BOOK 2

  CHAPTER 8

  Training Montage

  Bash found Luis in one of the tents outside the hall. The younger man was sprawled across a pile of furs, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Alone, though clearly he hadn't been. Nora's things sat in the corner. Her bedroll. Her satchel. An empty spot in the skins and sheets where she'd been lying.

  Bash stared down at Luis for a long moment. If I have to be miserable, then this asshole has to be miserable too.

  He kicked him.

  “What?!” Luis flailed awake, limbs thrashing. “I'm up! I'm up!”

  “The sun's rising.” Bash was already walking out of the tent. “Training yard. Now.”

  Luis groaned behind him. “Hermano, it's too early. The sun isn't even fully up.”

  “The enemy isn't going to wait for you to get your beauty sleep.” Bash nodded at the rack of practice weapons. “Grab a spear. You have maybe two days to become our spear tip. Patrick's gone. That means you're up.”

  Luis grabbed a practice spear and stared at it like it had personally offended him. “I’m not Patrick.”

  “No. You’re not.” Bash settled into an unarmed stance, fists raised. “But you’re what we’ve got. So let’s go.”

  They squared off in the dirt. Luis settled into a stance that looked awkward. Too stiff. Too hesitant.

  Bash came at him and Luis thrust with the spear. Bash sidestepped, slapped the shaft aside, and drove a palm into Luis’s chest. Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to make the point.

  “Dead,” Bash said. “Again.”

  They went again. Luis did marginally better. Then worse. Then better. Then much worse.

  Shai materialized at the edge of the yard, watching with clinical interest.

  Bash glanced at her. “I thought you were busy until lunch.”

  “Too busy to help you,” Shai replied. “Not too busy for my friends.”

  Shai ignored his gobsmacked stare, turning to Luis. “You’re dropping your left shoulder before every thrust. This telegraphs your attack with 94% predictability.”

  Luis smiled at her. “Thanks. Actually helpful. Unlike some people,” he turned and glared at Bash.

  “Bash,” Shai continued, “your footwork efficiency has decreased by 12% since yesterday. Your strike force is also down by 8%.”

  Bash ignored her. “Whatever, go again, Luis.”

  They went again. Luis thrust. Bash ducked under it, stepped inside his guard, and tapped him on the throat with two fingers. “Dead.”

  “This isn’t fair,” Luis complained. “You’re way faster than me.”

  “So is everyone we’re fighting.” Bash lowered his hands. “Okay. New approach. Show me Flurry.”

  Luis’s expression changed to a blush. “Are you sure?”

  Bash narrowed his eyes. “It’s your Champion skill. If you can’t use it, what’s the point of assigning you that job?”

  Sighing, Luis planted his feet. “Here goes… something.” He took a deep breath, and activated the skill. The spear became a blur. For about half a second.

  After that, Luis was just swinging. Wildly. No direction. No control. The spear whipped left, right, up, down, nearly hitting himself in the face on the backswing. He looked like a man fighting off a swarm of invisible bees.

  Dying slowly from secondhand embarrassment, Bash watched until the skill burned out. Luis stood there panting, spear hanging limply at his side.

  Bash winced. “That sure was something alright.”

  Luis’s shoulders slumped. “It’s supposed to be this rapid-fire attack sequence. Multiple strikes in quick succession. But when I activate it, my arms just go crazy and I can’t control where they’re going.”

  Walking over, Bash stood beside him. “Show me the activation again. Slow. Don’t actually use it, just… feel the edge of it.”

  Luis closed his eyes. His grip tightened on the spear. Bash could see the moment the skill started to engage. A faint tremor running through Luis’s arms, his muscles tensing in anticipation.

  “There.” Bash put a hand on Luis’s shoulder. “Feel that? That’s the power building. Now here’s the thing, you have to decide where to hit before you activate. Not during. Before.” Bash stepped back. “Think of it like… when you’re about to sneeze. You can’t stop the sneeze, but you can aim it. Same thing.”

  Luis looked dubious. “You want me to sneeze-fight.”

  “I want you to stop flailing around like an idiot.” Bash moved to stand in front of him. “Pick three targets on my body. Head, chest, whatever. Lock them in your mind first, then activate.”

  Luis raised the spear. His eyes narrowed, focusing. Bash could see him thinking, planning. The blur came again.

  This time it was different. Still wild, still barely controlled, but there was direction now. The spear swept toward Bash’s head, he barely ducked. Then chest, he twisted. Then his gut.

  The tip caught his shirt. Tore through fabric. Drew a thin line of blood across his stomach.

  Luis’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit! Sorry, didn’t mean to!”

  “That was good.” Bash looked down at the scratch. Already healing. “That was actually good.”

  “I hit you.” Luis said in a playful tone.

  Bash grinned, he could see a sense of renewed confidence in way Luis was now standing. “Do it again. This time five targets.”

  They drilled for another hour. Luis’s control improved with each attempt. The wild swinging became less wild. The targets became more precise. By the end, he was stringing together seven, eight strikes in sequence, each one going roughly where he intended. Roughly.

  Bash still dodged most of them. But “most” wasn’t “all”. Not anymore. “Better,” Bash said, breathing harder than he wanted to admit. “Much better.”

  Luis was drenched in sweat, bent over with his hands on his knees. “How do you do it? With your psionic stuff. How do you control something that powerful?”

  Bash considered the question. It wasn’t something he’d ever had to explain before.

  “You know how when you’re really angry, your hands shake? Like the emotion is too big for your body? Well. Psionic Strike is like that, but on purpose. I build the energy up, let it fill me, and then…” He made a fist. Red lightning crackled briefly across his knuckles. “I show it where to go.”

  Luis straightened up slowly. “Show it where,” he repeated.

  “Your other skill?” Bash asked. “Lead the Charge. Have you tried that one?”

  Luis’s face fell. “Yeah, but nothing happens.” He closed his eyes and concentrated. Bash could see the strain on his face, the effort of reaching for something that wouldn’t come. Giving up, Luis slumped. “See? I’ve tried everything. I don’t even know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

  Bash frowned. Typical Shard game design. Handing out dangerous tools without an instruction manual. “Maybe it needs a trigger,” he said. “Maybe it only works in actual combat.”

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  “Maybe.” Luis didn’t sound convinced.

  A shadow passed overhead. Lilly swooped down and landed on a fence post, feathers ruffled. “Bash! Bash!”

  Bash looked over. “What is it, Lilly?”

  “The bad men!” Lilly cried out. “They’re packing up their camp and moving this way. Toward us. Lots of them. Like ants.”

  Bash’s jaw tightened. “Go tell Jack.”

  Lilly saluted with one wing, nearly falling off the post, then launched back into the sky.

  Bash watched her go, then looked at Shai who was still watching from the sideline. “How long?”

  Shai’s eyes went distant for a moment, calculating. “An army of that size, moving through mountain terrain with supply wagons and support units… approximately 36 to 44 hours. They will likely arrive tomorrow night at the earliest, or the following morning if they maintain a cautious pace.”

  Two days. Two days to turn Luis into something resembling a fighter. Two days to prepare defenses. Two days to grieve Patrick and somehow keep functioning.

  It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. “Luis.” Bash turned back to him. “Break’s over.”

  Luis groaned but raised his spear.

  ***

  The rest of the morning was brutal. Bash pushed harder now. Faster. The news about the army had changed something in him, burning away the patience. Every mistake Luis made felt like a countdown. “Dead. Dead. Dead!”

  Luis stopped arguing. Stopped complaining. He just kept getting up, kept trying, kept failing in slightly different ways. Like the most painful debugging session in existence.

  They worked on defensive formations. Footwork. How to use the spear’s reach without overextending. How to fall back without turning your back. Survival tactics, mostly. Anything that might keep Luis alive for an extra five seconds.

  “What’s the actual plan?” Luis asked during a brief break. “For when they get here?”

  “Working on it.”

  Luis took a long drink, water running down his chin. “Patrick would have had a plan. He always had a plan.”

  Bash didn’t answer. The name still hurt to hear.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to...” Luis started.

  “I know.” Bash said, waving him off. Silence sat between them after that. The afternoon sun beat down, hot and indifferent.

  “Again,” Bash said, standing. They went again.

  By late afternoon, Luis could barely stand. His reaction time had dropped to 310 milliseconds, according to Shai’s updates. But his tells were less obvious, and his Flurry was almost controlled.

  Luis sat in the dirt, chest heaving, practice spear lying beside him. “Bash. I need… I need a minute.”

  Bash paced. His body wanted to keep moving. If he stopped, the thoughts would catch up. The grief. The guilt. Patrick’s face when the dagger went in. “Pain is temporary. Get up.” He said, more to himself than his friend.

  Luis didn’t move. “One minute, Bash. Just one more minute.”

  Bash’s jaw clenched. The words were right there, ready to explode out of him. Step up. Be better. Stop being weak. But again, Bash realized those words were for himself.

  Stopping, Bash looked at Luis, really looked at him. Covered in dirt. Bruised. Exhausted. Still here. Still trying.

  Patrick would have known what to do. Patrick would have found the right balance between pushing and supporting. Bash wasn’t Patrick. But he had to try.

  Bash walked over and held out his hand.

  Luis blinked up at him. “What?”

  “You want a break? Fine. But not sitting in the dirt.” Bash grabbed Luis’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Come with me and watch.”

  ***

  The Beastmasters had their own training yard near the eastern wall.

  Bash led Luis to a low stone wall at the edge of the yard and sat down. After a moment’s hesitation, Luis dropped down beside him.

  In the yard, a dozen Beastmasters sparred in pairs while three werewolves in human form ran them through drills. The movements were well practiced. No wasted effort.

  Bash activated Investigator, and the world shifted subtly, as data overlayed reality. He could see the flow of the fight now. The patterns in the chaos. Prediction hummed alongside, showing him attacks fractions of a second before they happened.

  > “The pair on the left is using a rotating defense,” Shai’s voice murmured in his mind. “One engages while the other recovers stamina. Efficiency rating approximately 340% higher than solo combat.”

  Bash pointed at two Beastmasters working together against a werewolf. “See how they’re rotating? One engages, one recovers. They never both commit at the same time.”

  > “The werewolf is attempting a separation maneuver. Classic pack-hunting tactic adapted for humanoid combat.”

  “And watch the werewolf,” Bash repeated. “See how he’s trying to separate them? Force one to chase while he isolates the other?”

  Luis was quiet for a moment, watching. Then he turned to Bash with narrowed eyes.

  “How the hell do you know all this stuff? Yesterday you were struggling to approve building permits. Now you’re some kind of tactical genius?”

  Bash kept his eyes on the yard, expression carefully neutral. “I know everything, Luis.”

  Shai materialized on the wall beside them, legs crossed, looking smug. “Because I’m telling him.”

  Luis barked out a laugh. “Figures.” He shook his head, but he was grinning. “Whatever. It’s helping. Thanks, Shai.”

  “You’re welcome.” She flickered slightly. “The younger Beastmaster at two o’clock is reading attacks through shoulder movement rather than hand position. His success rate is 23% higher than his peers.”

  “So, that’s how you do it huh?”

  “I never said I played fair Luis.” Bash smiled slightly. “I also have a skill that shows me attacks before they happen.”

  Shai pointed, “See the two Beastmasters on the far side? They are executing a flanking maneuver. Coordination score: 94th percentile. Trust index: extremely high.”

  Luis was quiet for a moment, watching where Shai had indicated. “They trust each other completely. That’s why the formations work.” Luis gestured. “If either one thought the other might bail, they’d never commit like that.”

  Bash and Shai looked at each other in puzzlement. Shai gave a small shake of her head.

  “Patrick and I trusted each other,” Luis continued, his voice quieter. “That’s why we worked so well together.”

  The name still hurt. But differently this time. They sat for another few minutes, watching.

  Luis’s breathing had returned to normal. The color was coming back to his face.

  “Okay.” Bash stood. “You ready to start training with them?”

  Luis’s eyes went wide. “With the Beastmasters? Bash, they’ll destroy me.”

  “Probably. But you’ll learn more in an hour with them than a whole day with just me.” He started walking toward the yard. “Come on.”

  Garrett, the weathered Beastmaster leading the drills, looked up as they approached. “Lord Bash. Come to train?”

  “Him first.” Bash nodded at Luis. “He’s our Champion. Integrate him into the drills.”

  Garrett studied Luis with the critical eye of a veteran assessing raw material. Luis squirmed under the scrutiny.

  “Spear?” Garrett asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Any formation training?”

  “Not really.”

  Garrett grunted, not disapproving, just acknowledging. “Marcus! Erik! Take the new blood. Start with basic shield wall positioning.”

  Two Beastmasters broke off from their sparring and approached. They weren’t gentle, they grabbed Luis by the shoulders and steered him toward a practice formation before he could protest.

  Luis shot a panicked look back at Bash.

  “You’ll be fine,” Bash called. “Remember to watch the shoulders!”

  Luis was swallowed by the drill before he could respond.

  Bash watched him go, then turned back to Garrett. “What about you? Got anyone who can actually give me a challenge?”

  Garrett’s weathered face cracked into something like a smile. “Depends on what kind of challenge you’re looking for.”

  “Your best. I want to face them.”

  “One on one?”

  Bash considered. The grief was still there, coiled in his chest. The need to move, to hit, to exhaust himself into numbness. “Two on one.”

  A brief pause as Garrett studied him, then a nod. He called over two of the Beastmaster that were sparring, they set aside their weapons and circled Bash from opposite sides.

  Prediction flickered. Reflex Surge hummed at the edges of his awareness. He let them come.

  The first strike came from the left. Bash blocked it with his forearm, spun, caught the second attacker with an elbow to the chest. They stumbled back. The first came again. Bash ducked under the swing, swept the legs, dropped him to the dirt, ending the fight.

  “Three on one.”

  A third Beastmaster joined. Then a fourth. Then a werewolf, still in human form but faster than the others.

  Bash fought them all. Prediction screamed warnings. His body moved on instinct. Block. Strike. Dodge. Counter. The world narrowed to a series of attacks and responses.

  Four on one became five. His skills burned through stamina faster than he could recover. His movements got sloppier. A fist caught his jaw. A kick buckled his knee.

  He kept fighting. Six on one. Seven.

  A werewolf came at him low. Bash reacted on instinct, Psionic Strike flaring before he could stop it.

  The impact sent the werewolf flying. He hit the ground hard, skidded, and didn’t get up.

  Everyone froze.

  “I’m sorry.” Bash’s voice came out wrong. Too high. Too fast. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…”

  Garrett was already at the werewolf’s side, checking him. “He’s okay, Lord Bash. Just stunned. Werewolves heal fast. He’ll be fine.”

  Bash stood there, the urge to run overwhelming. To disappear behind a building somewhere and fall apart in private. But a leader doesn't get that luxury. Keeping his head high, he walked to the edge of the yard and sat down.

  His hands were shaking and his chest ached. Patrick's face kept flashing through his mind. The blood, the stillness. The follower count dropping from 52 to 51. He sat with it. Let it wash over him, his vision going blurry with barely restrained tears.

  A shadow passed overhead. Lilly landed on a fence post nearby, tilting her head. “Bash? You, okay?”

  "Best day ever." He tried to smile, but it crumbled halfway, tears streaking down his face.

  “Oh. Okay.” She ruffled her feathers, uncertain. Turning, she looked out at the training yard. “Wow! Look at Luis! He looks so cool!”

  Bash wiped his eyes quickly and followed her gaze.

  Luis was in the middle of a formation drill with four Beastmasters. His face was set in concentration, jaw tight, eyes focused. No jokes. No complaints. No dramatic protests.

  He looked... serious. Bash couldn’t remember ever seeing him that serious.

  The drill master called out a command. The formation shifted. Luis moved with them. Not perfectly, not smoothly, but he moved. When a practice strike came at his flank, the Beastmaster beside him covered. When a gap opened in the line, Luis stepped into it without being told.

  “He’s actually doing it,” Bash murmured.

  “He looks so cool!” Lilly hopped excitedly on the post. “Not like before when he was falling down all the time!”

  Bash watched as the drill intensified. The practice attacks came faster. The formation had to adapt, shift, cover gaps. Luis was sweating, struggling, clearly outmatched by the veterans around him. But he kept up.

  And then something changed. Luis’s eyes went wide. His whole body tensed. Bash could see the moment a skill activated the same way he could see Flurry building before it released.

  Lead the Charge rippled outward. Bash couldn't see the skill itself, but the effects were immediate. The Beastmasters around Luis moved faster. Their strikes hit harder. Their footwork became more precise. One of them, Marcus maybe, executed a parry that would have been impossible thirty seconds earlier.

  The drill master called a halt, staring at Luis with something like surprise.

  Luis stood in the center of the formation, breathing hard, looking down at his own hands like he’d never seen them before. “Holy shit,” he said. “I did it.”

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