War-Torn Ch. 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Day after day passed, speeding into months, and there was not a form of combat in which Colton did not train. On horseback he charged across open plains toward armored opponents, and on ground he practiced duels, agility, long distance runs, and countless tests Ealric set before him. After two months the air began to carry a cool freshness in it as autumn drew near, and the Games were soon to take place. The training center was filled with a certain urgency, tense excitement hovering over every man. It was not only their city where such was the case; throughout the entire kingdom warriors readied themselves, hoping against hope that they would be one of the seventy selected. It was the chance for a new life, for recognition of fame and the rewards that years of intense training might offer them. Trainers too had the chance for a new life, for if one of their men was chosen they were granted rewards also and the offer of a life of nobility.

Training was altered in the last month before the Games, and the trainers invented their own set of competitions to test the men. On the morning that marked the start of these new tests, Ealric ordered the men to assemble in the field outside the training center following breakfast. Colton and Tyran were the first to appear on the field, followed by the horde of men with whom they shared barracks.

“In one month,” Ealric began, “the Games begin. Any man who wishes to be chosen as one of the ten from our city must present nothing but their absolute best. In a week an inspector will be sent from the king to study each one of you and make his choice. He will be looking for a display of the finest skill. You must make yourselves unmatchable. Do not disappoint me; I know that many of you have it in you to succeed, so strive for it.”

At his words a great cheer went up, and when they quieted Ealric continued.

“Today will test your stamina. You will race through the city—first man to come in won’t have to do laps. For anyone who stops for any reason, laps will be doubled. Am I clear?”

There was a general nodding of heads and a few shouted responses, and Ealric finished, “There is a map in the training center of the course you will take. Study it. Any man who strays from the route will skip dinner. Go!”

The men crammed and shoved past each other to the training center, and with a single glance at the map they were gone on the route. It was highly uncommon to leave the area around the facility for any reason—hours away was a rare treat. 

For Colton and the other newer members, it allowed them their first glimpse of the life of nobility. Their course took them through the highest part of the city, where mansions towered over the streets and the rich lived in extravagant leisure. Carriages and fine horses provided them means of travel and an opportunity to display the might and wealth they had acquired. This was what the men strove for with every lesson and every day they spent in the muck and filth of their rank. Even wealth like that had to be earned—Tyran had once explained to him that no man could obtain such grandeur merely by birth, for at the age of thirteen every boy was sent from his home to a training center to make his own life for himself. Mothers rarely saw them again.

Colton wondered what it would be like to grow up in such wealth and have that taken from you just as you became a man, for such lavishness surely affected one’s ability to dwell in such a place as the training centers in each city. Colton himself was caught off guard by the immensity of these mansions, each its own palace where servants hurried to and fro with chores. Most slaves were women, for though men could rise from poverty women could only do so through marriage, and to marry a slave girl was unthinkable. Still, Colton could not but pity them, with no way to become great in the world. He had been brought low, but he was also given the chance to rise.

Now he ran at the head of the group, Tyran not far from him. Ahead of him was only one man, but as a servant girl hoisting a bucket of water scrambled out of the street in front of him he shoved into her and both fell. The man shouted at the girl and climbed back to his feet, giving up the lead to Tyran. But Colton, though he had the chance to speed on ahead of the man, halted beside the girl and helped her to her feet. Tyran shouted after him, but Colton did not heed him, studying the girl.

She bore every mark of a slave, a tattered gown and apron being her only garments. The stains of dirt covered her face and arms, but even still she was very tender and pretty. Light brown hair reached nearly to her waist in a knotted braid, and her eyes held a wistful sorrow that spoke of a cruel life.

“What is your name?” Colton asked, but she would not meet his gaze.

“I mustn’t speak to you,” she said, turning away. “It’s not allowed.”

“It’s alright,” he said gently. “Who are you?”

“I am called Fianna, but I am only a slave. You must go.”

“Look at me,” he said, stepping toward her. “You do not need to be afraid. My name is Colton. Can I help you?” He reached for the empty bucket.

“No, please,” she pleaded. “We will be punished for speaking.”

“What is this?” a harsh voice interrupted their conversation. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Fianna trembled.

The man, whom Colton took to be the girl’s master, seized her arm and dragged her away from Colton, brandishing a short whip.

“Wait!” Colton cried. “She is not to be punished. I started the conversation; let your quarrel be with me.”

“Stay out of this,” the man said, his voice a deep rasp.

He flung his arm with the whip back, but Colton slid between him and the girl and grabbed his arm before the blow fell.

“Who do you think you are?” the man roared, tearing his arm free.

“Only a man who doesn’t take pleasure in watching an innocent maiden be beaten.”

“You are a fool to speak to me so,” the man said, releasing Fianna and letting her fall to the ground. “Guards!”

Several men marched down from the house, swords at their belts.

“Seize this man and prepare two carriages,” their master commanded. “We will ride to Lord Valdis immediately.”

Colton made no move as the guards took hold of him, but his stomach was sick. Lord Valdis was the ruler of their city, only one step away from the king. But Colton was also ready to take responsibility, and no matter how these people saw it, Fianna deserved better from them. The ride to the lord’s apartments was brief. Ahead of them rode the master of the house whom Colton had offended, while he sat in his own carriage with two guards.

Photo by Daniil Zameshaev on Unsplash

Colton was aware that his crime was considered a very serious one—to both converse with a servant girl and lay a hand on someone so high above his own rank—but he did not know what that meant for his future. The carriages pulled to a halt outside a house of staggering size, decorated with every imaginable embellishment. The guards escorted Colton across a massive stairway into the house, where his imprisoner instructed a servant to inform Valdis that Adelrik wished to speak with him.

After a tense wait, they were admitted to the lord’s presence.

“Again, Adelrik?” were his first words. He gave them a bored glance. “Did you not disturb me last week with your difficulties, and again the week before?”

“My lord, this matter is very serious. If I could trouble you for just a little of your time…” The man paused, waiting for any sign of willingness to hear his story.

Valdis grunted. “Go on.”

“I seek justice upon this man, who has ventured so far as to speak to a girl among my servants and sought to intercede the consequences she rightly deserved. But more than that, he has also mustered the audacity to lay hands on me, and sought to physically restrain me from punishing the girl.”

“And did he succeed?” Valdis asked, his cool gaze finding pleasure in the confusion of his subject.

“Yes,” Adelrik stammered. “That is the reason I have sought you today.”

“It would have been better for you to remain at home and trouble some other unfortunate fellow of your misfortune. You know I can do nothing until his trainer appears and accounts for him.”

“Then have him summoned! This man has grievously wronged me. You would not consider letting him escape punishment!”

“Of course not,” Valdis said. “But go home; your presence irritates me.”

The man’s face twisted into an angry scowl, but he held no authority there. He summoned his guards and made a loud exit, leaving Colton alone before Valdis. The lord studied Colton, rising from his seat and standing before him.

“I wonder what would make a warrior break a law so willfully just as the Games offer him a chance for greatness,” he said.

“I saw an innocent girl being harmed,” Colton said. “Any noble man ought to have done the same.”

“Noble?” Valdis repeated. “Nobility is not pity! It is the greatness to rise above everyone else without regret or second thought. You cannot achieve all this,” he waved a jeweled hand in demonstration of the majesty of his house, “without being willing to trample others to gain it. Once your supremacy is established and your accomplishments known to all, you may offer generosity or destruction as you desire. But until then your life is a battle, and in war you must have thought only for your own life.”

“Are you not married?” Colton asked. “Do you not have sons and daughters that you care for? In war, whose life would you place first—theirs or your own? Yet you would turn the world into a miserable, soulless place.”

The lord’s expression hardened. “You speak out of place. I have offered you advice; throw it to the dirt if you must, but that gains you a place no higher.” He motioned to his guards. “Place this man behind bars until someone comes to speak on his behalf.”

Colton was escorted away to the prison, but he had scarcely more than two hours to wait until he would be released, and with a stroke of surprise he found Tyran waiting for him outside the gates of the prison.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

“Ealric sent me.”

“It’s that simple? I can just leave?” Colton hesitated, as if he might jinx what seemed to be such good luck.

“I wouldn’t call it simple,” Tyran said. “Ealric’s in no pleasant mood, and you have to answer to him for what you’ve done. Come on, and don’t try to escape or I’ll have to fight you.”

Colton gave a half-hearted laugh. “A painful end that would bring, I’m sure.”

He mounted the horse Tyran had brought for him, and then the two were off at a quick pace. The horses slowed only once they were pulled up before the training center, tossing their heads and snorting. Before the great doors of the structure stood Ealric, arms folded, glowering in silent anger at Colton.

Colton dismounted beside Tyran and met his trainer’s gaze quietly, willing to face whatever consequences he had earned himself. Inside, four guards were waiting for him, and he was escorted to the jail immediately.

“Tell me,” Ealric said, facing him coldly. “What were you thinking?”

“That a slave girl had done nothing to be beaten so,” Colton answered. “That she deserved better. That she ought to be loved and served rather than hated and enslaved.”

“But such is the way of the world,” Ealric said heartlessly. “Men are honest and treated like liars; women are pure and treated like filth. You, Colton, cannot change that.”

“If I have saved her the suffering of even one beating, then I do not regret any of my actions this day.”

“You would be willing to take her punishment upon yourself?”

“Ten times over.”

“Then such shall be the case. Guards,” Ealric beckoned, and they seized Colton and strung him up from chains. “Fifty blows.”

Colton raised his head in silence, flinching at the first sting of the whip, but Fianna’s face remained in his mind, and offered him, if not release from pain, at least the strength to bear through. Still, silence soon turned to groans beneath each strike, and by the time the fiftieth blow felt his cries echoed through the stone corridors. He sank to the ground engulfed by pain as they released him, blackness flooding before his eyes. Through the waves of pain he heard dimly the sound of Ealric’s voice as the man knelt over him.

“Do not forget the slave girl,” he said. “Let the injustice done against her drive you to conquer those who inflict her slavery. Let her become your hope and your light, for you shall find none here.”

Then Ealric faded along with the pain, and Colton sunk into blackness. When he finally awoke, his first thought was the stinging pain in his back, and then he remembered Fianna and did not regret it so much. Outside the jail were the hushed voices of arguing men, and with some surprise he recognized them to be Ealric and Tyran. Grasping the bars of his cell, Colton tried to pull himself to a sitting position and cried out in pain. The voices went silent. A moment later Ealric entered the room, Tyran behind him.

“Bring some food,” Ealric ordered a guard, and then turned to Colton. “Your training continues, but you have been exempted from the Games.”

“For all your great judgments, you’ve made a miserable decision here,” Tyran said bitterly. With a glance at Colton he turned and disappeared down the corridor.

Ealric ignored his response. “A guard will be sent with bandages. Once that’s done meet me in the arena.”

Colton entered the arena an hour later to find Ealric and Tyran dueling with more savagery than usual.

“Clumsy!” Ealric said, disarming Tyran. “You’re dueling, not chopping logs.”

Tyran’s gaze only turned harder, and on their next try his sword slashed Ealric’s arm.

“That’s enough,” Ealric ordered. “Two hundred laps, now.”

Tyran took an angry leave, and Colton was left to face Ealric.

“You’ll duel the next available man,” he said, and marched from the arena holding his arm.

And so the days continued. Tyran’s anger did not pass, and Colton bore his own disappointment silently. He trained no less than any other man there, but his fighting lacked a certain enthusiasm that enveloped the efforts of the others. Ealric showed few outward signs of anger, but the dark look of displeasure behind his eyes and the silent resolve in his step told the men that he was far from happy. Then the king’s examiner arrived, and after two weeks he made his pick of ten men. Tyran was among them.

One week later, Colton stood looking north towards the great palace of King Alastor as Tyran and his companions rode to their glory. Ealric traveled with them, leaving the assistant trainer in command. Behind Colton stood the training center that would be his prison for another year now at least. Its heavy gray walls were not so foreboding as when he first lay eyes on it, but now he despised it more than ever. Every guarded door and stone corridor had become part of a well-memorized map in his head, one that he detested with everything that was in him. Their very boringness and the plain ruggedness with which they had been built was enough to make anyone go mad, and for Colton, they were a constant reminder of the imprisoning and monotonous nature of the training that had become his life. Colton was parched, thirsting for the freedom he never realized he’d had on earth. But that freedom came at the cost of everything he was becoming, and he was not so willing to give it up.

And so he trained. He trained through the harshness of Ealric and the blows of his opponents and even his own mind. From first light till the sun disappeared behind Vellatha’s great walls he practiced the art of battle in every form, until Ealric’s words began to prove themselves true. In his strength there was freedom; in every swordstroke there was something fierce and liberating from the routine of an unchanging life.

 Tyran would return defeated by one of his own companions, but the loss did not dishearten him. The victory of one from their own city meant a significant change for the men, for Ealric would move on and take his place among the highest of society.

“I will be sorry to leave you,” he said in farewell to Colton. “It was my wish to teach you more, but my own future has come. You have achieved talent, but not mastery. I hope that you shall rise and take your place with me.”

Colton bowed and offered a formal goodbye, and then Ealric turned to give his last farewell to Tyran.

“There is a very great future before you,” he said. “Do not lose what you have accomplished this far.”

“Do not fear,” Tyran said. “I have not given up heart.”

“Still,” Ealric said, “It will be more difficult than you expect.”

Tyran frowned, not fully contemplating his meaning.

“Farewell, Tyran.”

The two men bowed to one another, and then Ealric was gone. Tyran turned away silently.