Prince Bonir Vol. 04

As I came over the top of a rise, I saw them. There was a thicket of hardy evergreens that somehow survived the icy conditions, and right where they butted up against a grassy plain, was Sigrid, sword drawn in defensive posture as a huge white bear reared up on it's hind legs. It was at least nine feet tall and about to pounce. Sigrid was in trouble, for the vivid red stripes on her arm indicated that she had been slashed once already—she was not gravely wounded, but wielding that huge sword would now be extremely painful, undermining her ability to defend herself. And just standing there, relying on her sword to defend her, was playing right into the bear's hands. I had to act at once, or I would surely witness her demise.

I broke into a full sprint down the hill, yelling as loudly as I possibly could. I had not time to wait for my reinforcements to arrive. The bear, which had been about to spring upon and crush Sigrid, instead quickly came down on all fours and retreated several steps before turning around to reassess the situation. This allowed me to come between the bear and Sigrid. Our gazes locked, and the bear began to advance. With his size advantage, I scared him no more than had Sigrid. He would soon learn, however, that I had better tactics.

The bear began, as I presumed he had with Sigrid, with a rushing attack that ended with a lunging swipe. He came up with nothing but air, however, for as he lunged I had rolled over, onto my back then back to my feet, sidestepping the assault. I swiped at the bear, but alas my sword's reach fell short of the mark on its first attempt.

The bear squared on me again, and reared up on it's hind legs, as I had observed when first cresting the hill. But I knew enough to not present a stationary target to an enemy that relies on a power attack. While a bear can easily outrun a human, it is not like a cat that is used to pouncing on its prey at full speed. Its modus operandi was to slow an opponent with a swipe of its claws, then crush or maul it from a standing start. I needed to not allow him to do either. As soon as he reared up, I rolled again, diagonally to the bear so that when I regained my feet I was facing the bear's side.

The bear knew it didn't want an enemy to have a clean shot at it's sides, so it came down again, turned, are reared again. I rolled back form whence I had started. The bear was intelligent; it already realized that this prey wasn't going to stand there as Sigrid had and allow him to pounced on it. So the second time he came down, he didn't just turn and rise up again, he put one foot down and tried to pounce in my direction, aiming to slow me down with a well-placed swipe. His large body was not designed for sideways attacking, however, and so the attack was easily avoided. This time, as I rolled I let my sword trail behind me, and as a result scored a slashing cut on the bear's snout.

The side of the bear's white nose quickly mottled with red—much like Sigrid, it wasn't a mortal wound, but it produced much blood and was likely quite painful. This of course enraged the bear. Rage can be very beneficial in the battlefield—but only if it does not cause the warrior to disregard defense or forget his (or her) tactics, in which case rage can be the seal on the warrior's own doom. The bear attacked savagely now, mindless of his own vulnerabilities. He lunged again, and I rolled out of the way, but learning quickly he was attacking my new position before I had a chance to completely recover my balance. Had I not been wearing my breastplate, I might have been mortally wounded when his claws slashed at my midsection. Fortunately for me and unfortunately for the bear, his attack met with nothing but cold steel, leaving large dents in the metal but not cutting my skin. And because he was now so close, I was able to guide my blade up and under his chin, such that now my slash did not merely cut his nose—it cut deeply into his very neck.

As I regained my feet, I saw the bear freeze for a moment, stunned. When he turned to face me again, his forelegs were already stained bright crimson from the severed artery. He lunged at me again, but the ferocity was draining as quickly as his life's blood. I now merely needed to continue protecting myself until it bled to death. It attempted one more feeble attack, but then was too lightheaded to even get a firm grasp on my position—its side lay right before me. Feeling sorry for it, I plunged my blade into the bear's side, puncturing its heart and mercifully hastening the inevitable. It fell to its side and was dead.

I looked around to see what had become of Sigrid. I don't know what I had expected, but her standing unmoved, still maintaining that pointless defensive position was not it. Was she in shock? "Sigrid?" I said, walking slowly towards her, not sure whether she might not be in shock and attack me.

There was a crimson stain on the grass at her feet; she bled worse than I thought. As I cautiously neared her I first saw streams of tears on her cheeks, then heard her break into sobs. With the onset of the sobbing, she at last lowered her sword, but rather than sheath it she threw it angrily to the side. Then she collapsed into a ball to the floor, bending one leg underneath her and one bending the other in front of her. She then pressed her face against her knee, hugging the knee with her good arm to hold it close—her slashed arm simply dangled at the side, too painful to move. I sheathed my sword and ran up to her. "Sigrid, you..."

"I AM A FAILURE!" she shouted before I could finish, followed by some words I did not understand but presumed to be words Swedish parents prefer their children not learn. I searched for words as I stood over her, but hers came first. "Some warrior I am! I should be hunting bear—yet I can't even defend myself against a bear! I need to have a man race in here and save me. Even his majesty the pampered prince can defeat the bear, and the great warrior Sigrid cannot," she railed bitterly. "I deserve to bleed to death!"

She bled, but her deepest wounds were the hardest to heal—scars on her very soul. I bend my knees to crouch down beside her. "Sigrid, you may think me the pampered prince," I said softly, "but I wasn't supposed to be the Duke; my brother was the heir until plague took him. Thus I was trained as knight from childhood, and served with honor in the King's Elite Guard."

She peered up briefly to study my face and see if she could tell whether I was lying. She quickly hid it again, but the sobs had softened.

"Do not sell yourself short, warrior Sigrid," I said gently, "that bear was easily nine feet tall. The problem is that you have only learned strength-based tactics, and those tactics do not fare well against an enemy six times your size. You need to learn speed and agility tactics as well, so that you can take advantage of your enemy's weakness regardless of what it may be."

"My people would have considered your tactics cowardly," she murmured.

"In battle there are no cowards," I countered, "there are only winners and losers, the living and the dead. When your enemy's advantage is strength, he is best defeated by speed and quickness. In fact, I daresay you should focus on agility tactics—turn your size into an advantage, rather than a disadvantage! I would be happy to give you some training, but first we must tend to this wound!"

She turned stiffly to look at the gaping, bleeding slices in her arm. "It stings," she admitted through tear-stained eyes.

"Come, let me bandage that," I said. Since I wasn't wearing full armor, I could reach the sleeve of my under-armor shirt, which I tore off and began to band tightly around her arm.

"Ow, ow, ow..." she complained—in getting under her arm the cuts rubbed against the metal straps of her breastplate, causing great pain. "Wait," she said, and stood up. She slipped the her sword's sheath off her back, then held one arm straight over her head, and gingerly lifted the injured one too. "Pull it off," she said.

I loosened the leather straps that held her breastplate close to her body, then picked it up from the bottom and gently lifted it up and over her head. She had to turn her head sideways to get it to squeeze through the metal. Underneath her breastplate she wore a strip of cloth wrapped around her breasts several times. The tight binding helped explain how they could remain so firm while peering over the top of the armor plate, but even with the binding it was clear that her breasts were impressively large. The cloth, however, only covered the breasts themselves, and the rest of her torso was exposed, and muscled like a warrior. I had seen persons whose muscles of the stomach were so well-defined that they could be seen individually when bending, but this was the first time I had seen someone whose muscles were thus visible when standing straight up. I forced myself to look away from her body and into her eyes. I realized she was quite beautiful, only she had always been so angry when I had seen her before I had overlooked it.

With her armor was off, she dropped her arm out sideways, and then I was able to bandage her cuts. Already the fabric was staining red. "Come back to the fort," I encouraged, "we need to get you more attention with those wounds." She nodded glumly. Just then I heard voices calling my name in the distance.

"Over here!" I returned. I picked up Sigrid's discarded sword, placed it in its discarded sheath, and picked up her armor as well. Three soldiers were rushing towards me.

"My Lord," the first one said as they trotted towards us, "we found and slayed the bear. It was a female polar bear, almost eight feet long!"

"That explains why you did not come when I cried out," I replied dryly, gesturing towards the clearing with a nod of the head. "I took care of her mate."

The soldiers followed my gesture and all gasped. "My lord...you slayed..."

"A nine-foot male by himself, whereas it took three of you to kill the female." Sigrid interrupted. "Perhaps that is why he is the Prince, and you are not."

"Four actually," I corrected, bemused by her sudden defense of me. "Please see to it that both carcasses are brought into the fort and butchered. I need to take the lady back to the fort, she sustained a little scratch holding the big bear off by herself while the four of you were dancing with the little one." I saw a hint of a smile in the face she shot me after I said those words, with their implication that her feat too was more heroic than that which had made the soldiers so proud. I slung her sword over my back, carried her armor by the straps with the forearm of my sleeved side, and headed back to the fort, leaving behind three dumbfounded guards.

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Sigrid was bandaged up and remained in the fort, but it was not easy. She barely more a part of the social circle of the Norwegians than we were. She was known, of course, but her husband had been a captain, and from that fact she had enjoyed a special status which she no longer held—indeed, some seemed to revel in what they perceived to be her fall from grace. And surely tact and statesmanship were not her strengths, so she often made bad situations worse. Not only that, but since her house had been abandoned, it had been converted to a barracks; although she reclaimed her own bed, she now shared a house with eight soldiers. Having to help out as best she could with her left arm heavily bandaged just made it all worse. Apparently she was not totally isolated, however, for Thera reported that stories of my rescue of Sigrid were being circulated among the Scandinavians, and some children were starting to refer to me as "Bonir the bear-slayer."

I tried to check in on Sigrid when I could those next few weeks, but often I was too busy. Every time I did, I asked if the arm was ready for her to begin training—I wanted to be sure to live up to my promise, and for her to know that I fully intended to do so. Finally came the day when she no longer wore bandaging over her injured arm. But there were still deep scabs which would never heal entirely. She would always wear a reminder of that skirmish.

"Aha!" I said when I first saw her unbandaged, "the wrapping is off! Are you ready to begin your training?"

"The bandage is off, Lord Prince," she replied, "but I cannot yet manage my sword."

"That's because you're using a two-hander," I replied, "which its sheer weight alone will slow you down. A one-handed sword is better for speed attacks. Surely you've used a one-handed sword before?"

"Yes, but not since I was first training," she replied, "I've had this one for a long time."

"Come," I said, "let us see if there is anything worthwhile in the armory." I walked with her to the shack where we kept the weapons that had been salvaged from corpses or in some cases abandoned on the beach when we invaded. There were mostly axes of course, but I thought I remembered seeing at least one sword, and indeed we soon located it and took it out into the light to inspect it. My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the Coat of Arms of Eckoss embroidered into the scabbard; I would have to remember to send word to Juriel that she had been avenged.

Sigrid unsheathed the blade and inspected it. "Dull, but that's fine for training," she commented, running her fingers along the unsharpened part of the blade. "It's tarnished, but no cracks. Let me work on it, and we can begin training tomorrow?" I agreed to meet her after dinner the next day at the town hall.

The town hall was a log building not much different from the other buildings in the fort, only it was larger. It was basically a single, big square room inside, intended to serve any purpose for which a house was too small, from weddings and banquets to meetings and religious rituals. It also served as my command post during the day, but after dinner time it was usually empty these days, and so gave us a large space in which to work—I just had ask that they not blow out the lights.

Sigrid was punctual, as I would have expected. I was wearing my training clothes, which were a simple loose shirt and pants made of Hessian cloth—cheap and easily repaired or replaced, yet tough enough to resist glancing scrapes from sharp blades. Sigrid's training clothes were unlike any I had ever seen—but in truth, she was the first true female warrior I'd ever seen, either. She wore the same tight-fitting leather pants, but light doeskin shoes rather than fur-lined boots. And instead of the metal breastplate she had a leather top of similar cut—it had a thick front and back, with a more pliable middle that was cinched tightly around the body by means of straps at the sides. It ended right above her bustline, but was held up with leather straps over the shoulders. It was also cut a good four inches shorter than her breastplate, such her navel and the taut muscles of her stomach were visibly exposed above the top of her trousers. I had to work to prevent my gaze from lingering there, or surely I would get hurt in the training.

The first session was spent mostly trying to unlearn things she already knew. She had been taught to stand one's ground and fight, and certainly there were times and places for that. I had show her how to be on the defensive while remaining light on her feet. We sparred a little; I kept pushing closer for her to start getting the feel of fighting while on the move. It was almost two hours before I decide we needed to stop; by then sweat glistened on the smooth skin of her belly. She asked to meet again in two days time.

I went back to the house I was staying in, rubbing oil on muscles sore from training for the first time in a long time. I mentally counted the days since we took over the fort, and only then did I realize that it had been my birthday. I thought back to how I had spent my last birthday in an orgy of carnal debauchery, whilst now I sat in a cold, barren fort awaiting a fleet of invaders. I thought of Eve and Arianna back home and how I missed them. It had been a month since last I lay with them, and I wondered if Eve had had her monthly flow. I sighed, promising to revel even more in the moment should I ever get the chance to make love to them again, for one never knew when an opportunity may be one's last. I tossed about fitfully, only sleeping after self-flagellating to memories of the orgy at the Abbey.

By the second session two days later, Sigrid had improved greatly on her postures. I could easily imagine her having spent hours practicing since her first lesson. I began work with her on dodges. She easily mastered the physical aspect, but the hard part is recognition of when and where to dodge. I used a blunt stick, and came at her from unpredictable angles; I inadvertently poked her a number of times, but by the end of the night she was responding correctly more than half of the time.

In the third session she had progressed enough that I began to work with her on rolling out of danger's way. I was careful to only roll have her roll to the right, as her left arm remained gravely injured. As I had predicted, she was quick and agile on her feet. I explained that she should think of the sword as an axis around which to roll, once that became second nature, she could start to think about trying to slash an opponent even as she rolled out of harm's way. Both using sticks, we sparred again, with her concentrating on avoiding me.

"You are doing very well," I said, "but every style of fighting has a counter to it, and this is no exception." This time, as she rolled, I concentrated on the stick and not the person. I snagged the stick with mine; unprepared, the force of her own roll pulled the weapon from her hands. When she regained her feet, my stick was pointed at her exposed belly, while she stood defenseless. Instinctively, she raised her hands. Her eyes were fixed on the stick, imagining it to be a blade, desperately replaying what had just happened to find her mistake, lest next time the error cost her her life.

"Once you get the hang of rolling with your sword as an axis," I said softly, slowly letting the stick fall towards the floor, "you must learn to never actually roll without doing something with the sword, or a knowledgeable opponent may be able to disarm you." As I drew the stick down, her eyes followed it up until finally, really for the first time, she was looking me squarely in the eye. "But, most soldiers and guards never get far enough in their training to learn that..." Something in her eyes told me that already knew that.

I swear upon the gospels that what happened next had never been my intent nor had even crossed my mind. She had looked upon me as an invader, a usurper, a spoiled prince, an enemy commander, a savior, a gallant knight, and even as a teacher. At that moment, she looked at as a man—and she was a woman. Without warning she threw her arms around me and pressed her lips urgently against mine. I felt her tongue seeking mine, so I let them intertwine. She kissed me hungrily, a serpent that had been coiled waiting to strike. She had been married, and yet had never known passion. I think her hunger surprised herself.

I too responded as if I were starving. Just days before I had pined for lovers far away; now, out of nowhere, an opportunity dropped into my lap, and I pounced upon it. Dropping the stick, I wrapped my arms around her, and they naturally fell to her bare midriff. Those muscles I had admired felt lithe and lean in my hands.

She pulled herself away for a second. She fumbled for and released the straps on her leather pseudo-armor, then with great urgency pulled it over her head and threw it aside. Then she grasped me again, eagerly pressing her tongue into my mouth again.

I ran my fingers up and down her back, noticing how well-defined all of her muscles were. I pulled her even closer to me so that I might feel her breasts pressing into me, but I did not. Suddenly it dawned on me that it was because of the Hessian cloth shirt—and that the rough cloth probably did not feel particularly good on a woman's delicate nipples. So I now pulled back, hastily throwing my shirt aside, then rejoined with her. Now my chest was treated to the feel of her firm breasts pressing into it.