Al held the scabbard out in front of him, the one his father had given, broken, beaten, and nicked, but still workable. The warrior boy wrapped each finger around the handle, shakily drawing the wounded steel from its sheath with a long and drawn out sigh. Al’s dueling partner, eyed the pitted, scarred steel with a pondering gaze, his eyebrows raising, yet he paid no mind, gesturing with his nose and a single boney finger as the two adversaries turned and sauntered through the brush, a weapon in each of their hands. Warrior, old and young alike, headed south, away from their camp to a neighboring one, more open than the last, and just as trampled with a large patch of dirt, sand, and dead grass sitting wide and bulbous in the middle, skirted by lush armies of prickly green. After they were a ways off, a stones throw, a distance away, the older man flourished his cape onto an idle low hanging branch, just beckoning for attention. Before he placed a well-practiced hand on the hilt of a short-blade, one of the numerous that were hidden under his shaded cloak, while the other held firm to his cane without wavering.
Argjend stood still, like a fully formed, complete predator, his hip at an angle, pressing sheer weight into the earth, balancing on one good leg. Al fixed the older man with a calm, collected, steeled gaze, matching the conviction of the metal which composed his notched and burdened blade. Al brought the steel up, drawing the sword vertically in front of him, more like a shield than a weapon. The boy had only just met the old man but honestly, he had already started to find himself liking Argjend, sort of, in a weird way, he was straightforward, to the point, clearly spoken, a lot like how Albatross remembered his late father.
Yet still, Argjend did not budge at the boy’s defensive posture, or wavering gaze, “I gotta warn ya lad, see, I can tell you’ve seen a lot of battle” Argjend grunted out a laugh under his breath, “or atleast lost quite a bit, by the numbering of them scars, but I don’t fight like any sword fighters out there” the man paused “after all, I used to be a Warden’s Ranger.”
Al didn’t really know what that meant exactly, of course he had heard of the elite espionage group, the cult of shadows they called them. Warriors as silent as the grave, proficient in most weapons, and the art of being unseen. Sneaking in mass, a group of shades so dark, they could fell a kingdom with only a handful. Al had heard of their schools from wandering merchants, places where one could learn to worship the movement of the earth, but those were only stories. Stories that the kingdom of man would tell to instill fear into its numerous enemies. Al raised his blade higher, peering across its length, as the steel matched his frame, a wall now more than a buckler.
“Well” the boy started “the things I’ve battled, were never swordsmen in the first place.” He said as Argj gave him an “aye I suppose, regardless, why don’t you advance boy, I have a bad leg you see” the man snickered lightly, which didn’t give Al any sort of confidence, not that he had any to begin with.
Albatross approached, legs moving sideways but with conviction, falling one over the other, walking towards the older man, pulling, and pushing himself into the opposition's circle. The rustling of whispering trees brushed sun across his glinting blade, Al’s knuckles tightened with a small sound, as he brought the blade up in one swift arcing motion. Steel rang as it came around and in, before the young warrior pivoted his left knee, twisting wrists to bring the blade back around in a different arc. Sword tip poised at the older man, shimmering but deliberate. Al didn’t even see it, a flash, the second short blade practically appeared in Argj’s hand, identical to the one held in his other hand, which was now missing. It flew in a backhand grip, with the tip of Al’s edge sliding harmlessly and elegantly across its smoothed and mirrored surface. The older man held the shard loosely, barely twisting his body, as Al’s weapon struck hardened steel, feeling more like it contacted water than stone or anything of the like. The boy attempted to correct, bringing the blade back up, hastily trying to deflect a head severing chop that never came. Opponents dueling, the two witnessed each other in the stark pale illumination. Al jumped back, a clipping searing pain stabbing into his right leg, weight falling out of place. The man in front twisted then returned to a statuesque position, Al looked down reeling, as a black sheet of darkness retracted from his leg, shooting back into the shadows, as the boy fell back, just barely catching himself on one good leg, while the other throbbed, welted with agony. A flashing sliver swung at the boy’s body, clanging against his reversed blocking edge, as Al slid back in the dirt, boots skating through the dust.
The ghost of darkness advanced once, walking on three prongs of shadow, moving, forwards for the first time since their battle began, only moving one space, conceding a turn, as the shine of a second blade rang out from overhead. Sun burst forth against the polished razor, blinding Al, illuminating the clearing with strands of rainbow web. Seconds later, the midnight cane stood on its own, and two ice cold wedges bit lightly into Al’s neck, the boy faltered from his now reclined position in the dried red dirt. Argjend stood overhead, pulling the snapping wolves back, he straightened and righted himself in one final motion, blackened leather crinkling slightly as the shadow slunk back, moving, gliding to his still standing cane. As he sheathed the barking blades in a solitary and stone-cold abyss.
“Not bad, but not good either” the older man sighed “well, at least we have something to work with, a stray puppy, but at least its got teeth” Argjend chuckled, twirling his shoulder cape back around before clasping it with a single click.
The shade stood, back facing the boy, who lay in the clay and filth, flung to the earth along with his blade as the two sat idly upon the ground. Al laid stunned, bottom in the sand, hands groveling in pity, one would think he was still dazed or blinded by the spectacle that had just unfolded, whatever spectacle that actually was, for he had not glimpsed a second of it. Argjend walked forwards, as if on cue, he did not turn, instead the shade slipped into the shadows, disappearing completely. Al coughed, still splayed out he blinked the dust and sweat from his eyes, looking around, the world came back into focus, and the boy planted the bottoms of his feet, lifting his body up like a puppet on wounded strings. His knees creaked, his lungs grunted deeply, bending with no lack of effort, Al managed to scoop up his discarded blade, and immediately went about finding its holster. Once all effects and their owners were accounted for, the blade was cinched around the warrior’s waist, as he ran shaky fingers through once clean hair. That sorta seemed like magic Al thought to himself as he walked the sidelong way back in the direction of camp. Not any sort of flashy or colorful magic, like what the witch… Galena could do, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t learn real magic in the first place. Whatever Argjend could do, was probably going to be his best bet Al thought. Especially if the legends about the Warden’s Rangers were true, or at least somewhat true, maybe then he could get the power he sought. The ability he desired, although in a different and more difficult, if not practical form. Al stroked his chin casting eyes to the heavens as he broke the line and re-entered their little homely clearing, which he was now slightly different.
Parting the veil, the witch sat upon a stump, taking up little space along the far side of the clearing. Perched upon a neatly cut stump, topped with an ornate and rather frilly cushion, appearing more like a royal stool than anything else. Galena clicked her long purple perfect nails along the leather of some jewel bound tome or book, flipping through yellowed pages with a slicked finger, and a raised eyebrow. She hummed, studying what Al presumed to be words, while the shorter lass, Every, rummaged idly by, sifting through an opened bag. The blonde pulled out an assorted manner of dried and stale food goods, shoving them into her cheeks like some branch dwelling wild animal. Sonne was nowhere to be seen, probably out killing or bathing something Al thought, and of course Argjend had not returned from his shadowy adventure.
“T-that sounded crazzzzzyy” came muffled words through large, chewed bits, as the smaller more animated girl, practically fell into a vacuous leather backpack the size of a person. “Actually, very one sided to be honest” Galena said, with an almost mocking tone, as she crossed her elegant legs, pushing new thin, spindly glasses up her perfectly upturned nose.
Purple piercing eyes laid downcast, searching the opened tome, studying, canvasing the pages with intense interest, while conveying no superfluous emotions. “Awe really?” Every said after some delay, the plush girl pulled back to sit in the dirt, plopping down, with full cheeks, and a singular apple in hand. “Please, oh please child, can you not bring yourself to stoop amongst the filth… it is…” Galena flipped a page with another licked finger “unbecoming.”
Every crossed her arms with a subtle huff, pressing her chest up against her chin, as the girl popped up to sit on a short stump next to a spread canvas triangle. “So young man… do you have any, uhm, useful or perhaps applicable skills, besides, well, besides whatever you’d call that display of swordsmanship?” Al walked over to the still smoldering pile of ash at the center of the humble encampment, situated directly under the meaty green height of leaves that jutted out from the thick wide oak to the west.
Albatross sat upon a felled log primarily used for seating, letting the woman’s words hang but for a second. “Well, uh” Al coughed to clear his chalked throat “uhm besides, soldiers, or fighters, which everyone was required to be, well mostly everyone… Uh me and my family… well I was still learning, but regardless.” His broken words were interrupted momentarily “the point boy” Galena stabbed, “oh right” Al responded, looking down, fingering the pommel of his dented blade “I was learning from my sister, learning how to be a herbalist, which plants to pick, which to stay away from, how certain flowers and sticks could be used in potions, medicines, salves, things… of that nature.”
He trailed off muttering to himself, as Galena raised her brow slightly before flipping another licked page with older eyes. “Interesting” another page flip “very interesting, was she a good herbalist? Your sister that is.” Galena asked.
“She is, was very good, studied all the books when she was sick at home, back when she was younger” he said again, “Avva had recently started to teach me” Galena paused at his words, eyes flittering up to fix his unknowing form.
“Well, I am sorry, perhaps we CAN use you, if not as a bodyguard, then maybe an errand boy” she stopped with a gaze, and Al clamped his mouth, the words were cold, but he was fine, a sound beating heart, not even the soreness touched him anymore. They had decided to allow him to travel alongside their party, and that was all he could ask for at this moment. Plus, the young man was still a little in awe at the display the older warrior had shown him.
Minutes of silence passed, and eventually the older witch begrudgingly passed him a book on advanced botany, lucky he could read, another oddity his sister had pased to him, although he couldn’t read very fast. The two, and sometimes third, (as Every was off doing her own thing, never ceasing to move for very long) all sat in the warm waning light, a couple of long drawn hours went by, until the chill of the evening gradually began its approach, darkened fingered caressing the dewy sky.
Comments (0)
See all