Story #284 - Stoneskin

Stoneskin

“Here!” Olaf bellowed, pointing to a spot some five feet in front of him and ten feet from the student who was the focus of his ire. Hansel Geredian was the best pupil to come through the Academy in the last decade, but that didn’t make him invincible – and it didn’t mean he could ignore the directions of his instructor.

Hansel shot a look over his shoulder and smiled, but didn’t move his feet. Though the three other students pressing him were having a hard time keeping their footing in the thick mud, it was as if Hansel was made of stone. No matter how the others feinted and moved, the tall blond student held his ground, a wide smile on his handsome face.

“Enough!” Olaf tried not to let his anger get the best of him, but it was difficult. Hansel was the son of the most powerful Dane in the Fallowlands, but agreements made five centuries ago meant that every noble firstborn son was required to report for training at their eighteenth birthday. Hansel had come easily enough, and taken all the discipline Olaf could mete out with a steely determination, but had refused to learn even the most basic skills of movement and distraction. Willing enough with sword and shield, the young man seemed hell-bent on enduring the strikes that came at him, rather than moving to avoid.

Olaf motioned to the three who had been facing Hansel to move away; they were clearly exhausted, and words were required with the Geredian heir. Calling him down was necessary, but Olaf had no need to do it in front of others – Hansel’s father was very particular about protocol, and while Olaf had every right to correct his student’s behavior, doing it within the earshot of other students would lead to aggravation he did not need.

“Yes, Teacher?” Hansel said with a broad smile as he approached. The smile wasn’t menacing, or cocky, but instead a clear indication of the young man’s confidence. Everything he did had other students aspiring to emulate him – even his lanky stride was a topic of whispered discussion, and Olaf had to admit he had rarely seen a student as skilled or as centered.

“Tell me, Student,” Olaf said softly. “Why you did not follow my direction?”

Hansel’s smile widened, and it took a great deal of effort on Olaf’s part not to lash out with a barbed quip or mailed fist. The talented young man had a way of getting under his skin without speaking a word.

“I was fine where I was, revered Teacher, and thought that perhaps you were unable to see as much from your vantage point. Moving might have broken my footing, and I had no desire to lose.” Olaf was on the verge of a firm reply through clenched teeth when Hansel dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Teacher. It will not happen again.”

There it was – Hansel’s ever-present defense. He would do it again, just as soon as he believed he could get away with it, but always had an apology at the ready, prepared to deflect the anger of those with greater power than his own.

“Yes it will,” Olaf said firmly. He was done struggling with Hansel – one way or another, the matter had to be resolved. The heir’s face went flat with anger, and Olaf could see his muscles tense. Perhaps he would actually loose his sword without permission; on rare occasions, a student made such a choice and was quickly ejected from the academy, left to the mercies of his disappointed family. Hansel’s hand went around the hilt of his blade, but he did not draw. He was no fool.

“You always push, Hansel,” Olaf went on. “It is in your nature, and as Dane when your father passes or at the head of army, it will serve you well.” He paused to fix the young man with a stern glare. “Here, however, it will do nothing but bring you trouble, and my ire. Attend!” He barked the word as he drew his own sword, its plain steel length hissing as the blade slipped from its crafted home.

Hansel responded immediately, pulling his own blade free and dropping into a fighting stance. “Revered Teacher –“ he began, but Olaf cut him off.

“To first blood, Hansel! If you can best me, then you will have proven your worth in front of all those here. If not, you will respect my direction for the remainder of your training. Do you understand?”

“This is a poor choice, Teacher, please…” Other students began to drift in from around the edge of the fighting ring, eyes bright.

“It is necessary! Stand your ground and fight, or be shown as craven and crass!” Hansel’s eyes narrowed. Even his confidence could not stand against such insults.

Olaf swung first. Despite the young heir’s anger, he would not strike his teacher without provocation. It was a probing strike only, meant to test his defenses, and Olaf was not disappointed in the response. With a quick shield block, Hansel deflected the stroke and then launched an attack of his own, one Olaf blocked with ease. Around them, students began to cheer, setting Olaf’s blood to singing. It had been too long!

He lost himself in the rhythm of the dance, the play of blade on blade and the struggle with another warrior. Hansel was skilled, though imperfect, and Olaf could see the potential for a master within.

A dropped shoulder gave him an opening, and he drove forward with a quick strike. Hansel would have no way to block it, and a slight wound to the upper arm would sideline the young man for only a few weeks.

Sword met flesh, but to Olaf it was as if he had struck stone. His blade rebounded as though a solid object barred his way, and only years of training kept him from grounding his blade in the dirt. Hansel stood, proud and uncut, skin bearing not even a red mark to show it had been touched by steel.

“Come with me!” Olaf bellowed, driving forward to take Hansel by the shoulder. “The rest of you, to your lessons!” It had been thirty years since he had seen a Stoneskin – the old things walked again.



- D