58 - Trainer Troubles

  Joe landed on the mat again for the twentieth time in the last few minutes. He could feel Hah’roo flicking her rope, untangling it from his ankle. When he looked up, his eyes found Mazsy wincing in sympathy.

  “You have to stop just standing there, Joe,” the rope-dancer admonished. “Your weapon aptitude skill is never going to advance unless you start using it. And I don’t just mean your staff. Forearms. Feet. Hands. All of these can deflect attacks. With your healing abilities, you can even use them in ways others would never consider. But you have to move and anticipate attacks.”

  The only success Joe had so far at withstanding Hah’roo’s mystifying attacks was with [Strong Arm]. Faster than Joe could consciously react, the spell invariably slapped away her first strike. The problem was it seemed as though the skill needed a moment to reset, and Hah’roo never left him another second. From out of nowhere, her follow-up attack would yank his weapon out of his hands or tug him off his feet.

  If this was how training normally worked in Illuminaria, Joe was failing. Badly.

  They were in a large exercise hall in the Adventurer’s Guild that Joe thought of as a cross between a dojo, an armory, and a gym. The floors were covered by thick, woven reed mats. Hanging on the walls were all manner of weapons. Swords, axes, spears, and clubs were the most common.

  People were lifting weights, practicing forms, or striking target dummies all around them. Quite a few had stopped at the edge of their fighting area to watch them as well. Joe had no illusion that anyone was watching him unless they were looking for a good laugh.

  Hah’roo was what had their attention. The galeling was lithe and lovely, but what was really eye-catching was how she moved. Hah’roo did not walk; she glided. She always seemed to be slipping across the ground instead of stepping on it. Her body twisted and turned with a dancer’s grace. The blue tresses and long coat fluttered about her, caught in a small gale that extended no further than herself.

  Even her rope dart flew about in almost hypnotic patterns. It coiled and spun, defying gravity by riding on small currents of air she controlled.

  Those little gusts, Joe had found, were also employed in other ways during their sparring. They would tickle the back of his neck, causing him to react to attacks that were not there. They would puff into his face, causing his eyes to water. No matter how hard Joe tried, she had too many tricks to her fighting. He could not stop her from dumping him onto the reeds every couple of seconds.

  “You are too fast, Hah’roo. And too unpredictable. I am trying to watch out for all of your attacks, but they are coming from everywhere.”

  “I’m not sure if I can slow down any more than I already am. We are going after a serious enemy, Joe,” she sighed. “You have to be able to react faster.”

  Joe could see her frustration. Her desire to protect him had to be connected to the cultural castes she had told him about. She was a gale, and he was whatever a zephyr was. That connection seemed to drive her actions regarding him. She had helped him with his injuries on the ship. She had found Marchess Randeau. Now, she was earnestly trying to help him train his painfully poor combat skills.

  This time, though, he was not sure how helpful she was turning out to be. Joe’s [Simple Weapon Aptitude] had gone up a couple of points at first. After that, he just spent all his time getting up back on his feet or retrieving the staff he had borrowed from the gym.

  The first time she had yanked it out of his hands, it almost brained Mazsy as it flew past her head. Luckily, the priestess had a reflexive shield skill.

  They were all becoming discouraged.

  “Why don’t we call it a day?” Joe muttered, disheartened. “I don’t think I am going to be able to keep up with you.”

  “No! You cannot go into battle as you are,” she snapped abruptly, the crow-feet wrinkles around her eyes deepening as she scowled. “You need to know at least the basics of fighting, or another zephyr will die before his time. If we had more time, I could go slower, but we have only one day.”

  “Maybe we could make a couple of changes, then. Any chance we could try a different weapon? I can’t track the rope. Could you use a staff?”

  “Yes. Good. Finally. You are beginning to assess the fight and see how you must flow to meet the challenge or alter it. Against my reach and mobility, you have no chance. A closer-ranged weapon will improve your odds.”

  Hah’roo glided to the wall and plucked a quarterstaff from a rack of polearms. As she turned back to him, she limbered up by whirling the staff around herself. She spun it around her wrist and arms, switching hands to revolve it around her body, both front and back.

  Joe and the young priestess watched the display.

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  “You’re still doomed, Joe,” Mazsy sighed.

  A smirk lit the corners of Hah’roo’s mouth as she flowed back onto the mat-covered ring, the staff spiraling like a propeller blade in her hands.

  “Yup,” he huffed, realizing this was about to get more painful, swapping rope for wood. Still, he was determined to try and stay upright for at least a couple of seconds.

  “May I make a suggestion?” a crisp voice interjected.

  The three of them turned to see a man dressed in functional clothing one would expect in a gym, but his attire appeared to be of the highest quality. It was cut to perfectly fit his wiry but muscular physique. He had a broad chin and noble features, but most notably he sported a thick, black mustache. Joe was not a fan of a solo-stache, but he totally pulled it off. It gave him the ruggedly handsome countenance of guys like Tom Selleck or Sam Elliot.

  He approached the trio with a fluid grace that rivaled Hah’roo and an air of confidence.

  “Your style is too unconventional for a novice, madam,” he continued in his rich baritone. “Maybe a more straightforward approach might be better.”

  A squeak issued from the acolyte beside Joe. Suddenly Mazsy’s weight was falling onto him. Joe dropped his polearm and fumbled to slow her descent. The fox-girl had actually swooned, confirming exactly who the dashing new arrival was.

  [Purge] washed away her surprise, and the kitsune righted herself, using Joe's shoulder to regain her footing. She whispered an embarrassed thanks as she ran a hand across the fur on top of her head.

  The athletic gentleman was gracious enough to ignore Mazsy’s slip. He stepped up to Joe and extended his hand.

  “My name is Count Valloc Randeau. As we are to become allies, I thought it would be best to learn a bit about each other's fighting styles and capabilities. Yes?” he asked.

  “Ruefully, he has neither,” Hah’roo lamented, throwing Joe an apologetic look. “I mean no offense, Joe.”

  “None taken, Hah’roo. I haven’t had a chance to learn how to fight yet. I have been on the move from one thing to the next since I arrived.”

  “Then we have an opportunity here,” the Count stated with a bright smile. “Rather than having to break you of bad habits, we can start fresh and teach you some solid fundamentals.”

  Turning his attention to Hah’roo, he added, “It also may be an opportunity for you, my lady, to learn some training techniques. You are an instinctual fighter, but to teach, it is often best to start with a more methodical manner.”

  Hah’roo nodded her head and stilled the staff. She swept her arm, gracefully giving the man the mat.

  Joe had been worried that the champion provided by the goddess of the law and the nobility might be snobbish and unpleasant. The Marchess exhibited a great degree of warmth, but that was no guarantee that her kin shared her amicability.

  To Joe’s surprise, Count Randeau seemed to mirror his aunt’s sentiments, earnestly offering his help. Joe watched as the monster hunter selected a practice saber from the wall and stepped onto the mat. Valloc swished the blade through the air, feeling its weight. Seemingly satisfied, he turned to Joe.

  “Let’s start with the seven foundational pillars to melee combat,” the man stated, sounding more like a professor instead of a pulp-fiction hero. “Distance, speed, leverage, footwork, timing, feints, and defense. Now, the first two should have been the easiest to start with, but your initial sparring partner made for a poor choice, no offense intended, madam. Your style would have baffled me when I first began as well,” he noted with a gentle voice.

  “All gales are taught to find their own wind. You either find it or don’t. We did not have foundational pillars. Please continue.”

  He looked back to Joe. “Let us consider a more standard distance. Look at the length of my blade, my arm, and where my feet are placed. That will give you an idea of where the threat of my blade can reach. Yes.”

  Joe nodded. This made far more sense than the chaos of Hah’roo’s ‘stop falling down’ methodology.

  The Count quickly went through the concepts and then started to display them practically. He moved slowly at first with Joe. Every few passes, he incrementally increased his speed until he found the upper edge of Joe’s fighting skills.

  Hah’roo folded down to the floor in a lotus position and watched the pair with a focused look. Joe got the impression she was learning how to teach while Joe was learning how to fight.

  Mazsy stood in rapt attention. Joe doubted her eyes could open any wider.

  He did not have much time to ponder these thoughts as Count Valloc rapped his hands any time Joe allowed his attention to wander.

  Which turned out to be far too often.

  “Sir, if you cannot keep your mind on what I am teaching you, then I have better things to do,” the nobleman scolded, showing the first hints of displeasure since he had joined them.

  “I am sorry, Count. I really do want to learn. I have a bad habit of living in my own head too much. Please, keep going. I will stay focused,” Joe apologized.

  Joe could not deny that the lessons were proving effective. His skills were advancing in leaps and bounds under the monster hunter’s tutelage. His [Simple Weapon Aptitude] had doubled, bringing it to sixteen. [Strong Arm] and [Swift Strike] also gained several ranks.

  “You have potential, son,” the man stated, looking as cool and composed as he had when he arrived. Joe, on the other hand, was a panting, sweating mess. “I’m not sure that weapon suits you, but we are battling time. We have but four days before this month’s window is closed. Maybe tomorrow, if we have no leads as yet, I will test you with a few other weapon types.”

  Joe sighed. He liked his staves, even if they did not seem to like him. He had gone through quite a few of them since he arrived in Illuminaria.

  That thought reminded him that the pole he was currently holding belonged to the Adventurer’s Guildhouse. When they stopped for the day, Joe would see just how big Mazsy’s budget was. Going shopping in a fantasy city was too good an opportunity to pass up.