Harbinger: Fate's Forsaken: Book One (33 page)

“Yes, and
they’re horrible.”

“That they may
be. But then again, working yourself to a headache is the only way to build up
the mind’s strength. Each time you push yourself, it gets stronger. And the
next time you’ll be able to push even farther. Got it?”

Kael sighed. “I
suppose. But how exactly do I get a headache? It’s not like it’s ever happened
when I meant it to.”

“There are
several things that’ll tucker you out: fighting off magic is one, and then of
course using the skills you’ve got will always take a toll.” Morris smirked.
“But don’t you worry — I think I’ve figured out a way to bruise your body
and
your head.”

It didn’t take long
for Kael to discover Morris’s plan: the next morning at six bells, Lysander
called them all up on deck for sparring practice. Against the railings were
crates full of different wooden weapons. They were ordered to take up the sword
and wait in line while Thelred paired them up.

Kael was waiting
his turn when Morris hooked him around the shoulders and pulled him aside. “I
don’t think so, lad. None of those fellows will be near challenging enough. But
I’ve found you someone I think’ll give you a match.”

As it turned
out, his partner was the most experienced, ruthless, and mean-spirited fighter
among them:

Kyleigh.

“No, no lad!
You’re not paying attention,” Morris barked as Kael fell hard on his back.
“You’re just watching her swing.”

“Well that’s how
I keep my skull from getting cracked open,” he retorted, dragging himself to
his feet. “I’ve got to watch after my head, don’t I? Especially when my partner
is doing everything she can to knock it off,” he added.

She returned his
glare with a smile.

Morris groaned
loudly. “You can’t waste time watching your head — you’ve got to
use
it! Every move she makes, you got to
be asking yourself why she makes it. See there?” Kyleigh stepped to his left,
her wooden practice sword hanging loosely in her hand. “Now tell me why she did
that.”

“Because that’s
her strongest side, and my weakest,” he said automatically. He took several
trips to the ground before Morris finally pointed out, with no small amount of
exasperation, that Kyleigh was left-handed.

“Good. Now how
are you going to keep her from slicing you across the back?”

She was being
lazy: her sword hung low — nowhere near the proper guard position. It
left her chest wide open for an attack. He lunged, and before he knew what
happened, his sword was on the ground and Kyleigh was behind him.

“That was a
feint
,” Morris said, trailing a slew of
curses. “An experienced swordsman doesn’t leave herself unguarded unless she
has a plan. Now quit huffing around and pick up your sword!”

When he bent to
retrieve his weapon, Kyleigh smacked him on the rump with the flat of her
blade.

The world went
red.

He spun around
and swung at her with a roar, sending blow after blow wailing in her direction.
He aimed for her head, her chest, her knees — anywhere he thought might
teach her a lesson. But no matter how hard or fast he swung, she batted him
away with ease. She spun gracefully out of his reach until he was gasping for
breath, and he knew he only had one good blow left in him. He summoned what
remained of his strength, swung his sword high over his head, and brought it
down.

It was only
after his blade broke, after it splintered and the two halves went sailing in
opposite directions, that he realized he’d struck the unrelenting force of
Kyleigh’s upraised arm.

Now she had his
sword wrist gripped in her hand, twisted painfully backwards, and the tip of
her blade digging into his ribs. Her eyes blazed and her chest rose and fell
quickly. The arm she held tingled strangely — and he realized she was
probably cutting off the flow of his blood.

“All right,
that’s enough for today,” Morris said with a frustrated wave of his arm. “I
hope you see now why the angry man never walks away the winner — if he
walks away at all, that is.”

For an entire
week, Morris subjected him to Kyleigh’s torture. She beat him with every weapon
in
Anchorgloam’s
armory —
maces, staves, swords, spears, and at least a dozen other things. Morris
wouldn’t stop the fight until Kael had developed a headache worthy of legend.
Only when he was on his knees, swaying, trying to figure out which of the three
lumps swimming in front of him was Morris’s head, would the battle would be
over. Every night, he’d hobble down to the galley for dinner and afterwards
collapse into his hammock, wondering if the beatings would ever end.

Then one
morning, sparring practice was a little different. Lysander let them choose the
weapon they wanted to work with, and Kael chose the stave: it gave him the
longest reach and he could attack with both ends. After they’d chosen their
weapons, Lysander had them clear out a space in the middle of the deck. The
pirates were murmuring excitedly by this point, and Kael didn’t understand why.

Then Lysander
cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted: “Gauntlet!”

The pirates
raised their weapons over their heads and let out a deafening roar. They
stomped their feet and Kael stumbled backwards as they shoved each other into a
large ring in the middle of the deck.

“The rules are
simple — if a man is disarmed or knocked unconscious, the fight is over,”
Lysander yelled above the din. “If you win, you stay. The man who lasts the
longest is our champion and will be rewarded with an extra share of the loot!”

This
announcement brought another round of cheers, and Lysander had to wait nearly a
full minute before he could continue.

“Every man can
play, and must play at least
once
,”
he added, with a pointed look at Aerilyn. “The only exception is Kyleigh
— who is not allowed to play because we all know she’d only rout us.”

Several of the
pirates murmured in agreement. A few glanced at the girl perched casually on
the railings, but none seemed willing to challenge her.

“I’ll keep the
time,” Lysander said, resting his hand on the oversized hourglass next to him.
“Let the first brave soul step forward, and may the best pirate win!”

Kael was looking
to see who would be the first to step out when he felt a pair of hands shove
him hard in the back. He stumbled into the middle of the circle, spun around,
and saw Jonathan give him an encouraging nod.

“I know you can
do it, mate!” he said with a wave.

Kael would have
cracked his skull — if it weren’t for the big, tree-armed pirate that
stepped between them. He raised the huge club he wielded high over his head,
snarling through his tangled beard. And then he charged.

Fear sent all of
Morris’s lessons rushing to the front of his head. He’d harped for days about
how speed was the only thing Kael had going for him — about how if he
ever got caught between a big man and his weapon, he’d be cooked. So when the
pirate swung down at his head, Kael spun away. He stepped behind him and jabbed
his stave at the back of his knee.

It was a leaf
straight out of Kyleigh’s book, and it worked.

The pirate let
out a surprised grunt and fell forward as his leg collapsed beneath him. His
chin hit the ground and the club shot out of his grasp.

“That’s it.
You’ve been disarmed, dog,” Lysander bellowed. “Next!”

Noah stepped out
from the circle, grinning as he spun his sword effortlessly with a single hand.
His first swing landed in the middle of Kael’s stave, nearly jarring it from
his grasp. Noah struck at mindboggling speeds: his blade would come whistling
for Kael’s neck and half a blink later, be at his shins. And for a while, all
he could do was react. Noah had him pushed nearly to the edge of the circle
when he let loose with a flurry of attacks — chest, head, knee, right,
left, knee, gut, and then he spun.

His arm was
cutting across, cocked back like a stone in a sling. When it landed, the blow
would have enough force to knock Kael’s stave into the ocean. There was just
one problem: in all his movement, Noah left the full, broadside of his back
unguarded.

Morris warned
Kael never to turn his back on an opponent, especially on one within striking
distance. And why was that again? Oh, yes.

Kael stuck his
stave between Noah’s ankles and the poor boy never saw it coming. His legs got
tangled up and he fell hard on his back. Kael leapt forward and kicked the
sword out of his hand before he could get to his feet.

“Disarmed,”
Lysander said cheerfully. “Next!”

One by one, his
opponents fell. No sooner was one man disarmed than the next jumped in. Kael’s
feet didn’t stop moving the whole morning — and yet he never tired. None
of the pirates could wear him out the way Kyleigh did, and it was midday before
he even broke a sweat. He stopped recognizing the faces before him and instead
saw patterns: the movement of arms and legs, the angles of blows, the shift in
height and weight.

At one point, he
knew he was fighting Jonathan — and he was sure to land a few extra blows
in his gut. When he knocked the club out of his hand, Jonathan grabbed him by
the wrist and whispered: “See, what did I tell you? All those lessons with
Morris the Handless Helmsman have done the trick — not a one of us can
best you.”

Kael didn’t have
time to respond: he heard the planks creak behind him and knew the next
opponent was at his back.

The sky was red
and the cool of evening was upon them when Lysander stopped the fighting.
“We’ve only got light for one more round, and I said
everyone
had to play,” he barked.

The break in the
action jerked Kael out of his trance. He realized everyone was looking at
Aerilyn — who had her hands twisted nervously about her staff. Her eyes
flicked to Kael before they went back to Lysander.

“Can’t we just
say that he’s beaten me and move on?” she pleaded.

“No, we can’t,”
Lysander said firmly. “And if you even think about throwing your weapon down,
I’ll give you a week of galley-scrubbing as punishment.”

There were only
a few fates worse than death, but having to clean up after
Anchorgloam
’s notoriously bad cook would be one of them. He used at
least a dozen man-sized pots for every meal — which he only scraped out
once a year. In fact, many believed the insides of the pots were actually made
up of the charred-on remains of squid and crab shell.

When Aerilyn let
out a squeal of terror, Lysander latched on. “Let’s make this a little more
interesting, shall we?” he said. “I declare that the loser of this duel will
have a week of galley-scrubbing added to their duties!”

The pirates
cheered, and while Lysander’s decree was popular with the men, Aerilyn gave him
a look that very clearly meant he’d just made it onto the list of people she’d
like to see murdered.

“I won’t hurt
you,” Kael promised as she stepped up to face him.

She nodded once,
gratefully, and then they began.

Aerilyn was
actually pretty good with the stave — her biggest problem was her lack of
strength. Kael nearly knocked it out of her hand with his first blow, and he
was only swinging half as hard as he usually did. Still, he did his best to
give her a fair shot.

They danced
around for a bit, and she let him do all the leading. He would swing, and she
would block him. He grunted and made over-exaggerated movements, giving her
plenty of time to react. The longer they went, the more excited the pirates
got.

Maybe that
skinny boy was finally getting tired. After all, he’d been fighting all day.
What if little Aerilyn was the one to beat him? Wouldn’t that be something?

The sharp
clatter of a stave striking the ground brought their duel to an abrupt end. It
took Kael a moment to realize that his hands were empty —
he
was the one who’d been disarmed. He’d
gotten so into the play of it all that he didn’t notice when Aerilyn had cut
down over the top of him, knocking the weapon from his hands.

She seemed just
as surprised as he did. She brushed the sweat-drenched hair out of her face and
stared down at the stave like she wasn’t sure how it got there. “Kael, I’m so
sorry —”

“Don’t be.” He
realized his voice was the only sound on the ship — everyone was watching
him, waiting to see what he would do. And so he put a fist over his heart,
mirroring the pictures of the defeated knights in the
Atlas
, and said: “I’ve been bested.”

The deck erupted
in cheers. Two burly pirates scooped Aerilyn up and balanced her on their
shoulders while the others whooped and jumped around her. Lysander had a barrel
of grog rolled out on deck — one so enormous that it took three burly
pirates to lift it — and he poured Aerilyn the first tankard.

“To the lady
merchant, for defending our pirate honor,” he said, grinning. “We are forever
in her debt!”

Celebrations
went on long into the night. Though they were thrilled that he’d been beaten,
the pirates still clapped Kael on the back and said they’d never seen a lad who
could fight quite like him. Several asked if he might be willing to show them
some of his tricks.

He’d just
managed to escape the crowd when Lysander bumped into his shoulder, sloshing a
good amount of his grog onto the deck. He wrenched Kael’s head to the side by
the roots of his hair. “You made history tonight, seadog!” he said, his words
already a little slurred. “Twelve turns of the hourglass — only one other
pirate has ever managed it.”

Kael was going
to ask him who else had managed to go twelve turns when Lysander jerked his
head to the other side. “D’you think she’d dance with me?”

Through the
crowd of swaying bodies, he saw that Aerilyn had started a jig. She was
skipping to the tune of Jonathan’s fiddle, her arm linked in Morris’s. Whenever
the notes picked up, she changed partners — spinning and latching onto
the arm of the next pirate to jump in.