Heart of Flame

IX. The Task is Given

Sorne picked herself up off the ground despite the ache through her entire body. This was her second week of training under Banaak's care and she was learning that she could take a lot more punishment than she had ever thought. Dark bruises along her arms and across her body were par for the course, none of them really getting the opportunity to heal. "That was fifty," she panted. She'd done push-ups before when she was trying to train with Nagar, but this was the first time it was done to exhaustion.

Vridash grinned. He'd been left to be her supervision while Banaak was hunting with the others. "Not bad for a wisp of a whelp," the archer said.

Banaak's decision created quite the stir, but he defended it by almost stoving in the skulls of two of the orcish warriors. Kalg and Harag had limped away to lick their wounds, enduring Kor's care in a stony silence. Sorne knew that wasn't the end of it, but the two were still recovering. It was the most brutal, but calculated, display of violence that she'd ever seen. Every day brought them closer to Throkk, one of the orcish strongholds, and that meant closer to Murdak War-Son.

"You say the sweetest things," Sorne mumbled, stretching out her shoulders as well as she could with all the bruising. She had a beautiful black eye going on her left side and a few abrasions. No one could say that Banaak was going easy on her. If anything, he seemed almost determined to break her. When he didn't have her training, Kor had run of her time. Whether it was helping dig out medicinal plants, doing laundry, or running various errands, Sorne was certain that she hadn't sat down once in the past fourteen days other than for a few minutes a day to eat.

Orcish food was an adjustment. There was more meat than she was used to—table scraps turned into stew or porridge were the order of the day for a servant, usually—and the tastes were clearly tailored to a different palate, usually more bitter or spicy. She was slowly getting used to it and, oddly, there was always plenty of it. She hadn't realized how much better she would feel getting a full three meals a day rather than servants' portions or nothing at all. It made a huge difference in how well she could hold up to Banaak's training.

"I try," Vridash said with a toothy grin. "Now, find a good strong branch. It's time for pull-ups."

Sorne wanted to groan, but she didn't let herself. A word of complaint could make its way back to Banaak and she was under no illusions that he would appreciate it. "How many?" she asked.

"I'll tell you when to stop," the archer said. She knew full well that was code for until I think you're about to die. Vridash was nowhere near as harsh as Banaak, but he asked for just as much effort. "You're going to be strong by the time we make it to Throkk. Or dead."

Sorne laughed despite her condition as she found a sturdy branch right at enough height that she could do a pull-up with straight legs. She was wearing the leather armor, which meant she had gloves to protect her hands from the rough bark...at least for a while. Blisters would still probably form given enough time. The air was cool enough that even with the exertion, she only felt uncomfortably warm in the armor rather than like she was going to die. Her arms ached as she pulled herself up, but she practiced Banaak's most recent lesson: maintaining good breathing through pain and blows.

His explanation of places to focus during combat were simple. Can't move, can't fight. Can't see, can't fight. Can't breathe, can't fight. He said breathing was the most important part, and she believed him after having the wind knocked out of her countless times. Whenever her guard was sloppy, he corrected her with a considerable whack or a sharp prod. It was teaching her good technique...and how to not flinch. She focused on her breathing and not the pain as she started to pull herself up. After the push-ups, her arms were trembling with exertion and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep this up long.