In the morning the bell rang early. The men stumbled out of bed to meet their new trainer. His name was Bordstern, and it suited him. A large, round head was situated almost crookedly between his shoulders, and his face was so hard one might wonder whether there were a layer of wood beneath his red skin. Thick hair stuck up unimpressively above small, scarlet-colored ears. His legs and torso were thick and tall. All in all, he offered the impression of a somewhat wrinkled, reddish bear, whose face had been smashed in. His voice was deep, and when he yelled, it scratched horribly.
The men were quiet to the point of disrespect as they studied him, their expressions proving not the least subtly their lack of enthusiasm for this new trainer.
“Your lack of order is deplorable,” he said, though it was to be noted his own person exhibited nothing better. “Eat and have yourselves cleaned within a quarter of an hour. We shall rejoin in the arena.”
With that he was gone, and the general chaos continued. Colton shoved his way to the dining hall and took his place among the rest, swallowing his food quickly and going back for seconds and thirds until the bell rang again. He and Tyran slipped away from the rest and took a different route to the arena.
“What do you think?” Colton asked.
“I think it can’t go well. The men have no respect for him, and somehow I doubt that he will be able to gain any.”
“What does that mean for us?”
“Only that it shall be more difficult for us to gain the king’s favor. A trainer has more influence over a city than its own ruler, for he shapes its people rather than its laws. But if the spirits have made this Bordstern great, we shall soon see.”
As it was, Bordstern was eager to display his own greatness. Tyran and Colton entered the arena ahead of the rest and stood at the head of the men as they awaited their orders.
“Before we continue with any duels or fighting, let me make it clear that I shall not be soft with any of you. Sluggishness or resistance to my orders will not be tolerated. I never hesitate to deal out punishment; better that fifty men receive punishment than risk one going without justice. To begin, let this man who makes himself your head fight me. What is your name?”
“I’m called Tyran.”
“Come, then, and face me, and do not fear to be brutal.”
Tyran removed a sword from its rack and took his stand across from Bordstern. The trainer’s first blow struck with tremendous force, its ring echoing through the halls of the arena, but Tyran was not shaken. He let the man strike at him twice again, and then played his own tactics. Bordstern fought with extreme force, every thrust quaking with strength, but he lacked the dexterity Ealric had taught his men. With exceptional agility Tyran circled his opponent, laying quick, hard blows, till Bordstern grew frustrated and baffled. Then with nothing more than a twist of his wrist Tyran sent his sword flying to the sand.
Bordstern’s face turned a peculiar color of red and twisted in something between shame and anger, but he swallowed his acrimony and faced Tyran as close to calmness as he could ever reach.
“Well done,” he said. “But battle is not a dance. Toss your sword aside; you shall practice wrestling with the others.”
The men did as he said, but from that moment Bordstern proved himself to be an ill-fit trainer for the men. Ealric had left an indelible imprint upon them, and Tyran was the embodiment of all he had taught them. He had defeated Bordstern with nearly effortless skill, and any authority that Bordstern might have had over Tyran was gone.
For him, and many others who excelled in talent above the rest, it was only a matter of bearing through the next year until the Games arrived again. They trained among themselves in the few spare minutes they had, seeking to maintain the skills they knew they would need to master to win the Games. But to the rest, Bordstern’s presence offered a chance for revelry and defiance of the law. The night after his arrival a man slipped a bottle of drink into their barracks, and within minutes they were roaring in chaos and disruption.
Bordstern entered the room before the guards, his face turned in a deep frown.
“Who will be the one to explain this unruliness?” he asked.
The instituter of the brawl staggered to his feet, waving the bottle aloft.
“My lord,” he drawled, “I welcome you to our celebration.”
He bowed so low that he toppled over, and the men burst out in roars of laughter, whether at him or Bordstern it was unclear.
“To the dungeon with this man!” Bordstern bellowed. “And every other man in this room is to be thrown in prison for the night.”
The soldiers cleared the disorder in the center of the room, but when a guard laid hands on Tyran he shoved him away.
“I had nothing to do with this,” he said.
“So you claim,” Bordstern responded. “But every man in this room was, if not a participant, a supporter of this drunkenness, and I have no reason to believe you were less involved than any of the others I found wrestling upon the floor.”
“You were the one that taught them to wrestle, Bordstern.”
“Do you dare turn blame on me?” Bordstern shook with anger. “You are no better than any of them. Do you think you are too good for prison? Or perhaps you deserve the taste of the whip.”
“Every man here has tasted that punishment, but justly so and not based on the whim of an angry man.”
“You have gone too far!” Bordstern said, livid. “You shall remain in the dungeon for one week’s time, and do not expect nourishment.”
“Sir,” Colton interceded, pulling away from the guards who held him. “You speak unjustly. You do not—”
“Perhaps you would like to share in his punishment, since you seem to stand so faithfully on his side? Let it be so. To the dungeon with both of them! I care not if they starve.”
And so Colton and Tyran were dragged away beneath the city. The week passed slowly, but it was not so horrible a punishment as Bordstern had wished. They were at least free from the terrible temper of their trainer, and for the first time in many months were able to enjoy actual quiet. The dungeon was filthy and would have been a humiliating place to be confined to, had not all the rest of the men known they did not deserve to be there. The soldiers offered no compassion, as was their duty as prison guards, but one of their companions had himself placed in the dungeon for the sole purpose of slipping them some food. Above all, though, they were granted with actual rest, and even upon a bed of sparse straw Colton found deep sleep.
Alone, and separated from the brutality of the life he was now so accustomed to, Colton’s mind wandered through his past. Several years ago, he would have been shocked, humiliated, even enraged, to find himself in such a place as this, as he had been his first day upon Vellatha. But what he once would have been appalled at, he now accepted without surprise or complaint. Entering a new world had a peculiar way of changing a man.
How could a few months in one new place change the man he had been made by nearly twenty years on earth, Colton wondered? But he could not change it now. Earth and Vellatha were two different worlds, even if separated only by an expanse of space. And he, out of perhaps several dozen, was one of the only who would ever know both worlds.
Colton could not help but sigh to himself, a familiar anger and longing for his own home resurfacing. He may be accustomed to this life, but he still woke every morning aware that he did not rise from his own bed, nor eat food that had not been supplied by another. Yet he could not refuse to sleep, and without food he would die quickly beneath some stronger blade than his own. So he accepted his life, and lay his head down on the hay grateful at least for some peace.
Seven days later Colton and Tyran emerged from the dungeon, showing no lesson learned from their stay there. Tyran held his head high as he faced Bordstern again, and from that moment on would not display a grain of respect for the man. He was wise enough not to speak outright in his hate for the man, but neither would he pretend as if the man had done anything worthy of his esteem. He obeyed the man’s orders coldly, and did not make as if he cared when he spoke. With meticulous care Bordstern was certain to make life equally difficult for Tyran, and Colton as well, but he was careful never to match himself against Tyran again, and that offered Tyran the victory in their battle.
Great Chapter Victoria!! I can't wait to see what happens next!
Let me first admit that I do villians very poorly. I hate them, I hate writing them, etc etc. But one mistake that we can make when writing fiction is to have our villians be all bad. This leads to weakness.
Consider Sauron. Bad guy. Definite bad guy. But not weak, or stupid, or lazy...
Consider all of the really good bad guys that you have read about. All of them will have something seriously wrong, usually moral, but they will also have corresponding strengths... cause otherwise they wouldn't be a very good bad guy! They would have no way to get into the 'Bad guys I have know and fought against' list... they would just have melted down years ago.
So, I ask you, how did this bad guy get into his position? How did people think he was good enough to become a trainer? Who appointed him? Was he rich, and bought the appointment? The nephew of the guy that had the power??