Chapter 37: Spar (Patreon)

The training room was a windowless, white-walled box with a woven mat covering the floor. Glowstones were set into the ceiling to provide light, and there was a pervasive smell of sweat and lemon. Four tall canvas bags hung on stands against the back wall, clearly much abused, and a rack of wooden weapons stood by the door.

Elliot had been growing steadily more confused as Hadrian led him treeward down the Westbranch, until finally they had reached a nondescript building carved into the trunk of Mother Yarba. After tossing a few clips to the bored man up front Hadrian received a key to the white room, and the goal became clear.

“Experiment,” the hunter said, leaning against the wall. “See what it feels like to wield.”

Was there anything he had to do, or would it activate on its own? Elliot tightened his grip on the wood, feeling the smooth outline of the carvings, and tried a slow swing toward the middle of the closest hanging bag. It landed with a thwap, and he felt the spring of energy release. There was a faint sense of recoil, almost imperceptible, and he heard a soft hiss.

Peering at the target, he grinned. There was now a small, thin hole where he’d struck, exactly like he’d followed up with a knife. As he watched, the cut canvas began to knit itself back together, and within half a minute it was as whole as it started. That must be the benefit of a dedicated training facility.

Elliot squared his feet and struck again, this time trying to imagine the force effect as a blunt hammer. There was the same tiny delay, but then he heard a second, louder thump. The bag jerked back, and this time there was no hole.

“Wow,” he whispered. Crouching down, he fished out a small notepad with a charcoal pencil stuffed in the binding from his pocket and began to jot down notes. Mental control of force type fairly easy by instinct, rec practicing to make it feel more natural, test recharge timing.

“Write later,” Hadrian said. “Try [Golden Touch], but take great care to not fully invest the energy. It will be clear what I mean when you begin.”

“Right,” Elliot replied, slipping the pad back into his pocket and standing. He held the weapon clasped firmly in both hands, then activated his skill for the first time. There was an instant sense of connection, and for a single beat the wood twitched in time with his heart, then a strand of energy spun away from his core and spooled gently around the wood, carrying a faint current of power.

Exactly as Hadrian had said, the progression was obvious. Elliot was fairly confident it would take half a minute to complete, and at second twenty-five he gave the string a mental tug, dislodging it.

Hadrian nodded. “Again.”

The staff felt warmer now, like it was lit from within by a core of embers. He swung. This time the force blade erupted in a flash of gold, leaving a more sizable rent in the canvas. 

“Whoa,” Elliot said, eyes widening, “that felt like more than a ten percent improvement.” Already he could feel the energy fading from the staff, its endowment incomplete due to his interference with the skill.

“Mmm,” Hadrian replied. “You instilled nearly the full reservoir’s worth of energy, and you hold its bond. My wager would be a forty percent improvement.”

“The bond makes it stronger?”

“Yes. Were you to use the permanent enhancement and then break the bond, the effect would fade, but as long as the connection remains intact you can expect significantly greater efficacy when using your skill.”

Hadrian stepped forward and touched the center of the bag. “Try a straight thrust. Blunt the force, but only slightly.”

Elliot complied, first activating [Golden Touch] again for nearly the full thirty seconds and then lancing his weapon forward, trying to ride the line between sharp and dull in his imagination. The initial strike left a divot, then the golden projection hit the bag with enough force to make it jump an inch backwards. “I think that worked. It was weird, trying to go in between.” He had to resist the urge to pull out his notebook again.

“You will need to become familiar with the full range of force and sharpness, and the trade-off between the two. Blows such as that, attempting to find middle ground, will help you understand the gradient.”

“I think this is going to be a lot of fun,” Elliot said, smiling as he spun the staff with both hands.

“Perhaps.” Hadrian’s expression was impassive. “Why do you imagine that Breka was so amenable to you moving forward?”

“Because she gets to test out if her ideas really work?”

“In part.” Hadrian held up an arm, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a bandage. “I encountered a husk this afternoon.”

“Are you okay?” Elliot said, eyes widening. “What’s a husk?”

The hunter snorted. “I will endure. Husks are a particularly devastating tool of the Talessi—a repurposing of their captured enemies. Sightings are rare outside of active warzones. Their creation is energy-intensive, and their numbers limited.”

Elliot’s stomach dropped. “And you found them here?”

“I have found multiple, yes.” Hadrian stared at Elliot expectantly.

“Breka was comfortable with me moving forward…because things are about to get worse?”

“Matters do appear to be accelerating, yes. It is an opportune time for you to have at least basic combat proficiency. Both Breka and I will be increasingly occupied in the near future. So, perhaps you will have fun. But, I assure you, not during our spars.” He strode to the weapons rack, pulling out a wooden staff and sword. “Ready yourself.”

The next hour was a familiar slog. Elliot lacked even a fundamental understanding of weapons-based combat, a deficiency that had already earned him an impressive array of bruises by the end of the first ten minutes of sparring. They focused on simple patterns, although Hadrian’s skin would occasionally burn with white flame, allowing Elliot to practice his force strike.

It was a stark reminder of how far he stood from the real fighters of the world. Hadrian seemed competent—surely above average—but the man couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than him, if that. Being handled like a child during their spars was always sobering.

When they finished the hunter left quickly, with no discussion of the future other than an order to clean up. Elliot obeyed, his muscles screaming as he slowly replaced the wooden weapons. Pain aside, it would be lying to say he was anything but thrilled. He was going to have ‘basic combat proficiency’.

As he stepped out of the training room, Elliot saw another visitor standing at the front desk, and he had to suppress a yelp of surprise. “Hrolf!”

The steppelander, still draped in furs and with the hilt of a greatsword stretching over his shoulder, turned and raised a hand. “Elliot. Hello.”

“It’s great to see you, but what are you doing here so late at night?”

The man sighed, running a hand through his thick black beard. “Question is good.”

“Oh, Elliot, lovely,” a voice came from behind. He turned, seeing Olivia’s bald head pop out from another training area. “Give me just a moment, I’m cleaning up a bit of a mess.” She vanished back into the room.

The front desk attendant, an overwhelmed-looking young man, said, “Sir, I’m sorry to be insistent, but your fee did not cover significant structural damage.”

Hrolf turned back to the receptionist. “Is not clear, yes? Where laws?” He tilted his head slightly, and spoke slower. “Rules. Where are rules?”

“Sir,” the youth replied weakly, “it is generally understood that you can’t destroy the building. Most people are clear on that point.”

Hrolf shrugged. “Is training hall, yes? Is training. Not clear.” He reached into a pouch at his waist and brought out a few clips, waggling them in the young man’s face. “Can talk trade, yes?”

“Just a moment young man,” Olivia said, her face poking around the corner again. “I’ll be over shortly, we’ll make things right.” She turned and looked at Elliot with an expression of forced cheer. “We should speak of your travels, Elliot. Yehi is meeting us at the Overlook tomorrow afternoon, do you know it?”

“No,” he replied slowly, trying to avoid eye contact with the receptionist. “But I’d love to come say hi if that’s alright.”

“Oh of course,” she replied, smiling. “It’s on Southbranch. If you head that way around midday, you’ll find us there.”

“That sounds great.” He’d try to get there early. Clocks had proven remarkably rare here, and midday could mean different things to different people. “Good luck with…this.” 

“Oh, we’ll be just fine,” she said firmly, turning to the clerk. “Now, sir, if third-circle abilities are not allowed on the premises, I do think it’s reasonable for that information to be clearly posted. That being said, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

“I’ll see you then,” Elliot said, already shuffling stiffly for the door. No need to get caught up in more administrative problems when he’d only been here a few days. Hadrian would never let him hear the end of it.

***

The next morning he was up well before the sun. His routine now included staff work, and not just sparring. Elliot was expected to run with the staff in hand, climb with it, and find ways to secure it to his person while swimming if the rope he'd been using to tie it to his back was taken away.

Then, after spatial pocket manipulation, Barter, and Tome of Eyes time, Breka handed him a small wooden box with a red flower painted on the lid.

“What’s this?” he asked, closing the Tome and shaking his head to clear out all the information about fresh water fish he’d been processing.

“It’s enchanted. Try to tell me what it does, but don’t use your appraisal.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow, then ran his fingers over the grain of the wood, targeting it with [Golden Touch] as if he was about to use the skill. There was a hint of fire, but tightly contained. Maybe a lighter? No, maybe not. Resisting the urge to use [Detailed Appraisal], he activated the enhancement skill and began to channel energy, trying to convert the vague impressions he was receiving into comprehensible information. “Oh! It’s a heater. You put things into it and it warms them up.”

“Very good,” Breka replied, nodding approvingly. “Take it with you today, and practice investing it with [Golden Touch]. Focus on speed over strength. How fast you can invest the energy will do more to change the archetype of the ability than increasing the power output itself.” She fished around in a pocket of her cloak, pulling out what looked like a small, stylized metal frog. “Take this as well, identify what it does without appraisal, and then mix it into your practice. This will become a regular part of your training. You’ll grow faster if you work with a large variety of enchantments.”

“Gotcha,” Elliot said, mind already racing with possibilities. [Golden Touch]—and his staff—felt like the first real steps he’d taken toward his goal. Some part of him could accept the fact that spending hours wiggling the boundary of his spatial pocket now would hopefully lead to access to powerful spatial abilities down the road, and that growing his appraisal skill could have future combat applications, but it was hard to really feel that. And if things were about to get worse, then he needed something practical.

“Breka”, Elliot said, suddenly distracted by thoughts of husks, “are you worried about what’s going to happen next?”

“Worried? Don’t be silly, boy. I’ve killed enough Talessi to fill an imperial cemetery. It’s a hundred years too late to catch me worried.”

Elliot frowned. Something about Hadrian’s injury had gotten to him. “You’d tell me if you were though? You wouldn’t keep it from me to make me feel better?”

Breka eyed him steadily for a moment. “There’s no need for you to worry. This will all be handled well above your head.” She paused, and continued more deliberately. “I have been…surprised at the overtness we’ve seen recently.  To the point that I’m slightly concerned we’re missing something. But I’ll figure it out soon enough.”

It wasn't the most reassuring thing he’d ever heard, but he appreciated the honesty. “Fair enough. Let me know if I can be useful.”

Breka rubbed at her chin. “You know, I do have a few old travel cloaks that need darning and re-oiling.”

“I’ll see you later!” Elliot called, already halfway to the door.

***

“I’m glad to see you both not under arrest,” Elliot said, sipping from a small mug of tea that tasted vaguely like rooibos.

“What?” Yehi replied, her face falling. “Why would you be under this threat, my friends?”

“Oh he jests, Yehi, think nothing of it,” Olivia replied quickly, “Isn’t the view amazing Elliot? So lovely.”

Hrolf just raised a hand in a pseudo-shrug, as if such things were beyond him, and took a bite from the thick slab of steak on his platter.

They were sitting at a small table in the far corner of the Overlook’s outdoor dining area. As promised by the name, it was built both on and over the edge of the Southbranch, with the large deck they occupied pointing out toward the mist-covered falls to the east. There were no walls or ceiling, and all that separated them from the several thousand foot drop to the river below was a small wooden railing. The boats he could see were far enough down to look like toys, skittering across the surface of the shining blue water.  Elliot had decided that people here were too comfortable with heights.

“Oh, it’s incredible. I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything remotely like this in my entire life.” He pulled out the pad he’d been using for sketching and glanced over at the falls, beginning a faint outline. “What's that tree, up on top of the waterfall, with the buildings around the base?” He’d seen it in the distance, small only compared to Mother Yarba, but this was the first time he’d noted what looked like structures attached to it.

Olivia turned to follow his gaze. “Cascade Point. It’s the local Greenguard outpost.” She frowned, and shook her head. “Bad business, that.”

“What’s bad business?”

“There was an attack of some kind two nights ago. The details aren’t public, but it sounded…unfortunate. The rumors have it as everything from Silverfur shamans to Talessi husks.”

Elliot’s pencil slipped, smudging the sketch. He kept his eyes on the falls, trying to look nonchalant. “What are those?”

“Bad, and worse,” Hrolf replied.

“Yes,” Olivia said, sighing, “that’s true enough. The Silverfur are an elite tribe of eketi who occasionally cut this far south. It’s not very plausible. The Greenguard exist mostly to keep them in check, and they do much of their skirmishing hundreds of miles to the north. But then again, husks are even less plausible.”

“The Talessi set their gaze as they are paid to,” Yehi said, looking down into her own mug. “And all the better for them if it is against the Broken March. I worry it is more likely than you think.”

“I don’t disagree that they would gladly come to make trouble if hired, but to bring husks?” Olivia replied. “They’re war machines. Both Rhodea and the March would see a few Talessi infiltrators as the cost of doing business, but husks would force them to respond in kind.”

Yehi took a sip of her tea, looking pensive.

“What makes them so scary?” Elliot asked. Hadrian had given him a bare-bones explanation, but he wanted details.

“The Talessi have access to a poison which seems to defy the laws of modern alchemy,” Olivia said, simultaneously flagging down a waiter to refill her drink. “It cannot be healed, and there is no antidote. Once ingested, it erases the self and converts the core into a powerful reservoir of physical potential. The husks that remain are nearly mindless, but can burn their own lifeforce for strength and durability. When operating at standard levels, that already makes them dangerous. But when cornered, or trying to accomplish an important objective, they can burn up their entire core to generate a surge of immense, temporary power.”

“You sound as if you’ve seen the fell things yourself,” Yehi said.

“Only once. When my temple was called south to help put down a contested warren. It was a bloody day.”

Hrolf raised his empty tankard at the waiter. “Bad enemies.”

“Well,” Yehi said, her smile looking slightly forced. “Let us hope you are not fated to see them again. Elliot, you must tell us more of your journey. Was your first sight of Tular not magnificent?”

“It was literally breathtaking. My journey…” he trailed off, thinking of the attack. Get a grip, Elliot. “My journey was nice. Lots of work to do, but I met a very interesting book merchant.”

He smiled, thinking of how to explain Grik. There would be time enough for worry later.