”

“Boulder fists, hmm?” Cleve grinned as he looked at his hands. “Not by catching them. Let me show you. Try to punch me.”

“No thank you. That sounds like the beginning of the explanation as to why I’m in the medical building.”

“How else are you going to learn?”

“I have ears. You can explain it.”

“Fine. You have to use your forearms to block me above the elbow. Make sure it’s done on the inside of my arm so you have leverage, which will give you options for counterattack.”

“All right, you’ll have to show me.”

“I thought all you needed were your ears,” Cleve groused.

When it came time for lunch, Basen had many new bruises.

He hadn’t realized that his defense was atrocious. He was excellent at stopping Cleve’s sword from doing damage, but as soon as Cleve added his hands or feet into the mix, Basen would be taken down instantly or he would soon regret it. Cleve had hit him in the cheek at one point, and even though it was done at half strength, Basen reeled and needed a few minutes before the pain no longer distracted him too much to focus. He was glad he would never face Cleve in a real fight.

Basen was surprised to find his mother in the dining hall. Of course the first thing she noticed was his bruised cheek, her hands reaching toward it as if her touch could heal him.

He leaned away. “It doesn’t help to touch.”

“How did you get it?”

“Training. I’m fine, Mother. You don’t need to worry. How are you?”

“Busy and happy; this is a wonderful place. It’s a shame we need to fight in this war.”

“
We
?”

“Not me, personally. You must know I wasn’t speaking about going into...” She paused before adding, “Battle.”

“Well, I don’t know anymore. I heard what you did at the lake.”

“I did what I had to. I don’t regret it.”

“I’m impressed.”

“No, I’m impressed, Basen. Why aren’t you wearing your medal?”

He chuckled at the ridiculous image of that. “Because I’m not insane.”

“I hope that means you won’t do anything that dangerous again. I know you felt you had to go to those Elves, and I did agree with everything you told me of your plan, but you made it sound far less dangerous than I’m hearing from the stories people are telling! Just because you got away with it once doesn’t mean you’re invincible. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course. All men can die.”

He was glad to see that prison hadn’t changed his mother, and neither had killing someone.

“Are you staying with Father now?”

“Yes.”

“So everything’s…fine between the two of you?”

“Yes.”

Just like before, Juliana and Henry wouldn’t say much about their relationship. They had always treated Basen as the glue keeping them together. He figured it had to do with his older brother he’d never met, Lexand, who’d died at sixteen thanks to a poor decision by the late king of Kyrro. Now at seventeen, Basen had outlived him, fulfilling his role as Lexand’s replacement.

It made him thankful but also worried. Juliana and Henry were too old for more children now. If Basen died in this war, there was no doubt in his mind they would separate. As a team—as parents—they’d shared the goal of raising their son. But as they’d aged and their lifestyles had slowly changed, Basen remained their only common interest.

There was something else they would agree upon soon enough, though.

“I’m going to train with Abith Max again,” Basen told his mother, knowing the first thing she would do was tell Henry so they could both scold Basen. “Only this time, we’re focusing on the sword as well as manipulating energy.”

“What! How has this come to be?”

“Because he’s the only one who can cast and cut like I can.”

“Basen…he’s not the best of allies to your father or the headmaster of this Academy, but I assume you already know this?” She used her rhetorical mothering voice.

“I do.”

“And are you certain this is the right decision?”

“I am.”

She put her hand across her mouth as she thought for a while.

“Then fine. Thank you for telling me.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps she had changed. Or maybe she just trusted him now.

He hoped Abith wouldn’t make him regret this decision.

*****

He was early to the northern wall and had time to go over what he’d learned before Abith showed up. What Basen needed to practice the most was first focusing energy into his arms and then transitioning his focus to give his legs a boost of strength, all without delay. If he couldn’t, this skill wouldn’t be of much use in combat. Every good swordsman knew that footwork was just as important as swinging the weapon.

An hour later, Abith arrived. He put his hand on one of the parapets and swung his legs over in a showy and dangerous hop, doing a roll on the grass as he landed. It was more than a little ridiculous.

“So what can you do today that you couldn’t do yesterday?” Abith asked as he brushed the dirt off his back.

Basen had forgotten how his former instructor would ask that same question at the beginning of every lesson. Thinking about it now brought back fond memories. He and Abith hadn’t ever been friends, but Basen had always respected his skill and method of teaching.

“Would you like me to tell you or show you?” Basen asked.

“What do you think?” Abith opened his hand.

Basen returned Abith’s training sword, then waited for him to attack.

Abith seemed surprised by Basen’s reluctance to strike first. With a shrug, he came at Basen with twice the speed of a normal man. Basen blocked Abith’s first two attacks and deflected the third with enough force to drive Abith’s sword to the ground.

Basen grunted as he swung his sword up at a defenseless Abith. But he was like a fly zipping around as he ducked Basen’s attack, then jumped to the side to avoid the next strike. In a calm yet impressively fast manner, Abith gave Basen a slap on the cheek.

“Ouch.” Basen stopped his onslaught to clutch his injured face. “Did you have to go for the bruised cheek?”

“It wouldn’t be nearly as fun otherwise. You fight quick, but not quick enough yet.”

“Quick enough for what?”

“To protect yourself from everything.” Abith stepped forward and raised his hand to Basen again, but he blocked the expected blow with his forearm like Cleve taught him. Shock registered on Abith’s face as the two of them froze. Then Abith’s left hand came up, and Basen blocked it as well.

Abith grinned, then slid his arms down to free them. “Good, but now let’s see if you can find a way past
my
defenses.”

Basen attacked Abith with everything he had, yet his sword never came close to touching Abith’s body. Eventually, Basen stepped back and tried to recall how Terren had gotten past Abith’s defenses. Power hadn’t worked for the headmaster, who was incomparably stronger than Basen, so that left surprise.

Abith didn’t press him, giving him plenty of time to strengthen the muscles of his legs with bastial energy. He didn’t reveal his plan as he continued to hopelessly slice at Abith from left to right, up to down. Basen panted and grimaced as if about to give up.

“You can’t be tiring this easily,” Abith said with disappointment.

And that’s when Basen charged with all the energy he could muster. Abith was unable to get his sword up in time and tried in vain to spin out of Basen’s path. Basen rammed his shoulder into Abith’s back, finally knocking his former instructor off his feet. Basen fell on top of him and pressed his sword against Abith’s neck, pinning his sword arm with his knees.

Abith craned his neck to look at Basen. He had a little triangle of beard beneath his lower lip that stretched as he smiled wide. Basen rolled off him and waited for a response.

Abith chuckled as he rose to his feet. “I’m impressed. You’re not the same arrogant and annoyingly curious young man I once taught. I figured you wouldn’t agree to do anything until I told you more about what I have planned for Terren. Yet you’ve said nothing; you haven’t once questioned my requests.”

“I don’t need to ask what you have planned for Terren because I’ve already figured it out. You wish to start training a new class, some sort of battle mage. I’m the example of what others can be with you leading us.”

“And you’ve gotten wiser as well.” Abith leaned back and laughed. “This will suit us both very well.” He offered his hand.

Basen was surprised at how little fear and reluctance he felt as he shook Abith’s hand. In less than two days, he’d grown to completely trust that Abith Max was the best person to help Basen reach his potential. But there was something in Abith’s smile that still looked sinister.

Be careful,
Basen told himself.
There’s more he wants from you than just training a new class.

Fatholl had expected to use Basen as well, and Basen had maneuvered his way around that problem. He was confident he could do it again.

*****

Basen found Cleve sitting alone during dinner hours. Knowing the warrior ate quickly, Basen hurried to get in line for his food, then rushed over to take a spot on the bench beside Cleve.

“Your advice and training was helpful,” Basen said. “Thank you.”

Cleve gave a faint smile. “You’re welcome.”

“I have some new questions about focusing energy, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Cleve grew a real smile. Perhaps he had wanted some company.

“Cleve!” a Kreppen voice boomed from behind. “You no beat me today!”

Basen turned to see Rickik with Nebre and some other Krepps. Rather than waiting in line for food, the group of Krepps started gathering the leftover morsels on nearby plates and bringing them over to Cleve’s table.

Basen didn’t get a chance to ask Cleve anything after that. The only time the Krepps stopped bragging was to grunt out laughter or argue with each other.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The moment Sanya returned to the castle, she was escorted to Tauwin’s throne room, where she expected to be questioned and possibly killed. It had been nearly a week since she’d left for the Fjallejon Mountains. Yeso was dead, and the Elves were gone. Yet this came as little surprise to Ulric’s army compared to the announcement of his assassination.

Ulric had returned a few days before Sanya, and it was during this time that he’d been killed. Tauwin had been hasty in getting the funeral going. Many of Ulric’s troops didn’t even know he was dead until his body was displayed in a casket. Sanya hadn’t been there, so she didn’t know whether his mask covered his face even in death. In the end, it didn’t matter.

Sanya figured that Ulric’s troops had already joined Tauwin’s, because Takary coin and promises held the same allure no matter who led the army. It was what Tauwin would do with Sanya that remained a mystery.

There were just three people in his throne room when she entered: Tauwin, Kithala, and Tauwin’s psychic, who might very well have been the one who’d assassinated Ulric during the night.
The one Yeso told me to kill.

Tauwin had no beautiful woman by his side, no one yet taking Sanya’s place as his queen-to-be. He was probably enjoying his bachelorhood too much to consider the benefits of joining his family with another through marriage. The overconfident king must’ve been certain he would win this war soon and didn’t need such help.