Under the Shadow of the Eagle

Part Six

—Raise that sword higher —the vengeance told the warrior.

—Hold that shield better —he replied.

—Do you miss your spears? —the cut from the falcata was brutal.

—Not really —but the oval shield stopped it without a hitch, then moving the weapon to the side as the straight sword shot towards the woman.

—Well, you should —with only one step aside, the vengeance dodged the stab, pushed the warrior's shield, and drove her right knee into his stomach.

—Do you think so? —speaking through the pain, as if he felt nothing, he threw a punch with his sword's guard. She was fast enough to dodge it, but he was fast enough to reach her anyway on one shoulder.

—Stop —when the druid spoke, the fight stopped immediately—, enough training for today between the two of you. Slave —she turned and raised her voice—, is today the day?

—... —the shoulders straightened, but the rest of the body didn't move—... I'm sorry... —and as he spoke, he shook his head, although only the movement of his hood was seen.

—I understand.

—I'll go back to my tasks.

—... Yes, go ahead.

—Thank you, mistress.

—How many apprentices do you have, mistress? —the warrior asked the woman, finishing sheathing his sword.

—As many as are necessary for our people to continue to exist —she answered.

Without anyone being able to say anything to her, when she finished speaking, the druid walked away, leaning on her scythe. The vengeance followed her almost immediately, a few steps away.

—Did you... train to be a druid too? —the warrior suddenly asked the slave, seeing that they were both alone.

—... No...

—Then, why...?

—I call her a mistress because... because... because she has tried...

—Calm down, you don't have to answer me.

—But I want to... She has tried... to make me a warrior again.

—You are one of us then...

—I was.

—The only way to stop being a warrior is...

—Dying, I know... but... but what happened to me was...

—Seriously, you don't have to...

—Yes, I have to. I need to get my courage back, the druid told me I need...

—Then do it —the warrior stood in front of the slave, looking into his eyes—, get your courage back. Tell me.

He was a man barely a few inches shorter, with uneven black hair that barely reached his neck, a beard only a few months old, and crooked scars where his war paint had once been. He was covered by several pieces of coarse cloth and old leather hanging from a belt, worn-out and battered boots, and wide cloak and hood that had already forgotten their colors. A hunting knife and an axe could be seen behind his waist.

The warrior's mud stains were still on the scars left by the druid long ago, where his war paint had once been. His beard had grown, and he wore it in a braid, surrounded by his moustaches. Also his hair, long to his waist, was now a single braid instead of several. The curved knife he received from his mistress was hanging from his belt, sheathed next to his dagger and sword.