“No!” Garth shouted again, seemingly for the hundredth time. “That is not your zone!” Kre remembered Garth as the softer, kinder of the company’s dweorvkin, but these last two days of martial training showed another side of the dwarf. A side that was exacting and demanding in his lessons.
“If you move there, you will be directly in the path of Kersath’s arrows!” He gestured at the large stick stuck in the dirt that was meant to represent the dark-skinned Ylveryan. He whacked Kre on the thigh with another large stick, “Get back in your zone.”
Kre reset his position as Beleg across from him did the same. The large man was wielding two large, thick pieces of wood and each had already left welts and bruises all over Kre’s body. “Set your feet,” he called out.
The two martial instructors had a habit of explaining to Kre what was necessary only after he had experienced the pain of failure several times in a row. In this case, Beleg was reminding Kre to get into the correct stance and properly distribute his weight. That had been a painful set of about twenty-three rounds of Beleg completely overwhelming him instantly before they explained what he was doing wrong.
“Attack!” Garth yelled, signaling the start of the mock combat. Kre met Beleg’s wild attack and managed to deflect it so that it was Beleg that stepped into Kersath’s kill zone instead of Kre.
“Contact!” came a shout from Ras. Just as he had done a few rounds prior, Kre spun his head around to see what new threat was coming after his smaller friend. Just as had happened a few rounds prior, he knew it was a mistake the moment he did so. He snapped his focus back to his zone only to find Beleg’s fist a scant hair’s width away from his face.
“Pow,” the large man said with a smile before he opened his hand up and not too gently tapped Kre on the cheek with his knuckles.
Garth seemed ready to yell again but this time he merely shook his head and walked off towards the stream.
“Take five,” Beleg offered. “Get some water.”
Kre collapsed to the ground, preferring rest over hydration. Ras skipped over and smiled from above him, “As much fun as this is, I should get back out there.” He tossed a waterskin down onto Kre’s chest. “Just remember, they’re only trying to help.”
With his hand fumbling for the leather bottle, Kre raised his head up and regarded Ras with a skeptical face. “I think,” he muttered softly, not wanting to use up too much energy speaking, “that they enjoy this far too much.”
Ras helped Kre uncap the waterskin. As Kre took a long drink, Ras said simply, “They train you hard so that we won’t lose you, or any others in battle.” He walked away after leaving this bit of wisdom, which only made Kre feel worse for complaining.
As Beleg and Garth came back, Kre rose shakily to his feet and tossed the water aside in what he hoped was a dramatic fashion. “Mind my zone,” he said, repeating the words that Garth had yelled no less than a dozen times. “I can do my best to assist my companions if I mind my own zone and call out what’s going on.”
The large man scowled even as Garth’s smile grew wide. “The disappointed teacher bit worked,” the dweorvkin said, jabbing a finger at Beleg. “You owe me your next beer ration.”