“Unbelievable.” Ellen muttered angrily to herself as she sped up the stairs at the back of the Hiford Estate, “Today of all days.”

After ten minutes of running uphill, talking wasn’t easy but the affirmation of her poor luck went some way towards soothing her. When she’d last checked a clock, it was half past six in the evening but that was back at the Institute’s library. With the Institute being halfway down the hill and how long it took Ellen to pack her bag and return the book she was reading, there wasn’t a lot of chance that it was before seven.

Evening training started at seven at the summit of Hill Haran. Seven after noon on the dot. They’d been training for the last three months at the same time and all four of Ellen and her friends had been on time, even with their lives being run on Viera’s demanding schedule.

Her legs complained as she pushed them to go faster, too far gone from her morning training to power up the stairs to reach training on time.

The whole afternoon had been wrought with poor decisions. In hindsight, the idea that she would be able to get extra study in for their History test had been foolish, with nothing left to give, she’d simply napped on the hard desks at the back of the library’s annex.

No doubt, Riu would say she had told her so after training. She had called it as soon as they left school. If she had only listened to her friends, she could’ve spent the precious few free hours of her day having some time off. Or stretching her tired muscles if they decided to head to the lay about like normal.

The fact that her legs were even so tired was ridiculous really. With only a week to go before the tournament, Thredrin was still putting Ellen and Teon to the wheel every morning. Even with their special guest today, their first training session of the day had been brutal, with an hour of leg exercises after they finished sparring.

The idea of having Harlea join them for training spurred her onwards. A decorated war hero and a common point for gossip amongst the teenagers of the Institute, Ellen was interested in seeing just how he fared in training with them. There were a thousand rumours circulating about him and so many of them were too good to be true. He’d survived an inconceivable amount of monsters, from trolls to fairies in the overland to many creatures down below that were appalling for commonfolk to behold.

Wosche hadn’t stopped talking about Harlea and the Red Damnables since Viera had mentioned him. Digging up every rumour he could had become yet another of his pastimes to keep him from being too idle. With how many stories he’d been telling them in class and lunch time, even he had some blame in Ellen falling behind in her studies, the way she saw it.

Going two stairs at a time, the path that led to the summit zipped past beneath her. She would miss the first forms if she had taken too long but not any of the sparring if training ran as normal. The thought gave her a lump in her throat. Harlea didn’t seem the type to like doing anything normal. Word was that he was a loose cannon and that he liked to play by his own rules.  What was fascinating was how Viera’s opinion was different to the rumours. Ellen hadn’t wanted to press too hard when Viera had finally talked to her about him.

Madder than a Furnlonese man in a Wild storm and not popular with the Houses. The memory made Ellen smile. What had been a slight reprimand for Ellen asking questions at the Hiford Estate was a fond memory, as weird that sounded in her head.

Viera had taken her aside after training for them to have a one-on-one chat and Viera had actually listened to her. Ellen knew asking the Hifords about Harlea was stupid but she needed to learn more. Instead of getting angry and yelling at Ellen, Viera was so calm and didn’t get angry when she got teary. Crying was a noble thing to do but Viera waited until they’d calmed down and then they just talked.

They’d gossiped about Lady Holhart and the dysfunctional antics that were commonplace at the Hiford dinner table. For a good half an hour, Viera shared her own stories of Lady Holhart and the rest of the Hifords and then she asked Ellen to tell her about what had happened with Lady Holdhart when she’d asked about Harlea at the dinner table. The whole conversation was so weird, with Viera being stern but not going all over the top like her parents did.

Ellen grabbed her shirt as she ran up the stairs and tucked it in. Urging her legs to go faster, she was pleased to see just how much she could push them. Her muscles were exhausted and the leg exercises in the morning had taken their toll, well and truly, but there was a lot of power even after so much.

Her little sprint up the hill boded well for the tournament, all things considered. She was stronger than she ever had been before, without a doubt, but her technique had cleaned up a lot as well. Time would only tell if it would help in a tournament but Ellen was a big enough person to admit that Thredrin’s endless training had made a positive impact. He’d been relentless with picking apart Ellen’s every fault, especially since her little three sixty turn when she sparred with Teon. For a week after, she’d had to practise her shield and sword forms five times in a row before she could do any other exercises.

Halfway up the stairs that connected the Hiford Estate to Hill Haran’s summit, Ellen tried to spot any of the others on the large platform that took up the top of the hill. They’d be up there, of course, and all eyes would go onto her when she reached them.

It was ridiculous that Wosche wasn’t the first to come late to training. Or even miss it. Back at the Academy, Wosche had skipped class whenever he could, with a talent for finding ways to avoid getting in trouble for doing his bare minimum.

Now, he was at least at school every day and attending training every afternoon. With the tournament coming up, he’d even joined Ellen and Teon in several morning sessions to help with sparring.

Him saying no to Viera’s sponsorship for the tournament was still absurd to Ellen. When she’d presented the four of them with the opportunity to join the tournament in her name, he had flatly told her that he wasn’t interested. In front of everyone at the training ground, he’d not apologised or given Viera any other explanation. At least Riu had requested her sponsorship be shifted into the admission fee for the invention gala.

Sucking in a few breaths of air as she hit the top of the stairs, Ellen let them out in long steady sigh. Her friends stood in a line on the patio, hands behind their back as Viera gave them her opening address.

“With four days to go until the tournament, I expect you all to be giving it your all for our final training session. There will be no morning or evening sessions but Thredrin has advised you on the stretches you should do to keep limber. Today, we will be going through your forms before going into sparring, with advice from our guest. I expect you extend to him the same respect you give our House instructors.” Viera said as she waved Ellen forward to join the others, “Harlea will be taking lead after you finish your forms and remember that he is speaking from decades of experience, both as an adventurer and a tournament winner both in our country and afar. Ellen.”

Ellen stopped next to Riu, stood to attention, “Yes, madame?”

“You are late.”

“My apologies. I overslept.” Ellen explained as a cool bead of sweat ran down the side of her face. She waited until Viera had walked past her before she rubbed it off with the back of her sleeve.

Just behind her, she heard Viera’s quietly tut, “On the last day too, how unfortunate.”

Ellen winced as she watched Viera move back around her, disapproval clear on her face. Behind her, a man lay half naked with bandages running all the way down his left leg with tiny shorts and tight marone shirt for decency. His arm lay over his face and his legs hung limply over the edge of the seat as he relaxed, oblivious to her arrival. At his feet were a rucksack and a weapon roll sat with two large hand-axes leaning next against the bench next to them.

In the dim dusk light, Ellen was struck by how slight Harlea was. For all the tales of heroics and glory, he was the same size as Ellen. Or the same height but possibly smaller in stature. That being said, the definition that ran along his legs and arms was impressive. Big muscles weren't the most important part for a fighter, with some having them and others not. But tone and striation, especially the level that Harlea had, spoke of years of difficult training.

“Make sure it does not become a habit, Mdm. Courfelt.” Viera rounded the other side of Teon at the end of the line, “Today, Msr. Harlea Shianae will be leading the second half of training and he will be endeavouring to provide you with relevant advice for how to fight to win. Whatever he tells you about adventuring and battle, I hope you understand that there is no better folk to inform you.”

Harlea levered himself up at the mention of his name. Legs swinging as he flicked himself back up, he nudged one of the axe handles from where they balanced. Harlea’s foot stretched out and hooked the handle to catch it as it fell. With a slight murmur, he snatched the handle from his leg and positioned it back next to the other axe and gave them a long, drawn-out yawn, “Good morning, children. It is Shi’Nae, not Shianee.”

His voice was gravelly and his face looked haggard, ravaged by age and misadventure, it looked like. His beard and hair were dishevelled, with small red beads stuck at rough intervals  in all of his thick black hair.

Ellen felt a tinge of frustration at seeing him like this. He was not the hero she’d imagined. More vagrant vagabond than the charming champion or aspirational adventurer. He looked worn out and, frankly, hungover.

“Shi’Nae.” Viera exaggerated the name as she corrected herself, “He and I will be working closely with you to train you today and you can expect to be having more lessons with him upon our return from Dark Hold later next week.”

The four of them let out a simultaneous gasp and Wosche shot Ellen a look of pure elation. With a nod, Ellen tried to redirect him to look at Viera instead of him. They would be able to discuss it after training. Or in the morning, apparently, considering how this was apparently her last training before Dark Hold.

Viera walked a circuitous path back to face them, drifting closer to Harlea to whisper something before her eyes returned to Ellen, “To begin, work through your hand forms and then your forms in your chosen weapons. Ellen and Teon, prioritise the weapons you will use in the tournament specifically.”

“Yes, Madame.” Ellen parroted with the others and moved out to her position on the patio. Her hands met at her centre in the position that denoted the Fist’s first form and she tried to quiet her mind as it buzzed with excitement. Her body moved seamlessly through the first form, the movements providing her some small comfort as they had every day since her childhood. Every morning, whether or not she had training that day, she had been forced to run through the first form of the Fist.

From the first salvo of grapples and punches, Ellen swept the floor with her leg, feeling her hamstring complain as she went. The movements came with practised ease but her body was in little mood to do them.

If she had five days until her first match in the tournament, then she’d get two mornings of quiet before they’d leave. Her classes were still on but if Viera was planning on leaving on Wednesday like she’d said then Ellen would get to have Monday and Tuesday off. The temptation to tell the Hifords that she still needed to attend the additional training sessions was tempting but being caught out wouldn’t bode well.

Her hand and foot together as she surged forwards and Ellen tilted her head slightly as the Light visited her. Not telling Lady Holhart where she was going was not the same thing as lying to her. She could simply not return home after school and stay out. If she were in the library instead of the Estate, no one could fault her.

Not that being in the library was going to be any use to her. Her little mishap had proven to her what she already should have really known: Her studies were going to have to wait until after the tournament.

The whole month, she’d been on edge with the tournament looming. She’d not competed since she’d been kicked out of the Academy and was chomping at the bit to get back in the ring. For two tournaments, she’d been in the limelight as a social pariah. Her father had forbidden her from attending either of them for, in his own words, the fear of her further embarrassing her Family.

She swung her body through the final movements of the first form and felt her heart ache at the memory. It had been three months since she’d arrived and she’d only received two letters from her mother. Both of them had been more of an update of Kudraul and the latest events than anything sentimental and neither of them had any words from her father.

Feeling the chill of the morning air, Ellen pressed into the Fist’s second form quickly. Each of her strikes was paired with an exhale, as she had been taught, and each of her exhales joined the chorus of muted exertion that played throughout the patio. Each of her friends worked through the four forms of the Fist with near mirrored timing as they worked. In perfect unison, the four of them also watched the stunning olive-skinned man in front of them as he danced through the same forms with perfect grace.

With grace that Ellen hadn’t seen before, Harlea glided through the third form; each move was measured and powerful as he progressed from one movement to the next. Seeing an old person work through the forms was quite odd, with even her mother only doing her forms once in a blue moon, but it was more than that. Ellen pursed her lips as she watched him kick high in the air effortlessly.  From one move to the next, he floated across the back of the patio, pulling Ellen in as she tried to get her second form finished. A knee brush and a sweeping step before the kick to spin, she took comfort in how her movements matched her friends as they rotated.

Kicking high, her body responded pliably if not enthusiastically as she tried to keep pace with everyone else. Viera’s eyes bared into the back of her skull as she worked and there was no way Ellen could hide how little of her heart was really in the training’s annoying preamble.

With another punch and the form’s final flourish, Ellen held the final stance of the second form for a second before she made her way back to her starting mark. With any luck, she would get to spar with Teon for their sessions. If she did, she could go dual swords for a few bouts to show that she could do more than just shieldbreaking.

When her foot hit the starting marker, she hit the opening stance of the third form with a point to prove.  Leaping forwards a step and a half, Ellen shifted low to the ground before springing up with a double hand strike to her side.

Blood pumped through her legs as she picked up her pace, giving her tired muscles new life as she revelled in the more complex form. The third Fist form was her favourite by far, with the technical ability mixed with the expected speed for those who had mastered it being a delicate balance for all but the best. The Third Form was the one that distinguished the real fighters from the normal folk.

Sweat beaded on her head as she leapt from strike to strike. The dusk light bathed her and the heat of the day began to dissipate. Every day all day, the southern heat pressed down on Ol’Haran, baking its streets in an oppressive blanket of humidity. Then, as the sun set, the heat would lift up once more and leave a balmy environment for the night owls of the city. From the Estate, Ellen could see the hubbub at the bottom of the hill and those folk who were free to visit it live their lives well into the depths of the night.

Ellen concentrated on hitting each of her third form moves with the gravity they deserved; each strike was meant to be deadly and each block was one that could save her life one day. Her father would nag her incessantly when she trained her forms at home; they were a gift of their homeland and a promise of a secure future in the lands they had settled. There was no doubt her father was more intense about the forms than a normal person but she couldn't deny that the forms of Fist were of paramount importance to Weidenland as a country. Schools would run through the first two forms in the morning before the children learnt and any House Family worth their coin would drill all four of Fist forms into their children before they started the Academy. Then, those who had their sights on military life would pick the forms to learn for their respective weapons and train to use them effectively. In her eighteen years of life, she was proud of learning the basic Northern Blade, Fist, and Reach fighting forms already.

Progressing through the final moves of the third form, Ellen eased back to catch her breath before beginning the fourth. Her head thumped and she could feel how unsteady she felt as she stood. Checking to her side, none of the others had finished their forms yet and Harlea was working on a strange form she’d not seen before. Deciding while she kept an eye on him, Ellen moved towards their training bags. A short break and some water would benefit her as she went into the fourth form; what with how tricky the moves could be. Her drink bottle was in the holder with the rest of the bottles and Ellen beelined for it. Her mouth salivated at the idea of having a swig, Viera somehow always brought the coolest water for them.

As she gulped down several mouthfuls of water, her eyes surveyed the platform. Riu and Wosche had both finished their third form, with Teon still working through the second’s final salvo of strikes. Riu was halfway towards Ellen, jogging over to join her and leaving Wosche as he pressed on into the fourth. His form looked good as he started with the movements but the fourth one was a lengthy one.

Ellen said nothing as Riu trotted up next to her and pulled out her drink bottle. Harlea’s fist strikes were all close to his chest and each of his steps were so reserved in comparison to the normal forms. There was far less energy expenditure in how he moved but also a lot less power. “Still on for tomorrow?”

Riu had stepped in next to him as she stared at Harlea. Recoiling slightly, Ellen’s brain ticked along before she remembered their plans to catch up after school, “Oh yeah, and now no training. Are we going to head to your apartment or the markets first?”

“Wouldn’t you need to have dinner at the Estate?” Concern edged the words of Riu’s reply.

Ellen winked back as her only response. Riu understood better than anyone the issues with being a Housed child, with her family being a First Family of the western province Wethea. They’d bonded years ago in the Academy by comparing their stories of their overbearing parents.

Though, clearly Riu’s days of being suffocated were behind her, with her new accommodation. Somehow, Riu had convinced her parents to let her live in a lush little apartment in the upper streets of Ol’Haran instead of being cooped up in the Hiford Estate.

The room must have cost Ellen’s father a fortune to rent. An apartment like the others would have been much cheaper, both financially and politically, but had insisted she stay in the Hiford’s own Estate, paying them some horrifying amount of coin. All to punish her for being expelled.

“They’ll want answers if you come home too late.” Riu warned her as she put her bottle back in the holder.

Ellen took one final sip before she returned her bottle as well, “I’ll think of something. They might not even notice.”

Riu shared a sly smile with her before she walked back to her mark. There were few nights when Ellen could let her hair loose and the two nights before the tournament, when the Hifords would be preoccupied by their own travel preparations, her chances were good for some levity.

As soon as Ellen returned to her spot, she launched herself into the beginning salvo of the fourth form. A wide arcing kick then a foot switch to strike, she hit the movements with a renewed zeal. The next move was a pull along the length of her arms and a twist to her left side and Ellen focussed on doing the moves well as she got into the swing of the form’s sequence. For the fourth form, the strikes needed to be powerful but balanced. There were far more twists, pulls, and extended strikes mixed into the sequence and hitting each of them perfectly wasn’t easy if every hit wasn’t tempered appropriately.

To her right, Harlea worked hard in front of her, flying through a complex series of the same rapid, compressed temperance. When she could look, she did, stealing a glance when she pivoted or changed direction. She’d seen different fighting styles in her time and watching Harlea reminded her of the visitors from far away lands like Tana A’zar. The idea of Harlea travelling on some incredible adventure to meet a mentor of a mysterious fighting technique was a tantalising theory. He lived the life for it, with stories of adventurers travelling for years to complete incredible missions.

Sweeping through a large overhand strike, Ellen smirked. From everything Wosche had said about Harlea, he wasn’t the noble paladin leading a group of well-meaning good samaritans that Ellen had grown up hearing about.

Ellen’s left foot slipped and she faltered in one of her moves unexpectedly, wiping the smile from her face. With a quick shuffle back, she regressed one move back and risked checking on Viera. Watching sternly from the edge of the patio, Viera watched her with her arms crossed.

“Harlea has graciously accepted my invitation and we will be working closely to ensure you are ready for the challenges that await you should you join the High Guard. As I am sure you all are aware, Harlea has won numerous titles throughout his career. Three Spring tourneys in Weidenland and two Ilreana Galas, at the very least.”

Wosche let out a whistle while he warmed up, “Which weapons?”

Harlea slowed down his movements, giving Viera time to interject if she wanted, “In dual axes mostly, but some podiums in sword and shield and a couple of wins were mixed weapons. I hit the podium a bunch of times but I don’t think I won that many. Maybe five of the tourneys in Weidenland, and I haven’t the foggiest if they were the Dark Hold ones. And then, yeah, I did win a couple international ages ago.”

Harlea’s hardly subtle bragging got a collective ooh from Teon and Wosche just as planned. Ellen gave him no such reaction and focussed on settling back into her form instead. Faux modesty was not what she’d expected of him but it wasn’t the only part of his whole personality that didn’t stack up.

If he had been that successful in tournaments, he’d be far more famous around the country. Famous enough that she wouldn’t be hearing about him from Wosche and his neverending tales of the Red Damnables and their exploits. Being a tournament champion made for a life of court fetes and, at worst, a life of instructing at a House school somewhere. Not running amok as an adventurer with his beard untrimmed and his clothes wrinkled and ill-fitting.

“Who have you fought?” Riu asked from across the stony expanse, drawing Ellen back in.

Harlea snorted, “A bunch of old, retired folk nowadays. My tournament days were decades ago at this point, remember.”

The admission got a series of murmurs in response and Halrea shrugged back, “I don’t know, I didn’t even know all the folks. I did beat Lord HoldHut of House Nohlan in dual daggers during one tournament; you might know him.”

Ellen grinned as she swivelled back to look at, “He is one of the instructors at the Academy. He taught us last year!”

Ellen couldn’t help but let the excitement take her. Lord HoldHut was a legend in the capital and, admittedly, a tournament champion. Despite him being nearly sixty, he’d be swarmed at fetes for folk wanting his stories.

He was also a grumpy old fart who’d spent the better part of Ellen’s early teens beating the tar out of her and her friends in the training ring. He would chant with glee when he smacked them with his cane that pain was the best teacher.

Harlea flashed back a grin, “Oh, he’d not tell you the time we faced each other in the ring. I won three to one and it was a huge upset at the time. He was pretty good with daggers but so flat footed.”

Wosche let out a loud barking laugh at the idea, “You didn’t.”

“The rules are to use your weapon. Nothing about what end to use. I was fast as they come back then and I bum rushed him.” Harlea winked at Wosche and moved through the last of his form.

Everyone else waited on baited breath, none of the four of them were working through their exercises and Viera watched on, unimpressed but content to let Harlea continue.

As he hit his last move, he gave a nod to Viera before he continued, “I mean I charged him, of course. One dagger went into the air and he followed it for too long. He wasn’t expecting me to grapple, and once I had his hands restrained, nothing stopped me from beating his nose bloody with the back of the dagger’s hilt.”

Laughter echoed around the patio as Harlea illustrated how he smacked HoldHut. Ellen’s eyes darted to Viera before she joined them in laughing. Imagining Harlea making her old teacher hurt was hard not to like.

Harlea soaked in the attention, joining them with a chuckle, “The panic was well worth having a point being deducted. The look on his squirrelly little face with blood pissing down his face was priceless.”

Viera loudly cleared her throat across the patio and took a step back to the middle of the patio, “It was a match to witness. But perhaps no more stories, Harlea?”

“Yeah, too right.” Harlea agreed firmly before moving back to his bags to grab his axes, “We got fighting to do.”

Ellen finished up her fourth form as best she could. The idea of getting to the real sparring made it difficult to care about the intricacies of how her wrist needed to flick or her hips placement as she did her transitions.

“Can you imagine punching HoldButt like that? What I would have given to see it.” Wosche snuck over to quietly whisper to Ellen as soon as she finished her fourth form, “He might be my new hero.”

Giving him a tsk as her only reply, Ellen walked over to her bag and grabbed her practice sword and shield. The weight felt good in her hands as she stood back up and put the shield on her arm. With a slight tug of its leather straps, she turned to face Wosche, “We’ll see.”

“Seriously?” Wosche asked her as he got his staff from the edge of the gear, “He’s definitely won more than what he has said; Folks told me he was dominant twenty years ago.”

“And yet, I have never heard of him dominating.” Ellen said as she gave her practice sword a few practice swings while she walked, “It was a long time ago; he said it himself.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s clearly still got it.” Wosche followed in close pursuit, using his staff as a long sword as he mimicked her swings, “I’d imagine he’d still do ok in a tournament.”

“You get too excited, Wosche. We just met him.” Ellen scolded him lightly at first, before she realised how quiet the others were. More quietly, Ellen continued as she forced herself not to check if Harlea had heard them talking, “I think it is important to not put too much credit on rumours.”

Wosche didn’t say anything as he moved to his training mark. Sweeping the staff in a circle around him, he nudged Riu’s daggers over to her section of the patio and brought his staff up into his form’s starting position.

Riu pointedly ignored him as she continued with her fourth form with Teon close behind. Eager to keep her lead, Ellen began her first form for Shield with gusto.

“And our other instructors have won tournaments as well,” Ellen commented to Wosche as she worked through the preliminary blocks and strikes, “I am just saying, it’s better to keep expectations in check until we see for ourselves.”

Wosche didn’t reply, instead choosing to avoid her eyes and dedicate himself to his exercises.

“Not only a tournament champion but also a decorated Board contractor.” Viera lectured from the edge of the patio, “As the leader of the Red Damnables, we are lucky to have his guidance as we look towards contracts ourselves.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Ellen murmured quietly as Viera swooped in close to Ellen as she began patrolling the edge of the patio again.

Viera gave a slight nod but nothing else as she continued, “They have been a staple of the Silver Spoon for decades, receiving numerous accolades from House Hiford and even Queen Jacinta herself during their time.”

“I heard they went into Wild Lands in the Hilan province last month.” Teon interrupted as she walked past to get to her batons from the equipment bags.

Her words hung in the air between them, with the sound of heavy breathing the only sound to cut through the unease.

“Sorry,” Teon said as she brought her gear bag over to her side, “I just heard folks talking about it in the market. And I heard of Coalpass when it… occurred.”

Teon’s apology did little to ease the tension, with everyone but Viera concentrating on their own forms until someone broke the ice. Ellen didn’t linger between her forms, readily entering the stance for the second form as her body loosened up and feeling the power that came from the more demanding moves.

“Very well.” Viera broke the silence sternly, “One more story and then we get to training.”