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

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