Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) by Nathan T. Boyce Page B
Authors: Nathan T. Boyce
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the background and the glory tends to be given to the hand that holds the sword, and rightly so!”
“So you’re like a medic?” Erik said.
“Yes, like a medic, but they just try and fix people,” Phayden said. “I can fix anything.”
“Anything?” Erik asked amazed.
“Well most things, and not as good as a specialist I admit but I can fix it well enough for it to pass muster or get it to a specialist for repairs. But I tell you, the mess that you boys left me in Armeston took me a good long while to get sorted out. It took more than a few greased palms for me to get the constabulary to accept it was merely a gang turf war. Yep, from wagons to wagers to wounds, I’m your man.” He finished with a bow.
Erik found the man charming and disarming. He spoke quickly, but would pause to make an inside joke to Gavin or Istan, usually at their expense. Erik never understood the subtle jabs at the two men but had to laugh from the manner at which the jabs were delivered. It was sad and difficult when Istan and Gavin finally told them it was time for them to leave. Erik and Lawt followed them as far as the gates and watched as they rode over the hill out of view.
Falling into the routine of class during the first month was easy. After waking the sparring classes began. Personal hygiene and breakfast was followed by scholastic studies. Reading, writing, and introductory mathematics would be followed by histories, laws, and tactical reviews. The rest of the day they spent getting familiar with the stables and running their mounts around the beginner’s arena. This time would later be used in mounted training. Rovan’s job was to watch and judge each trainee. He was the only person deciding who was worthy to move on to the next phase of testing.
Erik was corrected early about terminology. The area the ceremony was held in was correctly called an arena, as were all the training areas fenced off into enclosures. A pen was an enclosed area to contain livestock.
The main challenge in these sessions was to control the link. A strong link could hinder as well as help. Even well trained mounts felt fear in battle, and that channeled into the Roh’Darharim guaranteed failure. They needed the link to strengthen or decrease depending on the task assigned. The class would spend hours moving their brothers without speaking, trying to sense items through their link using their brother’s senses, and used various games to enhance their skills.
Their instructor for training their horse was named Olarin. Olarin had simply outlived his mount. The top of his head shined with oily baldness while long stringy hair fell from the sides of his head well past his shoulders. His cheeks were deeply sunken and wrinkled. The four hairs he had left in each eyebrow were long wisps of gray silk that fell over his eyes. Despite his obvious age he walked smartly with his Cavalry’s garb of red and gold still giving him a commanding countenance.
The simplest game which helped to decrease the link was also the hardest. Olarin would place everyday items around the arena. Each student let their mounts move around the arena to find an item. The task was to think about the item while decreasing the link. If they were successful their brother would not be able to determine which item the student was thinking about.
On the first attempt all the mounts walked straight to the object each student had picked. They worked for weeks to dull down what the students had risked so much to receive, and this frustrated each trainee in unique ways. Most could keep the link down enough to keep the mount from finding it half the time. Arlif was never able to keep his brother Verity from finding his goal.
“The first thing all of you need to understand from the beginning,” the old Roh’Darharim said, “is that your mounts may be your brothers, but they are still only animals. You can feel their emotions, yes? You have been linked with them all night and have
“So you’re like a medic?” Erik said.
“Yes, like a medic, but they just try and fix people,” Phayden said. “I can fix anything.”
“Anything?” Erik asked amazed.
“Well most things, and not as good as a specialist I admit but I can fix it well enough for it to pass muster or get it to a specialist for repairs. But I tell you, the mess that you boys left me in Armeston took me a good long while to get sorted out. It took more than a few greased palms for me to get the constabulary to accept it was merely a gang turf war. Yep, from wagons to wagers to wounds, I’m your man.” He finished with a bow.
Erik found the man charming and disarming. He spoke quickly, but would pause to make an inside joke to Gavin or Istan, usually at their expense. Erik never understood the subtle jabs at the two men but had to laugh from the manner at which the jabs were delivered. It was sad and difficult when Istan and Gavin finally told them it was time for them to leave. Erik and Lawt followed them as far as the gates and watched as they rode over the hill out of view.
Falling into the routine of class during the first month was easy. After waking the sparring classes began. Personal hygiene and breakfast was followed by scholastic studies. Reading, writing, and introductory mathematics would be followed by histories, laws, and tactical reviews. The rest of the day they spent getting familiar with the stables and running their mounts around the beginner’s arena. This time would later be used in mounted training. Rovan’s job was to watch and judge each trainee. He was the only person deciding who was worthy to move on to the next phase of testing.
Erik was corrected early about terminology. The area the ceremony was held in was correctly called an arena, as were all the training areas fenced off into enclosures. A pen was an enclosed area to contain livestock.
The main challenge in these sessions was to control the link. A strong link could hinder as well as help. Even well trained mounts felt fear in battle, and that channeled into the Roh’Darharim guaranteed failure. They needed the link to strengthen or decrease depending on the task assigned. The class would spend hours moving their brothers without speaking, trying to sense items through their link using their brother’s senses, and used various games to enhance their skills.
Their instructor for training their horse was named Olarin. Olarin had simply outlived his mount. The top of his head shined with oily baldness while long stringy hair fell from the sides of his head well past his shoulders. His cheeks were deeply sunken and wrinkled. The four hairs he had left in each eyebrow were long wisps of gray silk that fell over his eyes. Despite his obvious age he walked smartly with his Cavalry’s garb of red and gold still giving him a commanding countenance.
The simplest game which helped to decrease the link was also the hardest. Olarin would place everyday items around the arena. Each student let their mounts move around the arena to find an item. The task was to think about the item while decreasing the link. If they were successful their brother would not be able to determine which item the student was thinking about.
On the first attempt all the mounts walked straight to the object each student had picked. They worked for weeks to dull down what the students had risked so much to receive, and this frustrated each trainee in unique ways. Most could keep the link down enough to keep the mount from finding it half the time. Arlif was never able to keep his brother Verity from finding his goal.
“The first thing all of you need to understand from the beginning,” the old Roh’Darharim said, “is that your mounts may be your brothers, but they are still only animals. You can feel their emotions, yes? You have been linked with them all night and have
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