“All time between fighting should be spent training. Those who fail to do this will find themselves dead shortly.” Quote from an unknown general.

  Garassk ran his dagger along the point of the stick until it was as sharp as a spear. When he was certain it was done, he crept over to a nearby lake, and watched the fish, waiting for the right time to strike. When one of the fish finally got close enough to the surface, he thrust the spear forward, feeling a surge of pride as it was embedded onto his spear. He repeated the process until he had three more fish, and called it a day. No need to kill the entire lake.

  He gathered up his kills and headed back into the ruins. He could already taste the scent of the fire Rathorn must have started to cook whatever else had been caught.

  He stepped into the dining hall to see Rathorn skinning a deer, and Savrassa carrying rabbit corpses toward a fire they’d started.

  “Looks great,” he said, setting his fish down on the table.

  “And it’s almost ready,” Rathorn grunted. “All we’re waiting for is you.”

  “Well, wait no more,” Garassk replied. “I brought the fish.”

  “So you did,” Rathorn said, pulling the heart out of the deer. “But enough talk! Get slicing.”

  “Right,” Garassk said, brandishing his dagger.

  He hacked the fish into smaller pieces. Under better circumstances, the cuts might have been cleaner, but time wasn’t a luxury they had at the moment. When they were all cut up, he dumped the fish into the same bowl as the deer and rabbits. Rathorn took up the job of stirring the mix.

  He eventually poured the mixture into three bowls. Before they could eat it, he pulled a heart out from the bottom.

  “Is that the deer’s heart?” Savrassa asked. “What are you doing with that?”

  “Making an offering,” Rathorn replied. He limped over to the statue.

  “I offer you the heart of our greatest catch,” he said, laying the heart down on the altar. “May it satisfy your hunger, as our meal satisfies ours.”

  Garassk thought he could hear the heart beating as Rathorn went back to his seat, but the sound was faint, and it might have just been his imagination. Nobody else said anything about it, so he thought it best not to say anything.

  Savrassa tore into her portion of the food, and he did likewise. Rathorn ate slower, but Garassk knew that he was no less hungry. The heat, meat, and salt all felt like paradise on the tongue. The quiet added to the experience. The only sound was the echo of them feasting.

  Once they were finished, Savrassa turned toward the statue.

  “The heart!” she cried. “It’s gone!”

  Garassk moved over her shoulder and peered toward the statue. Sure enough, the altar was empty. There wasn’t even a sign that anything had happened to the heart.

  “Interesting,” he muttered. In all of his travels, he’d seldom seen something like that happen.

  “Are you two done?” Rathorn barked. “We’ve got training to do!”

  “Training?” Savrassa said. “What training?”

  “You’re out of practice,” Rathorn said. “You haven’t hunted for yourself in a long time, or fought. That might have served Drakkill well to keep you from rebelling, but it won’t do for us. You’re fed now. It’s time to get you back into shape.”

  “Is this really necessary?” Savrassa asked.

  “You want your eggs to hatch, yes?” Rathorn retorted.

  “Of course.”

  “Then get out here!”

  The two younger varanians hurried to catch up with the older warrior. They found him leaning against a tree. Upon closer investigation, Garassk noticed several wooden dummies nearby.

  “Have you been working on that the whole time?” he asked.

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  “More or less,” Rathorn grunted. “Now pick up some weapons. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

  Garassk took a second look and noticed two sticks leaning against the dummy. He went over to one, and beckoned for Savrassa to come and take the other.

  “Is this a good idea?” Savrassa asked. “I have eggs.”

  “So attack the dummy,” Rathorn said. “I wouldn’t have anyone target you. Not yet.”

  “Yet?” Savrassa squawked.

  “Do you think Drakkill’s men will be more merciful because you’re carrying eggs?” Rathorn snorted. “They’re coming. Sooner or later, they’ll be here. And when they come, you’d best be ready to fight back. So yes, we will be teaching you how to fight. But for now, we’ll focus on the dummy. Now pick up that stick!”

  Savrassa shrugged and did as Rathorn had commanded.

  “Now what?” she asked. Garassk moved toward and swung his stick against one of the dummies. The sound of wood striking wood echoed through the forest.

  “That’s it?” Savrassa said. “Just attack it?”

  “And we’ll correct your form as needed,” Rathorn grunted. “Begin.”

  Savrassa stared at the dummy for a moment before lashing out. Her movements were unfocused and reckless, hitting the target, but leaving herself with little time to recover and strike again. And that was when she didn’t miss completely. She also struggled to keep the stick in her hands.

  “A good start,” Rathorn said when she was finally tired enough to stop. “But you need to work on your form.”

  “Form?” Savrassa squawked. Garassk stepped up and attacked the dummy, demonstrating grace, forcefulness, and precision, all while keeping his weapon in his hands, and showing no signs of tiring.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to do that,” Savrassa said.

  “Nobody ever does,” Rathorn replied. “But you’d be surprised what practice can bring out in people.”

  “Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be perfect,” Garassk cut in. “We just need to get you to a point where you can use it comfortably.”

  “Coddler,” Rathorn snorted.

  “We’re trying to keep her alive,” Garassk protested. “Maybe we shouldn’t scare her too much.”

  Rathorn snorted, but said nothing more. Garassk stepped up next to Savrassa and gave her the stick back.

  “Try to hold it better,” he said. “The way you swing it now, it’s easy to lose your grip.”

  He held his own stick out to demonstrate.

  “You put all of your strength into one swing,” he said. “Don’t do that. You won’t defeat anyone in one blow, and it’s easy to knock you off balance. Strike fast, strike hard enough to stall, but always assume that you’ll have to strike again.”

  “I… think I understand,” Savrassa said, taking the stick in her hands.

  “And focus on where you want to strike,” Garassk added. “If you just swing randomly, there’s a good chance you’ll miss, even if you’re going for a big target. Think things through before you act. Ready?”

  “I think so.”

  “Very well,” Garassk said, motioning toward the dummy. “Begin.”

  Savrassa took a second to assume a fighting stance. After a few seconds of holding the pose, she lashed out. She swung the stick like a sword and struck the dummy near the shoulder. As it wobbled from the impact, she thrust the stick forward, right into the chest. As the dummy wobbled back and forth, she pushed her stick under it, spearing for the throat. She struggled to keep a hold of her weapon, but never dropped it completely.

  “Enough!” Rathorn barked.

  “Better,” Garassk said, pacing around her. “There’s still room for improvement, but that was still better.”

  “What’s left to do?” Savrassa cried.

  “A lot of it is just needing to practice,” Garassk answered. “I can see that you get tired as you strike. If you keep up a pattern, you’ll get used to it.”

  “So you say,” Savrassa muttered, assuming a fighting stance again.

  “Attack,” Rathorn ordered.

  Once again, Savrassa let loose a barrage of blows until she was exhausted.

  “Again,” Rathorn commanded.

  Savrassa opened her mouth, presumably to protest, but Rathorn let out a low growl. She attacked the dummy again until she was too tired to fight.

  “Again.”

  Savrassa let out a hiss of frustration and did as she was told. Her performance did not improve.

  “Again.”

  And so on.

  Rathorn drilled Savrassa for hours until she couldn’t pick up the stick anymore.

  “That will do for now,” he finally said.

  “Urrrrgh!” Savrassa groaned, sinking to the ground. Garassk approached and helped her up on her feet.

  “Take her back to the temple,” Rathorn ordered, but he didn’t need to. Garassk was already headed that way.

  “I know this is hard now,” he said, laying her down on the ground. “But practice really does make it easier.”

  Savrassa huffed defiantly.

  “I know it’s not the best circumstances to learn how to fight,” he continued. “But we have to make do. If you don’t fight, you’ll die. Simple as that.”

  Savrassa looked up at him like she wanted to bite his throat out. Garassk lay down next to her before saying anything else.

  “If you hadn’t been conquered, you would have learned much of this growing up,” he added. “This will also teach you how to hunt. We really are trying to help you.”

  Savrassa didn’t seem completely convinced, but she looked away. She started the slow breathing of sleep not long after. Garassk took that as a win. Tomorrow they would start again. Thinking back on his own training, Garassk rubbed his arms, mindful of the aches and pains he’d been through in his younger days. He made a silent prayer that her progress would improve.