3.20. A Friendly Spar

I thought I’d fight Crost in the garden, but Wusta led us towards the door to his house instead, the dolbecs with him following right along. Mumu and I were like baby chicks in the crowd of giants, so she whistled to call over the rest of our team, and... we were still baby chicks, but at least there were more of us now. And more dolbecs too, because the knitters also came over in anticipation of watching the show. They’d apparently been paying attention to the conversation on the porch.

While Mumu signed a quick explanation to the other hunters, I gawked at the house’s architecture. The exterior was plain, gray stone with the only decorative feature seemingly the arched doorway, but inside... inside was a wonderland of tilework and mosaics. Every room was visible to every other room in an open floor plan taken to the extreme.

There were arches everywhere—they were what separated the ‘rooms’—and each was decorated with patterns of square, round, and diamond-shaped stones that looked like lapis lazuli. The theme of blue continued into the floor too—cobalt and white tiles flowed like water from space to space.

While the interior art was geometric, the art on the far walls was figurative—depicting dolbecs working at everyday tasks, like farming, tending to animals, weaving baskets, and so on. The mosaics were created from stones in a variety of colors, from rich umbers to buttery yellows and meadow greens. The style was a surprisingly effective blend of Mesoamerican and Norse, with hints of Constantinople thrown in.

My eyes must’ve been as big as saucers, because Crost chuckled. “Blue is the color of war,” he said. “The other colors are for life.”

The older dolbecs around us nodded in approval.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to question him about the aphorism nor to look closer at the art. Wusta kept us moving until we reached an interior courtyard in the middle of the building. The ceiling was vaulted here so that the upper two floors could look down at a large sparring circle. The floor was plain stone covered in sand, just like at the Hunter’s Lodge, and weapons and protective gear hung on stands nearby.

It was a damn shame, really. The courtyard would’ve looked so much better with an interior fountain, especially with the mosaics I’d seen in the rest of the house. Maybe some benches and greenery too.

There were stairs on two sides, and they doubled as seating. A couple of handfuls of teens sat on the steps talking, their chat interrupted by our arrival. They all stood and bowed, hands over their hearts, towards Wusta.

“Teacher,” they said all together.

“We have an opportunity,” he said, “to observe the hunter’s spear. Pay attention.”

His students bowed again, and the crowd that had followed us spread out to the outside edges of the circle. Crost went to stand inside, and I followed him. That much seemed obvious.

There were a bunch of squares engraved within the circle. They looked like starting positions, and that was confirmed when Crost stepped onto one and pointed me to the one opposite him.

I took off my backpack first and set it outside the circle, making sure to face Ikfael inward. Hopefully, she’d be able to watch. I was worried about her, but had to put that aside for now. Even a spar could be dangerous if you weren’t paying attention.

A dolbec directed me to also set aside my weapons, and he handed me a blunt spear and wooden knife instead. When I asked about my hauberk, I was told I could keep it on. I noted, however, that Crost was still in his plain clothes, apparently foregoing armor. Oh, well, too bad for him.

I glanced over at my team, and saw that they were watching the preparations with concern but not alarm. Mumu, with her hand low and against her side, signed: “Don’t show too much.”

Right, I can do that, I thought. Just keep cool—this’ll be just like any other spar. I was even used to practicing with people bigger than me. I was tall for my age, about four foot nine or ten, but everyone in the Hunter’s Lodge outsized me except for the other apprentices.

I loosened up my shoulders—the tension in me was ramping up, and I tried to head it off.

The spear was heavy, but I’d manage. The knife I attached to my belt, taking the time to do it right. Only once my weapons and armor were settled did I step back into the circle and take my position opposite Crost.

Wusta stood outside the circle at its midpoint. “Bow to the teacher,” he called out.

Crost turned to him, and bowed. That didn’t make sense for me so, after a moment’s thought, I swung around towards my team and bowed. A few people in the crowd clucked at that, but they could go suck eggs for all I cared.

“Bow to the opponent,” Wusta said.

That I did, and so did Crost. He’ll probably come in fast—

“Begin.”

Crost launched himself at me, covering the distance in a heartbeat. Fortunately, I’d already been moving, circling to the left, and I let the thrust slip past me. There’d been no qi in the attack—it’d been pure muscle and technique. He didn’t let up, either, as he reoriented and swung the butt of his spear around like a staff.

I swung my own spear in response, thinking to sweep his attack aside and then follow up with a quick jab, but his strike had been a feint. He twirled the spear in his hands, and stabbed at me instead.

I had to side step and circle to keep from getting hit, and then keep going because the kid didn’t let up. All he seemed to do was attack, attack, and attack in a connected series of thrusts and strikes.

He put me on the defensive, which was fine, since it’d let me get a feel for him. Eventually, he’d slip up and I’d get to counter, but Crost never did. His every attack seemed to set up his next strike or thrust—I had to stay on the defensive or else I’d get hit. If I wanted to hit him, and I’d have to do it from a disadvantaged position.

There wasn’t a lot of room for thought, both of us acting and reacting from muscle memory, but a part of me noticed how interesting the spar was. Even though we used the same weapon, the personalities of our fighting arts were different. Crost’s was aggressive, very much so, while the hunter’s spear was elusive, protecting the wielder until an opening could be found.

From the side, I heard Wusta sigh. "It's always the same. You hunters never come out of hiding until you’re pushed. Crost, unlock the first door.”

I felt a sudden pressure, like I was at the bottom of a pool, and Crost’s next strike smashed against my spear. I would’ve lost my grip if I hadn’t already trained for fighting creatures stronger than me. My next side step was cut off as Crost shifted positions, then he blocked me from going the other direction.

He was stronger and faster, all in one go, and it wasn’t qi or mana that did it. The scent of his spell-ability-talent was different. No, not a talent, I thought; he only had Steadfast.

I heard chuckles from around the circle as Crost cut me off again and again. He was doing his damnedest to keep me contained, but I fought him for every inch, drawing on my experiences sparring with the hunters of Voorhei’s lodge. They were a wily bunch, and I’d learned a lot from them—

No, I realized I shouldn’t show everything. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Mumu watching, and I held back from the clever ploys. It meant letting Crost push me around, but I could take a few hits. What was he going to do? Stab me the heart? Been there, done that.

My practice spear was taking a beating warding off his strikes, though. I slipped in some qi to reinforce it, but the wood was greedy and it drank more than double what my spear normally took.

The spear became heavier, and, caught off guard by the sudden weight change, I was nearly jabbed in the face. Not interested in a broken nose, I rolled under the thrust, and retook the circle’s center. I’d hoped to attack Crost’s back, but the kid had already spun around and was swinging by the time I was back on my feet.

“Now it’s starting to get interesting,” Wusta said. “Bone breaker.”

Crost smiled, and a pulse of qi radiated from his body. His spear whistled through the air, but I didn’t want to give up the center, and blocked the blow directly. It felt like getting hit by truck, and the strike drove me to one knee. My spear held though, and as Crost pulled back for a quick jab, I smashed his forward knee quarterstaff style.

Sorry, kid, but I’ll heal it afterward.

My swing felt like hitting a street lamp, and while Crost’s knee buckled, he got right up again, apparently uninjured. He laughed too, having the time of his life. He charged, and I dodged to his right, but he let go of the spear on that side to reach out to grab me. His hand locked onto my wrist, and he turned on his center to pull me towards his spear’s point.

There’s was nothing in the hunter’s spear arts like the move. Instinctively, I understood it was specifically designed for fighting other people.

As Crost’s spearhead aimed for my chest, there was nowhere for me to go but down, so I let myself drop into one of the hunter’s ground fighting forms, and stomped kicked him in the balls.

Crost’s smile disappeared; his eyes crossed. He didn’t let go though, and with a breath, he reset to strike again. I used the time to plant my spear, using it like a lever to push him down.

We were both on the ground then, which didn’t bode well, since Crost was a lot stronger than me. I pulled my knife, and with a lightning-fast Dog’s Agility, I slipped over to him, the knife’s dulled point stopping just above his right eye.

His own knife, I noticed, was also in hand. Its point was against my chest, in the hole in my armor left by the crossbow bolt.

“Release,” Wusta said.

Crost let go of my wrist. His body relaxed, and whatever spells or abilities he was using dissipated. His grin returned, and he helped me to stand, gesturing towards our starting positions.

“Bow to the opponent,” Wusta said.

We both did, and I couldn’t get over how well the kid had done. My Spear Arts was at rank 8, and he’d kept up with me even before he’d used his abilities. I took a peek at his talents again—

Crost Bleithsson (Human, Dolbec)

Talents: Steadfast

Nascent: Fighting Genius

—and the spar was enough to reveal a nascent talent.

“Bow to the teacher,” Wusta said.

I turned to bow towards my team. Teila had sparkles in her eyes, while Tegen, Haol, and Mumu all looked thoughtful. All around them, the dolbecs scowled.

Not Crost, though. He came over to slap me on the shoulder. “That was amazing. How long will you be in Albei? We should spar again. Where are you staying? Do they have an open space? Or we could use the street. Anywhere is fine, really.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have time,” I said. “Our hunt isn’t something we can put off. We’ve already delayed more than we should. Once we have the information we need from your grandfather, we’ll need to go.”

Said grandfather came over to eye me up and down. “That spell at the end, it was your lodge’s Dog’s Agility?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mumu nod, so I nodded too.

“And your talents,” Wusta asked, “how many?” When I hesitated to answer, he added: “I can go to the World Speakers to find out, so tell me now and earn some goodwill.”

Once again, Mumu nodded, and I said, “I have six.”

A sigh went around the room, and the dolbecs’ scowls turned into smiles.

Wusta accepted the number, as if it wasn’t a surprise. “Your level?”

Mumu nodded a third time, and I said, “Four.”

“You’ve come far for one so young. You’re talented, and it makes up for the weaknesses in your foundation.” He turned to leave. “We are done here.”

“Ah, a question first—we wanted to know the place where you were injured.”

He glanced back, and I saw the wheels turning in his head, but couldn’t make out anything definite in his spirit; it was such a mess.

“Here in Geista,” he said, finally. “I was attending a marriage celebration in the street between the Goska and Theleisa family houses. Someone in the crowd bumped into me, one of a group of workers coming home from the Butchery. That’s when I was cut. I questioned the workers afterward, but none were guilty. Their knives were clean.” He briefly touched his right hip where he’d been injured. “This Borba of yours had blended in with them, then disappeared into the crowd. Almost immediately, I felt ill, and I thought an old enemy must’ve mustered the courage to act.” He sneered. “For the wound to have come from a hunter... how pathetic.”

The dolbec students muttered, “Teacher—”

He glared them into silence, then turned to the hunters. “We’re finished. Be gone.”

I went to get my gear, and checked on Ikfael in the process—her spirit appeared to be resting. That was probably for the best, but she missed a good show.

We’ll tell her the story later, Yuki said.

Teila came over to check on me, and I told her I was a little winded from the exertion, but that was all. If this had been a typical training session at the lodge, we would’ve kept going for at least another couple of hours.

Then it was time to go, and my team was followed outside some of the dolbecs. They didn’t say anything as they passed us, just found their seats in the courtyard and picked up where they’d left off.

Mumu eyed them, but they seemed engrossed in their knitting and gossiping. Still, she kept her voice low. “Are you all right, Eight?”

I nodded. “It was an interesting spar. I learned a lot.”

“That child will be fearsome when he grows up,” Tegen said.

“I had the same thought,” Haol said.

“Me too,” I admitted. “I can’t believe he’s not even ten-years old yet, not even Level 1.”

“That’s why the people laughed,” Haol said, his brow furrowed.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Haol glanced back towards the house. “Crost was able to spar you to a draw, even though you out-level him and have so many more talents. His people see him going farther once he begins to truly grow.”

“They think you’ve reached your peak early,” Tegen said, “that you won’t go much farther than dawn, and that your talents will stagnate soon after.”

“Dawn? But why would I stop there?” I asked.

The hunters laughed, but it was quiet, meant only for the five us.

“Our Eight is ambitious,” Mumu said, “and rightly so.”

“Light calls to light,” Tegen explained, “which is why people live in villages to begin with. We attract beasts during the Long Dark, but not so many as the cities. There’s danger, of course, but the scale is smaller. It is a balance the villages maintain.”

“Oh, that’s how the sugar maker was able to live on his own,” I said.

“That’s right,” Tegen replied. “Bindeise was only Level 1—he was not a tempting target for the true monsters living in the forest. And his walls were enough to keep the small beasts out.”

“Fewer beasts attacking, means less opportunities to gather light,” Haol added.

Tegen nodded. “But if a hunter is diligent, and their path takes them past Level 7, then the balance shifts. They are stronger, for certain, but not so much so that it outweighs the danger from the beasts their strength will draw to the village.”

It wasn’t hard to see where this line of thought led: “The cities gather that strength, so that they can defeat the stronger monsters, which in turn provides light to fuel their residents’ growth.”

“Yes.” He smiled, seemingly pleased with me for understanding, but his spirit was anything but.

Which, when I thought about it, the reason was obvious: “If I ever want to become silvered, I’d have to leave Voorhei.”

“Yes,” he said again.

Every member of my team wore a small smile as they gazed at me: Tegen’s was sad, Haol’s wry, Teila’s determined, and Mumu... her pride in me practically shone through her eyes. The spat from earlier was just a hiccup in our relationship. What I saw then was who she truly was, unencumbered by grief and anger.

“Your path is your path,” Mumu said, “and none of us will keep you from it.”

“Besides,” Haol said. smirking, “there’s nothing wrong with having a silvered for a friend. Don’t be surprised if we call on you for help.”

I shook my head at them, at a loss for how to respond.

Haol chuckled. “This is a first.”

“A day we’ll all remember—” Mumu said “—our Eight without questions or quips.”

Tegen patted me on the head. “Now, if only he remembers his teeth are not strong enough to chew rocks, then he may survive long enough to reach dawn, let alone silvered.”

“Oh, we’ll help him remember,” Mumu said. “That’s the least we can do for our Little Pot.”