IABD 35: Youth

“Alright!” Valdor raised his sword, striking the pommel against his shield. A metallic clang rang through the courtyard of Sur Friya’s training grounds. “I’m ready!”

Matthias slowly brought his sword into guard position. Using the hook on his warhammer, he pulled down his visor. “So am I. Begin?”

Valdor’s grin vanished as he slammed his own visor down. “Begin!”

Unlike their last duel, there was no moment of both young warriors standing in silence, studying each other. 

There was only a storm.

Towering above his opponent, Matthias called upon the Way of Stone, concentrating his powerful life force into his legs. A twitch catapulted him forward in a blur.

Valdor started to swear, raising his shield and jumping back. 

Matthias’ full weight slammed into the smaller warrior’s shield, throwing him from his feet. Valdor cried out as he sailed through the air, landing in a heap and rolling.

He began to stand…quickly finding a sword tip hovering a finger-width from the slot in his visor.

“Alright, I surrender! I surrender!” The young man held up his hands. “By the gods!”

Matthias bowed to him. “Good, Valdor.”

He offered his hand.

“Good for you, maybe.” Valdor gave a pained chuckle, taking Matthias’ much larger hand. “Remember when I said you could stand to throw your weight around a bit more?”

“Yes, and I took it to heart.” Matthias pulled Valdor—a nearly full-grown man in heavy chainmail—to his feet in a single, smooth motion. 

Around them sounded the clash of steel on steel.

It was a late summer day, under a sunny sky, with hints of autumn on the breeze. Warriors young and old sparred in the courtyard of the training grounds, enjoying the fresh air on one of the last nice days before fall.

The sun shone on Valdor’s helmet as he groaned, lifting his visor. “Felt like I’d been hit by a bull moose. A bull moose that’d become a demonic beast…a demonic beast that had drank the Divine Breath of the god of slaughter.”

“Ah, sorry about that.” Matthias lifted his visor.

“Oh, don’t apologise. It’s a sparring match, and I was the one who told you you needed to throw your weight around. Just didn’t think you’d take to it so fast.” Valdor stretched his back. There was an audible crack. "So, you got any critique for me?”

“Hmmm.” Matthias considered it. “When I charged, you could have stepped to the side instead of raising your shield. You’re strong, but with my power and full body weight, I still threw you off your feet. You tend to take things head-on, Valdor.”

“I’ll admit it, I do.” Valdor rotated a shoulder. “And that won’t work against beasts in the Wolfwood too well. As for what I can say about you…well there’s not much. I guess by throwing all your weight at me, you might have left yourself open if I had a couple of companions with me to stab you from the side…but, I don’t think there’s much that you could’ve done better, what with ending things in two moves and all.”

“No, what you said is valid,” Matthias agreed. “Thanks, Valdor.”

“Well done, both of you,” came Sur Friya’s voice.

The knight was approaching from the side of the courtyard, accompanied by Agustin. 

“I think it’s time we made a bit of a change.” She eyed the two young men. “Valdor, sparring with Matthias has been good for you: you were growing a bit complacent, but I’ve seen real improvement in your problem-solving during combat since you two paired up. That said, I think…”

She turned to the young greatfolk. “Your physical abilities are catching up with the sheer effort you’ve put into your training for all these years. Even with you just having learned the Way of Stone, you’re growing tremendously, and I think you’re ready for more of a challenge. Matthias, you can still spar with Valdor and some of the other trainees, but we’ll spend a good part of your training picking more advanced opponents. Agustin!”

The trainee bowed. “Yes, knight?”

“You will begin sparring with Matthias again, but no more holding back: you ‘ve recently reached the third caliber of Life Enforcement, so you’ll challenge each other in different ways.”

“Yes, knight,” Agustin agreed.

“Oh, third caliber now? Congratulations.” Matthias said to him.

“I’ve been working hard, just like you.” Agustin gave a shy smile. “My little brother’s getting accustomed to the first caliber, and he might move onto the second in a year or two. I’m going to have to keep showing him a good example.”

“Right, Dagma did say that Lilfsten was getting better when the two of them trained together. We should be good examples for them,” Matthias agreed.

“Perfect, so take a break then get started with your sparring. Valdor, you can train with Khulan,” she offered. 

“Yes, knight!” Valdor saluted. “Hey, Matthias. Birgit, Khulan, me, and a load of us are heading down to Bear’s Head Pond this evening. Care to join us?”

Matthias had never been invited to a gathering by folk his own age before.

“Uh, ye—” he paused. “Erm, could I bring my brother along? I mean, is that invitation good for him too?”

Valdor clapped Matthias on the shoulder. “Of course, it is! Bet he needs to stretch his legs after being so long in that tower, and I’ve been curious to meet him too.”

“Good, then I’ll be there. He’ll be there too, if he wants.” Matthias smiled a sunny smile.

He was looking forward to this.

###

“Bear’s Head Pond? Where’s that?” Bregindoure asked between bites of an apple, it appeared strawberry-sized in his hand. The giant leaned back on the stone bench behind their house, his face ruddy from sunburn.

“You don’t know where Bear’s Head Pond is?” Matthias threw himself down beside him, stretching his aching muscles. Agustin had gotten a lot better since the last time they’d sparred, and he was already very good back then.

The young trainee wasn’t anywhere near as strong as Haakon, but his technique was polished, and he was both patient and cautious; making him a far greater challenge in many ways.

They’d beat the ever-living hells out of each other, and both had limped from the sparring grounds when evening fell.

Matthias groaned, adjusting his body on the bench.

Bregindoure was staring at him. “What do you mean, ‘You don’t know where Bear’s Head Pond is’? Of course I don’t. I’ve been locked up in a tower my whole life, you dolt!”

“Oh…right.” Matthias grimaced. “It’s through the forest east of Barrowgate, down the valley about an hour’s walk: a lot less time with the length of our strides. But I could understand if you’d be uncomfortable—” 

“Will there be girls there?” Bregindoure asked.

Matthias paused. “Uh…yes?”

Bregindoure flew up, finishing his apple. “I’m going.”

“Just like that?”

“Little Matthie, I have never talked to a girl my age before. Not once. I. Am. Going! But first…” He touched his crooked beard. “Mother!” he called. “Help me shave! They would not let me have a damned razor in that tower!”

“I am not an expert in shaving men’s beards!” she called back.

“Damn,” Bregindoure swore, eyeing the fuzzy stubble on Matthias cheeks. “No, you wouldn’t be of any help either.”

Matthias puffed up in offence. “I could do it…I think.”

“I am not going to let you make my beard look even more like a rat’s nest, Matthie.” Bregindoure stepped away from his brother.

A small figure emerged from inside their home.

Both young men looked at her.

Dagma was grinning. A pair of shears—the sort for sheep—in her hands while a devil was in her eyes. “I can help you Breg…let me see your face.”

“Run!” Matthias called, sprinting off.

Bregindoure was already running.

Dagma shook her fist at her brothers. “Come back here, you cowards!”

“Adgar can help you with your beard! Keep running to Barrowgate! Move those legs!” Matthias cried.

Both greatfolk fled a younger sister that was a fraction of their size.

###

“I’m no barber-surgeon,” Adgar scraped the razor across Bregindoure’s skin. “But I’ve been styling my own beard since I had twenty summers behind me, which was…” 

The stonemason paused, mind working.

A stricken look crossed his face.

“Soon my hair’ll be whiter than winter…” he lamented. “Point being that I’ve been trimming my own beard since I was only a bit older than the two of you. Aye, yours are coming in full, thick and early: that’s the giant blood running strong in your veins.”

“Yeah, mine’ll start growing fast soon.” Matthias touched his fuzzy stubble.

Bregindoure said nothing, keeping still for Adgar.

“You sure you don’t want to be clean shaven?” the stonemason asked. “What you’re asking for is worn by men twice your age and older.”

Bregindoure simply gave him a thumbs up.

Adgar shrugged. “Well, I’ll have you looking your best. Good on both of you: you deserve a bit of a taste of life’s sweeter moments.” Humming to himself, the stonemason continued trimming the beard as smoothly as he chiseled stone.

###

“The pond’s up ahead!” Matthias pointed down the dirt path, toward a body of water peeking through gaps in the trees.

Bear’s Head Pond was fed by a small mountain stream and was surrounded by pines, bush and rocks on all sides. Its shape, mimicking the roaring head of a bear, was the source of much folklore and speculation. 

Some tales claimed that a bear had once angered a mighty Archfae who—in their terrible wrath—had transformed the beast into water. Others said it was created in that shape by an ancient bear beastfolk mason, who desired to catch fish in his own pond carved in his own image. Some stories told of gods or ancient mages who had moulded it into its peculiar shape, but for most, it was simply the way it was.

More important was what was found in the water.

All sorts of silver-scaled fish lived in Bear’s Head—a body of water considered quite large as ponds go—from tiny minnows to the great redmaws. The heavy-bodied, iron-toothed fish swam up mountain rivers to feast on the nymphs of giant wyvernflies, that spawned in waters at high elevations in the spring.

Even now—as summer was falling away to autumn—some of the large fish had gotten stuck in the high mountain ponds and made their lives here.

It was a great game for the youth of Barrowgate, trying to see if they could catch a redmaw late in the season.

A game that others seemed to be already playing.

On the stony banks of the pond, in the distance, Matthias could make out quite a few figures, some were sitting on rocks with fishing poles or hooked spears at the ready. 

Others had started a small fire and were huddled around it.

Then there was the music: the vibrant notes of a shanz being plucked was coming over the wind accompanied by a voice that…that…

“Do they have some sort of donkey down there?” Bregindoure frowned.

Matthias remembered what Valdor had said about one of his friends: “Khulan sings—well, it’s more like he brays than anything else—but he plays the shanz real well.”

The younger greatfolk fought the urge to laugh. “Well, whoever’s playing the shanz, plays real well,” was all he said. 

“I shall not judge. Any music is good for a man freshly broken out of imprisonment.” Bregindoure turned, facing his younger brother and spreading his arms. “How do I look?”

His facial hair had been trimmed neatly, shaped into a hanging moustache braided on both ends—clasped by loops of copper—framed by a pair of thick sideburns. His hair was left loose.

“Like a mighty warrior,” Matthias commented. He spread his own arms in turn. “What about me, brother?”

The younger greatfolk’s hair hung free, though a single lock was caught in a neat braid on the right side, clasped in bronze. He’d thoroughly razored his cheeks and was wearing his best clothes.

“Like a little brother who thinks he’s a mighty warrior.” Bregindoure reached out, patting his head.

Matthias drew away as though he’d been scalded. “No! No patting my head as though I was a small child!” His eyes darted around; in case they’d been seen. “Especially, not in front of the others! I swear if you do, you’re going in the pond!”

“Oh? Is that a challenge?” Bregindoure flexed a powerful arm. The Rune of the Berserker shone on the back of his hand. “You would go into the pond before I would.”

“Oh? You have never been in a single fight in your life,” Matthias snickered, continuing down the road. “I think you will find that the man who beat Haakon—the same man who I call tiger slayer: and that is me, by the way—is going to be a bit too much of a challenge for you.”

“Tiger slayer, eh?” Bregindoure looked down at his younger brother’s new cloak. “That name does suit you.”

When Matthias decided to wear his best clothes, he’d included his new cloak.

The pelt of the demonic beast tiger—black and banded with orange stripes—hung around his broad shoulders, a beautiful garment, like it had been cloaked in gold and ivory and the night itself, billowed as he walked, its sheen catching the sunlight.

He had to admit, he felt rather legendary in it.

But as he beamed, Bregindoure continued. “Remember, though, little brother: I was branded for war. You might have your ‘training’ and ‘experience’ and ‘actual deeds to back up your confidence’ but remember, in my nightmare you had to rely on the tiger cage to capture me. I can beat you.” 

“Pffft, you can beat me in your dreams,” Matthias snorted.

“Yes, I seem to remember that I did.” Bregindoure clapped him on the shoulder.

Matthias’ mind raced, floundering for a comeback.

He sparked with inspiration: “Yes, you did beat me in your dreams. Only in your dreams, though, so my point stands, dear brother.”

“Hah! A good one…” Bregindoure looked at him slyly. “But would you care to prove it?”

“Oh?” Matthias cocked his head.

“A contest between us, or maybe a few contests: one of strength, one of speed, one of skill. Fair, don’t you think? We can spice up our entertainment with our new friends.” 

Matthias rubbed his hands together. “You’re going to regret challenging the tiger slayer to any contest, I promise you.”

“I think not.” Bregindoure gestured toward the Wolfwood to the east. It was fairly close to Bear’s Head; close enough that the shimmering barrier across the mountains was clear to the eye. “In the ancient tales, fae often set trials before our ancestors in the Age of Wolves. It was a fine tradition, and I think a trial between us would be great sport. Come on, are you afraid?”

“Not even of death.”

“Then it’s settled!”

“Fine!” Matthias slapped his brother on the back. “Loser gets thrown into the pond by the winner!”

“Deal.” Bregindoure’s smile was ferocious.

“Which contest first?” Matthias asked.

“How about speed?”

“A race, then? To where from where?”

“From here to the pond!” Bregindoure cried, taking off.

His tree-trunk legs threw his towering body forward and he was suddenly flying down the path at monstrous speed, his laughter drifting over the wind.

“Oh, you cheater you!’ Matthias concentrated his life force into his legs, catapulting himself forward. “I’m going to make you regret that!”

He chased his brother like a lion running down a deer.

###

To the west, a black carriage cut through the sky.

Deep scratches gouged its surface: the result of a terrible battle…but the ‘wounds’ were already repairing themselves as though the carriage was a living thing.

Ahead, clouds shaped like horses pulled it toward the eastern Gods’ Shield mountains.

Toward a rendezvous at Barrowgate.

###

Author's Note

I wanted to actually give these guys a BIT of a break, they've been through a lot.

We also get to see Matthias AND another character progressing, haha.

Also we have two cliffs approaching and converging from opposite directions lmao.

Flanked by cliffs, if you will.

Lol, cya tomorrow!