The Unfortunate, стр. 19
Atelic coolly reacted to the approaching assault by springing forward, elevating his leg, and planting his foot forcefully into Derian’s exposed midsection.
The recruit was thrown backward, and he impacted the ground with a thud. Eventually Derian opened his eyes to discover Atelic standing over him. “Get away from me you ignorant shit!” he growled and kicked his legs at his opponent as if he were attempting to trip the veteran.
Atelic retreated far enough to be out of reach, but before he could reply to the slur, Awiergan offered further advice.
“Anger can be beneficial to combat, but you must learn to control it and put it to better use.”
The champion had intended for the recruit to become enraged. It had been a test. Awiergan had wanted to learn if and how the man’s inner beast would have to be tamed, and he had known his friend was a man who could open the cage. On numerous occasions Atelic had used instigation as a strategy, and for those who were untrained, the taunting always worked. Sometimes it required a longer duration of provoking, and sometimes the topics of Atelic’s insults were rather suggestive, but they were always effective.
“Never charge an opponent,” Awiergan eventually added as he extended his hand to assist Derian with standing. “Let him come to you. I have witnessed many men fall after having been overcome by emotion.”
The recruit answered with a stern nod before turning to face the other veteran. “Apologies. I spoke without thought.”
“What? For calling me an ignorant shit?” Atelic smiled and offered his hand. “You would have to do much worse to offend me. Besides the insult was weak, similar to your fighting.”
Derian chuckled, but before he could reply, his attention was directed elsewhere when a booming voice announced, “Cease and attend!”
As they had earlier, all the fighters, recruits and veterans alike, stopped and directed their attention toward the manor. This time it was more than a routine act. It was more than the words alone that had caused their reaction. The master of the academy had returned, and with him was half a score of men. All of them had shackles on their wrists and ankles, and to prevent a chance of one escaping, they had all been chained together.
Gildas waited until the fighters had laid down their weapons and had moved to the center of the yard before he began, “You call yourselves the Unfortunate even though I have provided you a second chance.” He paused briefly. “Consider who you were and who you are now. Do you still think yourselves unfortunate? If so … look to these men.” The master gestured to the prisoners who had returned with him.
All the men, some more than others, appeared nervous and uncertain, and the emotions were understandable. Hours prior they had still been prisoners awaiting the date of their punishment. Now, as Gildas had likely explained, they were being provided a second chance as fighters.
“To gain the title I granted you without question, they will have to battle,” Gildas continued. “They will have to defy death to become one of my fighters.”
Both the veterans and recruits of the academy offered no change of expression. They did not even nod to express their understanding.
“Tell me … are you unfortunate?”
“NO!” the men answered in unison.
Gildas was prepared to continue speaking, but when one of the prisoners mumbled, he turned and inquired, “Is there something you wish to share?”
“I was talking to my cousin,” one of the spies from Drunacht answered. “He not know your language.”
Gildas nodded and looked at the other man who was considerably taller and who had a stronger build.
“He asked if you would—how you say?—if he be fighting,” the smaller man added.
Gildas looked back to the man who served as a translator. “Tell him it will be his choice. If he proves himself worthy, he will join my company of fighters.”
Once the response had been translated, the taller Drunishman smiled and answered. “Gi bheset in-gis anod nam trona dia sec sterca.”
“He said, ‘It would be his honor.’”
Gildas paused momentarily before he nodded and turned back to his fighters. “All are dismissed except for Awiergan.” He altered his vision to concentrate on the fighter who he had named. “We need to speak about the day’s training among other matters.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Rather than being led back to his cell, Awiergan was taken into the manor and to Gildas’ private study. Because the room was located in the innermost section of the ancient structure, there were no windows, and despite multiple sources of light such as torches and candles, the room was still dim. Because of this the champion of the academy required several moments for his vision to acclimate.
“Sit,” the master ordered and pointed to a high-backed chair.
For the first time since entering the academy, Awiergan feared his choices had disappointed. He therefore answered as he had during his introductory years. “Yes, Master.”
Gildas did not seem to notice the fighter’s attitude, and it was not until he took a seat behind his desk that he made eye contact. “How faired the day’s training?”
Still unable to determine his master’s feelings, Awiergan hesitated before making reply, “As usual.”
Gildas folded his hands and rested them on his desk, but he remained quiet.
Awiergan was now the one becoming nervous and uncertain. He did not know how to assess the situation. Is there a difference in the Gildas’ attitude, or is it my imagination? Is Gildas’ brow creased, or is it nothing more than erratic movement of shadows being cast by the nearest candles? Before Awiergan could further his thoughts, however, the master of fighters inquired, “There were no issues to counter the ordinary?”
“No.” The fighter was becoming more restless, at least on the inside. The only emotion he dared express was calmness.
“Nothing you wish me to know?”
He could feel his temples throbbing, and he found himself lacking