“Rigel!” the older man, who was the chief of the caravan guards, called, loud enough to be heard over everyone setting up camp in front of the stopped wagons.
Tibs stopped hammering the stake in the hard earth and look in the speaker’s direction. They’d only stopped, one day out of Arteron, and Tibs had no idea what to expect from such a call to the caravan master.
The reply came from among the wagons. “Yes, Gray?” The man would be speaking with the merchants. Tibs had noticed the man had an ease with smiles and spoke with anyone. He thought he made out amusement in the tone, but didn’t understand why.
“I’m taking the newbies and the same numbers of veterans. Summoron is in charge until we’re done.”
The sigh carried over the distance. “Very well. I’ll do my best not to pester us. I’m sure I can hold it in for after you’re done putting them to the test.”
Tibs exchanged a look with the closest three, also setting up their tents. Four more had joined the caravan at Arteron, and they’d been clustered together by the veterans. They, too, had paused to listen. He was the youngest, at least by appearance, but they were just as confused.
Why hadn’t they been tested before they were hired? Every other caravan Tibs had served on had demanded an exchange of blows to show he knew enough to hold his own when required.
“You heard me,” Graiden called. “Newbies, grab your sword and come to me.”
Tibs unhooked the scabbard from the pack he’d dropped next to his tent and attached it to his belt as he walked.
The chief of the guard was called Graiden, but everyone who’d addressed him when Tibs could hear called him Gray. He was solidly built, with hair and beard even part gray and bck. His face and exposed arms had the scars of many battles. With him were eight of the veterans, plus his right-hand woman, Summoron.
She was taller than Gray, and also muscur. Her skin was so dark, it could be the bck of Darkness, and made her blue eyes so vibrant in contrast Tibs had sensed for Water when he’d first seen her. She had no elements.
The older man looked them over, not looking impressed. Tibs hadn’t seen him impressed by anyone throughout the day of travels, but he hadn’t compined either. It seemed to be his natural expression.
“Follow me.” He turned, and they followed. When the eight veterans fell into steps behind them, blocking any easy retreat, Tibs focused ahead, extending his sense. He’d pulled it in as soon as the day had been called. He already knew there was no one among the caravan with an element, and so many people made it useless to sense all of them. A few steps around him were enough warning to react to anyone attempting an attack.
There was no one, so he rexed. If this turned ugly, he’d be able to hold his own. Being only a day out of the city at caravan speed, Tibs could be back there faster, even without using essence.
Graiden came to a stop and turned to face them. “Alright. Each and everyone of you cimed to know how to fight. Some were abyss brazen about it, too. Now you get to show how much of that was lies. I’m putting each of you up against one of the veterans. You want to impress me? You better be able to disarm the one you’re up against. Leyimen, Step forward.”
The man next to Tibs took three steps and drew his sword. The bde was thick; heavy looking. Designs of animal heads, jaws open, were etched along the ft of the bde, and the guard had been shaped into long fangs bending toward the pommel. The metal was natural, but its essence had been altered in the process of being worked by the bcksmith.
Working material didn’t cause the same kind of change in the essence as etching or weaving. There was a flow to how it had been realigned, a ck of need for Arcanus or will to hold the essence in that form. Over the years of sensing bdes, reading and speaking to experts about them, he’d learned to get a sense for the quality of the weapon by how the essence was ‘folded’ within it.
This was a quality sword, and Leyimen had the muscles to wield it.
The woman who took position before him was a head shorter, but matched him in muscles. Her sword was thinner, unadorned, but also of good quality.
“Listen well, because I’m not saying this twice. Whoever disarms the other wins, and it stops. You cut your opponent, and you’re walking back to Arteron. Yes, Loren. That applies to you, too. If you haven’t learned to keep your temper under control, I’m not keeping you around.”
“Don’t worry, Gray. I won’t cut any of them.” The man replied, his voice oddly rough. He was Tibs’s height, but leaner, and carried himself like nothing worried him, but had an old scar across his neck. “I might bruise one or two, though. I hope that’s okay.”
“Fists are fine. Kicks aren’t.” He looked them over. “The only thing you need to prove is that you are as good as you cimed.” He stepped back. “Start.”
The exchange was quick, and ended with Leyimen’s sword sliding on the ground, and him with a befuddled expression, staring at his empty hand.
“She didn’t—”
“You lost,” Graiden cut him off. “You want to give excuses? Go back to your parents. I don’t have time for them. Get your sword and step back in line. Normey, forward.”
The woman was slender; her armor more clothing than protection. Her sword was long and thin, with a rge guard made of delicate looking metal strands.
The woman who stepped before her was petite, in thick leather armor. Her sword was short, but wide. It had been the sword most people used in the kingdom of Emilion.
The fight was just as quick, but instead of an exchange of strikes, Normey danced around her opponent’s attacks until, with a quick motion that Tibs expected to break her sword, she sent the thick one flying. She stepped back, did a salute with her sword, and returned in line without having to be told.
“Tyborg.”
Tibs stepped forward, unsheathing his sword, and a smirking Loren joined him.
“You know the rule about not cutting you doesn’t mean I can’t break that pretty sword of yours.” The sword the man pulled wasn’t as thick as Leyimen, but it was close. This close, he sensed how the life essence as structured itself in the process of healing the wound. There had been damage deeper within the throat, expining the roughness.
Tibs’s sword was a Surilian Noratu. He’d picked it because the thin bde, three fingers wide, looked light, and made the way he willed it to move more believable. Only the best of the normal ones could survive a battle without shattering, and those were priced so only kings and high nobility could afford them, but metal was one of Tibs’s elements, and it was as hard as he willed it to be.
Loren attacked with wide swipes Tibs easily avoided. When he returned the attacks, it wasn’t his body that moved the sword, but the sword that pulled him along.
He’d tried to wield swords the way everyone else did, back in Kragle Rock. But his small size and ck of strength had limited him to shorter bdes, sometimes hardly longer than a long dagger. He learned to use Earth to increase his strength, and with that, he’d been able to wield a decent length one, but he’d then had to learn how to move it. Repeating the same motions over and over. It had been physically and mentally exhausting in a way Purity did little against.
And he’d been able to make ice swords controlled by his will back then. Even Quigly had encouraged him to make use of that, and to alter it however he’d needed to win a battle.
Passing himself off as a normal person had meant he’d needed to go back to metal swords, and back to training. And he’d been reminded of how hard it was. Using metal to help was simple, barely took more than applying his will to the bde. And it was easier to remember how to will it to move than actually moving it.
It had made more sense to train that. Was simpler too.
The hardest part had been learning to maintain the expected forms, while remaining loose enough to follow along with the flow of his sword.
Loren parried and followed that with a punch.
Tibs coated the arm with a yer of earth as he raised it and took it there.
Loren cursed in a nguage Tibs wasn’t familiar with as he stepped back, opening and closing his hand. “He has armor under there.”
“Good,” Graiden said. “Means he’s smarter than most. Are you out?”
“Abyss, no.” The man charged, and Tibs parried.
As soon as the bdes touched, Tibs’s essence flowed over and he willed its movement, forcing it to slide along the edge. He stepped away and Loren nearly fell, unbanced. Tibs waited.
“I don’t know how you managed that,” the man snarled, regaining his bance. “But you aren’t doing it twice.” He came again, sword high.
Tibs stepped back, his sword under Loren’s, and took control of it when they touched. When he twisted, it moved with him and wrenched itself out of the other man’s hand, nding on the ground.
“How?” Loren looked at his empty hand.
“By keeping a cool head,” Graiden said. “Which is something you should learn.” He motioned Tibs back. “Stepano.”
The man who stepped forward had a deep tan and a slightly thicker sword than Normey. A man stepped before him, but Tibs didn’t pay attention to the fight. He kept it on Loren, who gred at him.
* * * * *
“Alright,” the guard chief said, once the st had fought. “None of you are particurly horrible. I’m going to need some other reason to send you back to the city. Keep in mind that if you give it to me, it’s going to be a much longer walk for you. I don’t know where you came from, or why you needed to get out of the city. If you cause me troubles, I will deal with you.” The look in the man’s eyes promised worse than a long walk to the city. “So if you’re thinking of taking advantage of anyone under my protection, you’ll want to be heading in the opposite direction from us when we set out in the morning. Otherwise, welcome to Rigel’s caravan. Don’t make me regret hiring you.”
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