The Chronicles of Bael

The Chronicles of Bael Part 24

Waterday, Fertility Week, Earth Season, 1600

I received a lesson today that has left my Master's words echoing in my mind. Am I indeed the sheep that my Master said was doomed to slaughter? Fazzur bested me today with ease; time and time again one of his scimitars would breach my guard. Rarely could I land a blow on him, and those that I did lacked the force to put him off his counter stroke. Three times I was forced to cast a Repair spell to fix my broken sword, its brittle bronze shattered upon the iron blade of my opponent.

Yet I learned a great deal today. The first lesson I learned was never to judge a man by his appearance. The Fazzur who greeted me today in his camp wore iron armour and bore an iron scimitar on each hip. Little had I suspected that the student who learnt Sartarite from me was in fact a Rune Lord of Yanafal Tarnils. I also learned the difficulty of fighting an opponent with the strength and skill to fight with a sword in each hand. Fazzur fought with calm and poise in complete contrast to that which I had become accustomed to at the Storm Bull temple. It was with surprise and not a little relief that Fazzur told me that I had fought well. And I must assume it a compliment that he suggested that I had chosen to worship the wrong god.

Nevertheless, I am a long way from matching the skill shown by Fazzur today, despite my many adventures or the new tricks I had learnt from the scroll I recovered in the Hollow. I am filled with admiration for Fazzur's style of fighting, it would no doubt be difficult to master, but is undoubtedly effective and deadly. In contrast, the weakness of my bronze sword before the iron of his blades revealed a singular weakness of my own capabilities, for with my sword broken I am but grain before the scythe. I will think upon this, for there is little sense in carrying two great swords but I have no skills with other weapons except my arbalest. I even question if it is in my power to achieve the level of skill displayed by Fazzur. Perhaps my Master is right and I should sip from the cup of Chaos in the pursuit of power. Had todays bout been a real fight I would be lying dead this moment as a testament to my Master's words.

To my discomfort after our bout, Fazzur and I were attended and bathed by his household slaves in a luxury that I am not accustomed to. We spoke at length, this time more of Fazzur than we did of me. Fazzur told me of his exploits at the battle of Grizzly Peak when he was no older than I am today. He spoke of a brother lost and a lifetime dedicated to the study and execution of the military arts. It is curious to me that I find myself so comfortable in the company of a man who a year ago I would have spurned as a servant of Chaos. Indeed, here was a man of discipline and learning who served an Empire that was hand in glove with Chaos. Such contemplation only serves to confirm my new-found awareness of the duality of Chaos and Order.

The permanent military camp that the Lunar Empire maintained outside the walls of Furthest was far larger than I had previously remembered and the number of soldiers greater than I imagined. But most surprising was the number of soldiers who were obviously not natives of the Kingdom of Tarsh. These were clearly warriors from the Empire itself, well armoured, disciplined and proud. It would seem to me that Fazzur may have chosen to learn Sartarite for a more practical reason than purely out of intellectual curiosity.

I left the camp with the agreement that, from this day onwards, I would teach Fazzur at the camp each day, and he would spar with me in return. I have much to learn from him.