“Again!” shouted Grendar. Yovin stood up slowly, rotating his arm and grimacing. Overhead, gulls yelped as loudly as the sergeant. The sailors sat on barrels or worked with rigging while they watched the soldiers training. Over the last month, Grendar had ramped up his training regime, trying to get everyone back into shape after their injuries and exhausting marching. So far, Yovin was doing better than Carrak, and Carrak better than the ever-bitter Lerela. But even Yovin had only scored two hits on Grendar at the cost of many bruises.
They had resupplied in Hawsi. Now they sailed around the coast toward the Sweating Isles, and then, at last, Old Numa. This leg of the journey was almost done.
Sparring swords clacked, gulls cawed, and Aralim’s meditation grew fruitless. He started watching the sparring and he remembered days from long ago. He had also sparred on the deck of a ship, once upon a time.
He stood up and paced forward. While the fighters continued their bout, he glanced at the still, white dot on the horizon. Gethra’s second moon, Caidolis, looked so clear from the Elder Coast. In Aralim’s homeland, the tri-annual moon was not visible until it was half the way to the top of its rise, and even then, it was only a few feet over the horizon. Here on the edge of the Stormy Sea, it seemed to follow on the same line as the sun itself.
After another round Yovin tossed down his sparring sword. “I’m done,” he said, panting. He grabbed a rag from his belt and started to mop his sweaty forward with it.
Aralim stepped forward again. “Mind if I go a round or two?” he asked. All his friends looked up. Nill was smiling, Devran had stopped writing, and Grendar regarded Aralim with a raised eyebrow.
“Not at all, sir,” the sergeant replied. He picked up Yovin’s sword and passed it, hilt first, toward Aralim.
Aralim tapped his staff. “I’d prefer to use this,” he said.
Grendar gave him a nod and tossed Yovin’s sword to the latter’s waiting hands. Then he grabbed his iron cuirass and pulled it over his head. “Thrusting weapons are a sight more dangerous than these sparring swords,” he said. “Just in case.”
He thinks I might hit him, Aralim thought. He smiled and started to alternate his staff between hands, changing its angle and his balancing of it. He had always preferred training with spears when he trained on the deck of his old fishing vessel, continents away. Corsairs had always been a danger on a far-ranging ship like his.
They went four rounds against each other. During the first, Aralim was a mess. He got in his own way, more than Grendar’s. It had been so long since he fought a fight of skill. The combat against the bandits had been more a match of shoving and avoiding being hurt than actually trying to land blows. The second round was a little better. The third round lasted the longest, and Aralim landed one—albeit a grazing—hit along Grendar’s thigh, before being rewarded with two light taps to his shoulder and his own hip. Grendar did his best not to bruise Aralim or cause any serious injury. Coupled with the heavier armour, the sergeant’s inhibition to bring about harm gave Aralim a serious advantage. In the last round, Aralim landed two hits with his staff, but still lost the round to a complex jab that could have gouged out his eye if Grendar had not stopped his blade two inches short.
They remained standing so—Grendar’s gauntlet held aside Aralim’s staff and the sparring sword was angled for a killing blow—for two moments before Grendar withdrew and Aralim, winded, stepped back. “Thank you,” Aralim said; he leaned his staff in the crook of his elbow and offered a hand for his master guard.
Devran piped up, “So, Grendar, without the Path, how did you get so good?”
Aralim ignored the obnoxious chronicler. Devran still didn’t understand the Path, even after a year travelling with a Walker. Aralim noticed the Aura relax, as Grendar pulled off his armour. Had the Aura been waiting to intervene? How would the quiet man gauge a real threat to Aralim in the heat of a training bout?
Grendar, thankfully, ignored Devran as well. He set aside his sparring sword and returned to accept Aralim’s extended hand in a respectful embrace. “I would never have guessed you knew how to fight.”
“We didn’t have guards on our ship back in the day. Training became a matter of safety—pirates and all,” Aralim explained. He uncorked a canteen that Yovin passed him and quickly gulped for water.
“Ah, fair enough,” Grendar replied. With his boot, he gingerly rubbed a streak of charcoal on the deck. Aralim had cut away the worst of the fire damage to his staff, but the top portion was still sooty enough to leave marks. Grendar looked back at him. “Will you ever replace your staff?”
Aralim shrugged. “I’m not certain. This one was a gift. So I’m almost hoping that I can get Miresh to fix it with magic.”
Grendar hesitated. At last he said, “I’m sure even Grand Master Rattar would help—if it’s possible.”
“It’s probably not, I know… but…” Aralim trailed off. “I don’t know. I am sure you can relate to losing something of sentimental value. Besides, it seemed to work fine just now.”
Grendar chuckled. “That’s true. It will protect you just fine, I’m sure.”
They collected all the training supplies and armour. Aralim did what he could to help Grendar pack things away properly. On any ship, space was a concern. Then Grendar turned back to Aralim, and asked, “Do you know if you will be going on another ambassadorial venture after we report back?”
“Eventually, I would imagine,” Aralim replied. “But it will also be good to enjoy Rema for a while.”
“Indeed, sir. I would enjoy some time home.”
Aralim blinked and leaned to one side on his staff. “Does that mean you intend to accompany me when I leave again?”
“I assumed if you continued to serve as Ambassador, I would continue to command your guard,” Grendar replied, earnestly. “I don’t see any tactical reason to change something that works.”
“I am truly glad to hear that, Grendar,” Aralim replied with a smile. “You have all been through a lot with me. I wasn’t sure how you would feel about a second round.”
Grendar laughed again. “Some of us might need a longer rest than others.” He glanced at Lerela. “But this is my career, sir. No matter how many bandits try to kill you—it’s my duty. If it wasn’t you, it would just be something else that he values.”
Aralim nodded. “That’s a fair point. Well, if you will be coming next time, do you have any requests for a destination?” He could remember Carrak speaking with him months ago about his dreams of one day visiting Eastpoint, where the sea spread on three out of four sides.
Grendar only shrugged. “It doesn’t make any different to me.” He patted Aralim on the back and went in search of a wash bucket.