12-06-2024, 11:02 PM
overextended with his thrust. His spear point was batted away, and the business end of Guerlach's weapon crashed into the chain links across Gil's back. Down he went, belly first onto the deck; sweat from his face spattering the scuffed brown paint of the wooden planks. Heat and exhaustion gave his muscles a tremble as he immediately pushed himself up, almost whispering a promise to fail him soon. He climbed to his knees just in time to thwart another slash from Lieutenant Guerlach's spear, Gilserand faced a brief onslaught while only halfway upright. His one handed defense as he regained his feet earned Gil a pleased lip twitch from the officer.
Clack clack clackity click clack shiiing! Guerlack had continued the pressure, an untiring force of nature, but Gil had noticed an opening. Though the lieutenant had to jump back to avoid the corporal's slash, the tip of the practice spear had sang across chain links. Not a killing blow, but a type of victory in itself. The officer stepped back, coming to attention with the spear grounded at his side.
"Good, you made contact. That has earned everyone a break," Guerlach stated before leaning over the parapet to call down to the squad. "Everyone, you get ten minutes! Don't drink too much water when you re-hydrate!"
Gil pulled his helmet off as he perched between wooden crenelations. All he could do for a long while was pant and feel miserable, his hand trembled when he did muster some energy to take up his canteen.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, not caring anymore if he failed and was driven from the guards. I finally touch him after forever, and he calls a long needed break? This son of a Burning Spirit is sick! Gilserand knew it was a game, a mentally twisted game that he didn't want to play anymore. Though sweat streamed down the officer's face, he stood tall as he sipped water.
Pointing his potato shaped nose at Gil, Guerlach studied the younger man for a moment.
"What do you think I am doing?" Brain and body did not want to function, but Gilserand forced himself to share his observation.
"You're punishing the squad for me not being able to fight as good as you, Sir." Gil knew his words were inelegant, but he was now beyond finding a more diplomatic way of confronting his superior. Lieutenant Guerlach nodded, his eyes hooded as he watched for Gil's reaction. Who in their right mind would admit to the crime being perpetrated!
Using his canteen to indicate Gilserand, the officer began to reveal his sadism.
"I can see you're brave, Corporal, you are quick on your feet and quick with your thinking. You compete to win but you have too much compassion for your opponents. That compassion prevents you from reaching your full potential as a fighter. You need to have a killer instinct. Without that you are going to get yourself and others killed. Those men down there are going to suffer continuous work until you start winning our fights." Still maintaining eye contact Lieutenant Guerlach moved over to perch in the crenelations next to Gil's seat.
"But compassion is necessary to bring an end to fighting, Sir." he complained.
Gilserand still found Guerlach's smiles incongruous, he was thrown off yet again by the expression.
"Compassion has it's place at the end of the fighting, not during. If you fight with compassion, you end up losing and having to hope compassion is shown to you. To win, you have to shut compassion off. You have to embrace the monster inside you, let the monster rein and kill as many as you can as efficiently as you can. Only when the enemy is on his knees begging for mercy should you even consider such a thing. Those men down there are going to have to drill and drill until you figure this lesson out, Rivenheart. I wonder if any of them will die from heat stroke or a heart attack," the man sneered every time he had said 'compassion'.
All he could do was gape at the officer and the lack of humanity he found there. Looking out over Alren, Lieutenant Guerlach ignored Gil after that exchange. Dammit, why am I still being singled out? Why am I up here instead of down there? Gilserand did not receive any answers, not even when he prayed before having to pick up his practice spear yet again. Reverting to his childish nature from before learning to tap into his inner observer, Gil rushed in shouting and slashing madly. After getting up for the fourth time from that failed tactic, the struggling corporal calmed down and tried to think. Down below someone called out in obvious pain.
"Lords of Light, this is killing us! Please stop!"
Those tormented soldiers thought it was the noncoms being monstrous to them, but Gilserand knew the sergeants had to be acting under orders. He was the reason they were hurting. This sadistic piece of filth before him had made it his fault. Gil's focus narrowed as he threw off attack after attack, discovering an economy of movement he could have been using while blocking with the blunt half of his weapon. My moment will come..., he thought, finding that blunting Guerlach's attacks was now far easier. Desperation was leaving him. There! As the lieutenant threw a nasty slash at Gils left ear, Gilserand greatly deepened his stance effectively ducking the swinging weapon. The officers stomach and chest were wide open. Driving with his legs and a mighty thrust of his arms, Gil lifted the officer off his feet and drove him at literal spear point a full body length back.
This focus Gil had came with a caveat, a fury almost took him when his spear point made contact. He saw himself as he drove forward following the lieutenant in an arch through the air, he saw himself driving the training stick all the way through the officer's arching flight and deep into the planks below him when the man crashed onto his back. For a second he was witness to the deed, then a wave of purple swallowed that world away only to reveal he was only half way through driving forward, just a fraction of a second after his blunted point had started driving armored links into the suits wearer. The officer did slam into the walls walk, but Gil had not followed with the life ending madness he could have sworn he had just lived through.
Fear was in Lieutenant Guerlach's eyes when Gil threatened to pin him with the practice weapon. The man wheezed three times before air sucked back into his lungs and he could actually call a halt to practice. Watching the officer closely, Gilserand drifted back away, bringing his practice stick to a ready position. Inside he felt that cold focus fall over himself again, ready for the officer to come at him.
"Everyone, take an hour lunch. When you come back to the wall you are to be dressed in shirt and shorts. The rest of the day will be instruction with demonstration, no more drills." Nearly half of the Eighth Platoon dropped on the spot, so thoroughly spent that watching their own sweat and tears fall to the concrete encased stones was all they wanted to do.
Narrowing his eyes at the junior officer, he found the man watching him just as closely all the while climbing to his feet. Gil took another step back before he began to turn and head for the nearest tower stairway. "Not you Corporal Rivenheart." His focus jumbled as trepidation struck. This sadistic bastard is still playing games with me! That idea almost drove him to attack the man. Lieutenant Guerlach smiled at what he saw passing through Gil's eyes, a challenge broadcasting from his own blue orbs. "You just touched that part in yourself that you need to survive. Now I want to see if you can hold onto that feeling, that killer instinct. You see, Corporal, we are going to repeat the lessons of today tomorrow, but I will not allow the platoon to have a break until you have hit me twice while we duel," the man said, almost seeming to be bragging about his perverse need to destroy his soldiers.
Enough! This ends now, I am going to kill him this time! Something of his intent must have leaked through as he started for the lieutenant, the man brought his weapon up but also a gesture to ward him away. "You can stop this from ever happening though. All you have to do is duel Garr, Goenz, and myself all at once. I need to see if you can maintain your inner monster." This was like the scripture books, where one of the malicious Burning Spirits offered a saint a deadly bargain. Damn this game! Damn this man! Gilserand started for Guerlach again, this time shouting.
"I don't want to do this! I don't want to become anything like you!" Most of the Eighth Platoon turned around or rolled over as Gilserands voice echoed from the wall, the long awaited confrontation seemed to be happening at last.
A small smile played about the officer's thickish lips, his eyes calculating.
"It's all up to you Corporal Rivenheart, all these boys and girls will be worked twice as hard tomorrow as they have been today. If you show me what I want to see now, then they can have the day off. Beat the three of us. You hit each one of us at least once before we get a total of three hits against you," Lieutenant Guerlach's voice carried as far as Gil's had, informing more than the platoon what was at stake. "I'll even give you three tries to pull it off." This time the older man's challenge seemed to hold a smirk. Soldiers that had been dragging slowly back to the barracks returned, their eyes on the pair up on the wall. Those who had been lying on the road trying to muster something akin to energy, climbed to their feet watching the challenge unfolding above them.
This is sheer cruelty! Why is Guerlach openly admitting that their fate is tied to my decision? Why should I put up with this farce! Gil Thought, his eyes flickering to the edge of the walk as he considered throwing his practice spear away and walking home to The Widow. In a much quieter voice, one that only carried between himself and Gil, the officer countered what was percolating through the younger man's mind. "Don't do it, you will be throwing away a great career. I'm doing this to make you a better soldier, not because I like it." Gilserand was not mollified at all, he hissed back at the officer, unconsciously matching his voices volume to Guerlach's.
"How does making me choose their fate make me a better soldier, a better man, a better anything?" he challenged.
The lieutenant did not answer at first, instead he paced for the edge of the parapet. Just before he stepped off the edge, braking his fall with a brief one handed grip to swing to the wall's outward swell, Guerlach answered.
"The decision each soldier makes effects his mates, the higher your rank, the greater the impact of those choices on those under you." Below the officer joined his noncom's. The three of them spread out while watching Gilserand, readying themselves for a fight. Frustration was bringing tears to Gil's eyes, his muscles still trembled from the hours of continuous skirmishing he had done. Gilserand swallowed all that away, all except the furl in his brow as he rolled his neck. He took the stairs down, finding the whole platoon forming a semi circle around the combat area when he hit the street.
On entering the human crafted crescent, he found Sergeant Goenz and Sergeant Garr maneuvering to get behind him. No matter which way Gil turned, he would always have one of his foes sitting in his blind spot.
"Tulauten, call a start!" Goenz ordered, forcing Gilserand to drop into his combat stance despite his inner debate. How am I supposed to pull this off? he wondered. I can still quit.
"On three," Private Tulauten called, for once the man's face was not locked in disdain or contempt. He looked at Gil with troubled eyes. "One... two... three!" Gilserand reached for that cold watchful feeling inside, and nothing was there to grasp.
A scuff of a boot from behind started it off. As Gilserand spun to parry, Garr came at him from his right, but a staff point hit his left shoulder. The force was great, and Gil felt himself taking to the air. Another thrusting point changed his trajectory, while a slash prevented him from getting his legs back under himself. In less than a second he had been struck three times. A massive grumble issued from thirty nine throats as Gil crashed to the hard stones. Muscles that were still sore and bruised protested as Gilserand struggled to his feet, a fresh slick of sweat breaking out under his chain shirt. When Tulauten counted down the start of the next bout, he seemed to lack hope; he just did a quick count and folded his arms.
This time Gilserand remembered his newly acquired fighting technique. His parries flowed into his footwork as he pirouetted while swatting aside attack after attack. Against three people, Gil's opportunities to counter attack never manifested. Trying to force the issue only made him flail harmlessly at Lieutenant Guerlach, which opened him up for a touch from Garr's spear. Thrown off balance, he was quickly whacked in the back just before Goenz's weapon crashed into Gilserand's nose. Stars exploded, sparkles that raced away into an all encompassing dark. The first thing he tasted was blood when pouring water hit his face, shocking him from an oblivion he had welcomed.
"Come on, Rivenheart. You can do this," a smear of a face among other blurry flesh colored ovals seemed to say with Jaffe's voice.
Not one person's features sharpened above him, the small crowd of supporters a faceless mass. Gilserand rolled over and pushed himself slowly upright as spots danced in his vision. Blood from his nose trickled slowly out, just another hot bead of moisture on his upper lip. The world tilted back and forth like a carnival ride, until Private Machen handed Gil his practice weapon. The appeal in Machen's boyish eyes became a focal point, an anchor that drove away the dizziness in his head and firmed the earth under his feet. A slight smile from the young man felt like a benediction handed down from the Lords of Light and Life. Gamely he walked back into the circling threesome, his limbs trembling, but his mission clear. Win. I must win. Once again the surly soldier counted down the start for this last skirmish, his voice growling from the anticipated disappointment he was facing.
All three of his opponents lunged at him at the same time. Gilserand danced out from between spear shafts, using his weapon to deflect the one blunted point he had not dodged. Both Lieutenant Guerlach and Sergeant Goenz applied pressure, their practice weapons jabbing and slashing with great speed. Sergeant Garr circled to get back behind Gil. Wait a minute, if I can keep one of them between myself and the other two I might stand a chance. Squirting from between the trio, Gilserand moved so that he only faced Goenz; Garr was too far away for the moment, and Guerlach was behind the sergeant. For a second he was the attacker, his flickering weapon forcing Goenz to stumble back into the mass of his friends. The lieutenant and other noncom tried to encircle Gil again, but when he tried to shift through a gap, Guerlach's point drove into Gilserand's abdomen.
Though he shifted so that the full brunt of the attack did not drive through his body, Gil was still staggered a bit. This time, he was out of reach of the other two tormentors and they could not count another quick coup against him. Coldness folded over Gilserand, his ultra sharp focus coming onto him once more. Unfortunately spots also began to infringe upon his eyesight, hot purple sparks. Still he sensed Goenz coming in on him from the left flank, Guerlach was circling around the sergeant, and Garr was speeding in from the right. He pivoted as he jumped to the right, his spear slashing across Garrs neck. As soon as he landed he gathered himself again, he lunged at the other noncom; a heart shot, then he spun as he dropped under the lieutenant's thrust. The blunt end of his spear cracking up between the officer's legs.
A purple wave swept across Gilserand's vision and he found himself once again back in time. Goenz was coming in with a swing from his left, Guerlach breaking to pivot around the sergeant, as Garr came in from the right. This time he did not stop himself from repeating the moment he had just lived through. Spots grew and danced in his vision even as he felt a series of contact shocks in his stave, his steps and arms working despite the fading of Gil's vision. Slash, leaping lunge, upper cut. Dark oblivion reached for Gilserand before the upper cut. Did I make it, did I hit all three of them? he wondered before he could wonder no more.... Shouts! A lot of people were shouting! An emergency! Someone was hurt. He had to get up and help.... He had.... He....
Gilserand realized he was on his back, his body aching all over, especially his head. Oh no, they got me. Dammit, no! Groaning at the unfairness he pulled himself a little further towards a wakeful state. A familiar voice shocked his eyes wide open from their fluttering state.
"No Corporal Rivenheart, you got them, they didn't get you," Captain Kinnert said. Above him was the familiar white tiles and Gachtler glow rods of the infirmary, beside him the captain was perched on a short legged stool the doctors or nurses used when having to interact with a patient. "All you got out of it is a fractured nose, but you hurt Garr badly, and Guerlach isn't going to be walking around for a while," Gil was informed.
His neck muscles protested as he turned his head to the officer. Kinnert was presenting him one of his cauliflower ears, puffed and scarred from years of battery. The Captain was staring at a blank portion of the wall his mind seemingly miles away.
"Wha- what happened?" Gilserand's voice rasped from a chemical dryness, the faint after taste of some medication beginning to register.
Turning to look at the corporal, Captain Kinnert smiled; the man's lips said one thing but some tragedy reflected out of his eyes.
"Lieutenant Guerlach unlocked the champion in you, but at a cost to himself and your sergeant." Gilserand's confounded look actually wrought a change in the officer's smile, making the expression more genuine, more friendly. "The lieutenant is going to be passing blood each time he pisses for the next few days. Sergeant Goenz is undergoing surgery right now for a crushed larynx. Two magisters are holding his throat open while the doctors are trying to reconstruct his adam's apple."
Belly and back muscles screamed and protested as Gil tried to sit up, a thrill of horror shooting through his being. He flopped back onto his pillow, pain radiating from his core.
"No! Dammit no!" Once again a multiplicity of emotions played through Captain Kinnert's blue orbs, pain, worry, pride, reluctance, misery.
"When Sergeant Dilburd and Corporal Graeseed brought you to our attention, we started to observe you. We watched you at school, we watched you with your friends, and we found something rare," the captain stated his voice low but compelling. "We took a chance and did not gather you two years ago. My bosses wanted to test you, to see if you would live up to the potential we thought you had."
Kinnert shifted on the stool, suddenly boring into Gilserand with the focus of his look. "We took a big gamble not taking you in then, you could have chosen a different path in life. But you did choose us, Mister Rivenheart, which meant we could start molding you for the future you will have in the guard. We kept you separate from the men, we picked on you, we punished you, we made you strive-" Gil lifted his head snarling in his superiors face.
"You tortured me, and when that wasn't good enough, you tortured the people in my unit! Making me hurt people...." Instead of pulling away, Kinnert leaned in as if basking in the heat of Gilserand's anger.
If Gilserand could have pushed himself through the bed and pillow, he would have, just to escape the madness he was hearing.
"Our methods are not supposed to be humane, Gilserand, they are supposed to bring out the protector hiding in every person. The best protectors are those who won't hesitate to kill if it's necessary. Our best officers also have to have the capacity to know when to let off from their inner killer, to win with grace and pave the way to lasting peace. An officer and a champion is the rarest of us guard's, and that is what you are going to be. The shame of it is that you are still so young, and this style of training is so brutal."
The battered features of the officer pulled away, and Gil felt himself being studied. Here he was, being offered a position of power, the type of chance he had longed for just a day ago, and all Gil could do was probe the insanity of what he had endured.
"Champion?" he asked, the medications making his throat feel as if it was sticking to itself when he swallowed. Reaching passed Gil, Captain Kinnert came back with a pitcher of ice water and a glass. He began to fill the glass.
"The old king wanted the guard to have a select few soldiers who are great fighters, martial artists who are unmatched in battle. His son thinks these warriors should also be advisors to the martially adept magisters who often work with us."
Helping Gilserand sit up, the officer held him so that the water could be drank. "Your training will see you become a bodyguard for our top notch war magisters, and you'll eventually learn how to lead our armies and deploy those magisters to their best effect in war. From bodyguard, to advisor, to master... if you live long enough." After being eased back into his pillow, all Gil wanted to do was close his eyes and wake back up into a world where there was innocence and purity. He shifted his eyes away from Captain Kinnert and watched the tiles above do nothing, dismissing the officer without words.
However, his superior had more to say. Will this son of a Burning Spirit just go away, take his life hating perversion with him? "The Wild Rose of Bolloren rode in from the north while you were in training. After these Sauri have been dealt with you will be entered in officer training school and advanced weapon training. That means you will be spending some time in the capitol." Gilserand was tempted to drive the officer away with profanity and rage, but he just did not have the energy. He wanted to quit the guard, he wanted to walk away... but there was a point of curiosity that nagged at him.
"Pay?" The captain took to his feet, finally sensing he was no longer wanted. He did offer a wan smile as he looked down on the younger man.
"In three years time you will be able to buy your step mother a new house in the inner city, and a storefront if she wants one."
That promise of wealth tugged at Gil who had spent his fifteen years of life poor. He fell asleep still at war with his conviction and his need for the money offered. The hush of night pervaded the hospital when Gilserand woke up. Though his head still ached, the rest of his physicality was much improved. For a time he lay in the bed trying to will himself back to sleep, but his body rebelled with inner energy. Silently he rose and found his uniform and boots in the nightstand that held more ice water. Obtaining directions from a night nurse, Gil worked his way deeper into the barracks infirmary. He found Lieutenant Guearlach surprisingly awake, looking miserable in his bed.
Other than a narrowing of his eyes and a watchfulness one applied to an enemy, the officer did not greet Gil. They stared at each other for several long awkward moments. Gilserand was the first to break.
"May the Lords of Light and Life hear me, I forgive you, Lieutenant Guerlach. I owe you penance for what I did to you and Sergeant Goenz." His voice came out flatter than he had wanted, but much of his passion had been spent in hate this day. The older man's face crumpled, becoming childish as tears filled his eyes.
"I hated my orders, I hated what I did to you, Rivenheart. I would have broken a long time ago if our roles had been reversed."
A hand came out from under the bed covers and reached for Gil. The officer looked so lost as he reached for some sort of human contact. Despite all the reservations he held towards this man, he took that hand and leaned in closer wishing he had the power to erase the pain he found reflected back at himself.
"You did break me, Lieutenant. But I think I can put myself back together somewhat. I hope." A gentle squeeze answered Gil's words.
"Goenz pulled through, his surgery was successful. I think I can honestly speak for him and myself in telling you that you owe us no penance. The Lords of Light and Life bear witness, we drove you to that violence. We earned our wounds. Corporal Gilserand, Sergeant Garr is in charge, he is going to need your help running the Eighth until I get out of this bed. Can I count on you?"
What in the outer worlds is this? He cares for the platoon? Yet again Gilserand was blind sided by an aspect he had not thought the lieutenant was capable of. It was at that moment that he realized the pickle a training officer had to deal with in his or her life. They had the weight and responsibility of a younger generation in their hands, and then they had to break those individuals down and remake them in the image society required of them. Guerlach lived a contradictory existence, but he was good at it.
"Yes sir, the Eighth is a good unit already. We'll take care of each other until you come back." That promise meant the world to Lieutenant Guerlach.
Clack clack clackity click clack shiiing! Guerlack had continued the pressure, an untiring force of nature, but Gil had noticed an opening. Though the lieutenant had to jump back to avoid the corporal's slash, the tip of the practice spear had sang across chain links. Not a killing blow, but a type of victory in itself. The officer stepped back, coming to attention with the spear grounded at his side.
"Good, you made contact. That has earned everyone a break," Guerlach stated before leaning over the parapet to call down to the squad. "Everyone, you get ten minutes! Don't drink too much water when you re-hydrate!"
Gil pulled his helmet off as he perched between wooden crenelations. All he could do for a long while was pant and feel miserable, his hand trembled when he did muster some energy to take up his canteen.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, not caring anymore if he failed and was driven from the guards. I finally touch him after forever, and he calls a long needed break? This son of a Burning Spirit is sick! Gilserand knew it was a game, a mentally twisted game that he didn't want to play anymore. Though sweat streamed down the officer's face, he stood tall as he sipped water.
Pointing his potato shaped nose at Gil, Guerlach studied the younger man for a moment.
"What do you think I am doing?" Brain and body did not want to function, but Gilserand forced himself to share his observation.
"You're punishing the squad for me not being able to fight as good as you, Sir." Gil knew his words were inelegant, but he was now beyond finding a more diplomatic way of confronting his superior. Lieutenant Guerlach nodded, his eyes hooded as he watched for Gil's reaction. Who in their right mind would admit to the crime being perpetrated!
Using his canteen to indicate Gilserand, the officer began to reveal his sadism.
"I can see you're brave, Corporal, you are quick on your feet and quick with your thinking. You compete to win but you have too much compassion for your opponents. That compassion prevents you from reaching your full potential as a fighter. You need to have a killer instinct. Without that you are going to get yourself and others killed. Those men down there are going to suffer continuous work until you start winning our fights." Still maintaining eye contact Lieutenant Guerlach moved over to perch in the crenelations next to Gil's seat.
"But compassion is necessary to bring an end to fighting, Sir." he complained.
Gilserand still found Guerlach's smiles incongruous, he was thrown off yet again by the expression.
"Compassion has it's place at the end of the fighting, not during. If you fight with compassion, you end up losing and having to hope compassion is shown to you. To win, you have to shut compassion off. You have to embrace the monster inside you, let the monster rein and kill as many as you can as efficiently as you can. Only when the enemy is on his knees begging for mercy should you even consider such a thing. Those men down there are going to have to drill and drill until you figure this lesson out, Rivenheart. I wonder if any of them will die from heat stroke or a heart attack," the man sneered every time he had said 'compassion'.
All he could do was gape at the officer and the lack of humanity he found there. Looking out over Alren, Lieutenant Guerlach ignored Gil after that exchange. Dammit, why am I still being singled out? Why am I up here instead of down there? Gilserand did not receive any answers, not even when he prayed before having to pick up his practice spear yet again. Reverting to his childish nature from before learning to tap into his inner observer, Gil rushed in shouting and slashing madly. After getting up for the fourth time from that failed tactic, the struggling corporal calmed down and tried to think. Down below someone called out in obvious pain.
"Lords of Light, this is killing us! Please stop!"
Those tormented soldiers thought it was the noncoms being monstrous to them, but Gilserand knew the sergeants had to be acting under orders. He was the reason they were hurting. This sadistic piece of filth before him had made it his fault. Gil's focus narrowed as he threw off attack after attack, discovering an economy of movement he could have been using while blocking with the blunt half of his weapon. My moment will come..., he thought, finding that blunting Guerlach's attacks was now far easier. Desperation was leaving him. There! As the lieutenant threw a nasty slash at Gils left ear, Gilserand greatly deepened his stance effectively ducking the swinging weapon. The officers stomach and chest were wide open. Driving with his legs and a mighty thrust of his arms, Gil lifted the officer off his feet and drove him at literal spear point a full body length back.
This focus Gil had came with a caveat, a fury almost took him when his spear point made contact. He saw himself as he drove forward following the lieutenant in an arch through the air, he saw himself driving the training stick all the way through the officer's arching flight and deep into the planks below him when the man crashed onto his back. For a second he was witness to the deed, then a wave of purple swallowed that world away only to reveal he was only half way through driving forward, just a fraction of a second after his blunted point had started driving armored links into the suits wearer. The officer did slam into the walls walk, but Gil had not followed with the life ending madness he could have sworn he had just lived through.
Fear was in Lieutenant Guerlach's eyes when Gil threatened to pin him with the practice weapon. The man wheezed three times before air sucked back into his lungs and he could actually call a halt to practice. Watching the officer closely, Gilserand drifted back away, bringing his practice stick to a ready position. Inside he felt that cold focus fall over himself again, ready for the officer to come at him.
"Everyone, take an hour lunch. When you come back to the wall you are to be dressed in shirt and shorts. The rest of the day will be instruction with demonstration, no more drills." Nearly half of the Eighth Platoon dropped on the spot, so thoroughly spent that watching their own sweat and tears fall to the concrete encased stones was all they wanted to do.
Narrowing his eyes at the junior officer, he found the man watching him just as closely all the while climbing to his feet. Gil took another step back before he began to turn and head for the nearest tower stairway. "Not you Corporal Rivenheart." His focus jumbled as trepidation struck. This sadistic bastard is still playing games with me! That idea almost drove him to attack the man. Lieutenant Guerlach smiled at what he saw passing through Gil's eyes, a challenge broadcasting from his own blue orbs. "You just touched that part in yourself that you need to survive. Now I want to see if you can hold onto that feeling, that killer instinct. You see, Corporal, we are going to repeat the lessons of today tomorrow, but I will not allow the platoon to have a break until you have hit me twice while we duel," the man said, almost seeming to be bragging about his perverse need to destroy his soldiers.
Enough! This ends now, I am going to kill him this time! Something of his intent must have leaked through as he started for the lieutenant, the man brought his weapon up but also a gesture to ward him away. "You can stop this from ever happening though. All you have to do is duel Garr, Goenz, and myself all at once. I need to see if you can maintain your inner monster." This was like the scripture books, where one of the malicious Burning Spirits offered a saint a deadly bargain. Damn this game! Damn this man! Gilserand started for Guerlach again, this time shouting.
"I don't want to do this! I don't want to become anything like you!" Most of the Eighth Platoon turned around or rolled over as Gilserands voice echoed from the wall, the long awaited confrontation seemed to be happening at last.
A small smile played about the officer's thickish lips, his eyes calculating.
"It's all up to you Corporal Rivenheart, all these boys and girls will be worked twice as hard tomorrow as they have been today. If you show me what I want to see now, then they can have the day off. Beat the three of us. You hit each one of us at least once before we get a total of three hits against you," Lieutenant Guerlach's voice carried as far as Gil's had, informing more than the platoon what was at stake. "I'll even give you three tries to pull it off." This time the older man's challenge seemed to hold a smirk. Soldiers that had been dragging slowly back to the barracks returned, their eyes on the pair up on the wall. Those who had been lying on the road trying to muster something akin to energy, climbed to their feet watching the challenge unfolding above them.
This is sheer cruelty! Why is Guerlach openly admitting that their fate is tied to my decision? Why should I put up with this farce! Gil Thought, his eyes flickering to the edge of the walk as he considered throwing his practice spear away and walking home to The Widow. In a much quieter voice, one that only carried between himself and Gil, the officer countered what was percolating through the younger man's mind. "Don't do it, you will be throwing away a great career. I'm doing this to make you a better soldier, not because I like it." Gilserand was not mollified at all, he hissed back at the officer, unconsciously matching his voices volume to Guerlach's.
"How does making me choose their fate make me a better soldier, a better man, a better anything?" he challenged.
The lieutenant did not answer at first, instead he paced for the edge of the parapet. Just before he stepped off the edge, braking his fall with a brief one handed grip to swing to the wall's outward swell, Guerlach answered.
"The decision each soldier makes effects his mates, the higher your rank, the greater the impact of those choices on those under you." Below the officer joined his noncom's. The three of them spread out while watching Gilserand, readying themselves for a fight. Frustration was bringing tears to Gil's eyes, his muscles still trembled from the hours of continuous skirmishing he had done. Gilserand swallowed all that away, all except the furl in his brow as he rolled his neck. He took the stairs down, finding the whole platoon forming a semi circle around the combat area when he hit the street.
On entering the human crafted crescent, he found Sergeant Goenz and Sergeant Garr maneuvering to get behind him. No matter which way Gil turned, he would always have one of his foes sitting in his blind spot.
"Tulauten, call a start!" Goenz ordered, forcing Gilserand to drop into his combat stance despite his inner debate. How am I supposed to pull this off? he wondered. I can still quit.
"On three," Private Tulauten called, for once the man's face was not locked in disdain or contempt. He looked at Gil with troubled eyes. "One... two... three!" Gilserand reached for that cold watchful feeling inside, and nothing was there to grasp.
A scuff of a boot from behind started it off. As Gilserand spun to parry, Garr came at him from his right, but a staff point hit his left shoulder. The force was great, and Gil felt himself taking to the air. Another thrusting point changed his trajectory, while a slash prevented him from getting his legs back under himself. In less than a second he had been struck three times. A massive grumble issued from thirty nine throats as Gil crashed to the hard stones. Muscles that were still sore and bruised protested as Gilserand struggled to his feet, a fresh slick of sweat breaking out under his chain shirt. When Tulauten counted down the start of the next bout, he seemed to lack hope; he just did a quick count and folded his arms.
This time Gilserand remembered his newly acquired fighting technique. His parries flowed into his footwork as he pirouetted while swatting aside attack after attack. Against three people, Gil's opportunities to counter attack never manifested. Trying to force the issue only made him flail harmlessly at Lieutenant Guerlach, which opened him up for a touch from Garr's spear. Thrown off balance, he was quickly whacked in the back just before Goenz's weapon crashed into Gilserand's nose. Stars exploded, sparkles that raced away into an all encompassing dark. The first thing he tasted was blood when pouring water hit his face, shocking him from an oblivion he had welcomed.
"Come on, Rivenheart. You can do this," a smear of a face among other blurry flesh colored ovals seemed to say with Jaffe's voice.
Not one person's features sharpened above him, the small crowd of supporters a faceless mass. Gilserand rolled over and pushed himself slowly upright as spots danced in his vision. Blood from his nose trickled slowly out, just another hot bead of moisture on his upper lip. The world tilted back and forth like a carnival ride, until Private Machen handed Gil his practice weapon. The appeal in Machen's boyish eyes became a focal point, an anchor that drove away the dizziness in his head and firmed the earth under his feet. A slight smile from the young man felt like a benediction handed down from the Lords of Light and Life. Gamely he walked back into the circling threesome, his limbs trembling, but his mission clear. Win. I must win. Once again the surly soldier counted down the start for this last skirmish, his voice growling from the anticipated disappointment he was facing.
All three of his opponents lunged at him at the same time. Gilserand danced out from between spear shafts, using his weapon to deflect the one blunted point he had not dodged. Both Lieutenant Guerlach and Sergeant Goenz applied pressure, their practice weapons jabbing and slashing with great speed. Sergeant Garr circled to get back behind Gil. Wait a minute, if I can keep one of them between myself and the other two I might stand a chance. Squirting from between the trio, Gilserand moved so that he only faced Goenz; Garr was too far away for the moment, and Guerlach was behind the sergeant. For a second he was the attacker, his flickering weapon forcing Goenz to stumble back into the mass of his friends. The lieutenant and other noncom tried to encircle Gil again, but when he tried to shift through a gap, Guerlach's point drove into Gilserand's abdomen.
Though he shifted so that the full brunt of the attack did not drive through his body, Gil was still staggered a bit. This time, he was out of reach of the other two tormentors and they could not count another quick coup against him. Coldness folded over Gilserand, his ultra sharp focus coming onto him once more. Unfortunately spots also began to infringe upon his eyesight, hot purple sparks. Still he sensed Goenz coming in on him from the left flank, Guerlach was circling around the sergeant, and Garr was speeding in from the right. He pivoted as he jumped to the right, his spear slashing across Garrs neck. As soon as he landed he gathered himself again, he lunged at the other noncom; a heart shot, then he spun as he dropped under the lieutenant's thrust. The blunt end of his spear cracking up between the officer's legs.
A purple wave swept across Gilserand's vision and he found himself once again back in time. Goenz was coming in with a swing from his left, Guerlach breaking to pivot around the sergeant, as Garr came in from the right. This time he did not stop himself from repeating the moment he had just lived through. Spots grew and danced in his vision even as he felt a series of contact shocks in his stave, his steps and arms working despite the fading of Gil's vision. Slash, leaping lunge, upper cut. Dark oblivion reached for Gilserand before the upper cut. Did I make it, did I hit all three of them? he wondered before he could wonder no more.... Shouts! A lot of people were shouting! An emergency! Someone was hurt. He had to get up and help.... He had.... He....
Gilserand realized he was on his back, his body aching all over, especially his head. Oh no, they got me. Dammit, no! Groaning at the unfairness he pulled himself a little further towards a wakeful state. A familiar voice shocked his eyes wide open from their fluttering state.
"No Corporal Rivenheart, you got them, they didn't get you," Captain Kinnert said. Above him was the familiar white tiles and Gachtler glow rods of the infirmary, beside him the captain was perched on a short legged stool the doctors or nurses used when having to interact with a patient. "All you got out of it is a fractured nose, but you hurt Garr badly, and Guerlach isn't going to be walking around for a while," Gil was informed.
His neck muscles protested as he turned his head to the officer. Kinnert was presenting him one of his cauliflower ears, puffed and scarred from years of battery. The Captain was staring at a blank portion of the wall his mind seemingly miles away.
"Wha- what happened?" Gilserand's voice rasped from a chemical dryness, the faint after taste of some medication beginning to register.
Turning to look at the corporal, Captain Kinnert smiled; the man's lips said one thing but some tragedy reflected out of his eyes.
"Lieutenant Guerlach unlocked the champion in you, but at a cost to himself and your sergeant." Gilserand's confounded look actually wrought a change in the officer's smile, making the expression more genuine, more friendly. "The lieutenant is going to be passing blood each time he pisses for the next few days. Sergeant Goenz is undergoing surgery right now for a crushed larynx. Two magisters are holding his throat open while the doctors are trying to reconstruct his adam's apple."
Belly and back muscles screamed and protested as Gil tried to sit up, a thrill of horror shooting through his being. He flopped back onto his pillow, pain radiating from his core.
"No! Dammit no!" Once again a multiplicity of emotions played through Captain Kinnert's blue orbs, pain, worry, pride, reluctance, misery.
"When Sergeant Dilburd and Corporal Graeseed brought you to our attention, we started to observe you. We watched you at school, we watched you with your friends, and we found something rare," the captain stated his voice low but compelling. "We took a chance and did not gather you two years ago. My bosses wanted to test you, to see if you would live up to the potential we thought you had."
Kinnert shifted on the stool, suddenly boring into Gilserand with the focus of his look. "We took a big gamble not taking you in then, you could have chosen a different path in life. But you did choose us, Mister Rivenheart, which meant we could start molding you for the future you will have in the guard. We kept you separate from the men, we picked on you, we punished you, we made you strive-" Gil lifted his head snarling in his superiors face.
"You tortured me, and when that wasn't good enough, you tortured the people in my unit! Making me hurt people...." Instead of pulling away, Kinnert leaned in as if basking in the heat of Gilserand's anger.
If Gilserand could have pushed himself through the bed and pillow, he would have, just to escape the madness he was hearing.
"Our methods are not supposed to be humane, Gilserand, they are supposed to bring out the protector hiding in every person. The best protectors are those who won't hesitate to kill if it's necessary. Our best officers also have to have the capacity to know when to let off from their inner killer, to win with grace and pave the way to lasting peace. An officer and a champion is the rarest of us guard's, and that is what you are going to be. The shame of it is that you are still so young, and this style of training is so brutal."
The battered features of the officer pulled away, and Gil felt himself being studied. Here he was, being offered a position of power, the type of chance he had longed for just a day ago, and all Gil could do was probe the insanity of what he had endured.
"Champion?" he asked, the medications making his throat feel as if it was sticking to itself when he swallowed. Reaching passed Gil, Captain Kinnert came back with a pitcher of ice water and a glass. He began to fill the glass.
"The old king wanted the guard to have a select few soldiers who are great fighters, martial artists who are unmatched in battle. His son thinks these warriors should also be advisors to the martially adept magisters who often work with us."
Helping Gilserand sit up, the officer held him so that the water could be drank. "Your training will see you become a bodyguard for our top notch war magisters, and you'll eventually learn how to lead our armies and deploy those magisters to their best effect in war. From bodyguard, to advisor, to master... if you live long enough." After being eased back into his pillow, all Gil wanted to do was close his eyes and wake back up into a world where there was innocence and purity. He shifted his eyes away from Captain Kinnert and watched the tiles above do nothing, dismissing the officer without words.
However, his superior had more to say. Will this son of a Burning Spirit just go away, take his life hating perversion with him? "The Wild Rose of Bolloren rode in from the north while you were in training. After these Sauri have been dealt with you will be entered in officer training school and advanced weapon training. That means you will be spending some time in the capitol." Gilserand was tempted to drive the officer away with profanity and rage, but he just did not have the energy. He wanted to quit the guard, he wanted to walk away... but there was a point of curiosity that nagged at him.
"Pay?" The captain took to his feet, finally sensing he was no longer wanted. He did offer a wan smile as he looked down on the younger man.
"In three years time you will be able to buy your step mother a new house in the inner city, and a storefront if she wants one."
That promise of wealth tugged at Gil who had spent his fifteen years of life poor. He fell asleep still at war with his conviction and his need for the money offered. The hush of night pervaded the hospital when Gilserand woke up. Though his head still ached, the rest of his physicality was much improved. For a time he lay in the bed trying to will himself back to sleep, but his body rebelled with inner energy. Silently he rose and found his uniform and boots in the nightstand that held more ice water. Obtaining directions from a night nurse, Gil worked his way deeper into the barracks infirmary. He found Lieutenant Guearlach surprisingly awake, looking miserable in his bed.
Other than a narrowing of his eyes and a watchfulness one applied to an enemy, the officer did not greet Gil. They stared at each other for several long awkward moments. Gilserand was the first to break.
"May the Lords of Light and Life hear me, I forgive you, Lieutenant Guerlach. I owe you penance for what I did to you and Sergeant Goenz." His voice came out flatter than he had wanted, but much of his passion had been spent in hate this day. The older man's face crumpled, becoming childish as tears filled his eyes.
"I hated my orders, I hated what I did to you, Rivenheart. I would have broken a long time ago if our roles had been reversed."
A hand came out from under the bed covers and reached for Gil. The officer looked so lost as he reached for some sort of human contact. Despite all the reservations he held towards this man, he took that hand and leaned in closer wishing he had the power to erase the pain he found reflected back at himself.
"You did break me, Lieutenant. But I think I can put myself back together somewhat. I hope." A gentle squeeze answered Gil's words.
"Goenz pulled through, his surgery was successful. I think I can honestly speak for him and myself in telling you that you owe us no penance. The Lords of Light and Life bear witness, we drove you to that violence. We earned our wounds. Corporal Gilserand, Sergeant Garr is in charge, he is going to need your help running the Eighth until I get out of this bed. Can I count on you?"
What in the outer worlds is this? He cares for the platoon? Yet again Gilserand was blind sided by an aspect he had not thought the lieutenant was capable of. It was at that moment that he realized the pickle a training officer had to deal with in his or her life. They had the weight and responsibility of a younger generation in their hands, and then they had to break those individuals down and remake them in the image society required of them. Guerlach lived a contradictory existence, but he was good at it.
"Yes sir, the Eighth is a good unit already. We'll take care of each other until you come back." That promise meant the world to Lieutenant Guerlach.