The Marenon Chronicles Collection - By Jason D. Morrow Page 0,14

the goal was for him to learn how to survive. He never believed there was any practical use to it, but he loved it. When his grandfather had thrown the stick at his feet all those years before and said to pick it up, he never knew he would become the warrior that he was today. The combat exercises didn't help him in school or anywhere away from home. In fact, sparring with his grandfather probably landed him in more trouble than he would have ever found on his own. In school he would catch himself daydreaming of the power he was gaining and his ability to use it in a grand battle. He often fantasized about using his abilities against the jerks in school that deserved a good beating. He had been taught, however, never to use his abilities on anyone that was weaker than him unless they posed a true threat to his safety or that of others.

Archery was involved too, but much less so than the sword. He had gone shooting many times and became very skilled with a bow and arrow, but Garland was convinced that swordplay was what was most important to learn. He said it was good for the reflexes and it kept his mind sharp.

Training, in and of itself, was never really questioned by Silas. While other students were playing games or some sport, Silas was going home and getting a walloping from his grandfather. He often wished there was someone within his own skill range to fight, but fighting the master was the best way to become better.

“Pick up your sword,” Garland said. “Let's try it again. This time, focus on disarming me instead of using all of your energy for a killing strike.”

“I'm done,” said Silas. “I can't beat you. Never once have I even come close to beating you.”

“That's because you are not confident. That's because you are thinking in your mind that you have never beaten me. And that's why I win every time.”

Silas just stared at Garland and grabbed his sword. I can do this, he thought. Just beat him. Just beat him.

With the first swing, Garland parried his blow. Silas went for the feet, then the head, then made a quick jab toward the stomach, and each attack was blocked by his grandfather. Then the thought came to Silas: Go on defense. He became vulnerable because he never let Garland attack first. He immediately stopped his slashing and stepped back in ready position, waiting for Garland to strike. For several long moments it didn't come, but Silas waited patiently anyway. The tension grew and both stood silently until Garland finally charged at Silas. When the swords clashed, the weight behind his attack almost knocked Silas to the dirt, but he held his ground. With each strike he focused on nothing but blocking while he searched for any opening to weaken his grandfather's attack. Then it happened. The opening manifested itself when Garland swung and missed wide. Silas instantly rolled to the ground, shifting to Garland's side. In a backward, chopping motion, Silas slammed his blade against the hilt of Garland's sword sending it to the ground with a crash. In the same motion, Silas reached his right leg behind Garland, tripping him and throwing him to the dirt on his back. Silas stood up and placed the blade against his grandfather's neck. He had won. There was a moment of stunned silence and then to Silas’ surprise, Garland began laughing hysterically. It was a deep laugh, straight from the belly. He held up an arm and Silas pulled him to his feet.

“And that's how you do it, my boy!” he said as he patted Silas on the back of the neck.

“You let me win, didn't you?”

Garland shook his head. “You may never believe me, but I was trying harder this time than I ever have.” He paused and laughed again. “Perhaps that was my folly.”

That was two years before and there had been no sparring since. For some reason, unknown to Silas, Garland began making excuses to delay further training and soon, they stopped picking up their weapons altogether. At that time, Garland started dropping hints to Silas about some sort of possessed beings that roamed the Earth searching for the two of them. He became consumed with worry and stayed in his room many nights, pouring over some manuscripts that he never allowed Silas to see. When Silas would ask, Garland would just tell him that