Valiant

Chapter 4: Training

Three years later, here I am, climbing a pine tree on my trainer's command.

"Higher, boy!" Sir Isaac's voice is bitter and commanding, with feral undertones. As usual.
I immediately snap my arm upward despite the burning sensations that are pounding against my core. My fingers brush the rough bark of the branch I aim for, and circle it securely.
I let out another groan as I muscle my aching body upward, into the depths of the uppermost limbs of the tree.

"Now pull into position!" The order reaches me and my body reacts automatically.
I raise my body into the shape of a flag, using the tree and my abdominal muscles for support in defiance of gravity. It takes about ten seconds for my body to start screaming in utter agony, but I hold. Out of sheer stubbornness, if I'm honest with myself, I hold. I can't give Isaac the satisfaction of breaking me. I just can't.

That thought becomes a mantra as the screaming in my muscles turns into shaking, and it becomes nearly impossible to keep the position. I turn my focus away from the pain, and into the details of the branch. I see the sticky sap of the tree clinging to my fingers in pale chunks. I notice a red beetle scurrying across the inconsistent terrain of the trunk and into a hole.

But then, a bead of hot, salty sweat drips into my eye, and I lose focus for a second.
Muttering a curse and shaking my head to blink away the stinging droplet, I don't have time to see the stick come flying at me from the below.

I feel I it though. The projectile made its mark tip-first into my groin.
A dull urge to vomit springs upward through my stomach, and my grip weakens. Then, I am falling. Another branch catches me in the stomach, and it sends me into a dizzying spiral downward as I heave for a breath. If I could breathe, I would be screaming.

I brace for impact on the earth a moment too late, and as I land on my back, what little breath I had fought for on the way down is forcefully expelled. My lungs are screaming for air, but my muscles, having been relieved of their struggle, are sending waves of pleasure through my limbs and core, as they rest.

As soon as I get my breath, I notice a flash out of the corner of my eye and another stick comes flying in my direction, away from Sir Isaac. I flinch involuntarily, and it hits my forearms and tumbles to the ground.

But, before I realize that the "stick" was actually my sword, Isaac is running in my direction, with his clothes flapping like flags, his hand holding his own wooden sword above his head, and his stubbly lips parted in a fierce battle cry.

I force my muscles into motion, and dust clings to the sweat on my tunic as I rise, sword in hand, to deliver a fierce stab that would have gutted him like a fish had it landed. But, as it was, he sidesteps my attack and catches me under the jaw with a looping underhand blow that knocks me back onto my shoulder blades and blasts my eyesight into a red haze for an instant.

Gasping, I just manage to raise my blade across my chest before Isaac is above me, with his strange scent clouding my nostrils, and the tip of his blade lightly pressed against my Adam's apple.

He growls out a mirthless laugh, and withdraws to let me stagger to my feet like a drunken man. Anger floods my vision in a black mist for a moment, or maybe I am just close to passing out.

Isaac draws his hand to his hip and idly picks at the hem of his trousers as he remarks, "Better, but you are still weak. You should have dodged that stick in the tree like I taught you to, and your stab wouldn't have hit the side of a house, but at least you managed to grab your damn weapon when you fell, and you lasted about a minute and a half this time before I knocked you out of the tree."

An furious retort containing many unsavory words springs to my lips, but I bite my tongue and look away.

"You are to put on the chain mail today, as you make your laps around the course. And then you can make me my midday meal."