Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Thirty Four: Distances

"Are you trying to kill me?"

Jordan glared up at his tutor from the floor. Every part of him ached. Even for someone with no experience in combat this lesson was going horribly.

"Are you trying to get killed?" Yddris countered, sounding unconcerned. "You're going to have to put more work in than that, boy, I feel like I'm being punched by a kitten."

"Just because you're built like a fucking rock," Jordan muttered, wounded. His knuckles were bruised from how hard he'd been trying, but Yddris was solid muscle and moved like he was made of air; even hitting the target was a punishment in itself. Jordan's coordination had never been terrible, but for all that he was still flailing around the attic with two left feet, missing punches left and right.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Yddris replied. "Get up. One more round and then I'll take you to see your sister."

Jordan paused, halfway to his feet. "What?"

"Oh." Yddris's tone was infuriatingly nonchalant. "Did I not mention that yet? I arranged it with Harkenn yesterday."

Jordan, torn between gratitude and anger, just blinked. He hadn't seen Grace since the incident where he'd lost his temper in the castle kitchen. He was as apprehensive as he was excited.

"You have better control now than you did," Yddris said, as if reading his thoughts, "That won't happen again."

"You sound more certain than I feel," Jordan said, wiping dust from his trousers and straightening up. As if in response, he felt a frisson of magic pass over his skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He touched it, and then self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. That had changed since he'd last seen his sister, as well. Nika had found him a mirror to shave with that morning, before which everyone had failed to mention that his hair had turned almost completely white without his noticing. He barely recognised himself anymore; his time in Nictaven had left dark circles under his eyes and a pallor that came with not seeing the sun for days on end. He didn't think he would ever get used to the acid green glow of his eyes, or the faint markings that had crept up his neck.

Yddris snapped his fingers, and Jordan jumped.

"One more round," he repeated. Grateful for the distraction, Jordan nodded, bracing his feet apart in the centre of the room. He was wearing only his leggings and boots after an hour or two of training, but Yddris was in all his usual attire and still managed to make it look easy.

"I'll give you a few pointers this time," Yddris said, beginning to circle. "You keep going for anything you can reach. That strategy might work for you sometimes, but you won't get far relying on it. You need to be strategic, especially if your opponent is bigger or stronger than you are."

"And if they have a knife or something?"

"You have a knife, too. This is basic self-defence. For now your only policy concerning knives is to stab and run. If they have the knife, cut the stab part and just run. Do whatever you have to for a quick getaway. Now, weak points," he pointed, "eyes, nose, and throat up here. Groin and knees down there. Got it? Easy to reach, quick to distract."

"What about the stomach?"

"Not a good idea if you don't have the size or strength advantage."

"Right." Jordan nodded. "I got it. All the bits of you I can't get clear on because of that cloak, great."

Yddris laughed. "I'm sure you can make an educated guess."

He lunged. Jordan, taken unawares, cried out and dodged to one side, only to turn and find Yddris behind him. His arm came up a fraction of a second before Yddris's fist connected with his face, so that his own knuckles knocked him in the cheek as he blocked it, muscles straining to contain some of the force. His other arm arced out, aiming for Yddris's neck. His tutor darted back at the last second.