NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: The Adventures of the Creeping Bam (BOOK 1: The Job)

CHAPTER NINE: GAEL

If I thought last night was the sorest and most worn-out I could ever feel after a fight, even a mock one, I've been thoroughly re-educated in that regard tonight. Last night Kesla was just testing me, getting an idea of what she had to work with. Tonight she had no such illusions. I know what she's doing, of course – I have the principles down, she recognises that, but I don't know them yet. Not really. What I have is an understanding of the rote moves and responses and defences, and enough muscle memory that I can just about react if she throws something unexpected at me, but in terms of skill I'm still little better than a novice. She has to break me down, then build me up from the ground. Given that we don't have a huge amount of time to work with, she can't afford to take her time with me. So she can't take it easy on me either. Which is why I feel like I've been beaten half to death.

Even so, I know for a fact that she's actually holding back. A lot. It's a particularly sobering thought, that she can work me over that efficiently, and it's just a hint of what she can really do. I mean I've seen her fight for real, I know what she's really capable of. It's just very different being on the receiving end of a mere fraction of that ...

I work my sore shoulders slowly, wincing a little as I have to raise my weak and fatigued arms to do so. Wow. I don't know if I can keep this up if we're to continue this over the next however many nights until we reach Bavat. Worse, if we are attacked again, and Kesla seems to think it extremely likely, am I even going to be in any fit state to defend myself with my new sword if it comes to it? I'm not filled with great confidence given how I feel right now.

Krakka's been watching me for a while now, even though he should really be keeping an eye on our surroundings, much like I'm supposed to be. Driver 8 is sat on the far side of the camp, mostly facing out into the darkness deep within the trees, and from what I've been able to learn about his capabilities, he's fully aware of everything that's going on within a two-hundred square metre radius. We could all go to sleep and he could probably keep a keen eye out for the party on his own, but Kesla insists on these watches all the same. Just to play it safe. And she's right to do so, of course.

Giving up trying to get comfortable, I pick the sword up again from my lap, shifting a little in my cross-legged seated position to try and find the optimal spot and failing miserably, and pick up the whetstone again. I look down the length of the blade the way I've seen Kesla do it, observing the various nicks her much more impressive sword did in our sparring match, and spit on the stone again to add some moisture. Then I get to work trying to smooth over the blade once again, working toward something like the wickedly keen edge Kesla's always able to achieve.

My shoulder twinges hard and I wince again, almost dropping the stone as I try not to hunch over from the pain. Krakka lets out a deep sigh and stands up, moving over with quick, easy strides. "You're causing me pain just watching you, kid." He crouches behind me and places his hands on shoulders, then I feel the cool, soft pressure as he lays his forehead against the back of my skull.

I should tell him not to, that I've got to suffer through this trial, that Kesla's making me stronger just as she's trying to making me a better fighter, and I need the pain and discomfort. I should, but I don't. I'm too passively miserable to argue. So I let him do what he does.

"Mother Luna, my glorious lady, praise your silvered light that reveals all and protects your faithful servants. Please bless this child that she may achieve the greatness I know she is capable of."

That makes me blush again, and I almost start to protest after all, but I feel a tingling in the small of my back almost immediately, a warmth in his feathered hands that's already spreading into me. Both sensations grow quickly, seeming to fill me up, and then everything just goes bright white and impossibly, wonderfully warm and I swear I've never felt anything like it. He's healed my wounds before, I've felt that heat, but it's usually more localised, concentrating on the actual injury as he forces it to knit and mend with astonishing speed. This is different, it's all over me, through me, and I can feel something else out there besides his touch, something ephemeral but tangible all the same. Something powerful. Then he lets go and the feeling fades, but slowly. I still feel good after it's gone. Far better than I have any right to.