Knight Fall (The Champion Chronicles Book 1) (16 page)

"Kin San," Goshin replied.  “I can teach you to be Kin San."

“What is that?”

“It is a word that means fighter or warrior.  To a Sak’hurai, it is someone who can fight with a sword, but is not really trained.  It can also mean a soldier in an army.  But I must call you something, and Kin San is as good as anything.”  Goshin smiled at the worried look that came across Conner’s face.  “Do not worry.  The moves and skills that I teach you are that of a Sak’hurai.  There are just some things that you will never be able to master until you can become Sak’hurai.  Shall we begin?”

Conner could barely move.  He could barely hold up his sword, but he nodded.

Goshin held out his sword for Conner to take.  “You will need this.”

Conner looked down at the sword that Goshin was handing him.  It was the twin of his own, the one that Goshin had refused to let him use.

“It is time for you to learn to dance with your swords.  You may never become Sak’hurai.  But maybe, just maybe, you might be able to fight like one.”

Chapter Twelve

Brace put a little weight on the leg and it felt as if someone drove a knife deep into it, twisted, and then pulled it out.  He used all his strength, power, and courage to keep from letting out a shout.

Mirfar leaned close and whispered into his ear.  “It is still too early.  Your leg has not healed.”

“I am fine,” Brace said between gritted teeth.  “I have done nothing but sleep for days and I will go crazy if I have sit for one more!”  Using a long limb freshly cut from a nearby tree to lean on, he hobbled his way towards the camp fire.

“You are a stubborn people, you Karmons,” Mirfar said with a smile.

Brace stopped, and turned back to the man who had saved his life.  He could have left Brace to die, but he didn’t.  And not only had he kept him alive, but he had made sure that his leg was taken care of well enough that he would soon be able to walk on it.  Brace simply smiled and let out a soft laugh, unable to come up with the words that would express his gratitude.  He knew that he would not have done the same thing.  His hatred of the Thellians had run deep.  But now, he looked at the man who called himself Mirfar, and he looked no different than any typical Karmon.  He smiled, he laughed.  He was not an animal, but a man.  It was a shame that he had spent so much of his life hating.

Bellock, the big man, had made a thick rabbit stew.  He dished a scoop into a wooden bowl as Brace approached.  The other two men were already eating and looked up from the bowls for just a moment before returning to their dinner.  The other two never talked.  They were old, but not quite as old as Mirfar, but much older than the youthful looking Bellock.  Mirfar had explained that they were nomads, wandering across the mountains while the weather was still good.  They would make their way west as it got closer to fall to avoid the harsh winters of the north.

The rabbit stew was good.  Most anything that Bellock made was tasty.  He had a fine hand with cooking and an ample supply of spices.  Brace raised his bowl in appreciation to the big man, who smiled back in return.

“It has been decided,” Mirfar said in between bites.  “Kirwin and Lillimar will take your message to the king.  They are trustworthy.”

Brace shook his head.  “The message will not be the same if it is not from me.  I must go.”

“You are unable to ride with that leg.  If we had a cart, we’d throw you on the back and haul you there.  But we are in the mountains and we have no cart.  If the message is as important as you say, then this is the only way.”  He patted Brace on his good leg.  “If your message is well received, then maybe our countries are entering a new age of peace.  I have known nothing but fear of you Karmons for as long as I have lived.  It will be nice not to have to live with that fear.”

“Fear?” Brace asked.  “What do you fear from us?  It has been your soldiers that have gone south into our lands, killed our villagers…”

“We fear the Knights of Karmon,” Mirfar said, cutting him off.  “If you wanted to, you could march through our cities, killing us all.  We have an army, but it is made up of farmers and merchants.  We have some soldiers, but I have met them and I despise them.   They are no more soldiers than the dogs that run with them.  True soldiers are honorable.  Like you!”

Brace blushed.  “Not all of us are,” he said softly.  “We are still killers at heart.  It is what we do.”

“And why are you here?  For peace?  You are not all killers.”

Brace reached into his tunic and pulled out the wax sealed message that the king had given him.  He handed it to Mirfar, hoping that he was as truly honorable as he seemed.  The old man wrapped it up in a piece of hide and handed it to Kirwin, who took it and stuffed it inside his own shirt.

“They will leave soon and will return in four days.  Two days there, two back,” Mirfar said.  “We will remain here until they return.  You will rest and heal some more.”

Brace nodded his acknowledgment.  He still did not buy into the fact that he had to give away the message.  He had made a vow to the king that he would deliver it himself.  But then again, Brace thought with great sorrow, he has broken many such vows.

***

Conner adjusted the shield, gripping the inside leader strap tightly with his right hand.  His left hand lightly gripped his wooden practice sword and he swung it several times, ensuring that he had a good feel for the sword’s weight.  He was getting better with fighting left-handed, but he was still slower than everyone else.  There wasn’t a time when he actually ever won a practice match.  But he knew it was working.  There was no doubt about that.  The strength and skill of his left hand was slowly catching up to that of his right.  Goshin promised that someday he would be able to fight with either hand as any Sak’Hurai could.  But Goshin always stressed that someday was really some year, far into the future.

He was also getting less and less tired each day.  He figured the more he trained, the more tired he would be.  And at first, that’s the way it was.  But Conner had suddenly noticed that he wasn’t constantly feeling like he wanted to take a nap all the time.  Arms and legs didn’t ache as much, or as long.  The blisters on his hands had calloused.  But most importantly, he knew he was getting stronger.  He could see on the faces of the squires when he connected with a solid hit.  It actually hurt them as much as he was hurt when they struck him. 

Today ended the week’s training, which meant that they would have tomorrow off.  Well, everyone else would have tomorrow off.  Conner would still work with Goshin.  But at least he would only have one training session instead of two.  The training session was also lighter today because they would end it with some one-on-one practice sessions.  Each squire was matched up and they would fight using tournament rules.  But rather than the blunt steel that was used for tournaments, they would still use their wooded swords.  They couldn’t kill or even cause much damage, but it still hurt.  Head shots were not allowed, as this was still training.  A strike on a limb was one point and strike to the body was two points.   The first fighter to ten, as scored by their instructor, was declared the winner.

They trained in a yard behind the stables.  There was some grass, but it was mostly dirt now from the squires’ long hours of training.  A large open window about halfway up the castle wall allowed spectators to look down upon the training in the comfort and protection from sun, wind, or rain.  Occasionally a curious knight would settle down at the window and watch his future warriors battle it out.  But every once in a while, when the castle was quiet, and there was little else to do, someone of a little higher stature would make an appearance.

***

“I am sure there are other ways to spend our time,” the tall girl whined.  Her long and curly brown hair flowed across her shoulders and halfway down her back.  “We could ride through the country, or walk through the garden.  Anything but this!”

Princess Elissa looked out the big open window.  The skies were gray without a hint of blue.  It even smelled like it was going to rain.  She turned to her friend and said.  “Melanie, it is going to rain.  We just had our hair done and I will not have it ruined by a ride in the rain.”  She smiled a sweet smile while Melanie pouted.  She could have just said that she was the princess and this is what they were doing.  But it just didn’t feel right.  Melanie was her friend and she genuinely liked her and liked spending time with her.  “When the weather clears, and the sun comes out, then we shall ride.”

Melanie plopped on one of the cushioned seats that an attendant had carried up three flights of stairs.  “They are all dirty and sweaty,” Melanie protested.  “I bet they stink, too.”

Princess Elissa sat down next to her friend and looked out the window upon the squire’s training ground.  Conner was there, as she was told he would be.  She watched him closely as he swung the wooden sword, pretending to stab, then to slash.  Then he suddenly stopped at looked up and their eyes locked.

And when their eyes locked, Conner lost all feeling in his limbs.  She was there with her friend, a girl that he had seen before, but had never met.  When she smiled at him, he lost his breath.  He did not understand what this meant.  Yes, she was beautiful, but the girl next to her was pretty, too.  Yes, she was the princess, but was that it?  Was this feeling that was so excruciatingly painful and joyful just because she was the princess?  A bead of sweat started high on his back and made its way down to his waist.  He let the itching sensation come and go while he held her smile with his eyes.

She gave him a little wave and then he caught a flash of movement.  At the very last moment, he lifted his shield across his body to protect his head.  The sword struck hard, hard enough to send him to the ground.  If he had been an instant slower, the sword would have caved in the side of his head.  His heart exploded, he could feel blood pumping adrenaline through his body, driving his reserve energy stores to his limbs.

He had not heard the start of the match, and if he had a moment to think about it, he would have thought that the instructor had intentionally started it when he was distracted.  But he didn’t have time to think, he only had time to react.

With him fighting with his left hand, and his opponent fighting with his right hand, it meant that the traditional use of the shield as a defensive weapon was not very useful.  But it also meant that it was useful as an offensive weapon.  As soon as Conner found his feet, his opponent, a much older squire named Eyron, used his shield in just that manner.  The shield struck Conner in the face sending him back onto the ground and stars flashing in his eyes.  Conner rolled, avoiding a sword strike while he was down, and kept rolling until he was out of range and could collect himself and get back on his feet.  Conner attacked with his sword, but his left hand was still much slower and weaker than the squire’s right hand. Thrust, parry, slash, parry, thrust again, parry again.  No matter what Conner tried, the squire easily countered him.

But what made Conner angrier than anything, was that Conner knew he could beat him.  If he could ditch the shield, change from the heavy and thick longsword to a light Sak’turana, he would dance around this buffoon.  But he used the traditional blunt force style of fighting that everyone was taught.  Conner could predict the squire’s movements, calling them out in his head.  He even knew how he would counter and attack, if he weren’t forced to use these stupid wooden weapons.

It wasn’t long before Conner lost his patience and pressed the attack, opening up his side for Eyron to smack him hard.  Conner winced at the blow and his anger escalated.  He stepped back to let his side recover from the blow.  He knew there was going to be a big bruise there in the morning.  It had been a solid hit from the flat of the wooden sword.  He ignored the pain and sprung forward, ignoring everything that he had been taught.  His only thought was on defeating the squire who had made him look bad in front of the princess.  In quick succession, before Conner quire realized what had happened, he was slapped on the leg, then on the arm, and then finally on the side again.  The last strike was in the same location as the first hit and it sent a shockwave through his body that caused him to fall to his knees.  Gripping his side, he accepted his defeat and sulked off the field without a glance back up to the princess.

Princess Elissa watched with her mouth agape, too stunned to say anything.

Melanie, however, did not hold back.  “That is your champion?” She let out a snort.  “He was beaten to the ground!”

Melanie went on, but Princess Elissa did not hear. She watched him walk off the field, shoulders hunched, sword dragging on the ground.  It was a mistake.  This whole champion thing was a mistake. That wasn’t the same young man who had saved her life in the woods.  That was a little boy running away with his tail between his legs.  She fumed with anger at her own stupidity.  This boy could not protect her or save her from killers.  He had killed to protect her, to save her life.  But she had seen with her own eyes that he could not even stand up to a squire.  How then could he stand up to a real threat?  What had happened in the woods was just lucky, she realized.  He really wasn't the man she thought he would be.

He was still walking away when she stood up, ignoring the prattle coming from Melanie.  His shield was still strapped to his right hand and he dragging the ugly wooden sword with his left.  She looked at the other squires, most of whom were cheering on two other combatants.  Their swords were in their right hands.  That made her think, and then she became even angrier.  Why was he using his left hand?  Why was he trying to lose the fight?  She stomped off furiously, too angry to cry.