Story #285 - Still Skinned

Still Skinned

“Explain yourself, Hansel Geredian, under pain of death.” Headmaster Gunner Bry’s voice was tight.

Hansel considered his options. Lying was a possibility, but he’d have to speak very quickly to account for Olaf’s sword bouncing off his shoulder in the training yard. His father had warned him that his over-confidence was going to put him in an awkward position, and Hansel wished he had paid more attention. Speaking the truth would be easier - Olaf, at least, would fight to keep him alive.

He hoped.

“I am Stoneskinned,” Hansel said simply, raising his eyes to meet those of the Headmaster. “I have been so since my thirteenth name-day.” It had come on suddenly, weeks after the party his mother insisted they hold in his honor. A wracking fever had taken him, forcing him to bed for three days. His entire body had been weakened, and his skin took on a grayish cast; despite assurances from his father that everything would fine, his mother was convinced that he was going to die, and had already begun stitching a burial shroud when strength returned and he was able to force himself back onto his feet.

Training had begun in earnest after that – his father insisting that he learn the way of the sword and shield. Hansel found a love for the fierceness of combat, the test of skill against skill and the thousands of ways he could improve his technique. The Dane went easy on him initially, ensuring that he could block each blow that came his way and build up the necessary strength to hold the sword upright over the course of their sparring sessions. Three months passed, his confidence growing daily, when the nature of his father’s training changed. No longer was Hansel given encouragement and an easy string of moves and counter moves he could predict – the Dane struck hard. It was only a matter of time before the sword his father bore cut through Hansel’s defenses and swept across the back of his leg. He had cried out and stumbled forward, but quickly realized that no pain came, no blood flowed. With a smile, the Dane dropped his sword and placed an arm around Hansel’s shoulders – explanations were suddenly required.

“It is true!” His focus returned to the men array in front of him at Olaf’s words. “I have seen it with my own eyes.” Hansel’s teacher did not look angry, simply curious, and was constantly running his hand over the hilt of his sword. Olaf was a true warrior – he did not take defeat personally, but had a vested interest in facing his opponent again.

“We have heard as much, Olaf,” Bry said, his heavy brows drawn. “The abilities of this student are not in question – had he chosen to lie, his death would have come swiftly. It is now our task to decide his fate.”

Hansel stiffened in his chair, but did not move. They had no right to treat him this way – gifts of the Ancients received protection under the Saldag Charter, which had been in force for over a thousand years. His father’s power was muted in the Academy, however, and demands made of the Headmaster would fall on deaf ears. He grimaced; moving his feet when asked by Olaf would have prevented the need for any decision about his future, at least for a time.

“Death.” That was the eldest of the Academy’s council, Sig Harjson. He had been Headmaster once, and widely recognized as the strictest and most demanding of any who had held the role. Hansel forced himself to meet the older man’s gaze, refusing to let the fear he felt show through on his face.

“It is harsh, I admit,” Harjson went on, clasping bony hands in his lap, “but we cannot be too careful. Perhaps our young charge is a Stoneskin, or perhaps an agent of the Fiends. They are ever crafty.”

“I’m not –“ Hansel began, but Bry cut him off.

“You will not speak, Student!”

Anger surged. The gifts of the Ancients were not well understood, and his father had warned him that the more who knew, the greater the risk he would face, but he had never expected such madness! How could the Academy even consider such a notion?

“I will not entertain such an idea, Sig – we are a place of learning, and despite the nature of the training our students receive, we will not began murdering them under our own roof!” The former Headmaster opened his mouth again, but Bry overrode him. “And how would you explain the loss of his only son to the Dane? I’m certain that is a conversation all of us wish to avoid.”

“What is to be done, then?” Olaf said quietly, his eyes still on Hansel.

“For now – nothing.”

“Nothing!” Sig was out of his seat, face pale.

“Nothing!” Bry roared. “You know as well I do the threats facing us here, Sig – you and your talk of the Fiends. We cannot lose a single man, and a Stoneskin may be of use to us in the coming days. Young man,” the Headmaster turned his gaze on Hansel, “you will return to your studies, and will apply yourself more dutifully from here on out. You will not speak of what has happened here today to anyone, and you will receive evening kitchen duty for the next week as punishment for defying your instructor. Do you understand?”

The circumstances were wildly unfair, but Hansel nodded. The Headmaster had revealed perhaps more than he had intended – the Fiends had not been seen since the last Ancient walked the Fallowlands, and for Bry to be so concerned about their existence meant a storm was brewing, one large enough that even the Academy’s recruits would be needed. The Dane had told him legends of the Stoneskin, men who had turned the tide of battle and emerged victorious where defeat seemed sure. He could be such a one – Hansel would make his father proud.



- D