Shalma's Destruction (Part II)

Previous chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/shalmas-part-i-116770787

Skasnell leans against a large boulder jutting from the underbrush. His weary stance belies his sharp eyes, which follow as you move from the shadowy firelight of the cave to the bluish moonlight outside.

“How’s the arm?”

It doesn’t hurt, but you rub it at the suggestion.  “It’ll be ok.”

He smiles.  “She must like you.  I’ve seen Shalma snap tendons and pull shoulders out of sockets.”

“I don’t think I was worth the effort.”

Skasnell studies you, then nods.  “You’re probably right.”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”  You stare at your feet like a child about to confess a misdeed to their father.  “Can you teach me to fight?”

The burly man laughs.  “Teach you to fight?  You might as well ask me how to breathe.  You have to be born a fighter, son.”

“It’s just that I don’t feel very useful.”

“Shalma has a use for you.  You wouldn’t be with us otherwise.”

My endless torture and humiliation, you think.   “Do you know what that might be?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Skasnell says with a shrug.  “But I doubt it’s for your swordplay.  Still, I suppose I could show you a tip or two.  Keep you from being gutted before we find your purpose.”  Skasnell yawns.  “We better hurry though.  I’m spent and my watch is almost up.”

“Thank you,” you gush, pulling your dagger from its sheath.

“What are you planning to do with that?  Peel fruit?”

Your face reddens.  “It’s all I have.”

“Put that away before you hurt yourself.”   Skasnell reaches beneath the fur-collar cloak that struggles to cover his broad shoulders and removes a short sword from a scabbard on his right side, a xiphos about 20” long.  He hands it to you.

You take it by the hilt and cut a few tentative swaths through the air before you.

“How does that feel?”

Heavy, you think, but don’t say so.  “It feels good.”

“It’s a well-made blade.  Small enough to be maneuverable, but large enough to parry a blow or penetrate an ogre’s breastbone.”    

You study its scarred steel and wonder about its age…and how many creatures it’s seen the inside of. 

Skasnell adjusts your grip on the hilt.  “Don’t hold it so tight or your wrist will break.  Think of it like a lover to be caressed.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t have much experience in that area either.

“Well, don’t turn to me for that!”  Skasnell booms. 

“What about Shalma?”

“If you aren’t ready for this,” the bearded warrior says, placing his hand on the hilt of a gorgeous tempered steel longsword dangling from his left hip.  “You certainly aren’t ready for that.”  

“I…I was only joking.”

“Relax, boy,” he says, returning his attention to your grip on the short sword.  “I know some ladies in town that could show you a thing or two.  They’re like this blade.  Sturdy, dependable…easily manipulated.”   

You smile and your impertinent quip is quickly forgotten.  For the next hour, Skasnell teaches you stance (“balanced, feet shoulder width apart”), footwork (“clean and crisp, no dragging or shuffling”), parrying (“deflect blows, don’t block them”), and thrust (“never overextend”).  He seems impressed by your reflexes and agility, and eventually draws his longsword, allowing you to parry his half-speed attacks.  

As his swings become harder (relatively, he still barely flicks his wrist) you begin to worry the CLANG-CLANG-CLANG will wake the other men or, worse, Shalma.  When your eyes dart to the cave’s mouth, Skasnell whirls into you, simultaneously stealing away your sword and smashing you against the craggy mountainside.

“Never allow yourself to be distracted,” he says, the blade you were holding seconds ago now inches from your throat.

“I was w-worried we’d wake Shalma.”

The big man laughs, sheathing his sword and handing the xiphos back to you.  “That’s a good one.  Once she gets a bellyful of grub and grog, you’re more likely to wake the dead.”

Duly noted, you think, before extending the xiphos back to him.  “I’ve troubled you enough for one night.  Thank you.”

Skasnell waves away the weapon and your gratitude.  “It was no trouble.  Keep it to practice.  We’ll do this again another night.”

“What do I do with my free hand?  Shouldn’t I have a shield or something?”

“Let’s not complicate things.  The last thing you want to be is overburdened.”

You’re not sure if Skasnell means overburdened physically or by the knowledge he plans to impart, but the way your forearm burns from the lesson you imagine it’s the former.

“You’re too skinny for arrows to hit you anyway,” he continues.  “I hate fighting warriors like you.  Quick. Wiry.  Just don’t get cornered…" 

Skasnell gets so close you can feel his hot breath--and suddenly the dagger that had been at your side appears before your eyes. 

“Or you might have to poke them with your fruit peeler.  Hold it like this—” Skasnell holds the blade flat against the horizon.  “And when the enemy gets close slide it between their ribs,” he says, poking the blade disconcertingly close to your own.  “Just don’t try it on anything much bigger than a halfling or it’ll just piss them off.”

With that, the big man re-sheaths your blade and walks wearily toward the cave.

“Where do we travel from here?” you call after him.

Skasnell turns to you with a sly smile.  “Where would you like to go?”

How do you respond?