Authors: James Wolf
Cowering in a corner of the blackened hut there was a young girl with long blond hair and terrified blue eyes. A younger boy clung to the girl’s side, his eyes wide with dread, and his teeth chattering with the cold. The girl cradled an even younger boy in her arms, wrapped in a frayed blanket. The youngest boy had his eyes closed, his face pale and cold. Hirandar saw the small boy’s breathing was so shallow his chest barely stirred. She knew winter’s freezing chill was soon going to overwhelm the last remnants of this child’s life.
Hirandar hastened to take up the smallest boy, putting her gloveless hand to the boy’s blue cheeks. Logan got the other children to huddle together under his thick cloak as they watched Hirandar.
Hirandar’s eyes closed for a moment, her eyelids twitching as if she were thinking of, or searching for, something elusive. Her eyes reopened as she focused on the freezing boy. With a slow, delicate withdrawal of Hirandar’s hand from the child’s cheek, away came glowing wisps of icy blue cold. As the last strands of blue were drawn loose from the boy, Hirandar’s hand began to glow, as if she were holding it cupped round candlelight, and the thinnest threads of warm red magic meandered through the air into the youngest boy’s cheek. After a few seconds, Hirandar ceased the red strands to leave the boy’s face aglow. The child’s breathing improved.
‘A fire,’ Hirandar nodded to Logan as the three other children watched on, their mouths hanging open.
The Sodan warrior set to gathering some wood and lighting a fire on the floor of the hut with his flint.
‘Is that…
Magic
?’ The middle boy said to Hirandar, his voice brimming with awe.
‘Why, yes,’ Hirandar grinned.
‘You’re a
wizard
?’ The girl’s eyes were full of wonder.
Hirandar nodded her head, with a twinkle of mirth in her eye. The children looked at each other in amazement. Never in their wildest dreams had they believed the fireside tales could actually be true.
Logan retrieved more blankets from the horses and got the children some bread to eat from the saddle packs, whilst Hirandar brewed her small kettle over the fire.
As the children sat round the fire in the hut – now covered with blankets and cherishing the warmth of their mugs of hot tea – Hirandar and Logan soon found out they were all siblings. With some gentle encouragement, the eldest boy told them what had happened to the village.
The boy told them how, the previous morning, his father had taken the three brothers and sister into the woods to hunt for rabbits. To catch something for the family to eat, but also to keep them out of mischief. It had been a successful day out in the wild; they had caught three rabbits and their father had brought down a deer with his bow.
As the deep-winter dusk had set in they returned to the village. But as they got closer to home they began to hear terrifying clashes and horrified screaming in the distance. The children were not sure what was happening, but their father whispered that the hill demons were attacking. The father told the scared children to go deep into the woods and hide – not to come out until he came back for them. He told them that whatever happened he loved them, and that they must always look after each other.
By the time night had fallen, the children were hungry and very cold. More than all else, they were scared out of their wits, frightened beyond anything they had ever known. They waited for hours for their father, until they could stay no longer out in the cold harsh night.
The three brothers and their sister struggled through the wintry dark woods, back to the village, and found it burnt to the ground with all of the inhabitants, including their mother and father, murdered. Since returning to the remains of their village, they had stayed hidden in the small hut. They had not slept at all through the night for fear, as they became ever more worried about their youngest brother. As he finished recounting his woeful tale, tears began to roll down the eldest boy’s cheeks. The middle boy began to sob, and buried his face in his sister’s shoulder.
Logan laid a comforting hand on the eldest boy’s shoulder, ‘You’re out of danger now. We’ll not let any harm come to you.’
The eldest boy looked up at the Sodan warrior, with sorrow in his eyes. But the boy’s tense shoulders relaxed, as he realised Logan was someone who could be trusted.
‘I am sorry that you have lost your family,’ Hirandar said mournfully and paused, lost in her own thoughts for a moment, before she continued, ‘We will take you away from here, to a place where you will be safe – if you want to come with us?’
The eldest boy considered his two brothers and sister sitting round the fire, looked back to the Wizard, and nodded.
‘We should get going,’ Logan urged Hirandar. ‘Just in case whoever did this decides to come back’.
The children’s eyes shot wide with terror, and Hirandar shook her head at Logan. The Sodan had spent his life at war, hunting dark creatures, living in the wilderness, camped with other warriors – he knew nothing of how to comfort terrified children.
‘Do not worry, young ones,’ Logan tried to reassure the children, ‘they’ll not find us easy prey’.
‘True,’ Hirandar said, ‘but we’ll not take that chance.’ Hirandar dropped to one knee to speak to the children at their level. She tucked Logan’s cloak tighter around them as she spoke, ‘By nightfall, we’ll be sitting by the fire, drinking cocoa, and roasting toast and chestnuts, I promise.’ The Wizard forced a smile, and the children’s fraught faces softened.
The Wizard left the hut and raised her staff above her head, speaking some powerful words in the ancient tongue, aiding the dead in their passage to the other side. The children watched in amazement as a mystic wind whipped through the desolated village, catching the Wizard’s red robes and billowing her great cloak. It looked to be a trick of the light, but the air around Hirandar’s staff shimmered and jostled as waves radiated from the Wizard, sweeping out over the entire village. As fast as it had blown in, the arcane wind died away.
Logan beckoned the four children out of the hut, as Hirandar lowered her staff and said, ‘May their souls find peace, in the eternal rest of the Light.’
The snow had eased, but the children all shivered as a freezing wind blew through the despoiled village.
As they rode off the eldest boy gripped onto Logan’s jacket and gazed back for the last time onto the village where he had lived all his life. The boy said a silent prayer to the Light, to welcome the souls of his mother and father. As the last glimpse of his ravaged home disappeared behind the crown of the hill, the boy turned and looked ahead to the new life that lay before him.
The sword hurtled towards Taem’s head. The assault was relentless. Victory was everything.
Taem swept his sword into a high horizontal block, juddering aside the powerful chop. In the next moment, Taem brought his sword down to halt a swing to his left chest. He dodged underneath a diagonal blow. Taem swept his leg back, avoiding a cleaving swing aimed at his thigh. He flicked away a thrust that came for his neck.
Without respite, Taem was forced to parry a lightning jab, intended to pierce his heart. He deflected the blow so the opponent’s sword slid past the left side of his torso. Taem blocked high and low, in quick succession. He ducked a swinging attack, side-stepped a chopping blow. Taem thrust his sword upward, just in time to block his opponent’s swing within two inches of his left cheekbone. A fine defensive move. The next attack came in an in-swinging downwards arc, aiming for Taem’s right side. Taem swung his sword point low across his body to meet the incoming blow, smashing it aside. Taem used the momentum of his committed block to spin full-circle and strike out at his adversary’s exposed head. It was a flashy and unexpected riposte. Triumph was assured. But the instant before Taem struck, his opponent’s wooden practice sword came up and collided with his own, producing a loud thwack.
‘Good,’ Logan smiled. Taem was an exceptional apprentice, but he was no match for the Sodan Master.
Taem stepped back and began circling Logan, his training sword held with two hands in the guard position.
The countryside was alive with the blooming of late spring, as the two combatants stood bare-chested in the heat of the midday sun. Sweat glistened on their muscular bodies, their physiques honed by many years of training the sword.
For over ten years Taem had called this isolated little haven his home. As he gazed to the east the great Dredgen Mountain range rose up out of the earth, to the south lay the dense Lambervale Forest, to the north and west swept grassy plains and farmland for a hundred miles at least. It was all Taem and his siblings had known since the blackest day of their young lives.
Taem watched his opponent orbit his sphere of combat. The Master prowled with cat-like grace. Logan was taller than Taem, but they were now almost matched for strength. If anything, after the years of training, Taem was a fraction faster than Logan, but the older man was easily the more skilful. The Master was in his mid-forties, but the only evidence of this was his greying hair and the maturity in his brown eyes – those eyes shone with a will that was harder than tempered steel. Logan’s features were different to the blond hair and striking blue eyes of Taem, although Taem thought they had similar stark jaws.
Logan circled to Taem’s right as the cautious young man advanced. Logan faked a sidestep to the left, then changed direction again to come straight at Taem. Logan’s speedy footwork was enough to put Taem’s faltering legs out of position, forcing the younger man out of line and muddling to defend himself. Caught unexpected and unaware, Taem flustered to establish his guard. Confusion slowed his blade. Logan made full use of his lead, bringing his sword hurtling diagonally down. Taem turned the blow aside as he stumbled back. Logan lunged for Taem’s right flank. Taem dropped his crosspiece to catch Logan’s strike, their swords met in a perfect cross. Logan swung again before Taem could even move. Taem tried in vain to bring his sword up to block, but Logan was just too fast. With incredible control, Logan’s flying wooden practice sword stopped just short of Taem’s ribcage. Had it been a real fight, Logan would have cleaved Taem in two.
‘You are faster than that,’ Logan said to Taem – not with annoyance, but something worse, disapproval.
Taem cursed himself. It infuriated him he could not just get things right.
‘Again,’ Logan withdrew his sword and took a step back.
Taem relaxed his body – exhaling deep, and loosening his tense muscles – as he prepared to fight once more.
Elena, Macen and Edar had stopped the drills Logan had set them, to watch as their brother fought their Master. Where Taem was of average height with a runner’s build, the middle brother Macen was taller and far broader than him, despite Taem being three years the elder. Macen could be shy, but Taem knew he was dependable and loyal, with an unusually good heart.
Taem leapt forward with his sword raised above his head and brought it down fast, aiming for Logan’s head. The older man sidestepped, allowing Taem’s blow to sail through thin air. At the same time, Logan brought his practice sword down on the back of Taem’s head and hooked his leg under the youth’s. Taem tumbled to the grassy earth in a clumsy heap. Although it looked comical, Macen and Edar did not laugh. Being defeated by Logan happened all the time, not just to Taem but to all of them.
Elena winked at her brother Taem without Logan seeing, which turned his grimace into a smile. His sister had the courage of a lioness, and she was often the one to inspire them when they were down. Elena was inches shorter than her brothers, and her slender frame was half the size, but years of fighting them had made her the toughest and fiercest of them all.
‘Lose your focus and you will
lose
your life,’ Logan said harshly, as the young apprentice lay vanquished on the ground. ‘
Never
overextend your thrust. It will put you off balance, make you vulnerable. Do you think the most skilful swordsman
always
wins in a fight?’ Logan asked his students. ‘No. There are many factors involved in determining life and death.’ The Master’s tone softened as he said to them, ‘Remember what I have taught you. To be a master of the Way of the Sword you must be able to block out unwanted emotions and feelings, but still be aware of everything – every flicker of your enemy’s eyes, every twitch of his body, every breath he makes. There is only you and your opponent, nothing else truly matters.’
‘Yes, Master,’ the brothers and sister murmured.
Logan smiled and offered Taem his hand, which the younger man grasped with an appreciative grin, and the Master pulled his apprentice up to his feet.
‘Again,’ the older man said.
Standing watching the combat, Edar tried to spin his practice sword over in his hand – as he had seen Logan do many a time – but it cartwheeled out of his grasp and clattered to the earth.
Macen raised his eyes skyward at Edar’s clumsiness. Elena chuckled and shook her head.
Edar shrugged his shoulders at his bear of a brother. Edar was the youngest, two years junior to Macen, but always wanting to be involved in anything his elder brothers and sister were doing. Taem always admired the ease with which the youngest brother took things in his stride. Taem, similar to most people, esteemed in others what he found so hard to do himself.
The combatants exchanged a furious rally of blows. The Master and the apprentice rained down smashing strikes on each other’s darting blades. A savage inward chop met an eastern block. Taem’s horizontal swing was smashed away by Logan’s tight defence. Logan launched a reverse swing for Taem’s stomach, and the apprentice parried low. Logan leapt over Taem’s sweeping strike. Taem sliced upwards at Logan’s throat, and the Master slipped back out the way. Taem ducked, as Logan swung for his head. An almighty smiting blow was turned aside by a sweeping deflection. Logan threw a lightning combination. A swing for Taem’s stomach, for his left ear and then his right ear. Taem’s sword flew out to meet each of the three strikes. Taem riposted, swinging downwards at Logan’s head. The Master side-stepped and countered, coming in with a cleaving blow to Taem’s shoulder. Taem whipped his sword upwards, spun round and struck out horizontally. Logan met the powerful blow with a shuddering block.
The relentless crack of wood on wood was ever present, as the combatants strived to outmanoeuvre and out-fight the other. Taem fought as if his life depended on it, but the Master was too good.
Taem stormed in with a furious assault, driving Logan onto the back foot, but the older man had an answer to every one of his probing attacks. Every strike Taem could think of he threw into the offensive. He feinted a thrust low to Logan’s right side, but before clashing with his adversary’s practice sword, he pulled his own sword back and reversed the attack, aiming for his Master’s unprotected left temple. Before his sword was anywhere near its target, it was battered aside with a swing of the Master’s training weapon.
Logan seemed to know what I was going to do before I had even done it
, Taem thought to himself – although he would expect nothing less. Now it was Logan’s turn to go on the offensive. The Master was relentless as he aimed strike after strike at his apprentice, forcing him into a frenzy of defence. Yet Taem managed to maintain his composure in defence, despite the pressure the older man heaped on him. Logan continued his onslaught, swinging for the left side of Taem’s head. Instead of parrying the blow, Taem ducked at the last moment, forcing Logan off balance. Taem shot back up and brought his practice sword up to rest on his opponent’s neck.
Macen let out an approving whistle and Edar smiled. Elena nodded her approval.
‘Excellent!’ Logan’s eyes flashed with surprise.
Taem felt his chest swell up with pride, that rare compliment was praise indeed.
‘We will stop now for lunch,’ Logan walked over to the oak tree where their equipment was stashed.
‘After you have run through the Forms,’ Logan picked up a real sword, inside its sheath, and threw it to Taem.
Taem caught the scabbard with his right hand, discarding his wooden practice sword. Quick but smooth, Taem drew the real sword using his left hand. Even though the venerable sword was familiar to Taem, he still marvelled at how the sunlight flared along the shallow curve of its single perfect blade. It was Logan’s sword, named Mantioc, crafted years ago for a Sodan warrior, when the Way of the Sword was more than a distant memory in a handful of people’s minds.
Grasping the sword’s hilt in two hands, firm but not too tense, Taem took up the guard position and emptied his mind.
‘Elena,’ Logan threw her another sword. ‘Try not to show your brothers up too badly.’
Elena grinned, as she flashed her sword through a dextrous figure of eight. She flipped the sword over and round her back, and repeated the attack pattern with the blade in her other hand.
‘That won’t work in a real fight,’ Macen smirked, ‘little sister.’
‘Well
little
brother,’ Elena smiled, ‘on the day you can give me a real fight, I’ll be sure to listen to your advice. Until then, try to keep up.’
‘That told you brother!’ Edar smirked at Macen.
‘Ahh,’ Elena said, ‘at least one of my brothers knows his rightful place.’ She smiled a beaming white smile at Edar. Her long blond hair and bright blue eyes shimmered under the summer sun. Had she been raised in the city, Elena would have been a lady of high-society, set to marry a lord. But Logan had moulded her into a ferocious warrior.
The Sodan Master motioned for Macen and Edar to take up their wooden practice swords, and spread out alongside Taem and Elena.
‘Start with Hawk Hunting in the Forest,’ Logan said to them all.
In time with each other, the three brothers and sister flowed through the movements under the watchful eye of their Master.
After they had performed the eight Forms to the Master’s satisfaction, and he had refined imperfections in their technique, they headed towards the rambling house for lunch.
They skirted round the edge of the vegetable patch, and Taem took in the welcoming feel of their home, a large stone farmhouse with a thatched roof. The warm smell of fresh baking intermingled with the scents of a country garden. Birds twittered in the trees, and a stream trickled down a gentle slope, where the bottom of the garden met woodland. The grey stone house had sections jutting off in every direction, giving the appearance of a giant blacksmith’s puzzle that was only half finished.
The warriors climbed the handful of steps to the back door and entered the kitchen. On the pine work surface below the window, Aunt Sera was busy making them some lunch. She was a short lady in her elder years, with greying hair tied neatly back in a bun. She dressed as a farmer’s wife, wearing a white apron that never seemed to be blemished with a single stain, despite all the hard work she did. Taem felt sad for the kind old woman, she seemed to carry her heavy sadness with her always. She had lost her husband, children and grandchildren to a Krun raid.
Taem went and stoked the small fire in the hearth, and lifted the kettle over it, as the others sat down round the oak table.
‘There you go, children,’ Aunt Sera heaved two stacked plates of food onto the kitchen table, and sat down to join them.
‘Thank you,’ they said as they began to tuck into the food. Logan and Sera were offered the food first, and the three brothers and sister descended on any remainders, as if they were a pack of wolves feasting on a carcass. Macen, once he had checked that no-one else wanted any, piled the remaining sausages and bacon onto his plate.
‘Can always rely on Macen to finish up the sausages,’ Edar grinned.
Taem chuckled, whilst Macen shot Edar a disparaging glare.
‘Says the boy who ate a whole chicken last feastday,’ Elena smiled at Edar, as she stole a slice of bacon off Macen’s plate.