24. [Carina] Hammer and Nail (Patreon)

--DRAMATIS PERSONAE—

Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, does not handle losing well

Cortland Finiron and Henry Blacksalve, champions of Infinzel, her trainers

King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, ageless and benevolent

26 Hazean, 61 AW

The Training Pit, inside the pyramidal city of Infinzel

244 days until the next Granting

The lessons were unfair. Carina Goldstone inferred that was the point.

Her right arm dangled limp at her side, the shoulder dislocated. She held her rapier out in front of her with her left—her non-dominant hand, yes, but Carina had trained herself to be passingly ambidextrous. A curl of her dark brown hair wet with blood stuck to her forehead. She wanted to push it away, but the motion would momentarily obscure her vision and she refused to give the man across from her an opening.

 “Yield?” Cortland Finiron asked.

“No,” replied Carina.

Cortland wanted to teach her brutality. He wanted to teach her self-preservation. He wanted her to put aside any childish notions of heroism at the Granting. Carina could admit that she had harbored some of those, in spite of herself. She'd grown up on tales of the first champions—King Cizco and the others who followed. Ben Tuarez. Even Cortland. In weaker moments, Carina let herself imagine the kinds of tales the scribes would write about her. They would sand away her edges. They would not mention weeks of pointless beatings in the training pit.

As far as instructors went, Cortland actually wasn't so bad. He'd been thrust into a role he clearly wasn't suited for and had not discovered himself to be some pedagogical mastermind in waiting. His efforts were sincere, at least, and he expected nothing of her beyond her survival and support. But he did not understand her. Cortland wanted her to be brutal, but she already was—just not in ways that he could easily imagine. Like every other teacher she'd had, Cortland believed the first step to an education was to show Carina her limits. But what could he do with Carina when she hadn't any?

Carina knew that he would bring her to the Underneath eventually. The man just wanted to exert his right as elder champion and decide the when for himself. Normally, Carina could be patient. She could have endured. Except, he had to go and make a challenge out of it.

She could not abide losing a challenge. No matter how tilted the odds.

And so, for the last three days at the end of their training, Cortland allowed Carina to test herself against the full brunt of his power. She had lasted fifteen seconds the first day.

Today, despite the shoulder, she was still in the fight at over a minute. She assumed a defensive posture. Cortland advanced on her methodically. He kept his hammer and buckler raised and ready, respect shown to even an injured and outmatched opponent. He did not toy with her nor treat her as a joke, which made these beatings even harder to endure. They’d picked on her in Penchenne and sneered at her in the Magelab—Carina appreciated being disdained. Her mind was sharper when honed by resentment.

Cortland treated her more like a sword he was forging. A job to do. Hammering her into shape. Molding her. Her body howled with aches, pain remembered from broken bones and bruises ever after Henry Blacksalve’s ministrations. The healer looked on from the edge of the sand field. She’d found pity in his eyes, but never in Cortland’s.

She activated her [Future Sight]. The wielder of this Ink may access visions of future possibilities in both the short and long term, read the description in An Encyclopedia of Runes, 7th Edition. The entry went on to warn: But beware, the future is ever-shifting and the Ink user’s own actions may undermine the reliability of such insights.

Carina had merely wanted to experiment with the symbol when she'd used chanic to paint it upon her. The gods had made it permanent. She'd spent weeks considering the meaning behind her selection and the red-flecked Ink now etched into her skin. She still believed she’d been divinely chosen to lead Infinzel, but her mind refused to let her ignore the other possibilities. Did she force the gods to select her by using the chanic to paint herself as a champion? Was her selection punishment for her audacity?

Why had she not met the symbologist that all the champions talked about?  

Now was not the time to ponder such questions. Cortland demanded her full focus.  

The battleground had become a kaleidoscope to Carina. She could see Cortland in the present—trudging toward her, a grim-faced man about his work. And she could see Cortland a few seconds into the future, his movements mapped out in blurry motion. Ghostly versions of Cortland fanned out before Carina. One Cortland walked her down to strike at her sword, another threw his hammer for her chest from a distance, and another still shot forward with his [Bull Rush] technique. Carina could only push her [Future Sight] out a few seconds in a situation like this. There were too many potentialities predicated on her own actions. She needed to concentrate on staying just a few heartbeats ahead, enough so that she could anticipate Cortland without finding herself frozen by the myriad possibilities.

The Cortlands in front of her crystallized into one. He'd committed. It would be [Bull Rush].

Cortland surged forward on a straight line, his shoulder down, with the speed of a crossbow bolt. Carina had learned that he was impervious to damage when he used this technique, at least until he stopped moving. Thanks to her [Future Sight], she spun nimbly aside as Cortland streaked past her. Then, she sprinted forward to close the gap. There would only be a half-second window when the invulnerability of [Bull Rush] was down and Cortland’s back was still turned.

She stabbed for his kidneys. The wards on his armor rebuffed the tip of her blade, but Carina thrilled as the protective symbol flared, popped, and went dark. A weak point. Carina needed only to get his back again and she—

Cortland spun a backhanded blow with his hammer. Carina ducked and backpedaled. He pressed forward—an overhand bashing strike for the top of her head, a thrust for her sternum. She stayed ahead of these attacks thanks to [Future Sight] but her vision showed her no version of events where she landed a successful counter. She continued to retreat and Cortland let her again expand the distance between them.

“Your eyes glaze over when you peek at the future,” he said. “Do you know that?”

His words sounded like they had an echo. Carina’s brow furrowed and her stomach dropped. She saw darkness in her future. Darkness without the possibility of escape.

Cortland raised his hammer and brought it down against his buckler. He activated [Anvil’s Ring]. Carina supposed it was a small victory, at least, that he’d needed to use a piece of Ink that he hadn’t yet demonstrated.

The sound that ripped loose from the hammer hitting the buckler was like a thunderclap. The whole world seemed to vibrate as Carina’s inner ear exploded. Her teeth clacked violently together and her stomach heaved, the ground shifting beneath her. She lost any hope of focusing on [Future Sight]. The ringing made her an easy target.

Cortland tossed his hammer at her. The stone head struck her full in the face, doing damage that Carina was happy she’d never have to see.

She came to cradled in Henry Blacksalve’s lap. The healer’s hands were warm on her face. Still, the adrenaline of the fight hadn’t faded from Carina’s body and her immediate reaction was to claw at the man’s neck.

“Easy,” Henry said, leaning back and activating [Tranquility]. “I’m almost done.”

The healer’s Ink made all the tension flow out of Carina’s muscles, made them useless and relaxed, and she felt herself melt back into the floor. The magic did nothing to ease her mind, though.

Cortland looked down at her, his hammer back in the loop on his belt. “Well fought,” he said.

“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t.”

“A day off from training tomorrow,” Henry said, sensing the lingering tension. “I certainly welcome the break.”

“I don’t,” Carina replied, sitting up. Her jaw ached where Henry’s magic had patched it back together. “We should be training every day.”

Cortland shook his head. “You already push enough, logician. Your body needs rest. Your mind, too. Take a day to unwind.” A faint smile found its way onto Cortland’s face. “Go visit that fiancé of yours.”

Carina’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

The hammer master held up his hands. “None of my business.”

“Didn’t know you were engaged,” Henry said, glancing between the two of them. “When did you find the time for romance?”

“I’m not, I haven’t,” Carina said quickly, focused instead on Cortland. “You’ve been to Guydemion’s.”

“Yes,” he replied. The hammer master studied her. Carina had gotten so accustomed to Cortland’s dogged stoicism, his workmanlike remarks, she’d entirely missed his probing look. “They had an issue in their courtyard I helped them clean up. Something you could’ve told me about.”

Carina swallowed, her mind quickly cycling through the implications. She’d only visited Guydemion’s once since she’d been back, not wanting to put off seeing the old man for any longer. It had been a short visit and she’d left the pyramidal city via a little used tunnel through the commerce district, one that merchants used when moving highly valuable goods. Yet, she had been followed. Not by Cortland, though. He didn’t have the tact for that. Someone else had tipped him off. He’d visited Guydemion’s, discovered the Brokerage’s wishing pool, and—was he suspicious of her? Did he think…?

“Wasn’t my place to tell you,” Carina said, before too much of a pause opened up. “They’re private about that place.”

“So I learned,” Cortland said.

Henry stood up, dusting sand off his knees. “Everyone who’s lived in the Rest has been to Guydemion’s,” he said. “Good of you to make time for your people.”

“I wouldn’t call them my people,” Carina said. “That’s a long time gone.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Cortland said, though Carina could tell that he wasn’t. However, her responses seemed to have reassured him. He stood over Carina and offered her a hand. “Back here in two days, then.”

Carina did not want these men to spend too much time thinking about her friends in Soldier’s Rest. That they’d learned about her connection to Guydemion at all was a lapse on her part. She’d been careless somewhere. And gods damned Traveon with his engagement talk…

 She would give her fellow champions something else to stew on, in the meantime. Let them focus on her petulance, rather than her private connections.

Carina slapped Cortland’s hand away.

“This challenge is unfair,” she said. “I learn nothing from these exchanges except what a bully you are, Cortland Finiron.”

The squat man took a step back. “A bully,” he repeated.

“That’s right.”

Cortland shook his head. “You think the Granting will be fair?”

Carina hopped to her feet and held out her arms. “Is this what the Granting is like? Face to face with your enemies across a wide open pit of sand?” She shook her head. “Unfair and unrealistic, to boot.”

“You could easily find yourself in that situation, girl,” Cortland countered. “Isolated and against a superior opponent.”

“I would not,” Carina said.

Cortland threw up his hands. “Oh, you would not?”

 “If I was to find myself locked in mortal combat with someone like you, where I'm at such a disadvantage, then I already would have failed. Do you understand?” She approached him, the better to look down her nose at the shorter man. “I am a logician. My value is predicated on planning. My skills are meant to seek advantages and anticipate problems. If I ever find myself in a fight like this, then I have already lost.”

“Not if I teach you how to win.”

Carina let out a short laugh, clutching at the sweaty hair on the sides of her head. At some point, what she’d meant as a diversion had turned into a real argument.

“You're dense as the stone, Cortland! By the gods. If I allow you to dictate the terms of the fight, then I am not fulfilling my function. This training is unrealistic because, given a real matter of life and death, I would never let that happen. I would find a way to destroy you before you stepped foot across the field from me.”

“That so?” Cortland considered her for a moment, tapping his fingers on the head of his hammer. “Sounds like a fancy fucking excuse for you being a slow gods dammed study.”

“I think that’s plenty said,” Henry interjected, stepping between them. “Too early in the day for this bickering.”

Carina spun away from her two trainers. Cortland’s last comment had stung her more than she would’ve liked.

“Proof that the gods aren’t infallible,” she said over her shoulder. “They sent Infinzel a logician, but they didn’t send anyone with the brains to know how to utilize her.”

Carina walked to the exit with her head high and shoulders square, the posture she always affected when she walked through the Garrison soldiers who would be waiting in the hall, no matter her level of exhaustion. She stumbled a bit as she noticed movement in the balcony overlooking the training pit.

King Cizco gazed down upon her. The man had been avoiding her for weeks, yet here he was now, his handsome face unreadable. How long had he been observing? Long enough to see her defeated, her secrets bandied about like small talk, and her ensuing tantrum.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Carina shouted up at him. She curtsied with enough sarcastic depth that her ass nearly touched the ground. “Another year of undiminished life for King Cizco Salvado! With us three and your chancre of a son in the battle, our wish is a certainty!”

In response, Cizco smiled. “I’m relieved to hear it,” he called down. “Let us celebrate with dinner this evening.”

“Is that an invitation?” Carina asked.

“No,” said the king. “It is a demand.”