Cor awoke to Rael shaking him by the shoulder, his head resting on his crossed arms on the table in the study. Last he remembered, he laid his head down as he organized his thoughts, thinking over the scroll he had read. The history did not make sense to him in some ways, and he, like the Westerners of history, did not understand the disinterest of the Dahken at fighting the Loszians.
“Why did you sleep in here boy?” Rael asked with annoyance.
“I didn’t think I could sleep. I wanted to read the scroll you wrote for me. I just fell asleep here thinking,” explained Cor. “You did write it, didn’t you?”
“I did. I copied it from an ancient Rumedian text, which of course you cannot read. I am also reluctant to allow you to handle many of these tomes, at least until you learn respect for them. In the future, take care not to fall asleep in here again. In your repose, you easily could have knocked over your candles,” he motioned at the large stacks of melted wax surrounding his candelabra. “Come eat.”
Cor mumbled an apology as he followed Rael to the larder where they ate a breakfast of eggs and pork, and a thought occurred to Cor. “Where does this food come from?” he asked.
“Some of the fruit grows wildly around the castle, but most of it I purchase from a farmer,” explained Rael. “The road that leaves Sanctum leads to a fishing and port town a few miles to the north. About halfway there lives a rather prosperous farmer. I pay him well for provisions.”
“Does he know you live here?” Cor asked.
“I am sure he suspects, but I do not think he overly cares. He is a good man, and as I said, I pay him well.”
Cor thought this over for a moment before asking, “Where do you get money from?”
“Cor, you ask too many questions,” Rael said with a piercing gaze Cor readily recognized. Rael quickly stood from the table. “Finish your breakfast, then come outside. We have much to do.”
Rael always started his day with several hours of practice with his weapons. Though for a hardened warrior it seemed unnecessary, he explained that a man’s muscles may forget the actions if not constantly reminded. He would routinely break at least an hour before midday to handle some basic chores, during which time Cor would study whatever texts he had laid out. Cor began to learn Rumedian, the ancient language of the gods and the Chronicler.
Rael also said that it was important that Cor knew how to care for weapons and armor, as poorly maintained equipment could well mean a warrior’s death. Aboard Naran’s ship, this task was handled by the Quartermaster, or delegated to those who already had the skills. They removed the rust from Cor’s sword, and Rael showed him how to restore and maintain the edge. He taught Cor to keep it well oiled and free from rust.
Roughly once every two weeks, Rael would leave to see the farmer for food and other supplies. The Dahken would not allow Cor to come with him, saying they knew not who else would be looking for the boy. The trip rarely took more than two or three hours; Rael headed north up the road, his horse pulling an old rickety wagon. The horse’s discomfort and injury to his pride were quite apparent; he clearly preferred travel or even combat to such menial labor. Rael endeavored to leave enough academic exercises or household chores to keep Cor busy.
This did not prevent Cor from occasionally exploring more of the castle. He knew Rael wouldn’t approve, but his curiosity was unquenchable. He kept his outings short so as not to alert Rael’s suspicions, and he found several more rooms, most of which in perfectly usable condition. More than once, Cor stopped at the stone stair leading down; it was dark and foreboding, but it called to him when he neared it. Once, he edged down the first few steps, only to slip and lose his footing in centuries of dust, nearly falling down the steps into the darkness. Cor scampered back to the top, returning to his studies immediately.
Fall returned, dispelling the extreme heat of late summer, which allowed Rael to focus more of their time outdoors. He was satisfied with Cor’s ability to wield his sword, striking in certain ways cleanly and with strength when told, and Rael felt it was time to move forward. On a particularly cool autumn morning, Cor joined Rael outside a bit earlier than normal. The sun had only just passed the horizon, casting long shadows from the decaying walls. The air was crisp, and Cor’s breath came in white puffs.
“It is time,” Rael began, “for you to learn how to fight as a Dahken does. It will not come quickly; you will have to focus your mind as well as your body. You have learned how to strike, and your arm is strong, but Dahken do not fence like a noble or strike from darkness like an assassin. Those warriors are afraid of the sight of their own blood. You must let your blood be drawn; a Dahken is most dangerous when he is half dead. Certainly, we wear armor, but that is only to prevent our foes from delivering a killing blow. Most warriors wear armor to avoid injury; they parry and move so their enemies swords do not touch their flesh. You must wade directly into battle.
“Do you understand?” Rael asked.
“I think so.” Cor told Rael the story of how he killed a man only a few months ago. It almost seemed like it was another lifetime.
“If what say is true, then you have already started to unlock your strength, and that is amazing. Cor,” Rael said slowly, “you must trust me and do as I say. I will not allow you to be truly harmed, nor will I allow you to harm me. Do you understand?” The boy nodded hesitantly.
Rael picked up a small, battered wooden shield and strapped it to his left forearm. “Strike me.”
“What?” Cor asked, completely bewildered.
“Run me through, as hard as you dare!” Cor delivered a weak thrust with his longsword that Rael easily batted away with the shield. “Is that your best? You killed no Tigolean with that attack.”
Cor thrust again, and again Rael blocked the blade with his shield. But this time, the point of the sword imbedded slightly into the wood and skidded off the shield’s edge, leaving a deep scratch. Before Cor realized what was happening, Rael lashed out at Cor’s leg with his own steel, opening a small wound on the front of his thigh. Shocked, Cor nearly dropped his weapon and simply stared at the cut on his leg; it was not deep, but it bled freely. He remembered the feel of the dagger piercing his shoulder.
“Cor, the wound is nothing compared to what your foes would deal you,” Rael said, eliciting no response. He stepped forward and slapped Cor across his left cheek. “Focus Cor. See the blood, feel the pain. Immerse yourself in it and control it. Center yourself in the pain and attack me!”
Cor did as he was told, but as an automaton; it was as if he watched the entire scene from above, as if he had no actual control his actions. He slashed with his sword from the side, again impacting Rael’s shield, and this time splinters flew from the solid impact. Rael slashed again, putting another fine wound across Cor’s arm near the shoulder. The sudden pain of the strike pulled Cor’s consciousness back with extreme clarity. He felt blood soaking his shirt and trickling down his arm. The wounds burned with a peculiar searing sensation, and Cor suddenly felt as if his body were covered with ants.
He attacked again with no command from Rael; this time the thrust forward, the blade’s flat parallel to the ground. Rael blocked with his shield, taking the sword’s point directly in the middle of the wooden disc. Cor felt the collision, for a moment frozen in time, before the shield gave way under his attack. Rael grunted painfully. Cor stared, realizing that he had imbedded the sword, transfixed it in the center of the shield, and he could see blood dripping from the bottom of the shield, slowly at first, and then freely flowing.
“Boy,” Rael said, his eyes wide, “please pull your sword free.”
Cor gently pulled at the hilt, but then realized it needed a solid yank to free the blade from the shield, causing a Rael to grimace. Cor looked at the sword’s point in wonder; it had pierced completely through the three inch wood shield and was coated in blood. Rael busied himself with releasing the straps that held his arm to the shield, and when it fell to t
he ground, Cor could see the man’s hand and wrist awash with his blood. The sword’s point had gone cleanly through the shield and Rael’s wrist.
“Cor, you have spilled my blood; know it. Do you still feel the pain of your own wounds?” Rael asked him. In his wonder, Cor had forgotten the shallow cuts on his arm and thigh, and it was then he realized they were gone, just like when the Tigolean stabbed him in the shoulder.
“I don’t understand,” Cor said.
“Let me bandage this. Then we will go inside, and I will explain it to you.”