All-Patron Reward: Born of Ice, Chapter 5

We continue looking at the earliest remaining draft of Demons of the Past. In the prior chapter, Varan and Canta had been dressed down HARD by Sergeant Helkoth, and had accepted their punishments with relative grace... after realizing how close they were to being kicked out of their respective services. But that wouldn't be the end of the incident...

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v.

The next two weeks went fast. Tutoring Canta in survival was tough enough to work into the schedule, though being on laundry detail with him I could do a lot of the instruction while operating the washers and folding the clothes. Practicing Tor took a lot more time. I barely had time to sleep and eat. It was a good thing that I knew most of the survival stuff. Canta had it even tougher, he was from a desert world; but I went over everything with him until he could recite it - or do it - as fast as I could.

Avoiding Dragons was another thing that took energy, if not time. I was always edgy, sometimes ready to swear that someone was following me; but when I turned, I never could be sure I saw anything. And for two weeks I didn't see a Dragon anywhere.

After one particularly long laundry session, I walked back to my cabin. This time the feeling of being followed was even stronger. Finally, I couldn't stand it any more; I stopped, whirled, and ran back up the corridor as quietly as I could. I rounded a corner, and this time I caught a glimpse of someone ducking into a doorway. I turned again, started going back towards the cabin, faster this time; as I came around the corner again, I found myself face to face with Morno.

"Why, hel-lo, Bluebird!" he said, the most insincere smile I have ever seen accompanying his words. "I've been hoping I'd run into you again. It's a shame your friend isn't here too, but I'll visit him later."

I backed away, trying to Focus, bringing my arms up.

I might as well not have bothered. His foot hooked one arm aside, one fist hammered through that hole, I went down. He waited for me to roll up, then kicked me down again. I could see that he wasn't going to stop until I couldn't get up... and that he was good enough to tell if I was faking. I twisted around, swept my feet up and around; he caught a foot, curled it around, forced me face down, gave me a kick to the small of my back, a grenade that seemed to paralyze me. I lay there, gasping, tears running down my face. "Come on, Bluebird, you can get up. We aren't finished dancing yet."

"You've made your point, Morno! Isn't this enough for a spilled lunch?"

He stepped back, let me roll slowly to my knees. "If that was all it was, maybe; but we also got embarrassed by your Sargeant. I can't do anything to him." He did a graceful pirouette that ended with his toe in my solar plexus. I folded again, retching.

"That's enough, Morno." said a voice from behind me.

I rolled sideways, looked up. Jearsen stood there, looking calmly at the Dragon. "You've proved you're better, faster, tougher, and you've caused him lots of pain. So drop it."

Morno sneered. "Why don't you just turn around and walk away, kid? Then I won't include you in the lesson."

"Sorry, can't do that. He's my cabinmate; I have to listen to his groans."

Morno shrugged. "Too bad for you. I'll even it up. He can listen to yours too."

He did a jumpkick that should have taken Jearsen's head off; but instead Jearsen wasn't there. He was suddenly standing six meters away, arms parallel, and the transcendent look of Deep Center in his eyes.

If Morno had recognized it, he might have stopped. But he didn't.

It took me three more years of Tor before I understood what happened next. All I saw was Morno launch an all-out jiatsu whirlwind attack - Jearsen make one move - and Morno fly into a wall, slump down, unconscious.

Jearsen helped me up. "You okay, Varan?"

I nodded. "Nothing that bed rest won't cure. Too bad I don't have the time." I leaned on him as we headed back toward our cabin. "You were following me, weren't you?"

He grinned. "Sure was. You're pretty good to have noticed at all."

"But why?"

He gave me a look. "That was why, Varan. With all the training in the world, both Helkoth and I knew you'd still be dead meat. Strikers live on glory and face, and they're trained to show no mercy. We didn't like the idea that one of them might take things too far. Helkoth's been watching Canta... and the Sarge isn't wearing his rank wheel."

I knew what that meant: he was off duty then, and the Striker could take a swing at him with impunity, assuming that Helkoth let him survive it. "Thanks. Both of you."

He helped me lie down. "My pleasure, Varan. Besides, I need you to help me survive this damn iceball."

I chuckled painfully.