Blade Archer ~ Six
Nov. 8th, 2004 02:55 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
A week passed before the heatwave abated enough for the boys to start learning the basics of hand to hand combat. During that week, Ulan had given them the basic theory of general combat, whether with a weapon or not. Keep one eye on their eyes, one on the rest of their body to try and anticipate their moves. Keep yourself limber, but try to keep your moves quick and erratic so your opponent has little chance to react. Keep low so you have less chance of falling over, but don’t let him get on top of you.
Kael hadn’t realised how much there was to fist fighting. Everything Ulan told them, Kael already did automatically, though he tended to have a dagger in his hand. He knew already how to anticipate the moves of his opponent and how to conceal his own intentions. For him, it was a part of living.
For all their bragging, the boys of the upper class knew nothing of real combat. Some said they fought with their brothers. Others had been mugged in the street, but only one had managed to fend off his attackers. Kael couldn’t help but snicker when he heard that. He arched an accusing look at the pikeman-to-be, who glared back before finally admitting he’d had three friends with him.
Today though, now that the theory and much of the heat was out of the way, they would actually begin using their fists. The weapons master got them all to stand in a line against the wall and give him a fighting stance, something few of the boys had actually done before. From that, Ulan was able to determine which district they each came from with incredible accuracy, and place them in according groups.
He raised his eyebrows and folded his arms over his chest when he came to Kael. “Well?”
Kael shrugged and made a vague gesture with his hands to indicate his ‘stance’.
“Would you care to take guard?”
“I have.”
Kael could see the scrutiny behind the humour in the weapons master’s eyes as he ran them over Kael’s ‘guard’. While he appeared quite casual, he nevertheless had his left foot forwards, making it easier to kick out with his stronger right. His knees were bent just slightly, his shoulders were square and tense, eyes hard and calculating, hands curled into loose fists that were ready to strike or defend at any given moment.
Ulan nodded, a smile just barely hidden on his face. “South of the Main Road, obviously,” he mused, but as his right shoulder tensed, Kael could see the words were merely a distraction. He snapped his left arm up, gripping its wrist with his right hand to brace against the punch the weapons master threw at him.
Ulan grinned outright then. “But not too far south. Second district from the palace, I’d guess,” he decided, lowering his arm.
Kael responded with a crooked grin. “Third.”
The weapons master shrugged. “Times have changed,” he murmured, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to a vacant area of the room. “You’ll be part of the group who already knows something of the fighting art. Between you and me,” he added in a whisper, “I’d doubt any others will join your group.”
“Likewise,” Kael muttered, stepping over to form his one-man group while Ulan put the other boys in their groups and began pairing them off within them, according to height, build and any hint of prior knowledge.
Kael was left to ponder over what had just happened. More and more he was having suspicions of the weapons master. While all the boys automatically dismissed Kael as an uneducated southern boy, whose hobbies involved mugging the wealthy and picking fights with anyone he came across, Ulan saw him rather as someone who knew the fighting art.
Over the week of verbal tuition, his accent had slipped, just barely, so that even Kael struggled to pic it up. It seemed that when the weapons master grew excited, the faintest hint of a southern districts accent slipped into his speech.
At first, Kael had just ignored these slips, but now he had just thrown a punch. While he was clearly not as well versed in Raykinian fighting styles as the master, Kael was almost certain such a punch was born of his own district, or at the very least one nearby. Of course, if the weapons master could identify the style of any district in Ni-Yana, then chances were that he could imitate them just as well. But even so, the idea that his weapons master was at the very least born south of the Main Road niggled at Kael’s mind.
He shrugged, letting the thoughtful frown slide from his brow. What did it matter? He was well and truly a noble now, anyway.
The weapons master in question lead a boy over to Kael, snapping him out of his thoughts. The swordsman-to-be was tall for a Raykinian, and looked to be a year or two older than the other boys. He had the strong shoulders and callused, scorch-marked fingers of a blacksmith’s son. Evidently Ulan believed Kael deserved a strong opponent.
If this boy was indeed the son of a blacksmith, he probably knew something of the fighting art as well. Blacksmiths liked to know as much about the weapons they made as possible, so they could craft them better for their customers. Of course, the boy’s father could be the kind of blacksmith who made cooking pots and shovels, but Kael somehow guessed that wasn’t the case.
“Okay gentlemen,” Ulan said, addressing the boys from the front of the room. “Acquaint yourself with your partner; you’ll be practicing with them for the next year, at least.”
Kael and his partner exchanged disdainful glances, neither particularly happy with the prospect, if for different reasons.
“You believe yourself to be quite the rebel, coming from where you do.”
Kael shrugged. “And ye’re a stuck up pig. Glad we understand each other.”
The swordsman glowered at Kael a moment, before turning back to pay attention to the weapons master. “My name’s Niloren,” the boy muttered.
Kael grinned to himself. If he knew nothing else about the upper class, it was how to annoy them. More than anything, they hated bluntness, least of all in the form of an insult.
“Okay,” Ulan was saying, “Now that you know each other a little better, you’ll be learning the most vital move you’ll ever learn. I guarantee you, it will save you every time. Forget it and you’ll be going nowhere.” A mischievous grin spread over his face at the eager faces of the boys in front of him. “We’re going to learn how to fall over.”
A collective groan ran through the fifty boys, all stupidly expecting to start by spinning around and kicking three men in the head with one turn. He tuned out while Ulan explained, demonstrated, then explained again how, even though it felt most natural to keep yourself from falling with elbows or wrists, this was the most painful method of avoiding injury. Landing on a shoulder and slapping the ground was far preferable.
“Now, take turns pushing each other over. You’ll know if you’re doing it right because it won’t hurt. Too much.”
No sooner had he finished his sentence than Kael’s partner shoved him in the shoulder, causing him to lose his feet. Kael caught himself in time, managing to easily roll himself back onto his feet and shove the other boy in much the same manner.
Niloren landed much more heavily, trying to brace himself with his forearms. He glared back up at Kael, rubbing his right elbow. He pulled himself to his feet and shoved Kael again, harder this time, evidently hoping to slip the younger boy up.
This time, Kael hooked one leg out as he fell, tripping Niloren up and bruising his hip this time.
“You fell incorrectly,” the older boy accused.
“From where I’m standing, ye’re the one with the bruised rear.”
“You’re not supposed to trip me!”
“Yes, well, these things happen. And it doesn’t matter how yer feet are taken from under ye, it’s how ye meets the ground afterwards.”
At that moment, a heavy hand shoved Kael from behind, and he narrowly missed landing on top of Niloren. His trained reflexes allowed him to land on his shoulder, when anyone else would have reached out with both hands, and roll quickly to his feet.
“Well spoken,” the weapons master told him, holding one hand out to pull Niloren from the dust. The swordsman-in-training smiled appreciatively, until Ulan pushed him roughly in the shoulder.
Niloren landed with the same painful awkwardness as he had the previous two times.
“Land on your shoulder,” Ulan told him, slapping that part of his anatomy. “Much less painful that way.”
The rest of the day was spent learning how to fall over, how to stand up again, and how to combine the two in the most fluid way possible. As a result, Kael returned home having learnt nothing.
“Why’d I sign up again?” he asked his mother between mouthfuls of dinner.
His sister interrupted. “Because ye’re good enough. Ye’re showing up the northerners, proving we’re better than the lot of them.”
Kael swallowed another mouthful of soup-soaked bread. “Could’ve done that by just robbing the bastards. Far more profitable.”
Ynuk shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s a pretty cushy job, once ye’re in,” he said, mopping up the last of his soup with a piece of bread. “Pays well, and ye only has to fight when there’s a war on. Not been one of them in, what, forty years, Mama?”
“Something like that,” Kathani agreed.
“Guess so. But it’s so pointless!” Kael complained in exasperation. “For the first half a year, they make us practice with wooden daggers, and we don’t even get to start throwing the things for another four years.”
“So what do you do?” his brother demanded.
“Swords, mostly. Upper class is obsessed with swords.”
Kathani tug playfully at his plait. “The more worthwhile things’ll come in their own time, boy. ‘Til then,” she smiled sweetly and handed her empty bowl to him, “I could do with a second helping.”
~ ~ ~
Chapter~ 1708
Total~ 10 276
Time~ 2hrs 36mins (oh yeah, this one ground .-.)
Total~ 13hrs 59mins
Kael hadn’t realised how much there was to fist fighting. Everything Ulan told them, Kael already did automatically, though he tended to have a dagger in his hand. He knew already how to anticipate the moves of his opponent and how to conceal his own intentions. For him, it was a part of living.
For all their bragging, the boys of the upper class knew nothing of real combat. Some said they fought with their brothers. Others had been mugged in the street, but only one had managed to fend off his attackers. Kael couldn’t help but snicker when he heard that. He arched an accusing look at the pikeman-to-be, who glared back before finally admitting he’d had three friends with him.
Today though, now that the theory and much of the heat was out of the way, they would actually begin using their fists. The weapons master got them all to stand in a line against the wall and give him a fighting stance, something few of the boys had actually done before. From that, Ulan was able to determine which district they each came from with incredible accuracy, and place them in according groups.
He raised his eyebrows and folded his arms over his chest when he came to Kael. “Well?”
Kael shrugged and made a vague gesture with his hands to indicate his ‘stance’.
“Would you care to take guard?”
“I have.”
Kael could see the scrutiny behind the humour in the weapons master’s eyes as he ran them over Kael’s ‘guard’. While he appeared quite casual, he nevertheless had his left foot forwards, making it easier to kick out with his stronger right. His knees were bent just slightly, his shoulders were square and tense, eyes hard and calculating, hands curled into loose fists that were ready to strike or defend at any given moment.
Ulan nodded, a smile just barely hidden on his face. “South of the Main Road, obviously,” he mused, but as his right shoulder tensed, Kael could see the words were merely a distraction. He snapped his left arm up, gripping its wrist with his right hand to brace against the punch the weapons master threw at him.
Ulan grinned outright then. “But not too far south. Second district from the palace, I’d guess,” he decided, lowering his arm.
Kael responded with a crooked grin. “Third.”
The weapons master shrugged. “Times have changed,” he murmured, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to a vacant area of the room. “You’ll be part of the group who already knows something of the fighting art. Between you and me,” he added in a whisper, “I’d doubt any others will join your group.”
“Likewise,” Kael muttered, stepping over to form his one-man group while Ulan put the other boys in their groups and began pairing them off within them, according to height, build and any hint of prior knowledge.
Kael was left to ponder over what had just happened. More and more he was having suspicions of the weapons master. While all the boys automatically dismissed Kael as an uneducated southern boy, whose hobbies involved mugging the wealthy and picking fights with anyone he came across, Ulan saw him rather as someone who knew the fighting art.
Over the week of verbal tuition, his accent had slipped, just barely, so that even Kael struggled to pic it up. It seemed that when the weapons master grew excited, the faintest hint of a southern districts accent slipped into his speech.
At first, Kael had just ignored these slips, but now he had just thrown a punch. While he was clearly not as well versed in Raykinian fighting styles as the master, Kael was almost certain such a punch was born of his own district, or at the very least one nearby. Of course, if the weapons master could identify the style of any district in Ni-Yana, then chances were that he could imitate them just as well. But even so, the idea that his weapons master was at the very least born south of the Main Road niggled at Kael’s mind.
He shrugged, letting the thoughtful frown slide from his brow. What did it matter? He was well and truly a noble now, anyway.
The weapons master in question lead a boy over to Kael, snapping him out of his thoughts. The swordsman-to-be was tall for a Raykinian, and looked to be a year or two older than the other boys. He had the strong shoulders and callused, scorch-marked fingers of a blacksmith’s son. Evidently Ulan believed Kael deserved a strong opponent.
If this boy was indeed the son of a blacksmith, he probably knew something of the fighting art as well. Blacksmiths liked to know as much about the weapons they made as possible, so they could craft them better for their customers. Of course, the boy’s father could be the kind of blacksmith who made cooking pots and shovels, but Kael somehow guessed that wasn’t the case.
“Okay gentlemen,” Ulan said, addressing the boys from the front of the room. “Acquaint yourself with your partner; you’ll be practicing with them for the next year, at least.”
Kael and his partner exchanged disdainful glances, neither particularly happy with the prospect, if for different reasons.
“You believe yourself to be quite the rebel, coming from where you do.”
Kael shrugged. “And ye’re a stuck up pig. Glad we understand each other.”
The swordsman glowered at Kael a moment, before turning back to pay attention to the weapons master. “My name’s Niloren,” the boy muttered.
Kael grinned to himself. If he knew nothing else about the upper class, it was how to annoy them. More than anything, they hated bluntness, least of all in the form of an insult.
“Okay,” Ulan was saying, “Now that you know each other a little better, you’ll be learning the most vital move you’ll ever learn. I guarantee you, it will save you every time. Forget it and you’ll be going nowhere.” A mischievous grin spread over his face at the eager faces of the boys in front of him. “We’re going to learn how to fall over.”
A collective groan ran through the fifty boys, all stupidly expecting to start by spinning around and kicking three men in the head with one turn. He tuned out while Ulan explained, demonstrated, then explained again how, even though it felt most natural to keep yourself from falling with elbows or wrists, this was the most painful method of avoiding injury. Landing on a shoulder and slapping the ground was far preferable.
“Now, take turns pushing each other over. You’ll know if you’re doing it right because it won’t hurt. Too much.”
No sooner had he finished his sentence than Kael’s partner shoved him in the shoulder, causing him to lose his feet. Kael caught himself in time, managing to easily roll himself back onto his feet and shove the other boy in much the same manner.
Niloren landed much more heavily, trying to brace himself with his forearms. He glared back up at Kael, rubbing his right elbow. He pulled himself to his feet and shoved Kael again, harder this time, evidently hoping to slip the younger boy up.
This time, Kael hooked one leg out as he fell, tripping Niloren up and bruising his hip this time.
“You fell incorrectly,” the older boy accused.
“From where I’m standing, ye’re the one with the bruised rear.”
“You’re not supposed to trip me!”
“Yes, well, these things happen. And it doesn’t matter how yer feet are taken from under ye, it’s how ye meets the ground afterwards.”
At that moment, a heavy hand shoved Kael from behind, and he narrowly missed landing on top of Niloren. His trained reflexes allowed him to land on his shoulder, when anyone else would have reached out with both hands, and roll quickly to his feet.
“Well spoken,” the weapons master told him, holding one hand out to pull Niloren from the dust. The swordsman-in-training smiled appreciatively, until Ulan pushed him roughly in the shoulder.
Niloren landed with the same painful awkwardness as he had the previous two times.
“Land on your shoulder,” Ulan told him, slapping that part of his anatomy. “Much less painful that way.”
The rest of the day was spent learning how to fall over, how to stand up again, and how to combine the two in the most fluid way possible. As a result, Kael returned home having learnt nothing.
“Why’d I sign up again?” he asked his mother between mouthfuls of dinner.
His sister interrupted. “Because ye’re good enough. Ye’re showing up the northerners, proving we’re better than the lot of them.”
Kael swallowed another mouthful of soup-soaked bread. “Could’ve done that by just robbing the bastards. Far more profitable.”
Ynuk shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s a pretty cushy job, once ye’re in,” he said, mopping up the last of his soup with a piece of bread. “Pays well, and ye only has to fight when there’s a war on. Not been one of them in, what, forty years, Mama?”
“Something like that,” Kathani agreed.
“Guess so. But it’s so pointless!” Kael complained in exasperation. “For the first half a year, they make us practice with wooden daggers, and we don’t even get to start throwing the things for another four years.”
“So what do you do?” his brother demanded.
“Swords, mostly. Upper class is obsessed with swords.”
Kathani tug playfully at his plait. “The more worthwhile things’ll come in their own time, boy. ‘Til then,” she smiled sweetly and handed her empty bowl to him, “I could do with a second helping.”
Chapter~ 1708
Total~ 10 276
Time~ 2hrs 36mins (oh yeah, this one ground .-.)
Total~ 13hrs 59mins
no subject
Date: 2004-11-07 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-07 09:25 pm (UTC)