Page 60 of The Barbarian King's Assassin (Magic and Kings 1)
“Hey, I’m a former Jaamanian,” I protested.
“Explains why you’re slow.”
Ouch. And a challenge I couldn’t resist. “Assign someone competent to watch His Majesty and I will practice my giant-felling techniques on you.”
“If you think I’m staying here to do boring kingly things while you play…” Konstantin stood. “We’re all going to train.”
“And get faster,” Joor corrected.
“I am fast!” Konstantin yelled, but Joor was gone.
“He’s right; you do need to work on your speed,” I teased. I couldn’t help myself.
“We’ll see about that. Race you to the bottom.”
Big guy like him? I could beat him easily.
Pride was the only thing that had me stumbling ahead of him by a few paces, breathing hard. Apparently, my conditioning needed work.
The king looked invigorated as he clapped his hands and said, “What shall we start with?”
Given I didn’t like him at the moment, I felt great satisfaction in getting close to him and saying, “Take off your pants.”
While he gaped in confusion, he missed my foot hooking around his ankles. A twist and shove sent him off balance to the ground.
My sword met his throat a second later. “You’re dead for the second time today.”
The idiot smiled. “Only because I didn’t try.”
He kept treating me like I was soft. Time they all learned I should be feared.
His saucy reply earned my elbow dropped into his diaphragm. It would render him useless for a minute but not cause lasting harm.
I then pointed the tip of my sword at the horde and said, “Who’s next to die?”
The idiots all volunteered.
Apparently, killing in practice was frowned upon, which was why we had to use wooden swords and daggers. Jrijori never used training tools. He said I needed a healthy respect for sharp objects, and the best way to ensure that was getting cut and stabbed a few times. I now knew how to avoid them, which came in handy with these giant-sized fighters. The trick, it turned out, with Weztrogians who beat me in size, was to not let them touch me. Their fists could do a lot of damage when they connected. At least, for all their teasing of being fast, they still weren’t as fast as me. Nor as quick as Konstantin.
The man practically moved in a blur. He rarely got hit and only actually appeared to make an effort when three of his people attacked him at once. He hit the ground hard enough that his sword clattered a few feet away. Droga came roaring and slamming down with his wooden mace. Somehow, Konstantin suddenly held his lost blade and blocked it.
How did he do that?
I wandered away from the dusty area we fought in. We were well away from the castle path in an area scrubbed free except for a few tenacious patches of sharp grass. The hard dirt rolled into a field of wheat, golden and tall, which, in turn, transitioned into a different field of bright green.
I’d not noticed the farming when we’d arrived the day before, but it made sense. A castle that size had many mouths to feed. They wouldn’t want to just rely on supply wagons.
Restless feet took me to the edge of the ravine. I could see the other side if I squinted. Too far to jump. Crossing involved using the single bridge spanning the ravine to the south of us. Or you could travel either north or south to go around it.
According to what I’d learned, while people could, in theory, descend to the bottom, none ever crossed the river. Apparently, the rapid current and many rocks rendered it impassable.
Glancing over the edge proved dizzying. It dropped down pretty far. Almost straight, too. I could see the rapidly moving water, white-capping in places. Probably cold.
I turned away in time to see Konstantin prevail in his mock battle, whacking Joor in the buttocks as he darted past him. In a real fight, Joor would be dead.
While big, the Weztrogians really could fight. I headed back to the horde and fought not to return the smile Konstantin turned toward me.
A sudden breeze at my back blew at the escaped wisps of my hair.