Chapter 16; The Hard Stumbles

Chapter 16;  Three Hard Stumbles

/The Training Arenas

/Kais

‘Oooomph.’ Hvit sighed. He stretched his thighs and pulled his arms towards his toes. Then, raising his body, he moved from left to right and right to left and so on.
He cringed as he began his sit-ups; a lovely exercise his friend Dek taught him. 

Hands behind his heads, knees bent as he raised his head to his knees, and back, and again, and back, like a pendulum. 

A threshing cramp ran across his right hamstring after finishing a lunging stretch, as he wailed in pain and fell to the ground.

They were out on the training grounds, surrounded by Crocodiles training everywhere. It was a large circular arena—but with no stands for viewers or anything of the sort—and every ten or so feet between the border was a door leading to another circular arena, each one of them being near identical to the other. 

At the sides were stands where helmets, armours and swords—all with Crocodilian Ren-Calls—were readily available for use in training and combat.

Around Hvit were men in strong, armoured breastplates with a beastly crocodile emblazoned on each of them, jaws wide open. He looked down at his own and found one himself. 

He put his hands on the dusty ground, and pieces of muck stuck under his fingernails only became larger in quantity as he raised himself by using his hands.

Dek laughed as he gave him a hand up.

Hvit limped across the arena and took a seat on a bench. Dek followed him—carrying a leather-skin of water.

‘Tough time at the grounds today, eh?’ Dek said.

Hvit smiled widely and nodded, taking a sip. ‘It’s always tought preparing for a war.’ 

‘Men like us would have our asses handed to us by the soldiers on Earth let me tell you that.’ Dek said, taking pride in his planet’s combat skill.

‘And how many more times are you going to tell me, huh M'ro? Until it’s permanently embedded in my memory?’ He said.

‘Guns, my friend,’ Dek said, ignoring his comment, ‘if  Theren let me go back, I’d learn how to make them and we’d be on top of these fekhin wars.’

‘Sure, but for the coming battle you think we have half the time you’d require to do that?’ Hvit asked, laughing.

‘Soldiers!’ A booming voice of depth screamed from across the arena. 

It was Isolde.

He stood with his hands behind his back, a dark green uniform worn across his chest, and he was frowning, looking right at Hvit with a dead serious stare.

He walked across the arena, not a flicker of an eye to look at the other seven spies of Theren’s who were present and training.

‘What is going on here, soldiers?’

‘Oh fekh off.’ Dek said, snarling at Isolde and mocking his seriousness.

‘We ain’t no soldiers, M'ro.’ Hvit said.

Isolde took a step back and sighed. 

‘This task was handed to me, and to me alone—to train all of you for the battle at the Bremingade—by both Theren and her father. Now that Lord Keran’s involved, you should have realised that things are not going to be the same. So pack your shit up and get the fekh back in.’

Hvit and Dek both stared with frowns at Isolde, slight disbelief at Isolde’s disregard for Hvit’s tiredness, and more importantly, disbelief at Isolde’s newer, sterner nature.

Hvit turned to Dek and said, ‘Looks like he’s finally become an adolescent girl.’ Hvit smiled, looking for approval.

‘We’d consider that joke fekhing disgusting in our culture back on Earth.’ Dek responded, shaking his head.

They got up and walked back towards the training arena, as Woura and Connor—the youngster—acknowledged them.

‘Oye, M'ro, what’re you two lads doing off in the corner?’ Woura laughed, while simultaneously doing lunges. Connor turned back around and continued sparring with his partner. He held a Mistac stance, and converted to Ora upon a further strike. The boy was skilled—in fact—with the sword in his hand, he flowed as smooth as a dancer

‘M'ro!’ Hvit called out.

Connor turned around and walked over to Hvit and asked him what it was he was calling him for.

‘You know your way around it eh?’ He said, pointing to Connor’s sword.

He was panting as he pointed his sword towards Hvit and said, ‘It’d cut you up in pieces if you got in the arena with’t.’

Hvit enlarged his eyes and grinned, ‘Well I don’t see why we don’t put it to a test.’ 

‘A test? Against you it’s simply going for a shit in a park.’

‘Boy,’ Hvit said, smirking, ‘you are new, and I think you need to learn a few new things before you talk, you dim witted little shit.’

‘You sure about that, M'ro? You’re a little snob from the poorest corner of Etathes,’ Connor laughed, looking around, ‘You ain’t gonna stand a chance.’ Hvit grinned back with no words.

On the side, the other spies, including Muriel—who’d come to see and converse with the spies, of course greatly upsetting Isolde—were standing by a side, watching, and grinning here and there.

Hvit kicked up a dusty sword lying by his side and caught it mid air. 

He raised his eyebrows at Connor.

‘MAKE WAY, LADS!’ Hvit shouted, ‘I’m about to stab this little shit to death!’
The crowd started gathering around them and—along with a few Crocs—the spies encircled the two fighters.

Connor wielded his sword and swung it about a few times—flashing his skill like a street-performer—getting into Mistac stance.

Hvit held Gemstance, trying to prove his dominance before the fight even began. Hvit was considerably taller, and so he was condescendingly staring down on the youngster.

‘PARRY!’ Dek shouted.

Their swords clashed.

A clash of swords. Then Hvit went in for the second strike, swinging from the left towards Connor’s torso—of course, not with full strength. An effortless parry for Connor, who took the blow to the hilt of his sword, and swung his own once more, striking straight down at Hvit’s head.

Hvit managed to dodge his sword by moving to the left. He struck at Connor’s heart, which was a simple move to the right for Connor to dodge. He then acrobatically jumped into the air, twisting horizontally and landing behind Hvit in less than a blink of an eye. He kicked Hvit behind his knee, bringing him down on one foot, and put his sword around his neck.

‘Not so surprising are ya, old man?’ Connor said, arrogantly smiling.

‘I yield,’ He said drudgingly, like a tired labourer. Connor walked away, satisfied.

 ‘I’m only twenty-four y’bastard!’ Hvit said.

Connor stopped in his track and turned around, ‘All the worse for you.’

Hvit shook his head, sighed and let a little laugh out.

Rob, Evan, Woura, Pires and Muriel all stared at Hvit, surprised at his defeat.

‘If you fight like this at The Bremingade, you’re going to lay beat like a chicken the night Pires forgot to eat food all day.’ Evan said to Hvit, whilst saddling his horse to leave the arena.

‘Oh yeah? If your mouth’s got it, d’your hands as well, M'ro?’

Hvit said, picking up his sword and flaring it about.

‘Of course! It’s the only reason why Theren ranks me above y’arse.’ Evan said.

The spies let out a discorded “oof” around the camp, as Evan’s stabbing insult deeply irritated Hvit.

‘Pick y’fekhin sword up.’ He said, flaring about.

‘Y’pick it up, don’t pick it up, either way the fight’s gonna be the same for me, M'ro.’ Evan responded. All the spies wooed, as Hvit was fully determined.

‘Oh we’ll see about that.’

A second clash of swords. Blows came in from the left, blows came in from the right. Hvit ducked a few times, parried other shots, and held an Ora stance; left leg in front with a bent knee, right leg completely straight—just behind. A bent right hand holding onto the sword, with a straight left.

Hvit once again brought his sword into Evan’s torso, which he moved to a side and blocked.

‘What? You a spy or a soldier on his minimum wage?’ Evan teased.

‘Gah!’ Hvit cried out, as he charged with his sword pointed forwards as if it were a rapier. His sword was an arrow that darted through the air—unswerving—right towards him, with no care at all that he was about to stab him.

He blew Hvit’s sword off his hands by simply parrying, using his momentum against him, and hit him in the head with the butt of his sword, sending a boulder of pain cracking into rocks across his skull, only luckily recoverable. 

He lost his balance and stumbled a few steps backwards, like a drunkard given a casket of wine to drink at his will, and finally fell with an everlasting thud onto the muddy, dusty ground—like hammer on stone: head first.

Everything was in a daze. Hvit tightly shut his eyelids and blinked; he could see Dek, Woura, Evan—with his blade at his neck—and all the other spies as well. Even Muriel was staring over him.

A muffled voice spoke to him as he saw Evan’s lips move about, vision still in a daze.

‘What?’ He asked, as everything became clearer.

‘I said how’s it feel, gettin’ y’arse kicked twice in a row, M'ro?’

All the spies shared a good laugh as Hvit wondered to himself how this bunch of idiots were the most successful group of spies in all of Loazer. They acted, talked, and trained like nothing more than fools, as if each of them were Krilin’s own mighty fool.

And so, for the third time during training, Hvit picked himself up, and Dek once again handed him a water-skin. 

Since when the fekh did all us spies get so arrogant? Me thinks I mighta lost it the last two years or so. Hvit thought.

‘Y’know, back in Etathes, men like these fools didn’t exist.’ Hvit said, making what was in his mind an astute observation.

Dek laughed along with Hvit, ‘Irritating as flies, behaviourally like dogs, but men we still love, for some fekhing reason.’

Hvit smiled and then frowned, ‘Except, of course, one.’

Dek blinked and nodded, ‘Shen. What about him.’

‘The guy’s an arse. He’s weird with his nauseating nuances—all of it. And what’s this I hear—case of the flu? Nah, I sense he’s in on something—’

‘WELL! Off I am, M’Ros. This may be the last time I see all of you. It truly can be called a pleasure to have met, known and commanded you all like my slaves. In that order.’  Muriel randomly said out of the blue, catching Hvit, Dek and all the other spies’ attentions. 

‘Fekhin Chronisc’s own eye. A pain comes as a pain goes.’ Evan proclaimed.

Dek sniggered as he and Hvit lounged around the camp, not really caring about Muriel’s departure. Sure, if they had the choice, they’d keep him around. But now that was not an option, and so it didn’t really bother either of them, it was more like trying to accept the fact that they won’t have him around any more at first, but then it just simply became the riddance of a constant pain, as soon as possible. 

Hardly had Hvit lazed around enough when Isolde call him back unto his feet.

‘Why are you behaving like a passive buffoon?’ Isolde screamed at him. Hvit rolled his eyes and said, ‘Fuck off, mate, you ain’t some kind of commander, M'ro, just a retard in an outfit.’

Isolde firmed his grip on the armrest of the bench on the side, where Hvit was sat, and slapped him thunderously across his face.

He stared down on him and forced him out simply with his stare. 

‘We’re most likely going to be fighting a battle at first dawn in a week’s time. We can’t afford to take it easy, Etathesian. So get your arse up and off the bloody bench!’

An hour passed by, as the spies, along with the Crocodiles, had all advanced into combative training. Each of the soldiers either held common stances, Mistac or Ora—of course—Connor mainly held Gemstance. All the men had a fair share of tiredness after they all got their turns to fight.

Hvit’s limbs were hurting in heaps, as he’d already taken three large, unmerciful beatings as if he was Krilin’s fool himself.

Night was coming to pass, as each man’s own wiola spotlight was slowly fading away and dimming down—still following them in their own paths of course—yet the training continued.

‘Me thinks the bloody man’s gone as far as avoiding it on purpose, M'ro!’ Rob discussed, with Hvit.

‘Fekh off. Shen might be incredibly insane, but unless Pires threatened to crush him under his thumb, he wouldn’t have left or betrayed us like y’claim.’ Hvit responded.

‘Oy, M'ro—without a bias eye, eh mate, just shut up and think about it for a minute. We’ve heard he disappears when the lot and Isolde visited Altheas, and he’s missed two straight meetings, and the third training in a row! It ain’t flu, M'ro.’ Rob insultingly said.

Hvit breathed; shocked that Rob and some others out of the ten incessantly believed that Shen was on a path of betraying Rean. It was as crazy as to believe that Shen betrayed Rean as believing Chronisc betrayed his kind and joined hands with Krilin!

‘Listen, and listen carefully before you say anymore, M'ro,’ Hvit said, catching a few others’ attentions as well, namely Pires—who look distressed upon hearing this conversation. Apparently he’d seen Shen do something horrible to Izaak; the vicer who was still their prisoner but at this point really just useless, ‘If there was anyone of us—one of our own—who’s proven their loyalty to Theren more than the rest, I’d put all my fekhin Pennicles on betting that one man to be Shen. Have you all forgotten the time he singlehandedly saved Theren’s life while dismantling the Yorman group—the only group that came close to destroying our very own organisation? Have you all forgotten even the time when he spotted the intruder spy who was about to join our group, but was just some crazy demented leftover of Arlonar? The time when he saved Rean from being discovered by Lord Aldin Kora and his group of spies in Werro?’ At this point of time, Hvit had managed to shut every single spy up as if every man at the local fish market had been butchered along with the fish to complete silence.

‘A man that has silently served us, proven his loyalty, and continues to do so, is being penalised by us in times of sickness and bad health? Have you all ever thought of it as such?’ Even Isolde listened carefully, with his arms folded. 

‘We should be ashamed to even think about accusing one of our own. One who has been with us right from the start, and one who will be there with us right until we all rot.’ He said.

All eyes were still on him, and none of them expected him to finish just yet.

‘So I want you all to take a good look at what the hell you all are thinking the next time one of our own is accused like that.’

Hvit conclusively said, as he nervously tucked his long, baggy over-shirt back underneath his leather pants. 

A clap suddenly sounded from somewhere.

Another, out of somewhere else.

Slowly, a collective clapping began, as all the spies raised their hands in appreciation like the finishing of a night of good theatre. Hvit felt relieved, but didn’t understand why he felt nervous after he finished his speech in the first place. He truly did believe—no—he knew that Shen was and always will be loyal to Theren, until the end of his working days.

***