Chapter 13

Morgan was in a rather good mood when he finally unveiled the boat to Auban at the pebbly beach, with Garen standing by looking sullen but likely just feeling uncomfortable thanks to the massive bruises where one of Dren’s lads had gotten lucky. “Ta-da!” he exclaimed. “And it even floats! Not extremely well yet; we’ll need to keep fiddling with that, but it’s moving in the right direction. I think with some more work, we’ll be able to keep it upright in the water nearly all the time.”

“Nearly all the time, eh?” Auban looked from the boat to Morgan with a queer expression on his face, like he was trying not to laugh and nearly managing it. “That’s certainly better than it could be.”

“Exactly! And I brought you some tools to use to work on it.” He unloaded the adze and the sanding stone he’d snagged from the house. “I’ll need them back,” he added, “so try not to break them, or my brother will kill me.”

“I certainly don’t want that.” Auban glanced between the two of them and lost his nearly there smile. “What happened to you both?”

“We got into a fight,” Garen said stiffly.

“Which we won,” Morgan added. “You should see the other guys.”

“Which I won, really.”

“I helped! I bit Dren so hard on the tail that his face turned purple, don’t you remember that?” Morgan stuck out his tongue in a “blegh” gesture. “And he tasted fucking awful. Too much time cutting fish bellies, not enough time washing off.”

“A fight?” Auban pressed to his feet. Morgan was proud to see how steadily he was moving. He was getting so much better! Able to walk and everything, and Morgan was rather pleased with the fact that he’d scavenged enough old clothing from the rag pile to actually give his human friend some to wear because it made him look rather dashing. Plus, now that he was up and moving, seeing him naked all the time felt like less of a medical necessity and more of a … of a …

Titillating thrill? You jerk. He isn’t here for your heart’s consumption! You should know better than to let yourself have these sorts of thoughts about him!

“Did you fight them with those?”

“Mmm?” Morgan snapped out of his argument with himself to see where Auban was pointing—at the staff in Garen’s hand. Both staffs, actually; he was holding Morgan’s too. They were meant to be “training” right now, which was Morgan speak for “spending time with Auban” and Garen speak for “we really ought to actually train with these things,” which was why he’d brought the staffs along in the first place. That and to make it look better to Brevaer. Garen was more and more concerned with making things look good to Brevaer lately; a bold choice, given that the village was slowly but surely splitting into two schools of support for the next chief: one for Brevaer, the other for Dinigan, Drenikel’s father.

Of course, this all ignored the fact that the current chief was still alive and being supported by Garen’s mother, who was more than capable of beating anyone in the village into pulp with her bare hands. In short, it was a very confusing time.

“We did,” Garen answered once it became clear that Morgan had lost the thread of his thoughts. “Some of your metal human weapons were found in the water”—he spat the word like it was made from acid—“but we don’t have the resources to make entire blades out of such things. It would be wasteful, and our staffs are thick enough to block a blade anyhow.”

“I don’t recall fighting with a sword myself,” Auban said absently. “But I think I remember a bit about how they’re used. Show me some of your moves.”

Morgan and Garen shared a look. “Umm …”

“Surely you’re not afraid to show me a little stick work,” Auban said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I can’t even lift that paddle you brought me yet, so what harm could it do?”

“Humans do nothing but harm,” Garen shot back quickly, and Morgan decided he’d had enough of that.

“I’ll show you.” Morgan took his staff from his friend and got into a vague facsimile of the “ready” stance they began their patterns with. “We do training patterns to help us learn the basic attacks and defenses of the staff,” he said. He swept it up, then down, over then over again … Morgan futzed his way through the first pattern, knowing he was getting at least a third of it wrong.

“What’s the third motion meant to be blocking?” Auban asked once Morgan was done.

“Um …” Morgan knew the answer to this, he did, he totally diiiiid …

“It braces you against a downward strike falling like so,” Garen said, finally stepping in—probably because Morgan had embarrassed him with his poor showing. Mwahahaha, his evil plan was working!

That’s right, convince yourself it’s deliberate.

I will, thank you.

Garen went through the first pattern himself, much more smoothly and strongly than Morgan had managed. At the end of it, he turned with an expectant glare at Auban.

“Your attacks and defenses are very good,” Auban said after a moment. “But they’re designed to work against someone wielding another staff or a spear. The people on the boat … you said they were carrying swords.”

“So?”

“So what do you know about blocking a sword attack?”

Morgan frowned. “I mean … it’s just like a spear, isn’t it? Except shorter.”

“And with sharpened sides, a different manner of grip, the ability to slash as well as stab …”

“Well, if you’re so smart, why don’t you show us how to fight against a sword?” Garen snapped.

“I would be happy to,” Auban replied evenly, “but I know you don’t trust me. The last thing I want is to make you believe you’re being led astray as though I’m some sort of enemy agent.”

“We don’t think that,” Morgan assured him, then looked at his friend expressively. Garen managed to withstand his pathetic look for a few moments but finally gave in.

“I don’t really think that,” Garen said. “Or at least I don’t think you’d be stupid enough to do anything to hurt Morgan when he’s your only chance of getting off our island.”

“I would absolutely never do anything to hurt Morgan,” Auban said just as somberly. Morgan felt a strange little thrill go through him as he realized that two people he cared so much about placed such weight on his presence in their lives. He felt, for a second there, actually important. Not like Brevaer was important, or like Sariel was important, or even like how Dren just thought he was important. To these two people, and a few more, he actually was important. That was … special.

“But I would be remiss if I didn’t take the chance to show you a few things you can do with a staff versus a sword since they seem familiar to me,” Auban went on. “I don’t remember fighting with a sword myself, but …” He put a hand on his forehead and winced. “But I remember … training grounds? Men with many different types of weapons fighting against one another. Sword, spear, halberd, ax …”

Morgan ran to him and cupped Auban’s face in his hands. His skin felt hot—it was always hot, hotter than any Agnarra ran, but right now it seemed even more extreme than usual. “Stop that,” he chided gently. “You’re going to give yourself a headache.”

“I need to remember,” Auban said, keeping his eyes closed even as he covered Morgan’s hands with his own. “I need to help you somehow instead of doing nothing but take from you. If I can make you better prepared to fight a human who would come here and try to ruin you, again, then that’s what I need to do.”

“But not at the expense of your own health,” Morgan insisted. Auban slowly opened his bright eyes, squinting slightly against the brilliance of the sun on the sea. Morgan leaned forward until his own long green hair created a barrier against the light, and the pain in Auban’s face eased.

“Right,” Garen said from a few feet away. He sounded unaccountably awkward. “So we’ll just … make sure to bring some shorter sticks next time we come out, and you can … show us some sword stuff.”

“Perfect,” Morgan said.

“Great. Just … Morgan. We ought to be getting home now.” A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his close-up with Auban, and after that Garen hustled them out of there like Brevaer was on their tail shouting at them to “pick up the pace!”

Morgan knew Garen idolized his brother, but this was getting out of hand!