Blood Moon

Sydney Alexis

XVI

Tuvok and I rode out the following morning to the training grounds to watch Solomon's "army" practice. Even from a distance I was painfully aware of their clunky movement. The question was whether or not their poor fighting skills were a put on or not.

Tuvok drove my thoughts home when I heard him snicker.

"Perhaps incompetence is catching?" he suggested.

"I should hope not! I don't want to think what last night's meal night have scrambled in my army's minds."

I motioned the horse forwards, and, at a non-threatening trot, Tuvok and I moved toward the motley crew that Solomon dubbed an army.

Each man had been paired with a sparring partner. Between every four pairs, there was a wide enough space for the lieutenants to walk through, stop, and offer suggestions. That was the theory anyway. These 'leaders' merely sat on the grass, sharpening their swords, clearly enjoying themselves.

Harry sat a distance away at the base of the tree Kathryn, Tuvok, and I often sparred under. Disgust was evident on his face.

Tuvok and I rode up between Harry and the lounging lieutenants.

"Gods above! Please tell me that you somehow lost the good army and replaced them with a merry band of idiots."

I watched Harry smirk in my peripheral view. To be honest, I was slightly miffed he wasn't working with them to attempt some form of improvement. At the very least, they deserved a fighting chance should the battles continue.

I dismounted and grabbed my sword and scabbard from my horse before turning her loose to feed. A quick nod to Tuvok and Harry, I approached his lieutenants. They looked clearly annoyed, but said nothing.

"You," I said, pointing to Murdock with the point of my blade. "Stand."

"What for?" His reply came with glaring eyes.

I rose an eyebrow. "Exhibition match," I replied evenly.

"You got to be kiddin' me! Hasn't been one of those since Caesar's days," he snorted.

"Back home perhaps. Here, no. Stand. I challenge you."

The lieutenants began to heckle me. Finding no amusement, I reached for the dagger in my belt and let it fly at Murdock. It pinned the fabric of his pants to the ground scant inches from his groin. He shot me an incredulous look.

"Challenges that go unfulfilled call for the man in avoidance to face The Gauntlet or execution. So...get you ass off the ground, pick up your weapon, and face me."

"This should be easy," he shot over his shoulder to his friends, snatching up he sword.

I nodded, moving into the clearing and closer to the army. Gods he was easy to goad.

Murdock took a customary first stance. Both hands tightening on the enormous, heavily decorated hilt, his eyes seemed glued to my body, waiting for me to make a move. That and the emotions in his eyes-- a twinge of fear but mostly arrogance--were his greatest tell.

The ancient rules of exhibition called for only one man to exit the ring, for no one to interfere, and mercy--life or death in the event of a draw-- came only at the highest officials present's discretion. In this case, myself.

Murdock began to shift his weight to his right foot, impatience at my lack of attack.

I counted, swung my sword to his left, jarring him from his balance. I struck next at his knees, hitting them with the flat of my broad sword. Had this been a real battle, I would have used the blade itself and severed his legs.

Murdock released a pitiful cry at the sudden blast of pain and fell to his knees. The sword dropped from his hand in shock, but I wasted no time following it or his downward fall with my eyes.

I swung my sword down with fury stopping at the base of his skull. The blade nicked this skin enough to draw blood.

"Death blow," I said with disgust.

I took a step back, returning my sword to its sheath and offered my hand to help him to his feet. He shook his head, rising under his own power instead.

I turned to the army who were all watching with quiet interest.

"I just defeated your lieutenant in three moves. The point of a sparring match isn't just to practice. It's to find and fine tune weaknesses. If you lose, you have to figure out why. Even if it means asking your opponent."

I turned to Murdock, seeing his face sour.

"What was your first mistake?" I asked him loud enough for the others to hear.

"Deciding to let you win," he replied, sticking his chin out to emphasize the point.

"If that had been the cause...if you had truly intended to let me win, you never would have 'permitted' me such a quick defeat. Nor would it have left you nursing two bruised knees. Now. Try again."

He rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed.

"I allowed myself to be talked into this trip?"

The army behind me laughed and I bit the inside of my cheek to avoid it as well. Slowly, I turned from Murdock and walked into the clearing again. This time carrying Murdock's sword. I set the blade in my hands, instantly feeling the extra weight of the ornamental leather braiding. I flipped it over in my hand a few times, noting subtle changes that needed to be made to move the clumsy object. Finally, I turned back to Murdock.

"What was your first mistake?" I repeated.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath exactly what he thought of me and this entire situation.

"Your first mistake is choosing a sword that is pompous. An attempt to make up for your shortcomings, perhaps?" I said, turning toward Murdock before turning the hilt toward him to grab it up. He did, grudgingly, to the peels of laughter coming from the 'army.'

"What was the second?" The question asked with full eye contact between us. He shifted in the dirt uncomfortably and I knew his response without asking.

"Or were you too caught up in the moment to analyze your mistake?"

It was a fault with all those young, cocky, inexperienced fighters. They acted without thought before they understood what reactions to take. Muscle memory would only go so far before it would fail you.

Murdock's eyes widened a fraction then returned to normal as I suspected they might.

"Aye, Lord Crycus."

I nodded, absently. Decided not to let the smirk at my suddenly-appearing-title come to fore.

"Pay closer attention next time," I chastised, voice low enough only Murdock could hear.

"Did anyone notice how I managed to get the upper hand?" I tired wording the question differently to draw the answer out. Silence. And then...

"His footwork. You knew what actions he was going to make before he made them so you countered."

I turned toward the sound of the voice, half-smiling when I realized it was Dargo, one of my lieutenants.

"Good." I said. It was one of my highest compliments. "Guess you paid attention during that lesson."

He laughed and shook his head. Dargo had ended up sharpening every training weapon more than once because of lack of focus.

I motioned for him to stand. He did, taking up a sword. He knew what was coming. With an unperceivable nod he began circling me as Murdock had done moments before. This time, we exacted movements with deliberate slowness. I pointed out what items tipped me off. Not that any of them would retains any of this...

Finally, I nodded to Dargo again this time in a silent thanks. He re-sheathed his sword and bowed deeply.

"Always an honor to spar with you, my Lord," he said before turning and making his way back toward the city gates.

I turned back toward the army.

"You are expected to find weakness in your own technique because, when the practicing stops and the real confrontations begin, your enemy will use them to kill you."

Then, I cast a harsh glance at the four lieutenant still sitting mutely in the grass.

"And it is your charge to help them find it. To keep them alive so that they will be able to return home to their families when their service to the king is over."

"What was your third mistake?"

I asked, smiling..

A bout of long silence followed. I heard Tuvok shifting in his saddle. This was a lesson I had had to teach him and not long after I had first met him.

I turned, scanning the army, the lieutenants, and, finally, Harry. My eyebrow was drawn with an unvoiced statement. 'I am not leaving until I get an answer and neither are you.'

Men shifted from foot to foot. Weapons were discreetly lowered to the ground, but still no one spoke. Finally, when I had grown tired of this entire scene, I heard a soft, even reply.

"He underestimated your opponent," Harry stated. Never, during all of these matches had he paused from whittling away at a piece of wood.

I re-sheathed my sword to indicate that my teaching session was finished. I turned to the lieutenants with a blank stare.

"I suggest the four of you get off your asses and start training your men."

They nodded wordlessly, stood, and began weaving through their army. Rather than follow them or ride back to the palace, I walked over to Harry and slid on the ground beside him.

It was at this proximately that I could see a small figure taking shape. Dagger dragging deftly across the blank. Never stopping. Never hesitating. It was a hobby he'd taken up again while studying with me. Something his father had taught him. Over the years, it came to mean different things to him. At first, he missed his family. As his training progressed, it was his way of winding down. After his first kill, it became his way of focusing on anything other than what he had done...and had yet to do.

"They're your men now. You should have been the one to do the speechifying.

His dagger stopped mid-swipe. Shock registered in lack of movement. Then, a fraction of a second later his hand began moving anew.

"And convincing these men they are terrible fighters on the eve of battle is wise?"

I laughed honestly at him.

"Probably not," I said dropping my voice. "But the training that they receive between now and the battle may be the difference between them going home to their family or not."

A fiery looked darkened brown eyes then turned cold. I felt a shiver run down my spine. It was the same bleak look I'd seen cast in my own a thousand times before. Funny how something so small could unnerve me. I stood quickly to put distance myself from those thoughts.

I looked down at him.

"I heard you studied under one of the best," I said, laughing inwardly at my ridiculous joke.

A pause while my words seeped in. A clouded look crossing his features. Sadness tined with bitterness. Carving never stopping. Eyes never leaving the blank.

"Aye."

"Well then, you should have no worries about a face-off, Sir Harold," I said, offering him a hand.

He paused, considering the hand in front of him. The blank and dagger were carefully placed beside him.

"If you wish," he said, taking my hand. I hefted him to his feet, offering him my sword. Eyebrows raised, he took the hilt, fingers lingering a moment longer as he stared me down.

I stepped back, drawing my katana from the scabbard from my back. Circling, watching. The hilt left his hand, flipped, and returned. An act I'd taught him. One he'd sliced his hands up learning. It was meant to intimidate the opponent, but it made me smile.

Both hands on the hilt of my blade, I rotates left, leaving only one side exposed. I took in his stance--which revealed nothing--and began looking for hidden daggers. Gauntlets, ankles, waist...

His shoulders dropped, sword arm flying toward me. The katana crossed in front of me, halting the movement. What followed were a rapid series of strikes and parries with such skilled movements that I could have swore he and I had choreographed each step. Finally, I took a step back, chest heaving partially from the exertion but mostly from the adrenaline rush coursing through my veins and the answering call of my body to delve into survival mode. He'd definitely gotten better over the years.

He turned, sword arm spinning rapidly to distract my eye from the dagger he'd palmed in his left hand. I dropped the katana, rolling past him, picking up the hilt as I tumbled forward. I brought the blade up as I stood. The flat of it struck out to meet his blade as I used my dominate hand to strike his left wrist. I used enough force to leave a bruise and merely muttered 'break.' The dagger instantly dropped as did his arm.

Rules of these matches were straightforward--no real, permanent damage was ever done. It was always one-on-one, and only actions that would happen if this were a real match in battle. Granted, a broken wrist could be fought with, but at great pain--present and future--to the owner.

We circled each other again, me smirking him stone faced.

"What was Murdock's second mistake?" I asked as we circled. It was a taunt. Murdock had simply reacted to my actions--rather poorly I might add.

The wind shifted north to south and I could smell rain heavy in the air. This match would need to end before the delude.

"What was the first lesson your master taught you?" Another distraction technique.

"Always knock before entering," he replied with a smile. The comment met with laughter from the gathered forces.

I lulled him into conversation to distract him into false security. Clasping both hands on the hilt of the katana, I switched back to my dominate hand, knowing he'd take the bait to attack. Hand over hand I withdrew a dagger into my dominate hand.

I arched the katana's blade toward his side, meeting with the parry I anticipated. As I swung my sword arm up to draw his fire, I brought my left up to his neck, dagger digging into his neck.

"Match."

"Draw," he said, smiling.

His blade had parried mine and forced it against the inside of my bicep--right against my heart line. In my adrenaline rush, I hadn't felt his blade slice through my sleeve or break the skin. A deeper slice, left untreated for more than a few beats, would lead the fighter to bled to death. I smiled broadly.

"Well done, Sir Harold."

I took a step back and then another. Inside, I was shaken. I hadn't come this close in some time.

My katana re-sheathed on my back, I nodded to Harry. He flipped his borrowed sword, turning hilt toward me to recover it. I nodded again taking it from his hand. It was the sword I'd killed thousands of men with over the years including Crycus' in my village. It was the first sword to draw Harry's blood when he was in training. Never before had it been wielded against me. Never had it drawn my own blood.

I took the sword from him and returned it to the scabbard at my hip before speaking again. Voice dropped so that only he could hear.

"They might not like you, and the feeling may be mutual, but they are your men. Men that will only follow you if they respect your abilities. Never forget to remind them."

"The last thing my master taught me was never to trust anyone in battle. Including those same men who rode in with you to battle. "

I shook my head at the memory this drug up. It had been just after I'd returned from running yet another 'errand' for Solomon...it served as a reminder that he only tolerated a pagan in his court because of my skill.

"You don't have to trust them. You don't have to like them. You just have to train them enough to prevent you from having to kill the entire army on your own. Trust me; I've tried," I said, offering a weak smile that I knew he could not see.

With that, I took a step back, returned to my horse, and rode back to the palace barely aware of Tuvok's presence behind me.

When I arrived back in my quarters, Kathryn was waiting on my bed. Her face devoid of all emotion save the eyes--filled with hurt.

"You didn't tell me that you knew him."

I locked the door behind me before throwing off the turban and wrap. My hands instantly ran through the newly freed hair. Gods above! I wasn't in the mood for this.

I unwrapped the belt at my waist, setting my sword on the chaise near the dresser before removing the heavy vest and ruined silk shirt. My eyes went briefly to the wound Harry had inflicted.

"And what would you have me say?"

Back still turned toward her, I moved to the pitcher and basin in my room, cleansing the wound with a sea sponge.

"I expected you to tell me." Voice neutral.

My reply tumbled from my mouth unchecked. I was too tired to play the part of the good little collaborator.

"Strategically, it was unwise to do so."

She stood, voice raised in anger.

"Screw strategies, Thomas. You should have trusted me."

"You would have acted differently with him. He and the other wives are too perceptive to risk it."

"You assume I would have acted differently."

"A few months of pretending is not enough rehearsal."

"Rehearsal? These months have been a hell of a lot more than a rehearsal and you know it. I've stood by you. Helped you protect who you are. Even though the slightest word could have seen you strung up like Chakotay. The least you could have done..."

Thinly veiled threats had always been a particular favorite of mine. Every man that had hurled them against me had found themselves on the receiving end of my sword. Except Solomon, but that would come in time. Of course, I knew Kathryn would never see her threat through. That was the only reason she was still standing and I was permitting this conversation.

"Harry isn't Solomon. He's not stupid. I trained him to be a fighter. Helped him hone his skills. Taught him to never trust anyone. Any odd word, movement would make him suspicious."

"And what do you call all those hints you dropped at dinner last night?"

I scowled. "I was thrown by having him there," I said, honestly. "Part of me can't forget our friendship."

"I've watched you for months, Thomas. Nothing you do is emotional. It's all preplanned."

I smiled at that. If only she knew... I sighed, figuring she deserved to know at least some of Harry and I's shared past to understand why I was acting the way I was.

"I was barely twenty winters when Harry became my squire. The first boy I'd trained had been knighted, the second fell in battle months before, and I found myself without so much as a page," I started, pausing to tie a clean rag over the still-bleeding wound. Little shit cut me deeper than I originally thought.

"When he first arrived, he was a small, scrappy thing. Shy. With these long black bangs that covered his eyes. And he had this look...like he was amazed by everything that he saw.

"He was assigned to Telemaches, son of Hammermine. Real task master that one. Beat the hell out of the boy with a staff the first night for not bringing him his dinner in a timely manner.

"He kept railing him on a regular basis for any reason--sword being too dull or too sharp, boots not cleaned to his specs, whores not blonde enough...you name it.

"One night, it happened right outside my door. Telemachus was going on about Harry stealing bread or some nonsense while beating the poor kid with a spiked staff," I paused, shivering at the memory.

"I'd just arrived from Ithaca, exhausted and annoyed. I opened the door fully intending to stop the noise..."

"What happened," Kathryn asked after a long pause.

"I opened the door, and there was Telemachus, reeking of ale. He turned on his heel and left. It was then that I noticed Harry struggling to his feet."

I closed my eyes, the memory taking me fully.

"He stood up, eyes downcast just like he had been trained."

'Need anything, Sire?'

"His lip was split in two places, one eye was swollen shut, he could barely breathe from a couple of broken ribs, he was bleeding all of the place, and the kid still was following protocol," I said, pride filling my voice.

To this day I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I pushed the door all the way open. I slipped my arm around him--ruining my favorite tunic I might add- and drug his boney ass to the stool by the fire.

I told him to strip--he stank of blood--then brought the basin and pitcher for him to clean up. Gods above the kid was a living bruise!

I wrapped his chest to help his ribs, brought him a clean tunic to wear, a pillow and a blanket, and told him to sleep.

I paused before continuing my story.

"The next morning, I went to the king, and asked to become Harry's master," I paused, turning toward Kathryn.

"I was younger than Telemachus. Not nearly as seasoned in battle. But, at the time, I had Solomon's favor."

"The king called for an Exhibition Match."

I heard Kathryn gasp. She knew the score.

"An Exhibition Match? For a squire?"

"More than that...for Telemachus' pride."

"You won...obviously."

I nodded, grimly. The fight had left me near dead, but she didn't need to know that.

"Aye." After a near hour long fight.

"And Harry?"

"Healed up fast and started training in earnest for knighthood. The boy was a prodigy. Mastered the staff in a week. Archery in two... throwing daggers, axes. The kid was amazing."

"You love him," she voiced, understanding filling her tone.

I cleared my throat, unwilling to reply. I turned my back from her and headed straight for the bar across the room.

"A year after I started training him, Solomon sent me north on a scouting expedition. We encountered...resistance."

I closed my eyes, drowning a shot of rot gut.

"We crowned a valley and there was a century waiting. 100 men to our twenty. I asked to speak to their general and their archers began firing. Three of my men fell beside me. We were left with two options--fight or die."

I heard Kathryn shift uncomfortably at the images I was painting, but she thankfully kept quiet.

"Against that many, it was straightforward--minimum of movements and all deathblows. We fought...I don't know how long. An endless pack of dead bodies. My sword was so bloodied that it dripped down the blade and coated my arm. My daggers were long gone, and my arms were aching from keeping up.

"And it was loud. So fucking loud . Metal striking metal. Shrieks of agony. Bodies reeking of death and copper heavy in the air. I don't know how, but through all of it, I heard Harry scream my name. Piercing and panicked.

"I killed the two guards I had in front of me and turned, preparing to help Harry out of whatever trouble he'd gotten into."

I stopped, threading a visibly shaking hand through my hair. The ill feeling from earlier's near close call filled me again.

"There, on the ground, was a guard. Harry's throwing dagger--the one I'd given him for his last birthday-- was wedged at the junction between the guard's head and spine."

I barely registered Kathryn's gasp as I finished my tale.

"I hadn't felt or heard the guard, but there he was. Arm still holding the blade he would have cut me down with."

I looked up at Harry and nodded before delving back in. When it was all done, I was down to three men--including myself and Harry--but we'd captured the general.

"He saved your life."

I turned toward her then, a faint smile on my lips.

"Yeah. He saved my life."

A beat and then I added the final pieces.

"He walked me home on the nights I'd taken too much ale. He polished my boots. He made me laugh. Talked me into taking him to his first brothel. Took care of me when I fell so ill with Fever I could barely breathe. He helped me see B'El to the other side, and he never came looking for me despite the fact that he could...and would have easily found me. So you will just have to forgive me for forgetting myself when I sat beside him at dinner."

As I spoke, I crossed the room, sitting beside her on my bed. Her hands began weaving through my hair in a comforting gesture she had began months before.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Thomas," she replied finally.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Her hand stilled in my hair. I knew she was working up the courage to say something, and I knew it was something that I didn't want to hear. Finally, she spoke.

"One day you might have to choose."

I twisted to face her, eyebrow raised.

"Between your blood quest and Harry."

"There is no choice. My course has been in place for years..."

"You have to avenge your family," she finished.

I nodded.

"But the part you seem to be forgetting is that Harry is also your family. More than a brother. More than a friend. He's seen parts of your life that you will never share with another person." A beat as she drew in a deep breath. "If you decide to keep on this path, you will have to face him whether you like it or not."

My stomach was churning. I had already thought of all of this. I had just been avoiding it.

"Unless of course your love for this boy so deep you'd choose to ignore your oath?"

I was shaking with rage and deep desire to strike her.

"Bite your tongue, Kathryn."

Unfazed, she continued.

"Five years is a long time to mourn the dead, Thomas."

I felt my jaw jut out in barely controlled fury.

"When are you going to realize that my family, my oath are none of your concern?"

"When are you going to realize that that Harry isn't the boy you trained? That he had ever chance to leave Solomon's lands, but didn't."

I stood, turning a heated gaze at her.

"Harry had no choice. The only way for a warrior to leave is through The Gauntlet and even if he survived that, it would bring shame to his whole family. Not to mention all their land would be revoked. Land his parents depend upon for their livelihood. Perhaps the idea of sacrifice sounds vaguely familiar?"

She recoiled as if I had hit her, face drawn. I felt my face and voice soften.

"We're all Solomon's puppets whether we realize it or not. The only thing Solomon can't control is who we choose to love and be faithful to."

She nodded, absorbing my comment. Her hands rose from her hips to cross in front of her. Distancing herself. Protecting herself.

"You're forgetting one key piece."

I raised an eyebrow, questioning her silently.

"Where does Harry's loyalty lie?" A beat. "As far as he knows, Thomas was killed by Proteus."

"I had thought of this..."

"Crycus ordered your family's...end. He won't trust you either."

"No, he won't."

"And he might try to finish Thomas' blood oath if you two were as close as you say."

I sighed, drawing a hand through my hair. This conversation had grown far too dangerous.

"You want to know if I plan on 'outing' myself to him?"

She nodded seemingly unmiffed that I'd finally landed on the question she'd been hedging towards.

"I don't know." I replied honestly.

Suddenly I felt as though I was stranding at the top of that hill, looking down at a waiting battle my whole life, and I felt weary.