Servant by Matt Stuckey (the ebook reader .txt) 📖

fighter because it will give your blows the authority they need. In a battle between two opponents of the same skill and speed, it is strength that is the deciding factor. Always assume that the enemy has at least your same skill and speed, if not better.”

Fulmino nodded to himself, then answered “I assumed skill and speed would be the most important attributes, since it doesn’t matter how hard you skewer someone in the end."

Muscles’ eyes narrowed “And if you lose your sword and are wrestling for life with your opponent for his sword, will skill and speed matter then? You are right though, strength is less helpful with swords than it is with most weapons, since sword fighting can often be a dance. Keep in mind though, if you have equal endurance and your blows are heavier, your opponent will tire and leave you an opening for skill and speed to triumph.”

Fulmino wondered why it was that Muscles could be so helpful with questions like this yet such a jerk most of the time. Fulmino mused that he could just prefer weapons to people. No matter; he would use Muscles to grow stronger and watch him like a hawk the whole time.

Muscles smiled his shark smile. “I almost forgot, I have something for you. Put these on.”

Fulmino warily examined what appeared to be heavy wraps filled with metal. Muscles rolled his eyes and began strapping these on to Fulminos legs and arms. Muscles looked on in satisfaction as Fulmino sagged under the weight of the wraps.

Muscles explained “This is a form of training that allows you to build your speed and strength while learning sword techniques. The extra weight on your arms will give more weight and power to your blows along with an ace up your sleeve. I wish I had found this technique years ago and used it myself, but I only recently discovered it while visiting a monastery on assignment. The monk in question no longer had any use for the wraps, so I permanently borrowed them.”

Fulmino was angry, but also curious. “How does this provide me with an ace up my sleeve?”

Muscles regarded him seriously, “That monk was no match for me in terms of skill. While fighting, he realized this soon after we began and removed the weights from his body. The only reason he lost was because I had far superior skill; his speed and strength were slightly greater than my own once he removed the weights. Keep in mind though, you can’t take the weights off for every battle because you don’t have the time, and you want to be able to save that for when you really need it. Thus, an ace for when you are desperately in need of one."

Fulmino nodded slowly to himself. It made sense that such training would naturally increase his strength and endurance while building muscle that could explode when carrying normal weight. An ace in the hole indeed. While Fulmino could objectively appreciate the benefits of this new training, his quivering muscles cringed in fear at the new hell that awaited them. Fulmino remained lost in thought until a heavy canvas cloth slammed into his stomach, causing his breath to whoosh out quickly. Glaring at Muscles, Fulmino wondered what the canvas was for.

“Here are your new clothes boy. These will hide your weights and further condition you, though it will take time for you to get used to the heat. I will allow you to drink extra water until such time as you have adjusted to the extra weight and strain.”

Fulmino looked at the “clothes” with little enthusiasm. They were generally shapeless and made of a sturdy yet encumbering material that would make moving around all the more difficult. He shrugged into them and continued with the stretches, though certainly at a much slower pace than before.

 

“Oh, I forgot to mention. That’s a pretty little knife you have with you. I think it suits me better than it suits you; hand it over.”

Fulmino felt shock run through his whole body. His knife was like an old friend; it was both a useful tool and a source of identity to him. It was the only reminder of his family and old life that he had left.

“But sir, that’s my..

Muscles loomed in front of him, larger than life and looking more menacing than usual.

“I’ll not ask again boy.” was all Muscles said.

Fulmino took the knife and threw it against a far tree in frustration. Muscles casually sent him flying with a cuff and said “You need to practice knife throwing boy. Ask Leonidus to show you; it’s an impractical skill for battle but can be handy in a tight pinch.”

Muscles picked up the sheathed dagger and tossed it with his other equipment without another glance. Fulmino shook with rage; it wasn’t enough that he had taken his hair and forced him to daily torture, no. He had to take the last thing of value to Fulmino just for spite and because it looked nice. Fulmino had never hated anyone more in that moment, not even that snob Flavius. He longed to give Muscles back every beating that Fulmino had endured until he begged for mercy.

Muscles eyed Fulmino with approval. “I like the murder in your eyes kid; you’ll need it for what is to come”.

With that perplexing statement, Muscles continued his stretches as if nothing had transpired. Fulmino shook his head in barely contained rage and ran through the stretches, anger firing him on to hold the poses longer than he could have otherwise. He could barely complete the exercises he did the other day at all, what with all the extra weight he now carried.

Whenever he looked at Muscles and saw the casual contempt, it fueled him to do one more repetition of the exercise. Pain as he had never felt engulfed him, causing his muscles to burn like fire and shake as if he had the plague. The weights now felt like millstones on his arms and legs, making every single exercise feel like he was doing ten for every one he completed. An eternity later, Muscles turned his back and walked towards camp. Right, breakfast. More like a last supper if anything.

The hot mash tasted like life itself, which depressed Fulmino more than he would have expected. To get to the point where gruel was amazing would be considered by anyone to be a low point in one’s life. Fulmino relayed the day’s events to Leonidus as the boys were marching that afternoon. To Fulminos surprise, Leonidus seemed enthusiastic about teaching him “the way of the knife” as he called it.

“There is nothing like it Fulmino. To throw accurately is to become one with your target; the hardest part is the rotation. You must be able to instantly gauge how many rotations will occur based on the distance and whether you want to kill or immobilize your target. The most important part is practice, like everything. Once you can throw without thinking and hit point first every time, you are halfway there.”

Fulmino grinned as Leonidus became more animated than he had ever seen him. It was fun to see Leonidus engrossed in something he was so passionate about; a huge improvement from the dark Leonidus that was the bearer of old wounds. Leonidus was so impassioned that he asked Muscles if they could have time every day to practice. Muscles continued walking but finally grunted his approval; Muscles went through forms with Aldon while Leonidus was allowed to train Fulmino in the “way of the knife” for an hour every day.

 

The first attempt at knife throwing was a disaster for Fulmino. He barely hit the incredibly close target, and he never hit point first at all. Leonidus was the picture of patience though, and constantly fussed over Fulminos stance and form. Leonidus finally gave in to Fulminos pestering and threw a few knives at the end of practice. He was good. In fact, good didn’t close to cover it. From a respectable distance, Leonidus hit both “eyes” of the crudely drawn human figure on the tree, and sunk the rest firmly in vitals. What astounded Fulmino more than the accuracy was the nonchalance which he went about it. Each throw was almost lazy, yet the knives sunk deep in the hardened wood. Leonidus laughed when he saw Fulminos dropped jaw.

“Don’t sweat it Fulmino, by the time we’re finished you will be better than me.”

Fulmino sincerely doubted it, but headed off to join the impatient Muscles to begin sparring. While the knife throwing was about the same, it was much harder to use the sword with his new weights on his arms and legs. Every time he lifted his sword, it was like he had been swinging it for hours already. Every time he tried to dodge, it was like he was moving through mud.

Needless to say, Fulmino received a much worse beating than usual. As a result, Muscles was soon cheered by Fulminos obvious misery and continued to point out flaws in his fighting, in his usual annoyingly helpful way. Before the sun went down, Fulmino fell and could not get up. His body was beaten so badly he could already see new bruises forming, and his quivering muscles refused to respond to his commands anymore. Fulmino waited for the blows and shouts to occur. Instead, Fulmino was floored when Muscles picked him up and carried him over one shoulder like a sack of grain.

“You’re pathetic boy, that I should have to carry you like a tot. It will be worse tomorrow, so don’t get used to this.”

Muscles checked to see if the boy was listening, but realized he had just lost consciousness. Muscles smiled to himself. The boy was strong, and stubborn. Few could have made it this far without giving up. The boy was truly something special, but there was no reason for him to know that. Pride goeth before the fall, and the boy had nothing to be proud of, not yet. In time though… Muscles chuckled to himself. There was no reason to jump the gun; if Fulmino was what he believed him to be, there was no reason to rush things. If the boy was to survive what was to come though, he would have to be capable, and hard, as hard as they come. Those two things Muscles could provide, though the rest was up to the boy. Muscles unsheathed the dagger and watched the fading light play off the flawless blade. Special indeed.

 

Fulmino awoke to a boot on his chest. Groaning in agony, Fulmino feebly tried to push the boot off, causing the pressure to increase. Unfamiliar voices murmured to each other, causing Fulmino to wake in an instant. An unfamiliar face sneered at him as he tried to rise from his defenseless position. The boot slammed him back to the ground, blowing out all his air and leaving him wheezing. Fulmino was defenseless; he was already sore from the previous day’s beating and could barely move, much less defend himself. Muscles was nowhere to be seen, but Leonidus and Aldon were tied up beside the campfire. Apparently they had been caught by surprise too, as there were no sign of any wounds on either. Aldon looked scared, whereas Leonidus had the haunted, empty look of those with no hope left. The man with his boot on Fulmino looked to be in charge, as he was the most finely dressed and barked orders to the rest.

“Have you found the big man yet?”

“Not yet One, though Five swears he saw him take off to the North.”

The man snorted. “Damn coward, guess I can’t blame him for saving his own skin though. These boys should fetch a nice price in the market, so no great loss”.

Fulmino felt petrified. To be sold into slavery in a foreign country was worse than death, since slaves often had the misfortune of plying trades where death was preferable.

The Pleasure houses in the East