Tested (The Life of Uktesh Book 1) (2 page)

“I think you like it.”

“Like it, Dad?  I love it, can I go practice with it?”

“Of course.  It’s yours now. Just don’t stay out too late you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Uktesh ran out of the house and hastily tried to buckle the sword over is his shoulder, but while he ran he had a hard time of it.  Dimly in the corner of his eye, to his right, he saw shadows that were running into the village.  As he crashed through the woods and as he continued to try to situate the sword across his back, he continued to get it caught on his belt knife and his foot kicked out and snagged a hidden root.  He tumbled to the ground he twisted to avoid hurting his ankle and landed flat on his back.  He rolled his eyes in derision at his clumsiness and after he took a deep breath he jerked the strap in front of himself and buckled the sword in place. 

As he lay there sprawled on his back, sword now safely secured, he heard other sounds as more people crashed through the forest. 
Belial you won’t catch me, I was wise enough to strategically dive to find cover.
He smiled and nodded to himself and found that he was happy now that he at least had a plausible reason for the fall.  He tried to sit up, but the sword on his back would not allow him to get up, so he rolled on his stomach and with a half-grunt, half-moan he pushed himself to his feet, and checked his ankle to make sure he was really ok. 

After that Uktesh walked the rest of the way into the forest, until he found his favorite practice area.  It was an open clearing in the trees that was nearly a perfect circle, where day or night it seemed to have a light of its own. He’d come to this place most of his life to practice, to imagine fighting off hordes of enemies, and to daydream about the day he would finally put his sword on the masters’ table.

This was also the place where Uktesh practiced his archery, he had long since learned to hide his bow in the hidden roots of one of the trees that created the circle. It was completely dry and even in the rain it never got worse than moist.  Uktesh walked into the circle, removed his shirt, grabbed the sword hilt, set his feet, and in one fluid motion flicked it out of its sheath so that it was pointed at his imaginary enemy. He was proud that it only wavered slightly.  Then slowly he moved through the forms. He stayed in balanced form for a while as he knew that it was the most used form. 

He thought back on what his instructors had told him,
Uktesh of the three forms balanced is the most widely used, and most often used even by those who can use the higher forms.  This is the best form for the four most important elements in sword fighting: block, parry, evade, and strike.  You’ll notice that three of the four are all about protecting yourself.  That’s because we care, much more about you living than killing, that’s why everyone, male or female, is required to learn. 

You’ve already started to master imperfect form, and have begun to dabble in perfect form.  You should’ve noticed by now that the imperfect form has several flaws. That is because it is for attack only.  Only from imperfect can you move up to attack or defend in the perfect form. In the perfect form you only have one move attack or defend before you must go back to balanced form, or else you’ll hurt yourself.  Perfect form puts so much strain on the body, as does imperfect form, that most people only attack once in imperfect, and then only once in perfect before moving back to balanced. 

I have heard of masters who can stay in imperfect form, for great periods of time, but no one has ever tried that in perfect form.  I have heard of one man who was able to block and attack in perfect, but then he dislocated both of his arms and was killed before he could retreat and be fixed.  Those who have mastered the perfect form claim that they can feel a fourth form, or not even form, but strike.  A god like strike that is impossible to block.
  Uktesh thought about that as he moved from balanced, into imperfect form, he smoothly flowed from one to the other, and then tried a perfect form slice, cut, or block. 

Each time he could tell that he was close to the correct form of perfect, but slightly off, and after each try he reverted back to balanced so that he would not hurt himself.  He moved faster and faster through the forms, back and forth across the clearing. In his mind he fought and defeated countless enemies, he saved the princess and killed a whole group of Voukidists and their undead minions. 

In his mind his sword split the Voukidist leaders’ skull in imperfect, he spun through the air, and kicked the body in perfect form, and sent it flying off the tower rooftop.  He panted hard, as he tried to catch his breath, and he realized that the last perfect form kick had been just that!  
I did it!  I performed a perfect move without any wobble, without being out of form, and it just flowed from me.  If I can do that tomorrow, I might have a chance through surprise.
 

He put his foot on the grass and felt the muscles of his leg contract, and tighten into a cramp.  He was quick, but ginger as he stretched out his calf and foot until the tightness went away.  He was sorely tempted to see if he could do it again, cramped or not, but instead he remembered the test tomorrow.  He had started to move through the cool down exercises, when he noticed a man with a hard face and dangerous eyes at the edge of his clearing, Uktesh glanced quickly with his eyes and he noticed that he was surrounded.

“Boy I have with me twelve of the most vicious, dangerous, and violent men I could find.  Also the craziest.  Who but the craziest would dare attack the Beletarians.  While I’m pretty sure this is a mistake, I’m going to let you live.  Now don’t get me wrong if we attacked, you would certainly kill some of us.  But you’d have no chance at killing all of us.  I’ll let you live only if you promise to leave and never go back to your village.  What say you?”

Uktesh felt himself grow cold, he looked around and wished that he had his bow with him, instead of in its hidden spot.  As casually as he could, as his heart hammered in his chest, he took the hint from the man, and formally asked, “I would know the name of the man who forces me from my home.”

The leader nodded, “I am known as Thulmann.  What say you?”

“I would know the home of my foe.”

Again Thulmann nodded to himself, “I am from Manori, in Sinia.  What say you?”

Uktesh nodded, and still speaking as formal as he knew how to said, “I say you have a bargain made this day, for I would surely have killed you first.”

Thulmann threw back his head and laughed a heartfelt bellow.  Uktesh’s heart beat faster and he noticed that his palms were starting to sweat when he wiped away the sweat flowing down his forehead.  He narrowed his eyes, dried his hands on his pants, and set his feet for a fight. I
f this is my day to die, I will die with honor.
  He raised his sword off the ground.  Thulmann nodded to his men and they backed away, Uktesh didn’t know if they’d change their minds and come back, so before they could Uktesh ran to the tree where he hid his bow.  He pulled it out as gently and quickly as he could, strung it, and knocked an arrow in it ready to go.  The sound his own sword being sheathed behind his back sounded like thunder to his ears.  Uktesh hurried forward towards the village, he slid around branches, avoided stepping on twigs or dried leaves, and moved from shadow to shadow.

Uktesh by now had realized that someone had set fire to the village, or at least a part of it.  He slowed to a walk, then started to crawl as he approached the edge of the tree line of his village.  He pushed a branch out of his way to give him a better view of the village. 

Shadowy figures ran through the town, some with weapons, and some without.  Here or there he saw pockets of resistance, inn  each pocket the invaders were killed three to one or in some places four to one, but the invaders had the numbers to spare.  The branch hit his face again, and he pushed it out of the way, as his eyes darted faster and faster to catch a glimpse of his father. 

The branch smacked him in the face again, and brought tears to his eyes.  Again he pushed the branch away, this time he noticed that a sword was the cause of the branch hit him.  Uktesh rolled onto his back and saw Thulmann standing over him, “I told you not to come back here boy.”

His heart in his throat, he fought the panic that had begun to set in, “I’m not in the village,” his voice cracked and ruined his defiance.

“Close enough boy.  You make this hard on me. I have a daughter your age and wouldn’t I beg for mercy for her? She’s too young to be killed. Her whole life ahead of her. And you!  You!  You’re barely past her age? What did you think that you could do here, other than die?”

“My my father,” he tried to continue, but the lump in his throat made it impossible to speak. 

Uktesh saw Thulmann’s shoulders slump, “Boy your father is dead. If not now than in mere minutes.  Go away from this place and these people.  You don’t have the presence of a killer, and I should know.”  He shook his head then sheathed his sword, “I should not do this, but I feel as if you don’t belong here, you’re too happy, the peace of your sword was bright while you were practicing.  Go, your father is dead, and if you go in there I will not stop you, but you will be killed as well.  The choice, such as it is, is up to you.”

Uktesh silently nodded, A
m I going to live?  I need to find my dad. He’ll know what to do.
  “Thank you,” Uktesh got up and sprinted to the nearest house, and crouched in the shadows.  His eyes searched frantically. He could feel the sweat roll down the middle of his back.  He froze as a group of invaders ran past, only to be met by a group of Beletarians.  They slammed into each other, the invaders had an equal amount of men as the Beletarians. 

Uktesh moved to join his countrymen, but his shirt caught on a broken section of the wall he had been leaning against, it effectively pinned him where he crouched as surely as if his feet were rooted in the ground.  By the time he’d freed himself the flurry of fighting was over and his countrymen stood victorious they lost half their numbers though, with the rest taking injuries.  Uktesh stood to walk over to them, when a volley of arrows flew in and killed all of them. Except one who was quickly cut down from a casually swung backhand, as an invader ran off into the smoke and fire.  Uktesh stood rooted once again, the casualness of the kill, the uncaring swing of the sword, left him only able to stare frozen, at the corpses. 
Will I become just like them? I’m sure none of the attackers would spare me like Thulmann did.
Once he was sure no one was around he sprinted to the next house that was not on fire, and quickly to the next, and on so until he could see the wreckage of his home.

Uktesh ran hardly able to see where he was going, blinded as he was by tears.
I will not panic, I will find my father and together we will leave this place, or fight side by side until we win or die.
  “Well what do we have here?” a guttural voice said behind Uktesh.

He turned to see a group of four invaders each wore a sneer directed at him, their eyes hard and unforgiving.  Uktesh didn’t know whether to try to run, fight with his sword, or try to kill all four of them with his bow.  He tried to affect the same calm he had when he had spoken with Thulmann.  He barked, “What you have before you, is your death,” he slid his hand to his sword hilt, and set his feet to attack. He crouched low, nearly bent in half, he slid his right foot even more behind his body and into a further open stance.  There he froze and glared at the invaders. His only hope was that they could not hear his heart as it hammered in his chest, or see the panic in his eyes.  Before they could attack a group of Beletarians crashed into them lead by Belial and Belario.  Taken by surprise and outnumbered they were quickly dispatched.

“What kind of stance was that?” asked Belario, “were you bowing to them or fighting with them?”

Suddenly all the rage, he had been able to hold back every time Belario had hurt a student and made fun of them, all the anger of not being able to find his dad, and the fear of nearly dying, rushed out of Uktesh and still in his half-bow, half-crouch position launched forward. He allowed his sword to move as it willed and it lead the way to instantaneously rest against Belario’s shoulder. The blade drew a small line of blood on his neck.  Uktesh looked into his eyes and when he saw fear reflected there, he pulled his sword back, and resheathed it.  “Do any of you know where my father is?”

Belial said, “We saw him fighting over by the forest. He looked like he was searching for something.” His all too knowing eyes showed that he knew exactly what Ekir had been desperate to find.

“Then that is where I must go. Thank you for your timely aid. May your blade sing true.” 

Uktesh ran off towards the woods, and heard Belario mutter, “Did he just attack me in perfect?”

Then he heard Belial’s answer, “Can’t be. It’s impossible, even for a grandmaster, to attack from perfect without moving from balanced, to imperfect, to perfect.” As he again dashed from one shadow to the next, he heard Belarios’ unconvinced grunt.  He ran until he was once again at the forests’ edge.  Once in the forest he paused and listened for any sounds of fighting near him, and heard some deeper in the forest.  He ran to where he practiced and saw his father in the middle of a fight with four invaders.  His father was only armed with two hunting knives, but he was still able to hold his own in a one on two fight with a hulk of a man, who must have stood seven feet tall, and a rapier thin man, who was barely taller than Uktesh. When Ekir saw Uktesh he yelled, “Uktesh, my sword! Throw me my sword.”