Beneath dark waters, p.7
Beneath Dark Waters, page 7
So consumed by his fury, Torin almost stormed into Takeru.
“You look like you could rip someone’s head off.” Takeru remarked. “Fancy talking about it?”
Lord Riften’s family, like most noble families, spoke a list of different languages fluently. Lord Riften’s children spoke Sirinese with a flawless Albionic accent rather than a Sirinean one. Whether that was from their teacher’s tutelage or due to their mother being from Albion was anyone’s guess.
“Not really.” The jaeger grunted.
Takeru paused for a moment.
“Come with me, I know something that might lift your spirits.”
Torin opened his mouth to decline, but Takeru held up his hand, turned, and marched off. What did he care about whatever Takeru had planned? But the anger still churned in his chest, hot and restless, and Torin knew if he stewed in it any longer, he might do something reckless.
With a sigh, he trudged after Takeru.
Torin’s irritability gave way to curiosity when he realised that Takeru was leading him to the castle training ground. The pair entered the training hall, a large, open space with racks of various wooden practice melee weapons lining the back wall on either side of the rear entrance.
Upon hearing them, three maids hurried to meet them. Takeru greeted the servants jovially as he picked up a couple of wooden training swords. Spotting the posts and dummies lined up in the training ground in the courtyard behind the hall, Torin’s reluctance was replaced with excitement. Beating a dummy might not be as satisfying as beating Tam, but it would do.
As Takeru and Torin crossed the hall and marched down the steps from the rear door that lead to the training ground, Takeru explained that usually combat practice for the household retinue took place for four hours, six days a week. Training had been postponed for three days until the ship wreckage was cleared and was due to begin again the day after next.
The lord’s son explained that either he or Lord Riften led the practices after mealtime in the morning. These sessions consisted of physical labours, hand-to-hand-combat (grappling, wrestling, and fighting with melee weapons), ranged combat, and horseback training, both riding and combat. Physical labours involved marching, weight training, running, jumping, obstacle courses, and, in the warm months, swimming. In the winter months, when riding outside was difficult, wooden horses were utilised inside the training hall to teach mounting and dismounting techniques.
“You’re welcome to join us tomorrow.” Takeru offered, tossing one of the wooden training swords to Torin.
Torin examined the wooden blade and the countless knicks and dents along its edge. He didn’t know how long he was going to be staying in Hebiwa; the fleet couldn’t return to Vastrune until Prince Dagr was well enough to sail. Spending a few hours training with the garrison warriors would keep him from going crazy at the very least.
“Thank you, I’d like that,” Torin decided.
“We’re in the training grounds by eight. Don’t be late. Ready?”
“You’re gonna fight me?” Torin cocked a brow at Takeru.
“I’m more than a pretty face, you know.” Takeru winked. “Don’t be afraid, Jaeger. I’ll go easy on you.”
“Let’s go.” Torin smirked.
At first, the men prowled about in a circle, sizing each other up. The jaeger had travelled the world and slain countless grotesqueries, from serpentine lamiae and nagas to fearsome waterhorses and ngarara, cunning fossegrimen to great, hulking, trolls, terrifying spectres to vicious night hags, undead draugar to vampiric strigoi and mormones, vengeful kladfishers and víly to child-killing obayifos and mörköjä. It had been a long time since he’d fought a mortal man. Takeru didn’t have fangs or claws, enchanted objects or acidic blood – he had his wooden practice sword to strike with, his fists to punch, and his legs to kick. Despite this, Torin’s body sizzled with excitement, anticipation, and nervousness, adrenaline bubbling in his veins.
Torin and Takeru grinned at each other, both of them conscious of even the smallest movement from the other, chuckling when one of them lurched at the other’s feint, studying each other down to their very steps to anticipate any possible attack. They batted at each other with the wooden swords, a couple of experimental probes, gradually increasing their speed and the heaviness of their attacks.
Without warning, Torin lunged at Takeru. Lord Riften’s son met Torin’s attack with his wooden blade, blocking the heavy hit, but the power of Torin’s strike ricocheted along the blade and up Takeru’s arm. The jaeger sprang back, chuckling.
“You’re not playing,” Takeru rubbed his sword arm, wincing.
“I can ease up if you want?”
Takeru shook his head.
“Hell no. Hit me like you mean it!”
“Yes, Sir.” Torin smirked.
Without another word, Takeru charged at Torin. Torin whipped up his sword to meet Takeru’s with a powerful crack! Over and over, the swords clashed, the noise of the wooden blades colliding booming like fireworks echoing from the training grounds. Like a choreographed dance, the men dodged and deflected the other’s attacks.
Lunging and diving–
Sweeping and stabbing–
Parrying and striking–
Kicking–shoving–spinning–pushing–ramming!
Takeru unleashed a wave of lightning-fast strikes, forcing Torin backwards, hardly giving him time to deflect. Torin had never met anyone who could keep up with him before. He was impressed by Takeru’s speed, but something held the jaeger back. If he truly let loose, would it be a fair fight, or would it turn into a beating? By holding back his power, was Torin protecting Takeru’s pride, or his own conscience?
The glossy sheen of perspiration covered every inch of Takeru’s visible flesh, and he was panting hard. This ruthless, rapid offensive was tiring him quickly. Takeru brought his sword down on Torin in another swift sweep, but Torin met Takeru’s blade with his own. Before Takeru could whip the blade up again, Torin grabbed the wrist of his sword-hand.
“Huh?” Takeru gasped, glancing at his wrist.
That small moment of distraction was all Torin needed. He brought his leg up and kicked Takeru in the stomach, releasing his wrist the moment his foot collided with Takeru’s belly, sending him flying across the training ground.
Takeru crashed to the floor. Just as quickly, he scarpered to his feet, panting and wincing, clinging to his belly with one hand. Roaring, he rushed at Torin, sword raised. Torin parried, hitting Takeru a little harder each time.
As the fight raged on, Takeru’s grin vanished. Grinding his teeth and wincing, Takeru was visibly struggling. His arms were trembling, and he panted heavily, sweat pouring off him in buckets. It was taking him longer to get back to his feet each time Torin knocked him down.
Again, Torin slammed his wooden sword against Takeru’s, both men gripping the handles of their weapons two-handed. Takeru’s knees buckled but he managed to keep standing. He would collapse any time soon. It was over.
“This was fun,” Torin grinned.
Torin twisted at the last moment, slipping out of Takeru’s reach. In that split-second opening, he struck, his foot slamming into Takeru’s back with enough force to send him sprawling. Takeru hit the dirt with a thud, rolling onto his back like a cask down a hill, chest heaving. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the sky, before flipping over and glowering at the jaeger.
“You were holding back! I told you to give me all you’ve got!”
“Next time I will – didn’t want to put you off.” The jaeger winked, offering his hand. “Here.”
“You’re as formidable as the monsters you slaughter, Jaeger.” Lord Riften’s low voice rumbled like thunder from the other side of the practice ground.
As Torin pulled Takeru to his feet, both men glanced at the stairs of the training hall where Lord Riften and five of his highest ranked warriors were standing. Lord Riften’s arms were folded over his chest, his brows raised and his eyes wide with curiosity. Torin didn’t know how long Lord Riften and his warriors had been there, but judging by their faces, he presumed they’d witnessed him boot Takeru to the ground.
“The only person who has put Takeru down single-handedly is me.” Lord Riften said. “Be at combat practice tomorrow morning. I want to see what you’re made of.”
6
THE JAEGER DROVE his elbow into Kagemori Oba’s gut. With a choked groan, he crumpled. Without a glance, Torin spun around in time to block Hiroshi Ito’s charge from the left. He whipped up his arm, blocking Hiroshi’s punch, pain blazing like a brand from a hot iron as Hiroshi’s fist collided with his forearm. Before Hiroshi could pull his arm back, Torin snatched his wrist and grabbed his shoulder. Hiroshi gawped, glancing at his arm then at Torin, who smirked before hauling the fighter towards him and rolling him over his hip, sending him crashing to the ground.
“Urgh!” Hiroshi wailed as the jaeger pounced on top of him, sitting on his chest.
Hiroshi twisted and arched his back, straining to throw Torin off. His muscles trembled with effort, but the jaeger barely budged. A shadow fell over him as Torin pulled back his fist ready to strike. With his opponent trapped beneath him, the jaeger grabbed the neck of Hiroshi’s shirt, arched his fist back, and with a roar, he swung–
“That’s enough.”
At Lord Riften’s command, the jaeger froze, the knuckles of his fist barely a finger’s width from the tip of Hiroshi’s nose. Torin’s foe flinched and cried out, his body trembling with the surge of adrenaline flooding his veins.
Torin jumped off his opponent. He was bruised and breathing heavily but he was hardly exhausted. Hiroshi, however, couldn’t even get up to his feet. Torin exhaled, his pulse still thrumming. With a small nod, he stepped back and extended a hand to Hiroshi.
“You alright?”
Panting for every breath, the combatant stared at Torin’s proffered hand. After a moment, Hiroshi reluctantly took it, his own palm slick with sweat like the rest of his body.
“You scared the shit out of me.” Hiroshi wheezed angrily.
“Sorry,” Torin replied sheepishly, pulling him to his feet.
“Sorry?” Hiroshi repeated, gawping at the jaeger. “If Lord Riften hadn’t told you to stop, you’d have caved my face in!”
“I wasn’t going to hit you that hard–” Torin started, but Hiroshi yanked his hand from Torin’s.
Torin shook his head and watched Hiroshi stagger off, a slew of what Torin could only assume to be cuss words and curses in Hebiwan cascading from Hiroshi’s mouth. He flopped down on the ground to the side of the training ground with Kagemori and the three others Torin had been fighting. The five warriors nursed their wounds, casting glances at Torin – some resentful, others grudgingly impressed. Low murmurs filled the air, the sting of defeat thick in the silence between their words.
“We’re done for now.” Lord Riften announced. “Clean up and get changed. I’ll see you all after dinner – except you five, take the afternoon to rest up.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The combatants replied.
Out of all thirty-six of Lord Riften’s household retinue, these were Lord Riften’s finest warriors. They were the most skilled fighters in all of Riften, excluding Lord Riften and his sons who were in a league of their own. None had defeated the Nakaya family in single combat – until Torin had beaten Takeru.
Lord Riften’s retinue stumbled and limped to the hall with Torin dragging his feet behind them, putting breathing space between himself and the warriors. Damaged pride hurt worse than any of their wounds and Torin knew it.
“Maddox, a moment, please.” Lord Riften called.
Torin nodded and approached the Lord, Takeru and Yuta at their father’s sides.
“Your reflexes are astounding, your speed, your power, your self-control!” Lord Riften remarked. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you, my Lord.” Torin bowed his head politely.
It had been two weeks since Torin and Takeru’s fight. Torin had attended every practice since then, honing his skills, eagerly learning Hebiwan fighting techniques. With every practice, Lord Riften’s intrigue and curiosity grew. Lord Riften pitted Torin against his strongest men, and the jaeger defeated them all. Just two days ago, Torin had defeated Yuta, spurring Lord Riften to test Torin against all five of his top warriors at once today.
“Next week, they’ll have weapons. You won’t.”
A flicker of anticipation stirred in Torin’s chest.
A real challenge at last!
“You’re giving them a chance for revenge?” Takeru smirked.
“Maddox can take it.” The confidence in Lord Riften’s voice was flattering.
“We’ll see.” Torin smiled, privately confident in his own skills.
“Not even a glimmer of fear.” Lord Riften noted, approvingly.
“I’m confident that my Lord will give the order to stop before they beat me to a pulp.”
“We’ll see.” Lord Riften winked.
At first, Lord Riften’s retinue were surprised to lose to Torin, but they’d taken their defeats well, adamant to learn from their losses. After consistently losing to the jaeger, however, their morale had deteriorated, the soreness of constant loss gnawing at their pleasure of fighting. Torin was sure that the five top fighters especially would jump at the chance to gang up on Torin and beat him with wooden training weapons, giving him a taste of what he’d been dealing out over the past couple of weeks.
“My money is on Torin. Men are no match after defeating a kraken.” Takeru said.
“The kraken was weakened by the time I got to it.” Torin pointed out modestly.
“You still killed it.”
“I’m sure your men will be glad to hear of your faith in them.” Lord Riften said, sarcastically, cocking a brow at his son.
“I’m not commenting on the men’s skill but of Torin’s advantage.” Takeru replied, tactfully. He turned back to Torin. “How many years did you say you’ve been a jaeger for?”
Torin paused to ponder.
“About fifteen years now.”
“Who trained you?”
“The Middenheim Guard.”
Lord Riften’s brows rose.
“The mercenary division in Vastrune?” Lord Riften asked.
Torin nodded.
“They say the Guard is the north’s finest – warriors for battle, not border skirmishes.”
“For once, the rumours are true.” The jaeger gave him a crooked smile.
“How long were you there for?”
Torin realised that he was not going to escape Lord Riften and his sons’ curiosity. His cheeks grew rosy as he spoke about himself.
“I became a novice at ten and an apprentice at fifteen. Killed my first grotesquery then, and at twenty I was a fully-fledged mercenary of the Guard. By five-and-twenty, I paid my debt in full, retired, and became a jaeger.”
“What debt?”
The rudeness of Takeru’s question slipped by Torin, but not Lord Riften, who shot his son a withering glare.
“All novices incur a debt upon signing their contract with the Guard.” Torin explained. “They must repay the price the Guard paid to purchase them, plus the yearly cost of housing, clothing, and feeding them, and the stipend of spending money the Guard give each week after they become an apprentice – fifty copper a day for apprentices, one bronze a day for mercenaries.”
“How much was your debt?” Takeru asked, deliberately ignoring his father and brother’s identical reproachful glares.
“The total? Hmmm … Bit over six thousand bronze.”
“You earned that much in five years?” Yuta gawped, forgetting his manners.
Six thousand bronze roughly equated to fifteen gold, a huge sum, especially for the average man. Despite their wealth, Lord Riften and his sons were down to earth enough to recognise what an impressive accomplishment it was for the jaeger to pay off that amount of money in such a short period.
“It was difficult,” Torin replied, self-effacingly.
“Why didn’t you stay with the Guard if you were earning that much?” Takeru asked. “You can’t possibly earn more than that as a jaeger.”
“I didn’t like the politics.” Torin said, cryptically. “Speaking of hunting – I was wondering if I could borrow a translator? I’d like to make myself more useful around here until it’s time to set off back to Vastrune. Maybe I can help the townspeople with any grotesquery trouble.”
“The practice sessions aren’t enough for you?” Lord Riften jested, mischief glinting in his jet-black eyes.
“There’s still so much time left in the day.” Torin joked.
“I’m sure Hiroshi wouldn’t mind if Torin got eaten by something beyond the castle walls.” Takeru said, wickedly.
“I can arrange a translator for you.” Lord Riften said. “What do you charge? I do not like to be indebted to people either.”
Torin smirked.
“Depends how difficult the monster is. Usually between one and ten bronze for a common nuisance. For bigger threats – manticores, wyverns, basilisks – you’re looking at two to five silver per grotesquery, plus two silver per lost limb.”
One of Lord Riften’s brows twitched, his lips turning in an upside-down smile at the latter half of Torin’s statement.
“I can bring the head or some other body part back to prove I’ve completed the job. If the monster is small enough, I’ll bring the whole thing.”
Lord Riften nodded. “I’ll cover the cost of any grotesqueries killed in Riften province. I don’t need any souvenirs; your word will be enough. Try not to lose any limbs.”
“No promises.” Torin smirked.
“I can translate for you.” Takeru eagerly interjected.
“No,” Yuta said, firmly. “I will. You’re needed in Riften.”
Takeru opened his mouth to argue, but Lord Riften held up his hand, silencing his eldest son immediately.
“Yuta is right.” Lord Riften silenced Takeru with a cautioning glance. He turned to Yuta, “Take some men with you.”
