Iscladon Breaking (Book One in the Cerios Chronicles)

Chapter 4-Revenge

Chapter 4

Revenge

Slikver groaned, flopping onto the blanket that made up his bed, only aggravating the minor cuts and major bruises all over his body.

Salek had worked him hard over the last week, his vicious training regimen taxing him to the limit. After leaving Michalys' army to make their way home, they had started heading towards Lake Cerios. He had exercises to work on his endurance, his agility, his speed. He was thoroughly exhausted by now, and he wasn't even done for the day.

The rest of the day would be spent with Eilan, learning the fine points of politics for the different races of Andlea. To this point, he could speak the common language of Andlea passably well, a combination of human and animal sounds that any creature could make. The language was actually remarkably simple to learn, although Eilan was still shocked at how well he had picked it up. He was also an expert in a number of policies that would assist him in helping the various nations' compromise.

Slikver stood up, his muscles whining in protest at the sudden motion. As he walked over to the part of the small camp where Eilan was whittling, he thought of their progress.

They had traveled more than three quarters of the way to Lake Cerios, then set up camp for his training. The horses Salek had provided had been faster than normal, and when asked he told Slikver that they had been bred by his people to travel with them across the skies.

Since arriving at their campsite, a thickly wooded glade that one couldn't find even if ten feet from it, he had been trained vigorously. The last three days had been spent in the same spot, giving the other races time to reach the meeting point.

The first day of training had been the worst; Salek had circled him, striking out with blow after blow. He had instructed him as Slikver dodged to the best of his ability, not always succeeding.

"First of all," he said, as he calmly swiped at Slikver's legs, "never let expectations rule you. If you think a move is dirty, your opponent probably expects you to avoid using it. Anything unexpected should be used in battle." To make a point to his words he lashed out to punch Slikver in the gut as he fought him with his sword.

"Second, remember the plan, everything you do should be choreographed to defeat your opponent. A series of weak moves could lead to victory if used correctly."

"Third," he swiped Slikver's legs out from under him, momentarily dropping his sword and pinning him by the throat, "never forget, your deadliest weapon is your own body. No one expects you to throw your weapon away and tackle them."

So his training had begun.

"We'll be working on something new today," Eilan interrupted his thoughts, "something you've been wanting to try for a while now."

Slikver grinned, happy to be avoiding his lessons for the day. They were necessary, but it was tiring nonetheless.

Eilan led him into another part of the forest; then began to climb a tall beech tree. Slikver followed him, climbing the tree easily, ascending fast to the very top, where Eilan waited for him; leaning casually against the thin trunk.

"This is how I first changed," he started, without looking at him, "the feel of the wind, the very idea of flying. It brought something out in me, and since then I only have to remember the moment to transform." Eilan looked at him, "That's what you need to do, find a place that speaks to your animal half; then let it consume you."

Slikver nodded, understanding, "I don't know where to go, what my animal half even is."

Eilan judged him, "Land animal, I can tell you that much, large, predatory. Could be a wolf like my brother, but that doesn't quite fit."