Book I of III: The Swords of the Sultan (6 page)

She shrugged, before continuing, “Without any
other choice, I agreed, and immediately drank the potion. After the
Sultan believed that I was dead, and after the wagon cart had taken
me outside of the city to the gravesite, the general waited there.
He took my body and hid me away in his place of residence. For the
next year, I lived with him, and truth be told, I fell in love with
the man. Sadly, he died the following year in a battle with the
Mauritians.”

After releasing a sigh of sorrow, she
concluded, “Once I had found out this information from another
servant, I immediately left his place, took to the streets, and
soon after—the Guild brought me in and gave me a new identity. To
answer your second question, the Sultan doesn’t know I’m still
alive.”

Baltor listened, enraptured to Lydia’s tale.
Once he was sure that she had finished, he asked, “How old are you,
if you don’t mind me asking?”

She laughed again before answering, “I’m
twenty-five.”

“Wow,” the boy sighed, as he felt his heart
fluttering strangely. “I never would have guessed that—I thought
you were like sixteen.”

She laughed yet again, before she said,
“Thank you.”

Just then, the boy peripherally observed his
drill instructor fast approaching. He said to Lydia, “Well, it
looks as if I’m going to have to go do some more hardcore training,
as my drill instructor likes to call it. It was definitely a
pleasure to listen to what you had to say!”

With a smile, she nodded and added, “Don’t
give up hope and you will see your own ‘moment of glory’—soon
enough.”

Though Humonus was now nearby, he still
yelled at the top of his lungs, “Baltor! To me. Now!”

“Yes, sir!” the boy replied with confidence
in his voice, as well a small smile. Immediately he ran over to his
drill instructor.

Because Baltor could not see behind him, he
missed the smile that lingered upon Lydia’s face. Still, for the
remainder of the day, he pushed himself way beyond what he could
have ever conceived possible….

After every long and grueling day that
passed, Baltor found that he got fatigued less and less—even with
only a minimal amount of sleep. As the days turned into weeks,
which there were eight days every week, and the weeks into months,
which there were four weeks a month and thirteen months a year, he
learned quite a few new positive things.

For one, his timing and ability to maneuver
through all six of the obstacle courses, each progressively harder,
had drastically improved. Though the drill instructor rarely ever
expressed any satisfaction, he did reveal his student’s timeframes
and physical training tests that were getting better every
time.

For two, he had learned how to maneuver
through darkness by relying on his sense of sound alone. It became
easy as pie to find his way from the bunkhouse to their training
area, which non-dangerous route actually had five different routes
he could choose. The drill instructor had long ago warned to the
boy that he was not allowed to explore any other unlit tunnels, as
they were both dangerous and deadly. Baltor didn’t.

And for three, he discovered that his muscles
were not only becoming
stronger
, yet
bigger
!

He had also learned a couple of negative
things. Despite the hundred or so nights that he had lived in the
bunkhouse—he didn’t know how many—he still hadn’t made a single
friend. He had tried twice, unsuccessfully.

Even worse—for some unknown reason, whenever
he had tried to instigate a conversation with any of his
classmates, they would all studiously ignore him, or if together,
even bully him. Fortunate was the fact that for ninety-nine percent
of the time, all of Baltor’s fellow students were asleep or gone
when his drill instructor woke him up in the morning and released
him at night.

Of course, there were quite a few times that
he had awoken prematurely, due to another drill instructor who was
yelling at his or her own student. Baltor knew to keep quiet, as
one other boy student had made the stupid mistake to yell back a
month or so ago.

In front of everyone at lunchtime that day,
that boy had gotten his hands smacked hard with a switch forty
times. Twenty times by his own drill instructor, and twenty times
by the one he had yelled at. In the end, that boy’s knuckles were
busted open and bleeding and his eyes filled with pain-stricken
tears!

The last, and the hardest, thing for Baltor
to learn throughout these last few months was the fact that he
hadn’t seen Lydia even once, yet every day that passed he missed
her that much more.

One day, or possibly night, the drill
instructor arrived at his student’s bunk. This time, unlike all of
the other times before, he didn’t yell and scream. Instead, he
quietly tapped Baltor on the shoulder until awake and then he
quietly said, “I want you to report to my office in thirty minutes.
We have some important matters to discuss. When we’re done with our
meeting, you can go back to sleep until morning.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, just before
rising to his feet and heading for the food table. Meanwhile, the
drill instructor left the bunkhouse.

After Baltor had eaten an orange, he next
consumed a whole loaf of bread, amidst washing it down with a mug
of water. Once done with breakfast, four minutes later, he made his
way through the tunnels until he reached his drill instructor’s
office, which journey took about twenty-five minutes.

Once he stood before the desk, he quietly
assumed the position of attention. The drill instructor had been
sitting in his chair reading a notebook, but he didn’t even look up
once. He just continued to flip from page to page and read.

Eight to ten minutes passed before Humonus
closed the notebook, looked up and said with a smile, “Baltor, you
have passed through phase one of the training program.
Congratulations!”

“Thank you sir!”

“Now, phase two is to commence in the
morning,” the drill instructor revealed. “Within this phase, you
will learn fighting skills that range from hand-to-hand techniques
to a wide range of weapons training. Some students are slow
learners and take many years before they even learn the rudimentary
skills of fighting. Some students never make it through phase two
at all.”

Humonus paused for ten seconds to let these
words sink in—Baltor simply waited in silence for his drill
instructor to continue.

“Before you can be passed on to phase three,
you will have to prove your fighting skills. Most likely, you will
find a favorite type of weapon. But remember this—a thief may not
have any weapon except his own hands, so he better damned be able
to use them if he expects to get out alive!”

The drill instructor paused for an additional
ten seconds to let this equally important info sink in, before he
continued, “From here on out, though it is not mandated, it would
benefit you to greatly enhance your physical and dexterity skills
through the obstacle courses during those afternoons I give you
such free time. For now, as it is three in the morning, you can go
back to bed until five when we begin training! Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir!” the boy exclaimed with a proud
smile upon his face.

Even though he returned to his bedchambers,
and lay back down to sleep, all attempts failed, as he had become
overly excited about this “new phase.”

Precisely at five in the morning, the drill
instructor arrived—upon seeing his student lying awake in his bunk
while all the other students still slept, he ordered, but did not
yell, “Follow me.”

“Yes sir.”

Humonus led his student to a massive rack
that contained a wide arsenal of weapons—both training and real
ones. This rack sat in front of the opening of another smaller
cavern, which happened to be the supply room.

After gesturing toward the weapons, the drill
instructor taught, “As I stated earlier, the first and greatest
weapon that you will ever learn how to use is your own body. All of
these other lesser weapons must only be an extension of you. Do you
understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Hit me.”

After a few seconds had passed, the boy
sounded unconvinced as he asked, “Sir, you want me to hit you?”

Laughing, the drill instructor answered,
“Yes. Come on now, just hit me.”

“Where would you like me to hit you,
sir?”

The drill instructor’s humored look instantly
disappeared and severe irritation replaced it. “I don’t care, for
crying out loud—just hit me!”

With all of his might, the boy swung his
right fist at Humonus’s face.

A nanosecond before it would have contacted,
the drill instructor twisted his body out of the way, and the fist
only struck thin air.

“Again!”

This time, the boy swung with his left
fist—again, Humonus had already twisted out of the way, and the
fist connected only with air.

The drill instructor shrieked at the top of
his lungs, “
Try harder!!
”

The student quickly tried to anticipate which
direction his drill instructor would dodge, and when he made his
best guess a few seconds later, he swung his right fist out with
all of his might.

Not only was Humonus able to evade the punch,
yet it also threw Baltor off balance. The drill instructor
immediately grabbed the boy’s extended fist and yanked while
twisting. This simple motion caused the boy’s back to slam hard
into the ground.

For a minute or so, he saw only shooting
stars. Even though he couldn’t see, he could hear his drill
instructor say, “In order to beat the enemy, you must first become
that enemy!”

Once Baltor had begun to regain clarity of
vision, he looked up at his drill instructor in disbelief.

“Stand up,” the drill instructor immediately
ordered. “Let me show you how to punch properly.”

The boy stood as ordered but instantly became
afraid—he flinched in terror when his drill instructor cocked back
his fist.

Still holding his cocked fist back, Humonus
nonchalantly stated, “Quit shaking like a little baby and take it
like a man.”

The boy tried to calm his fears, but to no
avail.

Humonus shook his head balefully, just before
he explained, “Listen….in any sort of combat situation whatsoever,
not only must you be able to dish it out, but you must also be able
to take it. As I told you once before—if you don’t think that you
can do it, you know where you can go.”

Baltor sucked in a deep breath in order to
regain his nerves—in that same second Humonus launched a
full-forced punch into his student’s chest! The boy’s body flew
backward about five feet and rolled several times over until
finally stopping.

This time, however, the boy was unconscious
and did not get up.

A minute or so later, he awoke to the painful
sensations of someone slapping his face hard and repeatedly.

Once the drill instructor saw that his
student had opened his eyes, he stopped slapping and yelled, “Sit
up!”

With tears still flowing down his face, and
still barely able to breathe, Baltor did as ordered, slowly sitting
up.

While pointing his index finger up as a
physical prompt, the drill instructor said at a normal volume, “As
you just learned the hard way, one good hit is all it would take to
completely disable any opponent—just one. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, as he began to wipe
the tears off.

“One hit,” the drill instructor continued,
“in the right spot, with the right amount of force, and with the
whole of your body to back it up.”

He paused for a few moments to let it sink
in, and then he asked, “But what if your opponent is wearing body
armor? Well, certainly then, a punch into his gut won’t work. What
if your opponent is wearing a helmet? Obviously, a punch to the
head is just as futile.”

After taking in a deep breath through just
his nose, he concluded, “Therefore, the first lesson is this: Learn
your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses before you attack, yet
always be ready with a good defense in case your opponent attacks
first. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Baltor replied eagerly.

“Not yet you don’t, but you will,” the drill
instructor countered. “Stand up, and then I want you to strike me
again.”

The boy stood and quickly tried to judge his
drill instructor’s weaknesses. His first thought was that maybe he
could get a good swing into the side of his gut, as it didn’t look
guarded, so he threw his punch.

With but a tiny flick of his hand, Humonus
grabbed the punch and twisted yet another direction—this simple
motion caused the boy to literally fly over his drill instructor
and for his back to slam hard yet again into the ground. For the
third time that day, he saw shooting stars…

He stumbled back onto his feet, but his
balance was so completely off that he fell right back onto the
ground.

The drill instructor knelt on one knee next
to his student, pointed two fingers into the air, and said, “The
second lesson is this: Always, always, always keep yourself in a
defensive position, even if you don’t look like you’re in one.”

Baltor gulped before speaking, “Yes,
sir.”

Humonus stood, extended his hand out to his
student, pulled him back onto his feet, and then ordered, “I want
you take a fifteen-minute break and then meet me back here.”

The boy muttered, “Yes, sir.”

He slowly stumbled his way over to the break
table, and with trembling hands, he poured himself a glass of
water. It was only when he had finished taking a long swallow that
he realized just how badly his stomach, his back, his head—hell,
his entire body ached!

This is even worse than the first phase!
At least I didn’t have him beating the crap out of me then
.