Gryph was running. He often was, he found. Five days he’d been here and still he hadn’t touched anything but a bow. Skyrae had explained that a fighter needed to be fast, strong, have good lungs and something Ishula called stamina. When his body was ready, she had said, then they would start working on his mind. Ishula, who had agreed to stay a while longer, nodded his agreement occasionally, but otherwise his input was minimal.

On he ran, up the long hill with the three white barked trees at the top, down the other side, around the small pond and up again to the top of the hill that overlooked the small cottage. This was the only normal building around here, being built of mud bricks and thatch. There was no sign of life, as usual. Gryph thought one day he might move in, when…if, he returned from his planned journey.

A few days ago, this is where he would have stopped, rested for a while, then turned and ran back. Today he carried on, pushing his tired body further. His aim was to cross the wide meadow at the foot of the hill, carry on up the next hill to the massive oak that crowned it. Sweating profusely, his pulse pounding in his head, he found he could go no further. Sinking down, panting heavily, he felt the long grass around him. But he’d took only a few steps onto the meadow, the oak was a long way off yet. Tomorrow he would go further, perhaps a quarter of the way across, and more every day until he reached the tree.

After catching his breath, he walked back to the pond and drank deeply from it. The water was warmer than Skyrae’s spring, but still quite fresh. It smelled clean and small fish darted away as his shadow fell over the surface, so he supposed it was fine. Taking a deep breath, he turned and started back to Skyrae’s in a slow run. No use getting further out if he had to walk back. Besides, the quicker his body was ready, the quicker he could learn how to fight.

He hadn’t completely settled in yet. He still felt strange sleeping in the cave, which still had no door, despite it being cleaned out and made quite cosy with some of Skyrae’s furniture. Then of course there were the chores. Preparing and cooking food, chopping fire wood, sweeping the floors, mending clothes and furniture and anything else that broke. His hands, of course, were blistered from the unaccustomed toil, his body too ached all over, particularly in the mornings when he first awoke. He was always tired at the end of the day, which he supposed was a good thing, at least he got to sleep at night. Still, it was calm here, the scenery was nice, and there was plenty to eat, which was also a good thing, because all this work made him ravenous.

True to her word, Skyrae was always up before the dawn, and was the kind of person who liked the whole world to know it. No creeping around quietly for her. It was all banging pots and pans, singing in her terrible voice, talking to herself about lazy people still in their pits. Even Ishula, who was no sluggard, would often grumble under his breath as they gathered for breakfast.

Gryph noticed that Ishula slept in Skyrae’s room. He thought this odd at first, because there was plenty of room in the main cave, and lots of floor space for his bed roll. When finally he realised why, it hit him with a smack that left him feeling naive and foolish, and raw inside. Of course he’d been with a woman once, but that particular memory was in the jar so he didn’t think about that.

Ishula and Skyrae were sitting side by side on a bench outside the cabin when he arrived back. He was exhausted, but he calmly sat beside Ishula, and drank sparingly from the bottle the small man gave him. Despite the sweat that was running down his face and chest, despite his laboured breathing, he wanted to show the pair he was ready to start learning. As he’d done his chores, as he always did, first thing in the morning, all he had now was free time. Casually he looked towards Skyrae, hoping to see the glint of a sword, or even a dagger. There was no metal, but what he did see were two poles, taller than he was, propped against the cabin. More furniture, he thought, and guess who has to polish it?

When his breathing returned to normal Ishula gave him a handful of large green berries and a portion of steamed fish. They soon disappeared down his throat and he was looking for more.

“So, “ Skyrae said, sounding a lot like Ishula, “Today, as a reward for your efforts, we will begin.” She stood, gathered up the sticks and walked out to the clear space in front of her dwelling. Gryph looked towards Skyrae, then towards Ishula, who nodded, gesturing towards the warrior. Hesitantly, almost smiling, Gryph joined her.

“These are quarter staffs.” Skyrae enthused, rubbing her hand along the length of one of the poles. “Don’t underestimate it, it’s no more just a stick than Ishula’s are. In the right hands it’s a deadly weapon.” Skyrae caught Gryph’s expression. The almost smile had gone, leaving a look of disbelief, his shoulders slumped in disappointment.

It was then that Gryph witnessed first hand just how good Skyrae was, although he saw very little. The warrior took hold of one of the poles and let the other topple to the ground. As it arced towards the ground Gryph’s eye moved with it. Sudden movement in his peripheral vision alerted him, but he was much too late. A hard object slammed into the back of his legs, tripping him and laying him flat on his back. He looked up along the length of the pole that was resting none too gently against his throat. Skyrae smiled down at him. “Believe me now?”

Gryph nodded carefully and the quarter staff was withdrawn. Pain throbbed in his legs as he climbed to his feet.

“What was your first mistake there?” Skyrae asked.

Gryph shrugged.

“Taking your eyes off me, being distracted by the other staff. Always watch the other person. Eye to eye. Every time you don’t from now on I’ll do the same, with whatever weapon I have to hand. Understand?”

Gryph nodded.

“And for the Black Essence sake speak.”

“Yes.” He said grudgingly.

“Good, these are important lessons. This is your life we’re talking about. Now pick up the other staff.

Gryph walked around Skyrae in a wide circle, not taking his eyes off her until he had retrieved the pole.

“Good, first lesson seems to be on it’s way in. Now, stand like this, legs shoulder width apart, one hand here, the other here.” She took up a stance and faced Gyrph. “ We’ll try some swing and block first. Keep it soft and slow.“

“What happens if you hit my fingers.” Gryph asked.

“Ah, now you’ve just seen one of the few draw backs with quarter staffs. Easy to make, effective weapons, but even with gauntlets on it still hurts. That reminds me, must get you some gauntlets.

“Are you ready?”

Gryph nodded.

Skyrae stood still, waiting.

Eventually Gryph caught on. “Yes, I’m ready.” He mumbled.

Watched by Ishula, the pair took it in turns to attack, then block, varying the height and angle of attack as they completed each set. Next, Skyrae moved onto combinations, attack, block, attack, back and forth across the grass. Gryph had worked up quite a sweat and was beginning to flag when the warrior called a halt, even though she was as fresh as the dawn.

“That’s enough for today, you had better rest for a while, get a drink and some food.”

Gryph didn’t need telling to go for food, he was constantly hungry these days. Ishula called him over, and sitting side by side, they shared a basket of berries and some small roast birds. As they ate, Ishula began to fill in, what he called ‘mind fighting’ and what Skyrae referred to as tactics. It turned out, to Gryph’s surprise, that it wasn’t just a matter of being faster with your weapon, or having the largest army. In combat it seemed, you could lose a battle, but still win the war. Similarly, in single combat, letting an opponent wound your arm so that you could get inside his guard and kill him seemed to be a good tactic. Although Gryph could understand what Ishula was saying, he wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to let somebody stab you.

But he listened politely anyway, and to Skyrae when she made comments. And so the light faded and Gryph drifted off to bed, thoughts of bluffs, double-bluffs, counter-bluffs, and wedge formations roiling around his head.

Over the next several days, Gryph got closer and closer to the oak tree on the hill, recovered quicker when he rested, and began to pick up some useful skills with the quarter staff. Skyrae was pleased to see that Gryph slept with it by his bed, something he’d done himself, without being told. He was still eating with a passion, and with his training and the chores he did, he was beginning to fill out. Ishula, and sometimes Skyrae, continued with the tactical lessons, pointing out the more ordinary but just as crucial tasks such as eating regularly and carrying spare bow strings.

Ishula had taken a few of the sessions with Gryph, using the two bo sticks instead of the quarter staff. Skyrae noticed straight away the difference. The boy was hesitant, his movements jerky and stiff, and he couldn’t look the man in the eyes. She talked this over with Ishula privately, and they decided that only Skyrae would train him from now on, but Ishula would take a few sessions with Skyrae, both as a demonstration to Gryph and to top up her own skills. It would soon be time for him to leave, and he wanted to pass on as much of his knowledge as he could.

Gryph sat mesmerised as they sparred. It soon became obvious that Ishula was to Skyrae as she was to Himself. Nothing touched the man, no matter which weapon Skyrae fought with. He was most impressed when Ishula put his sticks away and fought without them. With quarter staff or her own sticks, she still couldn’t beat the small man. Gryph sat on the bench and looked on enviously as his body flowed away from the attack, often moving before the attack came. If only… But no, he’d tried that. Ever since his memory had come back he found it difficult to face the man, especially in combat, even mock combat. And since his lessons had begun with Skyrae, it seemed to have got worse. As though only now was he beginning to realise just how dangerous Ishula was. So it was Skyrae or nobody. Besides, the small man hadn’t invited him along, he’d brought him here to leave him somewhere, so he didn’t have to drag him home. To stop himself feeling guilty, he supposed.

No, that wasn’t fair. Ishula had saved his life. If it wasn’t for him, Gryph would be a rotting corpse at the side of the road. And Ishula had understood him, and his needs. Bringing him here to be trained had been the right thing to do, just what he needed.

With this in mind, Gryph applied himself more diligently to the sparring, paid rapt attention to the spoken lessons and gave his all when exercising. Skyrae was very impressed, and said so on many occasions. Ishula said he was the best pupil he’d ever had. In his bed at night, staring up at the ceiling by the light of a flickering reed lamp, Gryph discovered an emotion he had supposed was long dead. When he thought of how the two of them were pleased with him, a tiny warm spot appeared in his stomach. A little knot of contentment.

A few days later he decided to run to the oak tree on the hill. So far he had only got half way across the meadow, which was quite wide. Always remembering that for every extra step he went out, he had would have to run back, he had paced himself. Today, he decided was the day he would go all the way.

He set off as usual, starting slowly and building up speed. In no time at all he was passing the pond and the small cottage. Down the hill he ran, and out onto the meadow. Up ahead was the tree, an ancient oak spreading its branches across the hill top. He’d been this far before, a few times now. He carried on. His heart was pounding, sweat running freely. But he’d reached this far only yesterday. He kept running, watching the tree get bigger in his sight. Now he was further, further than he had ever ran before. His breath began to rasp in his chest. His sides ached with that pain peculiar to running. But he carried on, fixing his eyes on the tree, thinking only of the tree.

Gryph could hear the blood pumping around his head, his lungs felt as though they were full of liquid, his legs were getting heavier by the step. Still he ran, his eyes filled only with the dark brown shape of the trunk, the word ‘tree‘ repeating over and over in his head like a mantra.

Suddenly his legs became too heavy to lift, as though someone had hastily attached a ball and chain. He tumbled forward, landing on all fours on the damp grass. Looking around he spotted his attacker. He had been so intent on the tree he had forgotten it sat on top of a hill. His exhausted muscles hadn’t been able to provide the extra power necessary to move him upwards. Cursing and gritting his teeth, Gryph began to crawl, hand over hand, up the hill. He hadn’t stopped, he decided, not really, it still counted if he reached the tree. From his low viewpoint, it looked like a steep hill. He tried not to think about that, just fix on the tree and keep moving.

And finally he was under its shadow, in the cool shade of its spreading limbs. With a great effort of will, he stood now and shuffled the last few paces. With one hand outstretched he leaned forwards until his palm touched the rough bark. The warm feeling inside returned.

He stood like that for several minutes, breathing deeply, occasionally coughing up white phlegm. Eventually his breathing slowed, his heart beat quieted and he was able to walk around the trunk of the huge tree. It stood to one end of the hill, with a few smaller oaks. At the other end was a fallen tree, not an oak, thinner trunked and lighter barked. Walking slowly, he made his way across to the fallen tree and climbed up on to it. He was able to walk along its length to the opposite end of the hill and gaze across the landscape. Beyond were more hills, some with trees, some bare. He picked out a round topped one that seemed to have something on it, possibly some kind of ruin. That would be his next target.

Gryph was disappointed to realise he wouldn’t be able to run back, at least all the way. He decided to walk back to the pond, have a drink, then run home from there. Patting the tree, he fixed its image in his mind like a mental trophy. Then he turned and headed back for the meadow.

Another picture entered his mind then. The pond, and the small cottage. He had ran passed it many times by now, but today there had been something different about it. Something he hadn’t paid attention to until now. There had been smoke coming out of the chimney, someone had moved into his cottage.

Anger flared within him, lending his body a new strength. He quickened his pace. As he neared, and mindful of the things his tutors had taught him, he slowed until his foot falls were silent, moving around the cottage within the cover of the trees.

There was still a thin wisp of smoke from the hole in the roof, but no sign or sound of movement from within. A dozen paces from the house a rickety cage had been erected, and within five grey speckled chickens scraped at the ground.

Gryph moved around further to get a better view of the front of the cottage. Spotting a slight movement he froze, scanning around the greenery where the movement had come from. A fenik, flat on its belly, regarded the birds with large amber eyes. Its dark tongue licked the long thin snout, as if already tasting the chicken flesh. Its huge ears swivelled around, seemingly in all directions, but always returned to the birds. All four paws moved slowly forwards, dug into the ground, then pulled back easing the little predator nearer to its meal.

Gryph watched fascinated as it closed the distance, ever patient. He admired the little creature its control, for surely it was hungry enough to just dash out there and grab one of the plump birds. He certainly was. They could both be in and gone before the careless owner could return to count only three chickens.

The fenik crept a little closer, then darted from cover and launched itself at the cage. Before it made contact with the flimsy shelter, a tiny orange ball shot from the doorway of the cottage and burst with a loud bang on the flank of the fenik. With a loud yelp and the smell of singed fur, the brave marauder turned and bolted for the cover of the trees. Gryph heard a small sigh and a voice saying sorry to the small animal. A woman appeared, she was about three or four fingers smaller than Gryph, stout but not fat, older than Skyrae by a few years, probably in her early thirties. She wore linen leggings and a baggy shirt of some shiny material, both once white but now travel weary.

Gryph made his presence known as she bent to examine the cage.

She whirled around as he appeared, pointing her finger at him. “Who are you, what do you want around here?”

“I’m Gryph. I live over there.” He pointed vaguely. “You’re a mage.”

“Yes, and a very good one. That tiny thing was just for frightening feniks. I can do bigger ones for bigger creatures.”

Gryph held out his hands. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought it was empty.”

“It was, but now it isn’t, and either way it belongs to me. Why are you sweating, are you ill?”

“No, I’ve been running” Gryph said, wiping his forehead and face to take away the offending sweat.

“As in away or towards.” The woman asked suspiciously.

“Neither.”

“Well, don’t let me stop your running, be on your way.” She paused for a moment, studying Gryph. “Or, you can be useful and help me build a proper run for my babies.”

“Babies?”

She gestured towards the chickens and her voice softened as she spoke. “These are my babies. I’m going to build up a stock and trade them with the folk around here. Not many chickens to be had in this place. Get eggs too. Good birds these, prime Highland Greys, live anywhere, eat anything and still taste good after a lifetime of laying.“ She looked Gryph up and down. “You seem capable enough. Go over to that stand of trees there, see? Cut me a load of those long straight branches and peel the bark off. Here, I’ll get you a knife.”

She went into the cottage and reappeared with a long bladed knife and a smile on her face. “I’m Kayelyn by the way. Didn’t mean to be grumpy. I’ve just got back, and carried these birds all the way. Lot of effort it took, and soon as I get here something’s creeping up on them. I did have seven, two cocks and five hens, but two of them died on the way. Luckily one of the cocks survived, so I can still breed off them.” She took a deep breath. “And yes I’m a mage. Well, sometimes. Mostly I seem to be a traveller, or a farmer.” She smiled again, holding out the knife handle first.

Gryph took the knife, turned and walked toward the indicated coppice. Behind his back, Kayelyn’s smile faded, then returned as she thought; a man who’s not in love with the sound of his own voice, a rare thing indeed.

With a stout pen built, Kayelyn lovingly introduced her babies to their new home, enticing them in with grain from a small sack. She had assured Gryph that the structure didn’t need a roof because they had too much body weight and only small wings, so they couldn’t fly out. The pen was just to stop them wandering off and to keep feniks and such out. Beside, she added, they’ll be indoors with me at night.

As a reward for his efforts, Kayelyn made up a couple of tankards of juice from some fruit she had brought back with her, and toasted some of yesterday’s travel bread in her small clay oven. She seemed pleased as he hungrily tucked into her offerings.

“Where are you from originally, and how did you get here?” Kayelyn asked between sips.

“Someone brought me.”

“You don’t speak much.” Kayelyn said, she sounded annoyed.

Gryph paused between bites. Why did everyone insist on knowing all about somebody? Couldn’t she tell he didn’t want to talk about it? He tried to change the subject, but at first he couldn’t think of anything to say. Then he remembered she was a mage.

“Can you teach me how to do magic.”

Kayelyn had been about to speak again, but the sudden question seemed to render her speechless. She took a deep breath, then said. “It’s not that easy, you have to have a natural talent. Then you have to be able to concentrate, and then you can start learning. It’s a long job, not just an overnight thing. You can’t just wake up one morning and slam! There’s your power, despite what some think.”

Gryph finished the last of his bread. “So, can you teach me?”

“Finish your drink and then we’ll go outside, if you can raise even a tiny glow of power I’ll try and teach you. Although I can’t promise anything. Power is power and seemingly its own master. I’ve known children of great mages who could barely raise enough power to light a candle. Then again I’ve known children of deadheads with powers enough to kill an ox.”

“What’s a dead head?”

“Oh, that’s just what we mages call non-mages. It means a bit more than that too, it covers people who, you know, those who have no passion, no imagination, just go around in their little worlds where nothing changes and everything is just so.”

Gryph nodded, he had known people like that, if it hadn’t been for Marsa…He stood and headed towards the door. “I’m ready.” He said quietly.

Kayelyn was taken aback by his sudden movement. “Oh, fine, yes, let’s see if you can raise a flicker.” She gathered up a few things and took them out to the side of the cottage away from the chicken run. “This should do, plenty of space and not much to damage, just in case.” She sat a small candle on a log, and next to it some pebbles of different sizes. She grabbed Gryph by the shoulders and tried to move him. He tensed immediately.

“Hey, relax, you wanted me to teach you, it’s not dangerous, well, probably not.” Kayelyn patted Gryph’s arm to reassure him.

He forced a smile, then moved to where he thought she wanted him. Kayelyn stepped up beside him. “Now, watch.”

The mage stood motionless for few moments, then took a deep breath and pointed towards the candle. A small burst of orange light flew from her finger tip towards the candle. It passed just above the wick then went out. The candle was alight, its tiny glow flickering on the light breeze. Next she pointed in turn to each of the pebbles, starting with the smallest. Each one in turn rolled from the log, dropping just behind it. Finally Kayelyn pointed at the candle again, and this time it went out.

She turned to Gryph, smiling. “Come over to the log, let’s see what you notice.” She led the way, and stood by the log, her arms folded across her chest. “Tell me what you see.”

Gryph inspected the candle and the pebbles, and the top of the log. “You lit the candle, and knocked the stones off.”

“Look closer.” Kayelyn instructed, nodding her head towards the pebbles.

Gryph went behind the log and looked closer. The pebbles were all lying on the ground behind the log, roughly in a straight line. “You made them fall the same distance.”

Kayelyn beamed. “Correct. Well done. Even though the pebbles are different sizes they all moved the same distance. Which proves?”

“You used different amounts of magic on each.”

“Right again. But not just different, controlled. And the same with the candle. I could have set fire to the whole log, but that’s not what I wanted. Power is nothing without control. Remember that. Also, there’s the candle, I lit it, then put it out. Which shows what?”

“There’s more than one kind of magic?”

“Well, it’s all magic, just different effects. Heat, cold, wind, wet, or dry among others. Different effects for different purposes. Still you must be in control, whichever you are using. Now, your turn. Set up the pebbles again, and come over here.”

Gryph retrieved and replaced the targets, then returned to stand where Kayelyn had been, whilst she stood squarely behind him. “Now,” Kayelyn whispered solemnly, “the power comes from within. Remember what I said about deadheads? No passion, hence, no magic. Emotion is the key. Once you‘ve practised, anything will do, but to start you must feel strong emotion. Love, hate, anger, even fear, anything will do as long as you get that fire in your head and that tightness in your stomach. Do you know the one I mean?” Kayelyn’s breath was warm in his ear.

Yes he knew, he had it right now, he had felt breathing coming over his shoulder before. Hot, wine stinking, panting breaths. He wanted to turn around and smash the breather away, strike out with everything he had and grind them into a bloody pulp. The blood pumped and throbbed in his temples, his stomach churned and seethed with fear and anger. His sanity began to fade, and still the voice murmured in his ear. He began to turn, to find his tormentor and release this anger. Something was fighting him, some inner voice was calling out. ‘The candle, light the candle.’ There it was, on the log in front of him. But what was that compared to the agony of death he was going to perform on the whisperer behind him? ‘No’, said the voice, ‘no, light the candle and all will be well.’

Very well, he would light the candle and still the voice, then he would be free for a little revenge. He raised his arms and pointed both hands at the candle. He didn’t know which finger to use, so he just used them all. The anger, the fear, the blackness encroaching on his mind, all suddenly focused in his finger tips. A massive surge of power blew him backwards. His hands ignited with pain. A massive blast of heat blew back into his face, accompanied by a booming roar.

He heard another voice behind him, felt arms try to catch him as he fell. Then he was looking up at the sky. A face came into view. Kayelyn was very pale, her eyes wide in shock. “What did you do? Are you hurt? Can you sit up?”

Gryph struggled upright with Kayelyn’s help. The pain in his hands was abating now. He looked at them, expecting to see his fingers missing, expecting they had been shot into the log with the force of the magic, like fleshy arrows. But they were still there, all ten, whole and intact. He looked up at the log, at least the candle would be alight after all that, surely.

The log wasn’t there. Neither were the pebbles, a good portion of the ground and a couple of bushes that had stood behind it. A small tree still burned on the edge of the blast circle.

Kayelyn spoke again, a mixture of awe and terror in her voice. “What emotion did you use?”

“Anger, mostly, and some fear.” Gryph’s voice trembled as he spoke.

“What the Black Essence did somebody do to you that made you that angry?”

Gryph surged unsteadily to his feet, caught his balance and dashed off into the woods without a word or backward glance.

Next Chapter: Chapter Eight - Tundy