Chapter 175: Servant of the Axe, 75 – Wooden Sword

The problem with a rebellion in a warrior culture is that one is surrounded by competent warriors. I wasn’t a slouch in that department, but it was hard to match people whose driving force was bettering their warrior skills.

“Where do Norvik warriors get their experience from?” I asked Ollog. “It can’t be from fighting each other, or there would be more wounded. And before the Cousin of Fenris was brought in, there can’t have been too many things to fight.”

“It’s true.” He said. “Most of us live our lives off the initial development points we get for training in our first warrior class. The fortunate receive a full thousand, but this latest generation, some have received only a paltry four hundred. It is as though the gods themselves have abandoned us, as though the Systems themselves are lessened by the generations.”

He looked almost guilty. “It is the duty of each Norvik to seek out great challenges, to keep their System strong through use. In this area, without trolls or ogres or giant-kin, this means seeking out combat on the high seas.”

“Piracy.” I said.

“And raids upon the primitive natives. It is thanks to their magics that our Witch-Eaters remain strong. But yes, the natives only have a certain amount of power, and we must rely on combats with our neighbors to develop our muscles.”

“It is a pity that you cannot breathe water, and fight with the creatures of the sea.”

.....

“In every generation, there are those who attempt just that, and each generation mothers wail over their drowned children. It is not a task for the strong of mind, but only for fools.”

“It seems a number of mothers weep over the presence of the Fenris.”

“It cannot hide forever. The Jarl and his family are tough men, and the household boasts the service of over a dozen warriors, equal to those in the old songs. Before their might, nothing can stand. Not even this shadow beast, scion of the one true Fenris.”

“Have the death rates slowed, then, as it tries to avoid detection?”

Ollog snorted. “Do not mistake beasts for folk. Every so often, some beast may be more aware than others, but all of them are mere beasts. Don’t speak of this thing as though it thinks; you’ll give it too much credit, and be paralyzed when the time to act comes.”

His eyes squinted cruelly. “I hear that’s a way to lose a limb.”

My left hand twitched; but it was the right he was referring to. I raised that hand, and scratched at the bottom of my jaw. “I admit that I am among the lucky ones, to survive my encounter at all. How often does that happen? How many has the Fenris crippled and not killed?”

“A misfortunate four, that I know of. Two of them later turned out to be tainted, and were burned alive. Tell me, slave, are you tainted?”

“I can safely say my score is equal to or less than yours, Lord Ollog. Shall we find a Seidr, Ulf-Wife, or Staff Shamaness to verify that?”

He backhanded me for my insolence.

[You have received eight points of bludgeoning damage. After armor, two points have been received. Your health is 28/30.]

Okay, so I marked his Might at four, with a possibility of being higher.

If he had bonus health points, his health would measure at sixty points or higher.

It just verified what I’d come to suspect; however easy their untrained youths were to take on in a fight, their warriors were just ... more warlike than other human soldiers. At least on the melee side, they were the equal of Cult of the Octopus members.

I could count among my blessings that these Norvik were not the followers of Ullr or Frey, or any other god or goddess that might encourage them to be skilled with ranged attacks.

Not that I couldn’t take one of them, in full mail armor and with a shield. I just couldn’t take two at the same time, and fifteen to forty of them was right out.

In other words, I was going to have to overthrow their government without engaging in violence. I wasn’t even sure we could sneak away from the household, again with diminishing odds of success the more I learned.

“Say that you are sorry, and I won’t box your ear.” He said.

“Box your own ear.” I told him. “You started it.”

He did box mine instead, but the ringing stopped after an hour and a half or so, by which time we were already ascending the mountain.

#

“You shall make a wooden sword.” The Jarl told me. “It shall be of a size and shape and weight similar to those used by actual warriors.”

“A practice sword, then.” I said.

historical

“Just so. You will present it to me within two nights, and tomorrow night if it is finished.”

Again, if you’ve never done the task before, it isn’t easy. Unless you use different kinds of wood, the balance isn’t correct. In the end, I just had to put a bit of iron rod inside the hilt. It took me both days, and I infused it with a bit of Protection mana. It would have been shameful for the sword to have broken too early, no matter what abuse he intended to put it to.

As I’ve noted elsewhere, temporary enchantments like that weaken a little at dawn and dusk, and are wiped clean by the next new or full moon. But hey, it was something I could do, and it didn’t cost me anything other than mana and time. Lacking creativity, I had named the weapon “First Sword”.

“It hasn’t much of an edge.” He complained.

“I understood it as a practice sword, not one for hunting vampires. If I need to re-make it...” I extended my hand.

He looked at me until I dropped it. “Freida, daughter of Tomas Istre, has been making noises about learning the warrior’s trade to avenge her father, as he had no sons.”

“Are women not normally taught the art through spear and shield?”

“I have a shield being made for her, one of iron and steel.”

“I think I see. Am I to train her, then?”

“Excellent. No less than two hours a day, take her this sword and start practice tonight. Now.”

“Before dinner?” I asked.

“Now.”

#

Frieda Istre was taller than Kismet, but not so tall as an adult. I gauged her age at the low teens. She was blonde of hair, blue of eye, and dusky brown of skin. How she got that combination from her mother and father is beyond me.

“For your first lesson, here is your sword. Let me show you how to hold it.”

“It is impossibly heavy.” She said.

“It is as close to the weight and balance of a real sword as I could manage.” I said, “Per the Jarl’s request.”

She snorted, turned her head, and spat. “Uncle Sigmund doesn’t want me becoming a warrior.” She said. “This heavy training sword and the missing of dinner are just obstacles he’s putting in my way to make sure I’m dedicated.”

“Okay, let’s start with a one handed grip. That’s right. Okay, both hands. Hrm. Okay, what do you know of how to swing it?”

She took a lumbering haymaker at my head, which whipped her a quarter of the way around.

“Not bad, for starters. Your stance is...”

She took a backswing that might have hit my arms. I stepped into and under it. She swung low, and I hopped over it.

“Your stance is wrong... Your swings have power, but are slow... and predictable.”

“I CAN hit you.”

“Doubtless, let’s see how many swings it takes.”

Discipline. It takes discipline not to strike back when training someone new to arms. I bumped my feet into hers, trying to adjust her balance.

“You keep adjusting to the wrong stance.” I said.

“I broke my hip falling off a horse.” She said. “I can’t TAKE that broad stance the rest of you can.”

“Hold up, stop swinging. Can your feet move here... and... here? There, how does that feel?”

“Better, I can hold this stance.”

“Okay, resume striking at me. That is the fencer’s stance. It is for lighter, more ... more nimble weapons.”

“It is harder to balance in this stance than the other.”

“Try thrusting movements rather than swings.” I said. I was careful to sidestep rather than step back. “Okay, let’s try various movements and keeping your stance.”

“No! I’ll fight you my own way!” Her blows went back to the clumsy hacking movements, more suited to an axe. “You’ll get tired of your dancing eventually!”

“Oh, eventually, yes. But how long can you keep swinging like that?”

“Longer than you!”

I didn’t think so. She was already sweating, although her breathing was firm and steady.

“Good!” I said, “You are starting to adjust your swings to my movements. It won’t be long before...”

SWACK! Onto my upper thigh.

[You have taken an ORANGE critical (x4 damage), and received 24 points of bludgeoning damage. After armor, you have taken 18 points. Your health is now 12/30.]

“Yes! VICTORY IS MINE!” she shouted.

#