15th Bell - 50th Day of Summer, 517AV - Endrykas (Pridesun Pavilion)
The man was so much bigger than Dashiel.
Taller, broader, stronger, and covered with the scars of a life that had made him far tougher, even with all the Chaktawe had endured. An arm like a massive snake ensnared him around the middle, lifting him off his feet, and the boy knew fear. That naked, paralyzing terror of one outmatched past the point of fighting.
"So," hissed a voice in his ear, Pavi as chopped up as half his face. "What you do?"
Dashiel hesitated. That would cost him later, he was sure. But he remembered, too. His jaw flexed, tightened with conviction... and one hand reached around behind him, found the fleshy spot he was looking for and squeezed-
Konrad roared and let the boy go, clutching his crotch where his twisted genitals had been savaged by the boy. Dashiel hit the ground with his bare feet and whirled, glaring up at him, eyes warring between triumph and terror, and...
"... well?"
"I..."
Hesitation. Again. For petch's sake.
Konrad rolled his eyes, and decided to be merciful. Wasn't much to be gained on battering the kid insensible, and even if there was, he didn't need the other Drykas giving him shyke for it. So he swung out a lazy leg, just fast enough to slam into Dashiel's skinny chest and put him on his back.
The boy gasped and coughed, but there were no tears. Konrad approved. Tears got you sod all in this world. He spoke as he loomed over the boy, casting a shadow so broad and dark the Chaktawe didn't even need to squint against Syna.
"You hit again." He patted (carefully) his throbbing balls. "And again, if can. You keep making hit. Keep hit, so enemy cannot fight. Then you finish him, or run."
Fear flushed the face of the boy again, and Konrad could guess why. Fighting to give himself time to run, yes, the boy could understand that. Running was, apparently, what he was good at. But fighting to kill? To "finish" his enemy, as easily as one would some pest or vermin?
He needs to learn. Everyone does. Even if you never have to use it, you carry it in you.
"Fight is not over when enemy not fight you," he said, words a mite softer as he offered a hand that was, of course, refused. Ah, the pride of youth. "Fight is over when enemy can not fight. You see how is different?"
"Y-Yes."
Konrad gave the ubiquitous "hmph" of a man unconvinced, but didn't press the issue any further. Dashiel was already sporting a bruise under his jaw and would have another one on his chest soon. They'd been at this for nearly half a bell, and Konrad knew pushing him further would only do damage, not teach.
"Come back in one two day," he said, taking a swig from his 'skin and offering the water to the boy... who promptly shook his head. Konrad marveled at how the little sod never seemed to need water as much as everyone else, even in the middle of a bloody drought. "When bruise better. But until then..."
Even with his broken Pavi, Konrad was able to lead the sentence where he wanted, without giving much in the way of specifics. Dashiel nodded furiously, remembering the instructions the big man had given him.
He was to listen. For his name, for Hansel, and for any talk of the scarred walahk in the Pridesun pavilion. If he heard anything, he was to tell Konrad about it. In return, Konrad would teach the boy to fight, to defend himself, as often as he had the time to spare.
"What you do to people who say things about you?"
Dashiel had asked him that with wariness in his eyes, not just fear. Konrad almost smiled. Boy knew how to cover his arse, for sure. So he just shrugged.
"Nothing. Just good to know who talk about me. This not where I born. Cannot just kill people. Here, are rules. But no rule say I cannot know, yes?"
That seemed to placate the boy, and it was the truth, too. Back in Sunberth, if some urchin came scampering to Konrad with word of some bastard talking shyke about him, insulting him, challenging him, he'd get a coin in his skinny hand and sent on his way. Then, a day or a dozen or a season later, said shyke-talker would be found with a dozen extra holes, or just missing his head. Such was the way of Sunberth: no matter what, you kept your reputation.
But...
Konrad didn't even need to finish the thought. He was a long way from home, and problems couldn't be so easily and definitively solved. But it was still good to know, good to have a pair of eyes and ears out there where he'd stand out. He chugged some more water, saving the rest for later, and as he turned to his tent-
The boy was back, cloud of dust at his feet. He frowned and the boy spoke, pointing back the way he'd come, at the entrance of the Pridesun's little enclosure.
"Lady to see you. Flametree."
Ah. Her again.
Taller, broader, stronger, and covered with the scars of a life that had made him far tougher, even with all the Chaktawe had endured. An arm like a massive snake ensnared him around the middle, lifting him off his feet, and the boy knew fear. That naked, paralyzing terror of one outmatched past the point of fighting.
"So," hissed a voice in his ear, Pavi as chopped up as half his face. "What you do?"
Dashiel hesitated. That would cost him later, he was sure. But he remembered, too. His jaw flexed, tightened with conviction... and one hand reached around behind him, found the fleshy spot he was looking for and squeezed-
Konrad roared and let the boy go, clutching his crotch where his twisted genitals had been savaged by the boy. Dashiel hit the ground with his bare feet and whirled, glaring up at him, eyes warring between triumph and terror, and...
"... well?"
"I..."
Hesitation. Again. For petch's sake.
Konrad rolled his eyes, and decided to be merciful. Wasn't much to be gained on battering the kid insensible, and even if there was, he didn't need the other Drykas giving him shyke for it. So he swung out a lazy leg, just fast enough to slam into Dashiel's skinny chest and put him on his back.
The boy gasped and coughed, but there were no tears. Konrad approved. Tears got you sod all in this world. He spoke as he loomed over the boy, casting a shadow so broad and dark the Chaktawe didn't even need to squint against Syna.
"You hit again." He patted (carefully) his throbbing balls. "And again, if can. You keep making hit. Keep hit, so enemy cannot fight. Then you finish him, or run."
Fear flushed the face of the boy again, and Konrad could guess why. Fighting to give himself time to run, yes, the boy could understand that. Running was, apparently, what he was good at. But fighting to kill? To "finish" his enemy, as easily as one would some pest or vermin?
He needs to learn. Everyone does. Even if you never have to use it, you carry it in you.
"Fight is not over when enemy not fight you," he said, words a mite softer as he offered a hand that was, of course, refused. Ah, the pride of youth. "Fight is over when enemy can not fight. You see how is different?"
"Y-Yes."
Konrad gave the ubiquitous "hmph" of a man unconvinced, but didn't press the issue any further. Dashiel was already sporting a bruise under his jaw and would have another one on his chest soon. They'd been at this for nearly half a bell, and Konrad knew pushing him further would only do damage, not teach.
"Come back in one two day," he said, taking a swig from his 'skin and offering the water to the boy... who promptly shook his head. Konrad marveled at how the little sod never seemed to need water as much as everyone else, even in the middle of a bloody drought. "When bruise better. But until then..."
Even with his broken Pavi, Konrad was able to lead the sentence where he wanted, without giving much in the way of specifics. Dashiel nodded furiously, remembering the instructions the big man had given him.
He was to listen. For his name, for Hansel, and for any talk of the scarred walahk in the Pridesun pavilion. If he heard anything, he was to tell Konrad about it. In return, Konrad would teach the boy to fight, to defend himself, as often as he had the time to spare.
"What you do to people who say things about you?"
Dashiel had asked him that with wariness in his eyes, not just fear. Konrad almost smiled. Boy knew how to cover his arse, for sure. So he just shrugged.
"Nothing. Just good to know who talk about me. This not where I born. Cannot just kill people. Here, are rules. But no rule say I cannot know, yes?"
That seemed to placate the boy, and it was the truth, too. Back in Sunberth, if some urchin came scampering to Konrad with word of some bastard talking shyke about him, insulting him, challenging him, he'd get a coin in his skinny hand and sent on his way. Then, a day or a dozen or a season later, said shyke-talker would be found with a dozen extra holes, or just missing his head. Such was the way of Sunberth: no matter what, you kept your reputation.
But...
Konrad didn't even need to finish the thought. He was a long way from home, and problems couldn't be so easily and definitively solved. But it was still good to know, good to have a pair of eyes and ears out there where he'd stand out. He chugged some more water, saving the rest for later, and as he turned to his tent-
The boy was back, cloud of dust at his feet. He frowned and the boy spoke, pointing back the way he'd come, at the entrance of the Pridesun's little enclosure.
"Lady to see you. Flametree."
Ah. Her again.
