Penitent

Chapter 243 Book 4 Ch 24: New Toys

Michael awoke fresh and clear eyed the next day, and took a moment to heal his friends of sour stomachs and aching skulls without even leaving his bed. He made himself eat something before he made his way to the training yard. The squires and groundskeepers that maintained everything knew him now, and gave him friendly nods as he entered. He trained until the sun was up, then he was joined by a number of knights and guards. Shortly after that, Pyotr and Marcus arrived, fully armed and armored with their new titled items.

"How long have you been up?" asked Marcus.

"About three hours," replied Michael, switching arms so that he could perform another thousand midline mace-strikes. He had just begun to break a sweat. As he performed one of his strikes, Pyotr's beard actually shifted a bit from the wind of it.

"Maybe I can help make things more interesting," suggested Pyotr with a smile. "Care for a spar?"

Michael nodded. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" he asked.

"I am hoping to show you a few new moves," replied Pyotr with a smile.

Michael nodded, and removed his armor, placing Rend and Ruin to the side. He took up a specially forged blunted metal sword that could withstand a heavily titled individual strikes better than a wooden one, and fresh shield and made his way to one of the sparring rings toward the center of the field. A few of the king's personal guards broke from their exercises to watch.

Pyotr had a blunted longsword in his own hand as well as a separate one slung through his belt. He was also wearing the scarf he'd gotten the previous day. Michael recalled him drawing his blade with it, as well as using it to pour wine the previous evening. He'd already begun referring to it as his 'sixth limb'.

Michael took his typical middle stance, while Pyotr took a fencer's stance with his longsword aimed straight toward him.

"Ready when you are," said Michael, not focusing on Pyotr's sword or even scarf, but rather his center from which all of his movements would emanate.

Pyotr launched forward with his sword extended and Michael raised his shield to block it only to find Pyotr's scarf wrapped around his leg. It didn't move Michael at all, but Pyotr used it to rapidly alter direction and whip around to his back. Michael caught a sword blow on his own blade, his honed senses letting him predict Pyotr's blow before he lifted his own leg, letting Pyotr's scarf pull him forward a bit and attempting to use the momentum on a shield bash.

Pyotr released him completely with the scarf and flung his body backward as if playing limbo. The shield passed over him harmlessly, and his body launched back up and into the air where he aimed a kick at Michael's helmet. He'd used the scarf to both keep from falling onto his back and launch himself off the ground.

Mike adjusted slightly so that the kick only grazed his shoulder, and summoned a number of jagged barriers between Pyotr and the ground where he was aiming his landing.

He hit the first one with a wince, then pushed off the barrier and away from the others, landing back where they'd started.

"One day you've had that damned thing," said Michael smiling behind his training helmet. "And you're already using it to pull ridiculous nonsense."

Pyotr smiled back, his teeth bright behind his black beard.

"What can I say? I'm a natural." The scarf reached down and yanked the other sword from his belt.

Michael rolled his neck and raised his sword and shield to prepare for another round. What followed was the closest thing to a dance that sparring could be. Pyotr whipped out with one or two swords with tremendously different reach while also casting the occasional spell or attempting to grapple with his free hand. All the while his feet were in play as well, sending out flurries of kicks and keeping him mobile and acrobatic all throughout. It reminded Michael a bit of Bayle's fighting style, but with a lot more flair and at a much faster speed.

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Michael countered by focusing entirely on his defense and waiting for openings. Pyotr attempted furiously rapid strikes, dazzling distractions, and feints but Michael managed to keep any of it from breaching his ironclad defense. There were ways Michael might have broken the stalemate between them. He could have managed a few smaller distracting spells, or overwhelmed Pyotr with sheer strength while tanking a few blows, but when he was sparring he favored the fundamentals. Those tools that wouldn't fail him even when all the rest did.

In the end, after nearly a full hour, they agreed to a draw.

"A good dance, brother," said Pyotr with a smile. "You're like the straight man to my comedian."

"That's a role I play for all of you… except maybe, Lance."

Michael drove his blunted sword into the ground. "The scarf complements your style well."

"It does. Though it has limits. I cannot block anything directly with it, and it cannot sustain force for long. I can use it to parry, launch, swing, and wrap things though and that is enough"

Michael nodded. He'd noticed that Pyotr had attempted to directly block a strike of his with the scarf, and it had quickly folded beneath the weight. He'd thought it was a feint, but it seemed it hadn't been.

On the other end of the training ground Michael heard several rapid cracks one after the other. He and Pyotr walked toward the sound, finding Marcus aiming his new rifle at a target across the field. His hands were a blur as he loaded and fired the rifle, each shot firing after only a second. It was an incredible speed, one that a normal rifle would break or cease functioning over, but titled items didn't follow the same rules. After his ammo was depleted, Marcus drew his pistols and fired them both one after the other before throwing one of the pistols into the air, reloading the one he still held, then bringing the pistol back to himself with a gesture and firing them both again. He gave them a jaunty little twirl and smiled.

"Honestly, I may like them better than a Glock back home."

"Where's Ollie?" asked Michael looking around. "I was expecting him to show up too."

"I believe he'd be spending some time on his nice soft bed with Blake," replied Marcus with a smile.

"You'd think he'd have more time to spend with us," said Pyotr.

"You'd be doing the same thing if Syl were here," replied Marcus shaking his head.

"Probably, but since my beautiful aelven wisp is not here, I am not a hypocrite."

Michael smiled. He was glad his friends had managed to create new connections. He had a few himself, but all he could focus on in that moment was the ones from his old world. He left the training ground to go and see how he could help the transitioning people from Stent. For the most part things were going smoothly, but a lot of takers needed frequent reassurance that no hammer was going to be dropping, at least not from Hume and its people. After several hours of that he got word that Lance would be returning soon and went to the gate to meet him, standing with Laird who had also come to the gate to greet him.

Michael still had the letter from Lance's brother. He was concerned that the contents would be…unfortunate. He'd sworn to deliver it though, and so would do so. Besides, Lance didn't need his protection; he was a man of tremendous character.

As he stood there waiting he couldn't help but notice the group standing at the other side of the gate. It was an older woman sitting on a chair that had been placed there specifically for her, and a young woman whose hands were clutched in front of her chest, her knuckles white and her face contorted in concern. Both of them had long dark hair that was woven into elaborate headdresses. The older woman was wearing a dark blue dress with a purple shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She had a stern expression, but Michael found her to be quite beautiful. The younger woman was wearing a lavender dress and had a rounder, softer face. Michael guessed they were the Dame Bina and her ward and neighbor Delia that Lance had so often mentioned.

When a young knight on a white horse appeared in the distance, the younger woman practically gasped, barely keeping herself from running toward him. Lance rode forward carefully, and leapt from his horse just in front of the gate. He let a squire lead the horse and approached Delia with a kind of rigid tenseness.

"It is good to see you, my lady," he said sternly.

"I welcome the sight of you, Count," she replied.

Michael wanted to walk over and push them into one another, but when he looked to Laird to comment he saw that the man's eyes were wet with tears.

The Knight sniffled a little. "Nothing so beautiful as courtly love."

Michael nodded, giving the man a warm pat on the shoulder. "Nothing so beautiful," he lied in agreement.