Blade Archer ~ Fifty
Jul. 4th, 2013 09:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yraeKael sweltered under the heat of a midsummer heatwave. He had hoped, but not expected, that the heatwave might finally drop off today. He had hoped, and expected even less, that maybe the weapons masters would call the exams off until the weather abated. But here he stood, late in the afternoon, with the sun making him dizzy at the top of the range.
His blade archery exams were the very last, deliberately to make his weapon of choice the most challenging of his exams. Ronanen stood with hands clasped under the shade of the archery range, in turns watching Kael and peering nervously at his blade archery master as he lined up for the final test.
It seemed so anticlimactic, so clinical. His true test had been nearly two months ago. He had run down the man who had destroyed his life, had used all his training to find him, catch him and pin him to the ground. This careful silence in the archery range, so meticulously planned to test every aspect of a trainee’s abilities, one each at a time, was nothing like the real world. It was wrong.
There would be no injury in this test, save for the odd cut or grazed knuckles he had earned from his sword and palu exams. There would be no deaths, neither of his enemies nor his friends.
Kael rolled his shoulders, trying to banish Aen’s memory from his mind. The queen had died that night giving birth to her son. While the nation mourned their leader, Kael mourned a friend. He hated the queen and her stupid, selfish king almost as much as he had hated the faceless hood who had slaughtered his family. The healers he had eventually found with the guard that night had told him there was nothing they could do, and not even the palace healing house could have replaced the blood he had lost. Whether he had been allowed in or not, Aen would have died.
He still blamed the queen for Aen’s death. The queen, the king, and the new prince. Any other day, and Aen would have been allowed in.
He’d very nearly quit the queen’s Aeia-damned army on the spot. Ronanen understood, and promised she would support him in any way he needed while he looked for another career, but Banok recognised the rash decision for what it was. It was only the weapon master’s brashness that made him realise he was just trading one hatred for another. He wasn’t proving a point, only that he was ready to cave in and finally give up.
‘Why did you sign up in the first place?’ Banok had demanded of him. ‘To fight for queen and country?’
Kael had shaken his head stubbornly. ‘Everyone said I was good enough,’ he’d replied sullenly. He had said it with such pride back then, back as a naïve new recruit.
‘And why did you stick with it?’ Banok pressed.
‘Fer money.’ It wasn’t such a shallow reason as he made it sound. His only way of gaining money before had been to steal it. He had no chance of employment outside the army. It was to be his living, simple as that. ‘I know what ye’re gonna say next. Queen ain’t never come into it, so why should she now she’s kissed the dust?’
‘The army is about the queen for very few people,’ Banok reminded him. ‘Nobody liked Queen Alurié much, and I think if she had been allowed to rule for long enough to be involved in a war, she might have had a hard time drumming up support for it. When I went on missions, it was hardly ever to do with the queen at the time. When I was booted out of the Own, perfectly fair circumstances, I felt guilty every mission they went on, because I wasn’t part of it. They were friends, most of them, and I knew the dangers they were riding off to. And that was just for missing out on the Own.’
The old Own rider had leaned forward then, arms crossed on the table. ‘If you gave up now, with all the skills you have, and war came to Raykin, what would you feel then? It’s nothing to do with the royals, Kael. It’s for all those you can protect.’
Kael gritted his teeth, holding his wrist to his forehead as much to wipe away the sweat as to calm his thoughts.
One of his training partners stood in front of him, wearing a pair of blade belts crossed over his back. Kael flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders again, ready for this final test. The familiar, disappointingly tame target stood empty at the end of the range, ready for him to pelt with blades, needles and triangles. Four others were already bristling with his four earlier attempts, all solidly consistent, if not hugely spectacular. Only one now remained. One more target, and he would learn if he was good enough for what was now the king’s army.
‘And fire,’ Banok announced from the shade.
In a flash, Kael began snatching at all the pointy bits of metal sheathed about his person. There was as much about his selection here as about his speed and accuracy. Remembering how the minister had fallen to his blades, he flung his needles first, gripping two between each finger and releasing them in a spray that was guaranteed to hit something. All but one landed somewhere in the target. A second shower would catch the target as he continued trying to run, but stumbling now under the stabbing of Kael’s needles.
He grabbed at his longer, flatter blades, one between each finger of both hands. They had always been his weakness, and true to form, only those thrown from his left hand had enough power and accuracy to slam into the target. He swore in his head and snatched blades from his partner’s back to repeat the manoeuvre, determined to land something from his right hand. Two of the four blades landed this time, but he didn’t allow himself to bask in the glory for too long.
Triangular blades came next, his long time favourites. He could throw them hard and fast, and each one landed with a satisfying thunk, many of them close to the centre of the target. He heard Ronanen’s squeal of delight at this display, and repeated it twice over before he moved back to the needles.
His shoulders ached after the narrow win of his archery exam and the painful passing by one point of his swordsmanship exam. His fingers still quivered just a little from the countless raps on the knuckles by his palu exam. He had just barely managed a pass mark in that exam, saved only but a lucky swing that he refused to admit was a fluke. He hurt all over, the sun dried his clothes as quickly as he sweated into them, and his head swam with heat exhaustion, but his determination and his focus didn’t waver.
Once all his blades, and those on his training partner’s back, had been loosed at the target, Kael turned his face to the sky as sheer exhaustion grabbed him by the ankles and flooded up through his body. But he couldn’t collapse just yet, not until he knew.
He swallowed and raked his dripping hair back from his fringe. With heavy breaths that still weren’t enough under the harsh sun, he staggered over to the shade.
Ronanen squealed and flung her arms around him, kissing him neatly on the lips despite how he dripped with sweat. ‘I’m so proud of you!’ she cried before kissing him again. ‘I knew you could do it.’
Kael shook his head, eyes on his blade archery master. ‘Not yet, I ain’t.’
‘Of course you have,’ Master Banok said distractedly. ‘Now, sweep the desert. I’m doing maths.’
A weak, exhausted grin spread over Kael’s lips. ‘Thought ye said ye had me picked already,’ he panted.
‘I have,’ Banok replied, his eyes still on his pages. ‘I can pick every one of you before your exams, but the First General likes to see it written down and proven in numbers.’ He scrawled a little more on the sheet of parchment, then held it up with a smirk. ‘See? Ninth Company.’
Kael lifted a fist in triumph, reading the numbers on the sheet without taking in their full meaning. A large number nine had been written in the top corner with a heavy circle around it.
‘The First General will recommend various blacksmiths to you,’ Banok was saying, ‘but if you hold out for a month for your first pay packet, I’ll take you somewhere properly special for your first set of blades. You’ll be forced into regulation uniform and belts, but only a fool accepts regulation blades.’ He slapped Kael on the shoulder, very nearly knocking the exhausted blade archer from his feet. ‘Welcome to the army, young southerner.’
Whatever doubts he had harboured over the last two months, that final exam proved to Kael more than ever that this was the life he was made for. He was made to be a blade archer.
His blade archery exams were the very last, deliberately to make his weapon of choice the most challenging of his exams. Ronanen stood with hands clasped under the shade of the archery range, in turns watching Kael and peering nervously at his blade archery master as he lined up for the final test.
It seemed so anticlimactic, so clinical. His true test had been nearly two months ago. He had run down the man who had destroyed his life, had used all his training to find him, catch him and pin him to the ground. This careful silence in the archery range, so meticulously planned to test every aspect of a trainee’s abilities, one each at a time, was nothing like the real world. It was wrong.
There would be no injury in this test, save for the odd cut or grazed knuckles he had earned from his sword and palu exams. There would be no deaths, neither of his enemies nor his friends.
Kael rolled his shoulders, trying to banish Aen’s memory from his mind. The queen had died that night giving birth to her son. While the nation mourned their leader, Kael mourned a friend. He hated the queen and her stupid, selfish king almost as much as he had hated the faceless hood who had slaughtered his family. The healers he had eventually found with the guard that night had told him there was nothing they could do, and not even the palace healing house could have replaced the blood he had lost. Whether he had been allowed in or not, Aen would have died.
He still blamed the queen for Aen’s death. The queen, the king, and the new prince. Any other day, and Aen would have been allowed in.
He’d very nearly quit the queen’s Aeia-damned army on the spot. Ronanen understood, and promised she would support him in any way he needed while he looked for another career, but Banok recognised the rash decision for what it was. It was only the weapon master’s brashness that made him realise he was just trading one hatred for another. He wasn’t proving a point, only that he was ready to cave in and finally give up.
‘Why did you sign up in the first place?’ Banok had demanded of him. ‘To fight for queen and country?’
Kael had shaken his head stubbornly. ‘Everyone said I was good enough,’ he’d replied sullenly. He had said it with such pride back then, back as a naïve new recruit.
‘And why did you stick with it?’ Banok pressed.
‘Fer money.’ It wasn’t such a shallow reason as he made it sound. His only way of gaining money before had been to steal it. He had no chance of employment outside the army. It was to be his living, simple as that. ‘I know what ye’re gonna say next. Queen ain’t never come into it, so why should she now she’s kissed the dust?’
‘The army is about the queen for very few people,’ Banok reminded him. ‘Nobody liked Queen Alurié much, and I think if she had been allowed to rule for long enough to be involved in a war, she might have had a hard time drumming up support for it. When I went on missions, it was hardly ever to do with the queen at the time. When I was booted out of the Own, perfectly fair circumstances, I felt guilty every mission they went on, because I wasn’t part of it. They were friends, most of them, and I knew the dangers they were riding off to. And that was just for missing out on the Own.’
The old Own rider had leaned forward then, arms crossed on the table. ‘If you gave up now, with all the skills you have, and war came to Raykin, what would you feel then? It’s nothing to do with the royals, Kael. It’s for all those you can protect.’
Kael gritted his teeth, holding his wrist to his forehead as much to wipe away the sweat as to calm his thoughts.
One of his training partners stood in front of him, wearing a pair of blade belts crossed over his back. Kael flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders again, ready for this final test. The familiar, disappointingly tame target stood empty at the end of the range, ready for him to pelt with blades, needles and triangles. Four others were already bristling with his four earlier attempts, all solidly consistent, if not hugely spectacular. Only one now remained. One more target, and he would learn if he was good enough for what was now the king’s army.
‘And fire,’ Banok announced from the shade.
In a flash, Kael began snatching at all the pointy bits of metal sheathed about his person. There was as much about his selection here as about his speed and accuracy. Remembering how the minister had fallen to his blades, he flung his needles first, gripping two between each finger and releasing them in a spray that was guaranteed to hit something. All but one landed somewhere in the target. A second shower would catch the target as he continued trying to run, but stumbling now under the stabbing of Kael’s needles.
He grabbed at his longer, flatter blades, one between each finger of both hands. They had always been his weakness, and true to form, only those thrown from his left hand had enough power and accuracy to slam into the target. He swore in his head and snatched blades from his partner’s back to repeat the manoeuvre, determined to land something from his right hand. Two of the four blades landed this time, but he didn’t allow himself to bask in the glory for too long.
Triangular blades came next, his long time favourites. He could throw them hard and fast, and each one landed with a satisfying thunk, many of them close to the centre of the target. He heard Ronanen’s squeal of delight at this display, and repeated it twice over before he moved back to the needles.
His shoulders ached after the narrow win of his archery exam and the painful passing by one point of his swordsmanship exam. His fingers still quivered just a little from the countless raps on the knuckles by his palu exam. He had just barely managed a pass mark in that exam, saved only but a lucky swing that he refused to admit was a fluke. He hurt all over, the sun dried his clothes as quickly as he sweated into them, and his head swam with heat exhaustion, but his determination and his focus didn’t waver.
Once all his blades, and those on his training partner’s back, had been loosed at the target, Kael turned his face to the sky as sheer exhaustion grabbed him by the ankles and flooded up through his body. But he couldn’t collapse just yet, not until he knew.
He swallowed and raked his dripping hair back from his fringe. With heavy breaths that still weren’t enough under the harsh sun, he staggered over to the shade.
Ronanen squealed and flung her arms around him, kissing him neatly on the lips despite how he dripped with sweat. ‘I’m so proud of you!’ she cried before kissing him again. ‘I knew you could do it.’
Kael shook his head, eyes on his blade archery master. ‘Not yet, I ain’t.’
‘Of course you have,’ Master Banok said distractedly. ‘Now, sweep the desert. I’m doing maths.’
A weak, exhausted grin spread over Kael’s lips. ‘Thought ye said ye had me picked already,’ he panted.
‘I have,’ Banok replied, his eyes still on his pages. ‘I can pick every one of you before your exams, but the First General likes to see it written down and proven in numbers.’ He scrawled a little more on the sheet of parchment, then held it up with a smirk. ‘See? Ninth Company.’
Kael lifted a fist in triumph, reading the numbers on the sheet without taking in their full meaning. A large number nine had been written in the top corner with a heavy circle around it.
‘The First General will recommend various blacksmiths to you,’ Banok was saying, ‘but if you hold out for a month for your first pay packet, I’ll take you somewhere properly special for your first set of blades. You’ll be forced into regulation uniform and belts, but only a fool accepts regulation blades.’ He slapped Kael on the shoulder, very nearly knocking the exhausted blade archer from his feet. ‘Welcome to the army, young southerner.’
Whatever doubts he had harboured over the last two months, that final exam proved to Kael more than ever that this was the life he was made for. He was made to be a blade archer.