Semblance

II

Gunner went two more days in the forest, drinking water from streams and eating out of a chunk of termite hive he had pulled from a tree. He had heard somewhere that they were very nutritious, and he could get over their bitter taste, for his own survival.

At noon on the third day, he reached a bustling village, mor populated than Wottingvale, but not by too much. He was taken in by an old lady who had seen him in his tattered sleepwear walking down the cobbled street, and Gunner was given a bed for the night, as well as some clean clothes and a good meal. He woke up the next morning, took a quick bath, and went down for a light breakfast. This was the end of the charities the woman had given Gunner, and he thanked her kindly and went off to the town hall.

If he needed money, he was going to have to apply for a job.

• • •

Of all possible tutors in the world, Gunner never thought he would be taught Smithery by a tailor. He was a young man, only a few years older than Gunner, and his name was Albert. He was not, nor had he ever been, a Battlesmith, but his grandfather had, and had taught his father. He had passed the knowledge down to Albert, along with the grandfather's Anvil. The ancient slab still sat in the backroom of the shop, where it could be gazed upon by Albert, and now his apprentice, Gunner.

Gunner had been looking around town, and had seen Albert's family crest inside the window. He had stopped inside to ask about it, and to also casually mention he was looking for an employment opportunity. Albert had agreed that, after a week of working at the tailor's shop, he would add Battlesmith training to Gunner's payroll.

"We will start by working on your stance." Albert placed his feet shoulder width, placed himself in a halfway squat, and leveled his shoulders, arms in front of him.

"Now you." Albert continued.

Gunner placed his feet and arms in a position similar to Albert's.

"Almost," Albert said, "but like this." He walked over to Gunner and shifted his left foot inward.

"There." Albert seemed satisfied for almost a second, then frowned.

"Nope, you screwed it up again."

"What?" Gunner felt a little annoyed. He didn't feel like he'd changed his position at all.

It was about another two hours of this, until finally Gunner got fed up. Albert had been messing with his simple standstill position for forever, and it seemed he had no intent on stopping. It had been a nudge here, a turn there, and Gunner was one hundred percent done with it.

"What's the point to this, anyway?" Gunner asked, voice raised to an unfriendly volume.

"This." Albert picked a small practice mace out of a shed. He placed it in Gunner's hands, and watched as Gunner strained to contain it's weight.

"If you don't have a proper stance, your balance will be off, and you won't be able to hold a weapon. Plus—" Albert gave Gunner a light push that sent him tumbling to the ground. "it will be way too easy for some bandit or Weaver to knock you off your feet. And then what do you do?" He leaned down, his face so close to Gunner's that they could feel each other's every breath.

"Are you just going to let them literally beat your insides out?"

Albert stood up, took some rolled up parchment with battle diagrams on it, and tossed it at Gunner.

"Your homework is to get your stance fixed. Class dismissed."

• • •

A few weeks later, Gunner had improved his battle stance. He could now hold a mace, get pushed by Albert, and still stay standing. He had also learned that patience was valuable, and that Albert had reasons for teaching him everything. Today, however, Gunner would be attempting to survive more than a little push.

"The point of giving you a shield," Albert said, "is to let me hit at you with a weapon. A shield doesn't magically stop weapons, you know. You need to push against the opposing force with the shield. That way, you let the shield absorb the damage."

"Okay." Gunner replied, holding the shield with his left arm. He steadied his stance and readied himself for the incoming blows.

"Ready?" Albert asked.

"Do it."

Albert swung the practice mace at Gunner, hard. Gunner moved the shield in front of the weapon, a thick CLANG! ringing in Gunner's ears. Again, Albert swung and Gunner blocked, and again. Arms sore and out of breath, Gunner struggled to speak before Albert continued.

"Wai— !" Gunner was cut short by the air rushing from his lungs.

The pain ricocheted through his arms, down his spine, crippling Gunner's legs, consuming all of his thoughts as he writhed on the ground. It felt busted, and he could feel a warm liquid all across his ribs.

When he tried to open his eyes, all he could see was red, red, red everywhere. Nothing but red, red and black when he closed his eyes, then just black as he let the peace and serenity of unconsciousness envelop his squirming body and screaming mind.