BOOK 5. CHAPTER 8

The next day, Brin’s Lance wasn’t called to the front, which meant that they had free time. It was a strange concept to Brin and he thought it must be some kind of trick, but Cid assured him it wasn’t before running off to his leadership meeting. “This is what being a knight-at-arms is supposed to be like.”

The rest of the Lance went their separate ways, too, though most of them would go to the sparring grounds to train. Brin wanted to do that, too, but first he needed to figure out what was going on with Marksi at the warbeast camp. They went together, Brin walking and Marksi dashing ahead and then coming back, too excited to move at a normal speed.

The warbeast camp was an intimidating sight. He’d known what to expect because these beasts were impossible to miss, but seeing them up close just drove home how great and terrible they were. Even though most of the beasts were idle and calm, the huge mounds of flesh and fur radiated an aura of danger. It was like Poco from Hammon’s Bog, except instead of one big bull in a clearly marked pasture, dozens of great and terrible beasts stood free and mingled with each other. Brin made the mistake of [Inspecting] the largest one, an elephantine creature that towered sixty feet in the air, and the Wyrd was overpowering. The tangle of Wyrd between it, the other beasts, and the [Beast Masters] that kept it under control was so strong and complex that he had a hard time trying to untangle it. It wasn’t as simple as saying the [Beast Masters] controlled the beast, there was a large array of give and take, compromise and negotiation.

Marksi didn’t have patience for Brin to sit and stare. He nipped at him to get his attention, and then dashed his way across the grounds. Brin followed, trying to look as meek and unnoticeable as possible, but few of the beasts gave him so much as a sniff as he walked by. The [Beast Masters] might not have total dominion over the animals here, but they had at least negotiated a truce that let humans walk around without being eaten, and Brin was hardly the only one.

Marksi went first to a giant two-headed hyena. It was a creature straight out of hell, black and unwholesome. Its body reminded Brin of bat wings and spider carapace, and seemed like it was in a state of living rot; [Wyrdic Inspect] called it a Gefeilblad and insisted that it was quite alive, but if someone had told Brin it was undead he would’ve believed it.

The hyena bared both sets of teeth at Marksi, and those at least looked perfectly healthy, if maybe a little too long and sharp to be natural. When Marksi drew near, the hyena darted forward at him. Brin wasn’t quick enough to intervene, and he didn’t need to. Marksi jumped straight up into the fur of the creature, and the hyena rolled both its heads back and forth, making a horrible laughing sound. It kept its teeth bared in what Brin was starting to realize was a pleased smile.

Marksi swam through the creature’s fur and Brin couldn’t even see the little dragon except for the movement of the fur as he went through. Then Marksi peeked his head out and Brin saw a big fat worm in his mouth. It was almost the size of a snake and had a hooked mouth. Where did he get that? It had to be a parasite on the hyena. When Marksi saw that Brin had seen his prize, he bit the worm in half and then disappeared into the fur again.

Marksi caught four more of the parasites, dispatching each of them with gusto, and Brin couldn’t help but feel a little sick when Marksi ate the last one in four big bites. That couldn’t be healthy, right? You weren’t supposed to eat parasites. He kept telling himself dragons know what’s good for them, but it was hard to remember, especially when the dragon in question was acting like this.

Next, Marksi took Brin over to a tent, and inside found a mountain of animal feed. The big pile in the center was grain, but there were many other smaller piles around the edges of all different colors and smells that he couldn’t even guess at. Marksi started pulling on a bath-tub sized basin of a reddish feed that smelled a bit sweet, showing Brin that he wanted him to move it. At first, Brin completely ruled it out, but then realized that with his Strength it was actually doable.

It wasn’t easy, though. The tub of feed stretched him to the limit of what he could drag across the ground, and Marksi didn’t have a close-by destination in mind. He made Brin move it clear across the camp, to a pen full of big, quick-moving turtles. The turtles didn’t leave the marked line in the dirt, but as soon as Brin dragged the tub across the line they swarmed him, all of them jostling each other to get to their breakfast.

Marksi watched for a while, twisting his tail in happiness as he watched their antics.

“Is this what you’re up to? You’re helping take care of the animals?”

Marksi shrugged with his whole spine in a way that suggested that was only partly correct.

They moved on and Marksi showed him a giant lizard with a big horn on its nose like a rhino. He didn’t have any chores to do for this one, but just wanted to show Brin a sufficiently dragon-like creature.

The giant lizard seemed pleased to see Marksi and nudged him with his cheek. Marksi jumped up on top of his head and patted his neck affectionately. They were good friends, apparently, which was a funny sight, because this beast would be able to snap Marksi up in one bite.

Marksi patted the giant lizard again, urging him forward, and it shook its shoulders in agitation.

“Oh, you want to show me something? I’ll back up,” said Brin, and quickly moved twenty steps back.

The lizard nodded in acceptance, and then lunged forward with its prominent horn, then followed up with two quick swipes in the air with its foreclaws. It jumped, spun in the air, and then delivered a devastating downward swipe that crashed into the ground with a loud thump that had all the nearby creatures and men look in their direction.

Marksi, who had stayed atop the lizard’s neck throughout the entire thing, puffed out his chest in pride, as if he was the one who’d demonstrated his prowess.

Brin shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Hey! Come down from there, Marksi!” A middle-aged [Beast Master] with a bushy blonde beard marched forward, shouting at Marksi and gesticulating with his arms. “Go on, get down! Leave that poor Handrake alone!”

Marksi hopped down quickly, but didn’t seem at all cowed by the shouting, so Brin waited before saying anything.

The dragonling scuttled over and sat in front of the [Beast Master], who pointed his finger and said, “This early in the morning and you’re already playing. Did you take care of the Gefeilblad? And what about feeding the Cyrasks? Well, that’s fine then, but Handrakes aren’t like little dragonlings. They need plenty of rest and even a little bit of exercise can tire them out for a whole day.”

“Sorry,” Brin said. “He really wanted to show me all the animals, but I hope I’m not in the way.”

The [Beast Master’s] attitude turned on a dime, and he looked at Brin with earnest respect. “Not at all, sir. As you please, sir.”

“Oh, none of that now. I hope my little friend here isn’t too much of a bother,” said Brin.

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“No, sir. Not a bother at all! He’s been a great little helper, my lips to Eridu’s ears. It’s good luck, having one like him around. Now with your leave, sir…”

Brin nodded, and the [Beast Master] trotted away to go yell at some other kind of animal.

Marksi pointed at the Handrake again and then swiped with his claws.

“Yeah, he’s got a really strong attack there; I bet it’s a terror on the battlefield.

Marksi scowled, irritated that Brin wasn’t getting it. The Handrake watched the whole thing with big, slitted eyes. It had settled back down again, but the tip of its tail was twitching in amusement.

“What?” asked Brin.

Marksi swiped with his claws again. Brin looked back at the Handrake, and then back at Marksi.

“Oh! He fights with his foreclaws! When we were looking through the books at Lurilan’s [Hunter’s] lodge in Blackcliff, you kept saying you wanted to find a beast that fought with its foreclaws, but we couldn’t find anything good,” said Brin. “Most four-legged beasts use their teeth.”

The Handrake bared its teeth, and Brin saw that they wide and pointed, but weren’t really very big at all.

“Is this the kind of fighting you want to emulate?” Brin asked.

Marksi scuttled around in a circle, pleased. Looking more closely, the Handrake’s arms were much larger than its legs, and the claws were much more prominent. While the arms were long and almost human-like, the legs were squat and beefy, and the hind claws were short and thick. It was a different body-type than what Marksi had, but Marksi could change his shape to a certain degree, and if this was what he wanted Brin didn’t see any reason to object.

“What about the horn? That seems an integral part of its fighting style,” said Brin.

Marksi flashed his scales, making them brighter and more colorful for a second. Brin took that to mean that he could use his laser for the opening strike.

“Yeah, that could work.”

Marksi nodded to say yes, of course it’s going to work. Then he tugged on Brin’s pant-leg again, and they were off to see the next giant monster Marksi had made friends with. By noon, Marksi had shown Brin more than half the animals in the entire camp, and Brin made sure to praise all of them as remarkable finds. Though, there was a limit to how many different ways he could pretend to be delighted to see a giant monstrosity that had crawled straight out of one of his nightmares, and he was beginning to repeat himself badly when telling Marksi how cool they all were.

Marksi avoided the one beast Brin actually wanted to see. There was a stunningly beautiful giant winged lion right in the middle of camp, and Marksi completely ignored it. He wouldn’t even look at it, and after a while, Brin realized that the winged lion was studiously ignoring Marksi as well. There was a story there, he just knew it.

Eventually, Marksi started to tire, a positive sign because maybe if Marksi took a nap then Brin would be able to spend some time sparring with his Lance after all. He liked spending time with Marksi, sure, but if the dragonling was just going to sleep then Brin could spend some time training today, too.

Marksi moved over to a bench that was set off to the side. He indicated that Brin should sit down, and when he did so, Marksi curled up on his lap. Despite how he was getting bigger, curling around in a ball meant that he was able to get a large amount of his mass on Brin’s thighs, with his tail trailing off to cover the rest of the bench.

Well, now he was stuck. Brin really didn’t have any ideas for how to excavate himself from this. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he took a nap, too. He hadn’t really slept much last night, not that he needed much sleep.

Before he could decide on whether or not to try it, Marksi bolted up again. He blinked at Brin in surprise and then started wiggling around, rummaging through Brin’s pockets.

He came away with a large marble of glass that contained a little mote of chaos.

“Oh, Marksi, I really don’t know about that one.” Brin grabbed at Marksi to take the marble back, but Marksi dodged out of his reach. Still, he didn’t seem to be gobbling it down right away.

Marksi gazed at the mote, enraptured. After a moment, he tapped it, and then shook it like a snow globe to see what would happen.

Brin winced. “Don’t…” But it was probably fine. The mote was contained more by the idea of being contained rather than by the actual physical barrier. If it wanted to get out, it could.

Marksi showed Brin the glass and then tapped it again. He wanted Brin to take the chaos out.

“No. I’m not doing that. It would probably kill us both.”

Marksi gave it another glance and then tossed it over his shoulder. Brin winced when it hit the ground, but nothing happened. He delicately picked it up and put it back in his pocket.

Marksi found a nice patch of grass outside the immediate warbeast camp and curled up for a nap. Brin watched him, waiting until he was really asleep.

When Marksi started to make a soft, buzzing snore, Brin knew he was really out. He stood and made his way to the sparring field.

There were no commoners in this section of the camps. They didn’t train; they drilled. They would stand in their long lines all together and swing their weapons in unison to the calls of their commanders. It was good training for the bulk of the army where predictability and cohesion was more important than anything else. But for the specialists, that wouldn’t do.

The Rare Classers had their own area to hone their skills. A large array of tents were set up in a ring. Some of these had practice weapons, some had real weapons, some were rest areas for the trainees and instructors, and there were even a couple of tents with chalkboards and folding chairs where they could discuss theory.

In the center, men practiced their weapons against training dummies or each other. Even this area was segregated, though. Ordinary Rares, like [Scouts], [Rogues], and [Warriors], stayed separate from the [Knights] who practiced alongside the commander Classes. There were no fences or lines in the ground, but everyone seemed to know where they stood.

Brin watched, using Invisible Eyes to get a feel for things as he approached on foot. First, he saw Aeron practicing with Rhun. Rhun had an arming sword and his tower shield, while Aeron used only his mace. They were on about even footing, despite the fact that Rhun’s [Defender Knight] was a better Class than Aeron’s basic [Knight], but wasn’t completely apparent in this duel. Rhun’s defense was impregnable, but Aeron had more dexterity and control with his weapon.

Both of them were a lot more tired than they should’ve been. They moved with speed and power that Brin would call about normal even from their [Squire] days, but sweat dripped off of them in streams and each movement was punctuated with groans of effort.

He had a Directed Thread playback the recording from watching them while he was out with Marksi, and quickly found the answer. They’d started the day with a [Knight’s Charge] to burn off all their stamina, and all their practice in the meantime had been in a state of utter exhaustion. It was a good strategy for training attributes, and partially answered how [Knights] got so strong despite the fact that they didn’t do much weight training.

Seeing some other more experienced [Knights] further developed the idea. These were men in their thirties who moved with a power and polish that Brin’s Lance was only beginning to approach. These two didn’t seem to be tired or straining at all, but each clash of their swords was like the clap of thunder. Practicing against someone as strong as you would always be good training.

He didn’t see any sign of Meredydd or Brych, and Govannon was practicing with an older [Knight] from another Lance. Govannon didn’t look nearly as tired as Rhun and Aeron, and his practice wasn’t really sparring, either. The older [Knight] would show Govannon a move, and then Govannon would practice it against him until he got it right. A lot of these reminded Brin of the things he’d seen that one day back during the training he’d done in the joint exercises, which leveraged their absurd Strength attributes to pull off movements that shouldn't be possible, much less effective.

Cowl also wasn’t around, and that worried Brin. He sent his Invisible Eyes out, and found that Cowl was doing chores for the quartermaster. At this moment, the [Squire of Burdens] was helping Kartoff move some boxes around.

Brin would have to do something about that. While it was good that Cowl was helpful and didn’t see menial labor as beneath him, that really wasn’t the role of a [Knight]. Anyone could move boxes.

He thought about going now, but Hedrek had spotted him. The big [Knight] hadn’t been training with anyone until Brin arrived. He’d been waiting. For Brin?

Hedrek wasn’t wearing his armor, and instead of his greatsword he carried a simple wooden practice sword, a rapier. That was enough to tell Brin that something was wrong, but the expression on his face left no room for doubt.

Hedrek looked worse than he had the day after they’d fought off a horde of goblins in Canibri. Back then he’d been wounded and tired, but triumphant. Now, Hedrek was well-rested and healthy, but the problem was in the way he carried himself.

Brin saw sunken shoulders, and a meek stride. There was no sign of Hedrek’s normal strut that was one part bravado and three parts earned confidence.

He didn’t have to approach Hedrek to ask what was wrong, because Hedrek crossed straight to him and without preamble said, “Spar with me.”