Kyra and the Swordstress Pt. 05

Lothar stiffened his posture. Stood taller. He replied through gritted teeth, "I do not lie."

Duke Eldan shouted, "I've seen enough of your behavior to know you and your beloved order are not true knights but drunken, blundering imbeciles! I've seen enough of how your lot treats the underclass. You are the sort who would take advantage of a slave girl and in the same breath lose in battle to a retired gladiator. May today be the impetus for your order to change its character."

"You dare treat royal knights with such disrespect!?" Prince Albrech spat. "Father will hear of this and --"

With incredible speed, the duke marched over to the prince, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet and said in a low, but perfectly audible voice for all around to hear, "Your father will understand my anger, and so shall you,"

And he pushed the prince back to the ground.

The duke climbed back onto his horse and said to the crowd, "Marcus will receive ten lashings for killing the Knight Captain of the Most Noble Order of the Golden Kestrel. The girl did nothing wrong so shall receive no punishment."

A long dark shadow fell across Prince Albrech's face. His eyes churned with a rage that scared Scarlet. She knew that anger was not for her, or for Marcus, but for his uncle. That was a look that without any doubt said that what had happened today would not be forgotten. Scarlet wondered if the duke noticed the same.

Marcus's lashings were delivered by the archduke himself in the castle courtyard. All servants of House Turracher were gathered there to watch. Scarlet flinched with each sharp crack of the whip. Each laceration across Marcus's already scarred back filled her heart with searing pain. Marcus did not move throughout the ordeal. The only noise from him was a grunt with each whipcrack, like an ox pulling a heavy load. After the tenth whipping landed, a medic unshackled him and lifted him with an arm over the shoulder to carry him off. The duke ordered that his wounds be treated.

Scarlet was told once that slavery was, for a long time, prohibited in Varna. That changed when the Turracher dynasty rose to power, three generations prior to Grand Duke Alaric. To many, the reinstatement of slavery harkened back to the glory of the Kingdom of Varna, which was an economic power built on the back of slaves. To others, even among those within the House Turracher, no amount of subjugation of another could ever be worth the return to glory. But these were in the minority. Most citizens of Varna were apt to believe in their Ancients-given right to subjugate others, while most of the rest were at least fine with looking the other way. As it were with Duke Eldan, Scarlet noticed the slightest blink of torment on his otherwise stolid face. She could see plainly that it pained him greatly to whip the veteran gladiator, yet that it was his solemn duty to do so, as a brother to Grand Duke Alaric.

Later, Scarlet ate with the other house slaves as usual. As tradition called for, tonight, the night after a successful hunt, they were treated to a decadent feast. The largest boar was given to the slave's kitchen. Scarlet had in front of her a steaming bowl of potatoes, carrots, onions, and chunks of boar meat swimming in a rich broth made from the boar's bones. A soul-warming meal, but she couldn't eat any of it. She didn't have the appetite.

One of the older women at the table saw her morose expression and, guessing what ailed Scarlet, attempted to reassure her.

"He will be alright, child. It's not the first time he got a beating, nor will it be his last, and ten lashings is far from what a man like him can take. Now try to eat your stew while it's still hot."

Scarlet nodded. She picked up her spoon from the soup bowl but could only stare at the pieces of carrot and the chunk of potato and the boar meat that sat in it.

As she was a house slave, and Marcus worked in the stables and the armory, she had not interacted with him before. She had, in fact, been intimidated by the man, who seemed to have taut cords for muscles, and scar tissue in place of body fat. She knew he was once a gladiator, and what she knew of gladiators was their bestial behaviors. Warriors of the red-stained sand. Brutish berserkers for the crowd with nothing more on their minds but wanton savagery and death. But Marcus was not like that at all. Or did not seem like that. He seemed in possession of a gentle soul. She knew this by the gentle way he spoke to her, even after doling out his savagery upon knights of the highest order.

The older woman who spoke to her, watched her as intently as a mother. "Eat up, dear," she tried again.

To appease the woman, Scarlet stuffed the spoon into her mouth and swallowed, but the food, as tasty and warm as it was, did not satisfy her. It might as well be witchweed stew. Her mind was too fixated on other things.

"What is his story?" Scarlet asked. "How did he end up here?"

"He was a gladiator. Now he's a stableman. Such is not unusual for a gladiator's life if they are not liberated or die by the sword. It is a rare thing, but it does happen."

"The duke listens to him," Scarlet said.

The old woman smiled. She sipped the broth from her spoon and smacked her lips once before replying,

"Marcus is perhaps the only man in Leinyere that the duke respects."

"Because he is a champion gladiator?"

"Because he is a man of honor. Did you know that the duke saved him from execution?"

"Really? What happened?"

"In Marcus's final match, which would have guaranteed his freedom, he refused to kill the man he defeated with the Grand Duke's sword. You see, it is customary that the Grand Duke relinquishes his sword to a champion gladiator as a token of freedom. The gladiator is then required to execute his opponent with the sword. Marcus refused, as the man he vanquished was a close friend. He instead spurned the sword by tossing it aside. The Grand Duke, of course, was outraged by this brazen display of insubordination and ordered Marcus's execution. Duke Eldan, recognizing Marcus's valor, stayed his brother's hand, convincing his brother to allow Marcus to live and serve in the Turracher house as a slave."

Scarlet recalled the fight from that afternoon at the river. How easily Marcus dispatched two royal knights, faster than the time it takes for a leaf to fall from a branch. How incredible his competence. How confident he was in his abilities despite his old age, lack of proper weapons, and while being outnumbered. How fearful she was in contrast. Frozen like a broken-winged pigeon at the mercy of a cat. She should have been punished, not Marcus, for being such a helpless little thing.

The night was starry and moonless when Scarlet snuck out of the castle's servant quarters. She had snuck around the castle many times before. She knew where the guards were stationed, where they patrolled, where they lingered in hidden corners to enjoy a quick pipe smoke or a nap. She knew the dark shadows and the hidden passages like the back of her hand. Most nights she broke curfew, it was to steal a snack from the kitchen. Tonight, she had another objective.

It bothered her greatly to think of how helpless she was that day. Her day would have gone entirely differently if Marcus hadn't come to her rescue. She remembered Marcus's words as clear as day -- that she was now an age that would draw wicked deeds from misbegotten men. She did not want to be at the mercy of misbegotten men or rely on the honorable ones to rescue her. She wanted to be able to fight for herself. So, she sought Marcus with the hopes of learning how.

The air was cool, and the dead leaves on the stone in the castle courtyard were slippery and wet. At this time of night, the guards tended to linger near warm hearths, so it was easy to sneak through the castle.

There was a light in the stable. A candlelight glow eking out from the cracks of the side stable door. She went around the side, where she knew there was a window. It was high on the wall, but there was a rain barrel that she could climb onto to get a peek inside. She climbed onto it, peered into the stable, and spotted Marcus sitting against the wall atop a pile of dry hay, his torso wrapped tightly in bandage for his back wounds. His breathing was deep. The duke's black mare had her head drooped over the fence of her stable to his shoulder, staying still, keeping her presence near Marcus as a source of comfort while he endured the pain of his wounds.

Besides the horses, Marcus was the only one in the stable. This was Scarlet's chance.

She climbed down from the rain barrel, went around the side and creaked open the stable door. A couple of the horses in their stalls snorted and shook their manes. Marcus looked up. His face remained flat, showing not an ounce of emotion to Scarlet's being there.

"Four lashings if you are caught out past curfew," he said to her.

"I've not come close to ever being caught," Scarlet replied.

Marcus grunted. "What do you want, child? Haven't you had enough adventure for one day?"

"I want to be able to fight like you."

Marcus chuckled, then winced in pain from the chuckling.

"Fancy yourself a gladiator now, do you?"

"You said it yourself. I'll need to learn to protect myself."

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

"I implied that I pity your lot as a slave girl."

"I don't want your pity."

Marcus shut his eyes as if he meant to doze to sleep.

"It is strictly forbidden for a slave to learn to fight," he said.

"I don't care," she said.

At first, he gave no response besides a long, tired sigh. He sighed in a way to suggest the conversation was over, but after a long while, he opened his eyes to find Scarlet still there. He smirked, then said to her, "Here is your first lesson: Reveal nothing of what you know to your enemy unless it is to your advantage to do so. Remember that tenet, child, and come back tomorrow night, when my wounds are more bearable, and I am less tired."

Scarlet spent her waking moments in bed, and all the following day diligently memorizing the words of the first lesson though it was only a tiny drop of dew, when what she wanted was a well-spring. She was itching to learn to wield a weapon, but she took what she was given gratefully, and kept patient, knowing that patience would be key to getting anything more from Marcus. If Scarlet could be anything, it was patient.

Scarlet snuck into the stable again the following evening. Marcus was slightly more ambulatory than he was the previous night. He unwrapped a canvas roll. Scarlet's heart first fluttered excitedly when she saw the shape of a short sword, but her shoulders sank when she saw that it was made of wood.

He tossed it to her. She snatched it clumsily out of the air, nearly dropping it. Knicks and divots covered it from years of use. The grip was wrapped in leather that was worn into scruffy hide.

"Your first weapon," he said.

"It's a wooden sword," she replied dolefully.

"It has the same weight and balance as one made of steel. It is a good sword to practice with."

She began to swing it around. Marcus put his hand up to stop her. He sat cross-legged on the stable floor and motioned for her to do the same, so she kept her right hand tightly curled around the grip, excited to start her training.

"Technical competence with the blade follows a fundamental understanding of why the blade is used in the manner it is used. It may be fine for a knight to flourish his sword in a tournament without any meaning but to entertain the crowd, but in true combat, when the difference between life and death is defined in seconds and inches, every path a blade takes must be governed by a precise purpose. Recite for me what you learned yesterday."

Having the lesson fully committed to memory, Scarlet repeated it unhesitatingly. "Reveal nothing of what you know to your enemy unless it is to your advantage to do so."

"Good. Today's lesson is this: Strength counters weakness. Weakness counters strength."

Scarlet cocked her head like a confused puppy. She muttered the words to herself but reiterating them only made them more ambiguous. Marcus smirked at her confusion then clarified,

"A strong blow can be devastating. If your opponent is weak, you should employ unrelenting strength to exploit that weakness. But not every strike or thrust can or should use strength. That can be a tiresome affair. A weak parry can meet a strong strike to greater effect than a strong one. A weak thrust can throw off a strong charge and put you in charge of the battle's tempo. It is up to you to know when to use strength and when to use weakness. Strength counters weakness. Weakness counters strength."

Marcus stretched out his hand, palm-side up. Knowing that this meant he wanted the sword from her, she gave it to him, placing its grip into his palm.

"That is all for tonight," Marcus said, as he rolled the wooden sword into the canvas.

"What? That's it!?" Scarlet exclaimed, flustered. She grew red in the face. "I want to learn to fight!" she complained.

Marcus nodded. "And you are learning how to fight."

This was unacceptable. Scarlet had violated curfew two nights in a row to sneak out to the stable to take lessons in combat from the greatest gladiator that had ever lived, yet she received not a single lesson in combat.

"You're not teaching me to fight! You're teaching me words! What good are words against men who would rape me?"

"Immeasurably better than a sword if you understand their meaning."

Scarlet huffed. She crossed her arms and glared at Marcus. Marcus gave a chuckle, which served to make Scarlet even more frustrated.

"What was tonight's lesson?" Marcus asked.

"Strength counters weakness. Weakness counters strength," Scarlet grumbled.

"Good. And last night's?"

"Reveal nothing of what you know to your enemy unless it is to your advantage to do so."

"Commit those to your memory. Tomorrow night, you will learn another."

Night after night, she came back to Marcus. Each night, a new lesson to memorize.

'Let only your training usher in your confidence.

Fill your mind with intensity, empty your heart of passion.

Always anticipate, never hope.'

It wasn't what Scarlet had expected, but it was better than nothing. So, night after night, drop by drop, she took the precious morsels her teacher fed her. A simple ritual began each lesson, one that a punctilious monk might appreciate if Scarlet did not. Marcus would unroll the wooden sword from the canvas and hand it to her, with as much levity as a king bequeathing a sword upon his knight. Her hand tightened around the grip of the wooden short sword, Scarlet would recite Marcus's tenets, speaking each word as if they were sacred. They were indeed sacred, Marcus asserted, as they governed the fine line between life and death in combat.

Thirty tenets she learned in thirty nights. On the thirty-first night Marcus gave Scarlet her first opportunity to put these tenets into real practice.

"Go over the wall. Meet me by the abandoned mill," Marcus instructed her.

Going over the wall was easy. There was a chestnut tree near the castle wall with a branch reaching just close enough to the parapet, with a gap through which she could leap, and it was the same on the other side. With no sentry tower in view, all she had to do was wait for a guard to pass, then leap from tree to the top of the wall, through the parapet, to the other tree and down into the field below.

The grass in the field over the wall was wet and sweet-smelling and pleasantly cool against her bare feet. All the slaves knew that the enchantment binding the slaves to the castle was absent at the abandoned mill, but no one really bothered to venture there. There was nothing worth venturing there for. Scarlet had only ever gone before, like many daring young slaves, for the thrill of sneaking over the wall.

A crescent moon hung between the spidery spokes of the mill's broken wind vanes. A low mist hung like cobwebs through the tall dew-coated grass. An owl from the top of one of the surrounding fir trees hooted as Scarlet approached. Scarlet was anxious and fearful of this place. She tried to quiet her anxiety by reminding herself that Marcus asked her to be here. Surely, he would not put her in harm's way. But maybe he would? Maybe it was a test? She heard tales of how gladiators would train by fighting wild bears. Maybe this was what Marcus had in store for her. Maybe a bear was hiding inside the mill. She swallowed nervously. "Courage," she whispered to herself. "Have courage, Hyla of the wind and stars."

Whenever she spoke to herself as such, she spoke it in the tone and inflection her mother would have spoken. Gentle and stern. Thinking of her mother in scary situations always did well to calm her.

She approached the mill apprehensively and froze when a dark shape emerged from the ruins. Her eyes went wide, blood drained from her face.Bear!' cried out a voice in her head. When she recognized Marcus's gait, she relaxed.

Just like all the nights in the stable, he unraveled the canvas roll to produce the wooden short sword. He tossed it to her, and she grabbed it out of the air by the grip without flinching.

Unlike the nights before, he produced his own wooden sword.

"And now we practice what we have learned," he said. "It is your task tonight to land a blow on my body."

Scarlet nodded. Took her stance, held her sword in front of her in the middle guard, which she knew now was the most efficient guard when equipped with a one-handed sword against a single opponent, allowing the perfect balance between offense and defense. Marcus did the same. This was her first time squaring off against a real opponent, so she was nervous. She trembled.

Marcus punished her quickly, stepping forward, lunging with a thrust. Scarlet fumbled with her sword to parry the thrust, realizing too late that it was a feint, which turned into a slash against her blade. With a woody thock, her sword flung out of her hand, then Marcus thwacked her shoulder hard with his sword.

"Ow! Hey!" she cried, clutching her shoulder where he hit her. "I wasn't ready!"

"Is that so? Tell me, what do you know about readiness?"

Glumly, she recited. "You are either ready or you are dead."

"That's right. And you weren't ready. So now you're dead. Pick up your sword. Let's try again."

Scarlet grabbed her sword and assumed the position. This time, she took the initiative. 'All things being equal, the one who strikes first has the advantage. Strike first and do so with the intent to kill.'

She lunged forward to close the distance, thrusting her blade at Marcus's torso. 'Target that which is vulnerable and unprotected.'

But Marcus hopped backward and Scarlet's sword sliced through the air instead of striking a body, and she stumbled forward. At the same time, Marcus grabbed her sword by the hilt with his free hand and yanked her to the ground. "Oof!" she grunted as she hit the ground. When she opened her eyes, she found the point of his blade held to her neck. Her instinct was to cry foul, for grabbing her with his hand instead of using his sword, but then she remembered: 'your hands are your most formidable weapon, second only to your mind,' which is what he had just demonstrated.

Scarlet felt she had mastered the principles. She had recited them every day until they were as natural to her as it was to breathe or blink. She had also practiced the techniques, developing muscle memory for footwork and the sword art, so that she could do them in her sleep. But facing a real-life opponent, she quickly realized, was very different. All the confidence she had built over the past month began seeping through her fingers like sand.