"He that would perfect his hunt must first sharpen his skills."
Forward. Turn. Slash. Turn. Slash. Back.
Don’t forget to breathe.
Gourry went through the motions of the exercise automatically and with the ease of having done it countless times before. A week had passed since their little encounter with the mercenaries and he was finally beginning to regain his strength. Once he’d gotten over feeling sick and lightheaded constantly, he’d taken to coming to the practice field daily to exercise and tune his reflexes. He didn’t have time to do the exercises on a regular basis while on the road, but then again, being around Lina meant they were always getting into fights. But fighting bandits and running through motions designed to help him be as fast as possible were two different things. So here he was, in the practice field before breakfast, slashing and hacking at a wooden pole wrapped with straw and covered in burlap to vaguely resemble a man. Even though the air was still cool, he’d taken off his shirt some time ago, and sweat made the lean muscles of his torso glisten in the morning sun. His hair, braided to keep it out of his way while practicing, hung in a thick rope down his back.
Forward. Turn. Slash. Turn. Slash. Back.
Don’t forget to breathe.
He kept his eyes focused on the mannequin in front of him and let his reflexes take control of his body. Don’t think, his father always told him. Feel. A sword has to be a part of you, not just a weapon.
The blade flashed in the sunlight as he spun it in his hand. He spun it again the opposite direction, feeling its weight and how it dragged at his arms. Finding the proper balance in his grip, preparing himself for a battle. His arms ached from the exercises, but he did not let the pain distract him.
Breathe…
Still concentrating on the mannequin, he took two quick steps to the side and turned. Using the momentum gained by the turn, he slashed at the mannequin twice, turned again and stepped back. He stared at it while he brought his sword up in the traditional salute.
"You missed," came a gruff voice from behind him.
"I never miss," Gourry said simply without turning. He was still concentrating on his breathing and heartbeat.
"It’s still standing," said the grizzled old man to whom the gruff voice belonged. He stepped around into Gourry’s line of sight and gestured at the mannequin. He was a head shorter than Gourry, and had white hair to his shoulders and pulled into a leather thong at the back of his neck. A short white beard covered his chin. His shoulders were wide and the muscles on his forearms thick with muscle. He wore a plain leather vest with nothing under it, leather breeches and boots. His shaggy white brows framed dark brown eyes. A sword hung from his belt. He reminded Gourry a little of Zelgadis’ comrade, the old man they’d fought with back when they’d first met and battled Shabranigdu. Uh, what was his name…? Remido? Rod? Something like that.
"I didn’t miss, though," he reassured the old man. Lowering his sword from the salute, he took a step forward and touched it with the tip of sword. It fell into two pieces at the old man’s feet: Gourry’s sword had slashed through wood, straw, and leather so quickly and cleanly that it had left the mannequin standing.
The old man stared at the dismembered mannequin at his feet. "I guess you didn’t miss." He stuck his thumbs in his sword belt and regarded Gourry critically. "You’re good—for a kid."
"Yes, I’m good and I’m not a kid," Gourry said calmly.
The old man leaned against the low wall that encircled the practice field. "Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?"
"Care to see how good I am?" Gourry asked. This old man was beginning to annoy him though he kept that annoyance in check. He knew what the old swordmaster was up to and was not going to rise to the bait.
"You sure you wanna go up against me?" the old man asked as he loosened the peace straps on his sword, drew the blade, then set the scabbard on the wall.
Gourry raised his sword in a salute. "Try me," he said, lowering the sword and dropping into a ready position. Both hands gripped the hilt, forming a fulcrum at the balance point so he could swing the blade either way. He shifted his weight forward to the balls of his feet, balancing on them like a dancer. He fixed the old man with an easy stare; another thing his father had always taught him: Never look away from your enemy’s eyes. The eyes will tell you what he’s going to do next.
The old man dropped into a crouch and circled to Gourry’s left. Gourry moved to his right, keeping the same distance between them and not letting the other get either behind him or drive him up against the wall of the field.
They circled each other for a moment longer, then the old man charged. Raising his sword over his head and giving a mighty yell, he rushed at the younger man. Gourry brought his sword up and blocked the charge; steel rang on steel and the impact drove sharp pains up his already fatigued arms. But he had the advantage of height and youth, so he was able to push off the other’s attack.
Seeing his charge was effectively canceled, the old man executed a series of quick jabs and feints which Gourry countered and avoided easily. The old man continued to drive at Gourry, not giving him a chance to attack, forcing him to be constantly on the offensive. Dropping back, Gourry did a quick series of backflips to avoid a renewed rush, then having gained some room to maneuver, he leapt over the old man. He landed lightly, like a cat, his sword flicking out to slash up the outside of the old man’s left arm. A short line of red appeared.
The old man didn’t falter. Instead, he whirled and slashed Gourry’s sword away. He drove the younger man mercilessly back: Step, slash, step, slash, step, slash. Gourry blocked the blows, jumped backward and crouched. When the old man rushed him, he leapt low and forward under the attack. Hitting the man’s shin with the flat of his sword, he turned as he passed by, straightened and planted a boot on the man’s rump and sent him sprawling. Before the man could move, Gourry’s sword was at his throat.
Chuckling, the old man looked up at him. ‘That was hardly an honorable fight."
"It wasn’t—you didn’t salute me after you issued the challenge, so it was dirty. If you’d saluted, I would’ve used honorable techniques." He held out his hand to the old man sprawled in the dust at his feet.
"You should always fight honorably!" the old man snapped, his humor gone. He pushed himself up and got to his feet without the benefit of Gourry’s help.
Gourry shook his head. "No time for that when you’re fighting bandits and hired mercenaries. You fight to stay alive." He pulled a towel out of his belt and mopped his face. Turning, he went over to where he’d dropped his stuff and picked up his scabbard. He sheathed his sword, and picked up his shirt. He pulled the shirt over his head and tugged it down.
"You were the one wounded—brought in by that sorceress girl, aren’t you?" the man asked from behind him.
Gourry nodded and picked up his sword belt and slung it over his shoulder.
"They say it was a group of mercenaries that got you. How? You’re too good for a bunch of untrained, undisciplined mercs to lay a hand on you. What happened?"
Gourry’d been trying to figure that out himself. "I don’t know. Thought I’d killed them all but one, but turned out one was still alive. He provided enough of a distraction for the other one to get past my guard. They were also threatening my wife." He smiled a bit at that word; he still wasn’t used to using it to refer to Lina.
"Ah…a woman." The other man nodded sagely.
"She’s a skilled sorceress and can take care of herself," Gourry said in Lina’s defense. "They were hired to kill me and take her alive."
The man smiled. "I wasn’t casting doubt on her ability, son." Suddenly, he held out his right hand. "Glad to see you’re on the mend," he said.
Gourry looked at the other man a moment then held out his own right hand. They gripped each other’s arms in a friendly manner. "You’re a good swordsman. I would hate to think you lost to a bunch of hired swords. By the way, Archand is my name. Ghimlin Archand. I’m the swordmaster here."
"Gabriev. Gourry Gabriev."
Archand dropped his hand and headed into the garrison. "Well met, Gabriev. Well met." Gourry stared after him with a puzzled look on his face. Then he shrugged and headed for the palace—and breakfast.
* * *
Gourry entered the apartment that had been set aside for their use while he and Lina were visiting Seyruun. It was a large one, with a combined sitting room/dining room, two bedrooms, a washroom and a bath. The sitting room was sumptuously furnished, with a fireplace and two overstuffed sofas facing it, another sitting group of a sofa and chairs and a large worktable that could double as a desk. As he stepped into the room he found Lina seated at the worktable surrounded by stacks of books. Looking at the clock, he was surprised to find her up already; usually she slept in when they weren’t traveling, especially when the weather turned cold. Getting Lina out of bed when it was cold outside was like getting a bear to come out of hibernation—and just as dangerous. As it was she was dressed in warm woolen leggings, and a soft woolen shirt with sleeves that nearly covered her hands. A heavy cardigan was wrapped around her shoulders and a large fire blazed in the fireplace behind her.
Whatever it was that got her out of bed had to be pretty interesting for she’d already eaten and was busy scribbling notes in her sprawling handwriting. In front of her was a huge pile of musty books that she’d made him carry back from the library at the Sorcerer’s Guild yesterday. Several laid open, and there were paper markers in others. She flipped through one, shoved it back and pulled another book towards her.
"Hey, Lina," he said as he put his sword on a chair back and wandered over to the table and looked over the remains of breakfast. "Didn’t you leave me any breakfast?" he asked over his shoulder.
"There’s some toast left," she answered, not looking up from her studies.
He found it—one slice and that had a bite taken out of it. "Oh, thanks," he muttered, smearing some butter and jam on the toasted bread. "One slice of toast." He moved over to the bell pull and gave it a yank.
"Hey, you’re the one that wasn’t here when it was delivered." She paused in her scribbling and looked up at him. "Where were you, anyway?" He noticed she was wearing her spectacles and had her hair pulled back into a knot at the base of her neck and tied with a maroon scarf to match her outfit. There was a smudge of ink on her nose.
"I went down to the practice field to exercise, same as I have the last couple mornings." He pulled out a chair, sat and munched on his toast while he waited for the servant to appear.
"Exercise? Are you sure you should be doing that so soon?"
"It’s been a week and the pain’s completely gone," he said, patting his midsection.
"I know, but…"
"I’m fine, Lina," he said. "And thanks to your quick thinking, I’m alive and well."
She bit her lip and looked back at her pile of notes. "If I hadn’t distracted you in the first place—"
He got up and crossed the room in record time. Kneeling before her, he grasped her upper arms. "Stop. We’ve been over this: It wasn’t your fault. It just…happened. Even the best of us make mistakes. I’m alive because of you, so quit blaming yourself for what happened." He held her eyes for a moment longer then smiled and wiped the ink off her nose. She smiled back at him.
There was a polite knock on the door and he got up to answer it. It was the servant he’d summoned, so he ordered some breakfast. While the servant was clearing away the dishes already there, Gourry wandered over to Lina, who had gone back to her studies. He stood behind her, rested his chin on her head and put a hand on either side of her on the table. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Researching swords," she replied not looking up.
"Swords?" he asked, reaching around and picking up one of the many leaves of notes she’d made. "What for?"
She gently took the leaf from him and put it back on the pile, then reached up and pushed his chin off her head. "So we can find you a new one. Or make one if we can’t find one."
"But I’ve already got a sword," he said, putting his chin on her shoulder and pushing the mass of her hair out of the way. He kissed her neck.
"It’s not a magical sword, though," she replied. She paused in her notetaking and sniffed. Pulling away slightly, she said, "No offense, Gourry, but you stink."
"I do? Sorry. I was exercising hard this morning. Can’t let myself get soft just because we’re not traveling."
She shivered. "I don’t understand how you can get up so early, go outside and exercise in this weather. It’s freezing outside!"
"It’s not freezing. It’s a bit chilly, but that’s all. Refreshing."
Lina pulled the large maroon colored sweater she was wearing closer around her. "Frost on the ground is not refreshing. And it doesn’t change the fact that you still stink. Go take a bath."
Gourry straightened and was about to take her advice when he got an idea. Grabbing her hand and pulling her up, he said, "Come on, come take one with me."
"I just took a bath!"
"Take another." He dragged her over to the door to the bathroom connected to their suite.
"Gourry! I don’t need another bath!"
"Yes, you do." He grabbed the quill out of her hand and drew a few quick lines on her face. "You have ink all over your face."
She flinched and batted at his hands. "Stop that!" she squealed, scrubbing at the marks but only succeeded smearing them.
"Besides, I need someone to scrub my back." He reached down and scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom.
She kicked in his arms. "So that’s all you want? Someone to scrub your back?"
He flashed her a sly grin. "Nah, there’s lots of other places you can scrub, too." He leaned down and kissed her.
She kissed him briefly then wrinkled her nose and pushed away as far as she could while in his arms. "All right, all right. If we’re going to take a bath, let’s do it. You really need one." She fanned her hand in front of her face.
Chuckling, he shut the door behind him with his foot. Crossing the distance to the tub, he set Lina on her feet and quickly stripped off his clothes and climbed into the water. As he settled back, Lina admired his body and couldn’t find any reason not to join him in the bath. Smiling, she shed her clothes and climbed in after him. He opened his arms and she went into them.
In the room outside, breakfast was delivered and set on the table—and was soon very cold.
Slayers copyright 1991-2000 by Hajime Kanzaka/Rui Araizumi/Kadokawa Shoten/TV
TOKYO/SOFTX/Marubeni.
The other characters copyright Wendy W Lee.