NOVEL NEXT Chapter 11: Chapter 11: How To Kill
"Beautiful." I had always found an interest in architecture and the ancient kind especially. It was just interesting to imagine what such monuments looked like when they were in their prime.
Glancing around and recalling what Ysilla told me, it seemed that this was once a temple. A holy building for the Mother Rhoyne and the Old Men of the River.
The turtles that resided in the pools were considered holy and somewhere there would have once been a chamber that held the eggs of the Old Men.
If one killed a hatchling, it would be treated as deicide and therefore be worthy of execution. Not just any execution mind you.
Oh no. The Rhoynar were like the ancient Persians in that those who killed their precious turtles were in turn killed by scaphism.
'No one would be suffering that anymore,' I saw. There weren't any turtles, only rubble and dirt and weeds that poked up from the cracks in the mosaic floor.
"I can't believe you've picked this place," Rolly grumbled, glancing around, making sure there were no crocodiles that were said to inhabit the place.
I rolled my eyes as he looked for danger. While I'd been told of various predators who called Ghoyan Drohe home, including but not limited to river wolves, wild dogs, snapping turtles and many toxic snakes and lizards.
Nothing else was considered much of a threat. At least this is near 'civilisation.' I knew we were safe though. Most animals shied away from humans unless threatened.
"It looks nice," I said. In a strange way it did have a beauty, at least from a distance.
"This way I'm away from Griff and the others. I need some space, you know." I did like my space and had moments alone. A shame that the Shy Maid didn't allow it.
"I get that feeling," Rolly threw the bag on the floor and I watched the equipment pool out with a loud clamber.
I grimaced at the sound and looked up at him. "Griff's not much of a people person."
"Understatement of the century. Though, could we not practise at the moment? I would very much like to draw some of this. Can we practise after? I'll be too tired to do this otherwise and I want something to remember this place."
A camera was out of the question, but I could still draw it. I wasn't the best with charcoal, but seeing as that was the only material I had at the moment, I was making it work.
With a sigh, Rolly reluctantly allowed it. Grinning childishly, I stripped out of the padded jacket so I was only in a thin tunic already sticking to my body.
I had carried some of my drawing supplies with me. Pulling out a pile of parchments, I began sketching. The ginger-haired man, meanwhile, was watching me behind my back.
It wasn't the first time he'd done that and not the only one. Septa Lemore regularly watched me as well.
"You have a gift, you know," the septa said one day after going through a pile of his work. Then my response was, "Yea, if I ever fail at being a conqueror, at least I'll have my art to fall back on."
.…
I wiped the sweat off my face as me and Rolly stared at each other. It had always been hot in the Rhoyne, but I was now smothering under layers of padding.
'If having dragon's blood gives me resistance to heat, it's not bloody working.'
I was so distracted with my thoughts that I missed the sword slamming into my shoulder. I fell backwards, just barely avoiding a piece of rubble. I grunted and attempted to sit up.
If I'd been just an inch off, I would have hit my head and I'd likely forget everything once more.
"Pay attention," Rolly warned me, relaxing his stance for a moment. His tone was serious. I had quickly found that when it came to training, Rolly didn't act nearly as carefree.
He was a teacher and expected his students to learn. "Don't hesitate. Not for a moment."
"I'm aware," I grunted and stood up, brushing the dust from myself. I hated being dirty, though I'm afraid that was the life I now had.
The days of easy showers and tap water were long over. I held my shield before me and rested my sword just above my shoulder.
It was one of the stances I'd been taught. Jon Connington was very specific when it came to doing it properly.
"So, teach me swordsmanship."
Rolly shook his head, a little smirk forming in the corner of his lips. "I won't teach you anything of the sort. Swordsmanship, you see, is a tame sport they teach noble children."
"It is a dance of sorts, with all matter of forms and rules for both sides. I wasn't taught that, for I'm not highborn. Therefore I won't teach what they're taught."
He pointed his sword to me, where even a lazy swing could disarm him. "I'm not going to teach you swordsmanship, Young Griff. I'm going to teach you how to fight. How to kill. After what happened, you still haven't regained your abilities."
"A part of me is still hopeful, but after this long and with such a loss of skill, I doubt you'll get it back now. Not anytime soon anyway. I'm going to teach you to fight, kill quickly and give as few openings as possible."
"Good to know," I replied, not thinking about anything else to say. It seemed to me that everyone in the gang was pretty comfortable with melodrama of some form or another.
"How skilled was I before, if I may ask?"
"Decent enough," he allowed. "You showed lots of potential and had it in you for something great. Let's hope you continue to show promise. There have been skilled warriors that learned to fight when they were older than you."
"But most started younger," I grumbled. "Thank you for the pressure." I glanced at my surroundings, forming a picture of the training ground in my mind before turning back to him.
"Then teach me. Teach me how to kill."