The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

Despite the unsettling drumming, I managed to drift off into a dreamless sleep. The next morning had me waking in a fog that quickly cleared as I instinctively triggered [Meditation] and I rolled from my sleeping leathers with my weapon at the ready. My cat-like reflexive action was ruined by the wall of the tent, which stopped my roll and left me pressed against oiled cloth and laying on my sword. The hint of embarrassment was eaten by [Meditation] and the fact that my tent was empty and the draw opening strings closed.

After a moment to clear my head, I sheathed my sword and donned my belt. The camp was slowly coming to order, the men rolling out of leathered sleeping blankets and out from tents. The men were bunked in pairs in tents smaller than my own while the elite guards, the Captain, Alexis, and myself each had slightly larger tents to ourselves. I had been a bit hesitant to use my tent; its size and prominent placement conflicted with my training on remaining safe in an encampment. Ultimately I decided to avail myself of the luxury.

The cook was passing out a small biscuit of hard travel bread to those who were already Skilled. Those who were experiencing their first blooding were to go without food and were served only a small ale. Some of the men seemed to understand the reasoning behind avoiding food before a battle, but I could tell a few were grumpy that they would not be breaking their fast. I avoided chuckling when one of the more experienced men explained the horrors of gut wounds to the more vocal of those doing without.

Once I had my tin of watered ale and dried bread, I started to wander the edge of the camp as I watched the guards. None of them looked overly nervous, though a few seemed too eager to my eye. Though I had to admit, I probably looked the same at my first battle. I lacked my father’s experience to pick out any more subtle signs if they were there at all. But I had learned enough from him to be sure that there were none of the symptoms of mutiny or desertion. Not that I expected either, but it was only a quick few minutes effort during a casual camp walk to check.

To my surprise, Sir Wincome was helping Snowy equip her plate armor. I hadn’t expected Snowy to participate, but with her plate armor she would be fine unless she was swarmed. The only real worry is if the goblins were to manage to bring her to the ground, and I would expect Sir Wincome to be watching for just that occasion. Wandering closer, I blatantly eavesdropped on their conversation.

“This is not a hunt, so don’t become focused on one combatant,” Wincome said while pulling tight the straps on Snowy’s side.

Stoically, Snowy responded, “Alright.”

“And be sure to pace yourself and let the guards earn their Skills, this is for them,” Wincome continued while checking the other side.

“Understood.”

“We are not here to exterminate the goblins. If they run, let them,” said the knight as he ducked down to check Snowy’s greeves.

“Very well.”

Wincome turned to check the bindings on the other leg, seeming to ignore Alexis’ response, “Let the men start the battle, stay to the rear so that the first charge will be theirs.”

To that, Snowy simply grunted with an annoyed tone that Sir Wincome wholly ignored.

Rescuing the noble - which one I ultimately couldn’t determine - I interrupted the second round of checks and advice from Sir Wincome.

“Alexis, I will be watching from camp. I am certain you will handle yourself well. If you have a moment, I would like to discuss a Skill to focus on before the charge. In private, please,” I said with a polite bow to Sir Wincome. Not that the knight acknowledged my attempt at a respectful exchange. He simply frowned then stepped away when Snowy gesture that I was to follow her.

When we had moved away from camp and stopped to watch the goblins who were now scrambling to form up, she turned to me and asked, “What Skill is this?”

Shrugging, I continued to watch the goblins, before finally answering, “None. I just thought Sir Wincome was getting on your nerves and figured you would like some silence before the battle,” I said with a grin before gazing out at the mob of green monsters.

There was a second of silence before a giggle came from the large warrior woman beside me.

I gently hushed her, outburst, “Not so loud! Sir Wincome will hear you, and then you will have to go talk to him again.”

Which was a mistake since it left Snowy laughing louder than before. It hadn’t been that funny, it was just a release of tension. She would have to be close, watching her men fight, and trying to save those who were in trouble without stepping in and harming their chance at a combat Skill. It would be a delicate balance, and one she would need to make while, to my knowledge, never having participated in a battle. A hunt was an entirely different fight from a battle. Though I might be wrong. The Northmen were known to fight other tribes as well as many of the monstrous races.

I had no interest in joining the battle. I had my two short swords and light armor, but I wasn’t equipped with the guards’ hard leather armor and shields. I would only be a disruption in the pike wall. With her heavy armor and Skills, Snowy would be able to support the guards from behind their wall. My focus had been on combat Skills that would help me against a few opponents. Even my trade skills provided manual dexterity bonuses that enhanced the effectiveness of my two-bladed fighting style. My plans hadn’t been to follow in my father’s footsteps into battle, the worst I had trained for was to fight some thug in a back alley or a disgruntled customer. My training and equipment would more than meet those needs. I was not trained or geared for a massed battle.

I was pulled from my distraction when two of the grey goblins stepped from the forming group. With their staffs held high, they began to chant. At the sound of the chanting, both of us returned to the camp where the guards were forming up. The veterans stood side-by-side with the unblooded and did last-minute checks on their weapons.

The two goblins stood in front of the mob, shouting in their guttural language in a call and return fashion. Their words were echoed by the wall of green men. My neck hair began to stand up when a cage with a large rat-like creature was pulled from the crowd. At a particularly loud scream, the crowd surged forward, and I lost sight of the grey goblins and the cage.

“Guess that’s my cue.”

I was lost in the goblin’s violent screaming, so I missed the old wagon driver’s approach. When I caught sight of the old man, I was stunned by his appearance. During the ride, I hadn’t paid attention to him. Mostly, I ignored him during our journey. Most of the trip I had spent sitting next to him idly dozing and staring off into space thinking about what training I could provide for the men while on the march. If I had looked closer, I would have noticed the oddity that hid behind the thin veneer.

While he was mostly bald and sported a thick grey beard, his face was clear and unlined with bright blue eyes. As he passed Snowy and me, he smiled with a full set of white teeth and winked at me. Opening a pouch that rested on his hip, he pulled free a long wooden staff topped by a sizeable glowing quartz crystal, the tool much longer than what seemed possible to fit in the pouch. His confident and youthful stride didn’t miss a step as he stopped and turned to face the gathered guardsmen. Pausing for a moment, he held his staff high and then closed his eyes. He mumbled while he held his staff forward, the crystal glowing brighter until a thin wave of light pulsed from his staff and out into the soldiers. When the circle of light struck Snowy and me, I could feel a sense of calm and purpose flow through me. I felt strong, capable, and the gathered horde of goblins seemed a little less impressive.

The young - yet still old - man, lowered his staff, the glow fading. He walked past us and back to the wagon, though his pace was a little slower than before. Leveraging himself back onto the cart, he leaned back and rested with the staff across his legs, while he silently watched the horde.

With a shout, the goblins began to stream onto the field and charge towards our camp. Once the first group began to charge, I could see the old goblins waving the rat creature’s corpse, flinging the blood into the crowd. At each wave of the beast, the closest goblins would scream a blood-curdling war cry and charge. The charge was a ragged line of wildly swinging arms and gnashing teeth, entirely unlike the guard’s trained response.

Pikes held to their side and blades forward, the pikeman’s doubled line started to pick up speed as they moved to meet the charge. There was enough distance between the group that the first goblins to rush the line were skewered and dropped bleeding or dead before the next group could reach them. Despite their training, the ragged nature of the horde’s attack broke the momentum of the pikeman. Instead of rushing toward the next wave, they remained in line and waited then jabbed their weapons forward.

Snowy walked out toward the gathered men, a bastard sword replacing her sabotaged sword. If someone had asked me, I would have suggested she continue to use the weapon she was used to if this was her first big battle, but I had been too preoccupied to notice.

The third wave of goblins came as a sudden mass, the number quick enough that the guards were unable to completely free their weapons from the dead. Even when multiple goblins attacked the same guard, their bodies literally hanging off the humans, it was only a few of the guards that were pulled to the ground. Despite the numbers advantage, the green creatures were still smaller, lighter, and weaker than a human. These guards had hard leather armor and steel, while the goblins had ragged loincloths and rusted scavenged knives or bone shivs.

Snowy was standing at the rear, occasionally stabbing from behind her men then wading into the pile when a soldier was pulled down. At regular intervals, the Captain would shout something, and the guards would retreat for a few steps, clearing space to continue the fight. Despite her best efforts, I could see the unmoving form of at least two guards in the pile of goblins. At each step back, some of the goblins would crawl free from the pile and retreat toward their camp. Most of those retreating bled, a few cradled limbs, and one of the green men collapsed while blood slowly ebbed from a severed arm.

There was a tricky moment where the guards had pulled into a tighter formation, and the goblins moved to encircle them on their left. Without Snowy, they would have lost many more at that moment, but she moved around behind the guards and her whirling blade splattered goblin blood in wide arcs. At the clear line toward the metal-clad warrior, the goblins screamed louder and raced forward. It was ultimately futile as Snowy held her side of the battle, leaving nothing but severed limbs.

Ten minutes after the battle started, the goblins broke and ran, maybe a fifth of the horde remaining. A fifth was still far more than I expected.

The guards didn’t cheer. Most panted while watching the green men escape. A couple were still eager for battle and started to follow, but the Captain called them back. All that was left was to clear the field. Pulling the dead guardsmen from the pile of green men and then killing any hiding goblins or those that were unconscious or simply too injured to escape.

Snowy watched the guards as they cleaned the battlefield, her sword propped on her shoulder. From where I stood, I could barely see her body moving up and down as she breathed in the now-familiar rhythm of [Arcanum of Blood].