Taitenschild

6-1 || Mages Amongst Warriors (Part I)

Seras, the Floating Mountain
Spring, Sun Year 299 A.T. of the Serenian Calendar

The life of a warrior-trainee was simple. Be at the training grounds at dawn, bash each other with wooden sticks until noon, then hunt, forage and fish for an offering for the noon meal and disperse to bathe in the lake or do whatever else young men and women did in their free time.

The bashing each other with sticks was the worst part for Eliah. The training grounds were on the edge of the village, but most of the soldiers, shieldmaidens and Titans with claimed children liked to watch the warrior-trainees spar – just to make sure that they hadn't picked the wrong progeny.

Regis, however, refused to show his face, stating that his presence would cause more trouble than it was worth. So Aramir had taken it upon himself instead, making sure to swing by and shout some encouragement whenever he was home. Aramir on his own wasn't too bad, but Eliah couldn't stand the swarm of swooning shieldmaidens and wannabe-Titans that constantly shadowed him. Being distracted by the constant shrieks of 'Taitenschild!' behind her had resulted in far too many extra bruises.

That was what she told herself, anyway. Truth be told, she didn't stand much of a chance of not getting bruised in the the first place.

Of all the warrior-trainees that remained in her sun year's ranks, Eliah was the smallest and the slightest. Where she had grown only scant inches in the last three years, most of the other 16-year-olds had shot up like weeds and gained muscle like bears. There were a few exceptions, of course; at least two more trainees in their rank of ten failed the physical expectations of the Clan. Yet, every training session, she and the other stragglers found themselves facing the biggest, most advantaged, opponents they could spar.

None of them had dared to complain for fear of being kicked from the ranks, but their Trainer, Sten, could read the growing despair and frustration on their faces after every session they spent eating dirt. 'War doesn't care if match-ups are unfair,' he'd said.

Of course, it was highly unlikely that he'd feel the same way if someone used magic to even the odds.

Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as she and her opponent circled each other. She was aching, bruised and shaking from fatigue. Her hands could barely keep a grip on her quarterstaff. Thankfully, the sun had almost reached its peak. Just a few more moments and it would be over.

Some pairs had already stopped sparring, choosing to stand around looking like they were about to go another round while actually stalling for time. Unfortunately, Eliah could not expect the same. Her partner, Balint Gunnarschild, was considered one of the most promising in her sun year. A pair of Titans had spent the last year or so brawling over who got to claim him as theirs, inflating his ego and inciting a desperate need to live up to their expectations. So long as she was on her feet, he'd spend every last minute of the session beating her into the ground.

The smart choice would be to let him. Make a glancing blow look like a solid hit and stay down until midday. But that meant admitting she was weak, and Eliah was too stubborn for that.

Running her tongue over her dry lips, she widened her feet into a defensive stance. The girl wasn't stupid enough to think that she could bring him down, but she could at least try to stay on her feet until the call.

Balint rushed her, weapon raised overhead like he was wielding a sword. But even though her mind read the overhead strike, her body was too slow to respond.

It was always too slow to respond.

Hands spread wide across her staff, she caught the blow just above the top of her head. Her arms were shaking with the struggle, and he hadn't even brought his full weight to bear.