The Sands of Rhun: A Middle Earth Story(Book 2)

Chapter 1: Training Begins

Whoosh! I dodged as a blade passed within mere inches of my face, the whir heralding its dangerously close passing. I quickly propelled myself into the air, swinging both legs at my opponent in a powerful drop kick. They fell to the ground in a cloud of dust and I leapt on top of them, a dagger in my hand as I covered their throat with the keen blade.

"Enough!" A voice yelled from the sidelines. I stood and offered my hand to my opponent, a dark-skinned girl the same age as me, nineteen. She took it and narrowed her walnut brown eyes, an expression I had become quite familiar with by now. Our trainer, a short, muscle-bound man who was completely bald save a dark topknot, walked into the dueling ring, the stormy glare he gave revealing that he was not pleased.

"Layala, you were... sloppy, to say the least. Rukil, you were a little too slow, but I feel like it's because you weren't actually trying." He spoke with a harsh accent typical of those from southern Rhun, but his tone held a surprising lack of emotion. Layala, my opponent, looked down in shame. I turned back to our trainer, raising a gloved hand defensively.

"She's merely tired, she will do better next time. And she nearly bested me with that swing," I countered, instinctively protective of my training partner. Our trainer looked at me skeptically.

"You always say that Rukil! 'She'll do better next time,' or 'her leg was injured!' Enough excuses! I cannot have weak fighters for the Pit, you know this!" With that he looked at Layala with a slight amount of sympathy, his only concession to any sort of emotion at all, then turned, stalking away to no doubt reprimand other fighters.

Layala and I made our way back to our tent, her shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment. We entered and she dropped her weapons at the entrance, moving to her bed and sitting down on the side of it, staring blankly at the wall of the tent.

I went and sat beside her, saying nothing as I silently wondered what she might be thinking. She wasn't a fighter, and we both knew it. She tried as hard as she could, but in the Pits, trying wouldn't do.

I looked over at her sympathetically.

"Layala, I-"

She cut me off. "No, Rukil! Don't try to make me feel better! Not this time. I know I'm terrible at fighting. And there's nothing I can do to change that. They'll send us both to the Pit in a few weeks, and..." She trailed off, and looked at me with fear in her eyes.

I tried to appear confident as I replied. "Layala, you'll be ready. But we have to practice more, all right? I'll make sure you leave the Pit unscathed."

She smiled uncertainly at me. Her smile always melted me. But it also made it difficult for me to think. I looked at her for a moment, trying to focus and figure out what to say next. But she spoke before I had a chance.

"I know you'll do what you can. But very few leave the Pit alive. You know that as well as I do."

I rested a comforting a hand on her shoulder. "Then let's make sure that we are some of those few."

I stood up and grabbed a bamboo branch that was propped in the corner of the tent, the familiar smoothness of the haft natural in my worn hands. I picked up another and tossed it to Layala. She caught it and laughed, for a moment forgetting her fear. Her laugh made my heart leap, but, as always, I kept it from showing. I grinned roguishly back.

"Let's train, shall we?"

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We trained all day and late into the evening, hours passing like minutes as we danced under the hot desert sun. By the time it disappeared behind the western dunes, we were both drenched in sweat and our heavy breathing was the only sound that broke the silence of the desert that was quickly falling asleep.