Taking a brief moment to stretch and test my fresh limitations, I found myself scowling at the thought of once again returning to light duties for a few hours. My training both on horse and dismounted was proceeding at a rapid pace and I spent most of the daylight hours with sword in hand, dressed in armour and testing myself against the very best the Order could provide. There were many to choose from in their levels of expertise, Alexi with his skill with a sword and lance, Carodus with his incredible skill with a shield, Falid with his sheer size, strength and astonishingly quick speed with his greatsword and somewhat unsurprisingly Avita with her ability in the saddle. Almost every member of the Order had their own distinctly unique skillsets and every day I felt as though I was learning something new from them all.
I could see several of them training with the other Knights and Men-at-arms of the Order throughout the training fields. Men like Falid and Thedret who were outside of the Order were still highly respected and offered their own services, but the new Knights of the Nine were proving to be in good hands. Whether they had been with us since the beginning like Viconia and myself or only just joined that week like Avita they all had dedicated themselves wholly to the cause.
Most of them anyway. Picking my way through the fenced off sparing yards I saw one of the few issues I had with the men and mer under my command. Caleb had followed us to the priory but if any of us were being honest, it ws because we didn’t provide him with any options, even if there had been any to give. From the few tests and trials we had undertaken with the relics, he was indeed the only person who seemed capable of wielding or wearing them without injury. Not only this, whenever he picked up or wore any of the retrieved artefacts they began glowing or otherwise showing some kind of aura or power that had laid dormant for thousands of years. The signs were obvious and while there were many who were increasingly quick to proclaim him as Pelinal reborn; I and those directly beneath me ensured that the rumours were squashed. I, like several of the Order were more pragmatic and while Caleb was showing clear signs of being highly skilled or a quick learner of the martial arts I was wary about placing all of our hopes on him.
Part of my trepidation was from the fact that despite the smattering of knowledge had gained during his time as the late Baron Tussrienele’s personal stable hand he was not a trained fighter. With the likes of Alexi, Carodus and other highly experienced instructors he was proving to be a quick learner but for the moment he was not someone I felt comfortable with taking into battle. Let alone against the likes of daedra and Umaril while wearing the most priceless artefacts in creation.
For the moment he was squaring off against one of the many straw filled training dummies with one of the more surprisingly skilled Knights as his teacher for the day. Most of the Knights under my command with the exceptions of Falid with his greatsword and Thedret with his glaive were all swordsmen. A sword, especially on horseback or with a shield was the preferred weapon but of the retrieved relics the Sword of Arkay was not among them. My decision of ‘hoping for the best, but planning for the worst’ had left me with little choice but to focus Caleb’s training on wielding Zenithar’s Mace and there was only one person suitable as a teacher.
“God’s goolies, yer’ll end up breakin’ yer wrist like that.” Mazoga spluttered as Caleb’s training mace thoccked into his training dummy.
“But I hit it like you said? Starting above the shoulder and flicking it downwards…”
“Yer did, but yer too stiff. The mace is meant to be the unyielding bit, not yer joints.” She stepped forward with her own mace resting on her shoulder and her orichalcum shield fasted to her other arm like Caleb’s. The major difference between the two of them besides Mazoga’s enormity was the fact that the shield that Caleb used was not a round, tower or kite shield like the rest of the soldiers of the Nine but diamond shaped instead. It was also resting in the size between a heater shield used by the mounted knights and a gladiator’s buckler that Brellin would have been familiar with.
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It was not the relic though but merely made to assist in teaching him the idiosyncratic fighting style that the relics demanded. The shield especially as it was smaller enough to allow him to wield his weapons in one or two hands while still providing some measure of protection. Mazoga was close enough to the young stablehand to show the disproportionate height difference between them, let alone the fact that she outweighed nearly everyone two times over.
“When yer swing, the head starts behind yer body right? Whether it starts at yer hip or over a shoulder or whatever it don’t matter, but when yer swing it; lead with yer elbow.” She demonstrated slowly, dragging her own flanged mace down at such a speed that would have left anyone else shuddering with the effort of keeping the five kilogram weighted head steady. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of a tremor in her arm as she slowly brought it down onto the shoulder of the dummy. “as it reaches halfway to the strike, yer flick yer wrist, like so.”
The blow continued just as slowly and I watched, leaning against a fencepost as she rolled a wrist as thick as my forearm. Despite the slow nature of her demonstration, the head of her mace still moved quicker than the wrist and showed how dangerous it would be at full speed.
Turning and looking at Caleb, her eyebrows lifted and the collection of braids on her scalp swirled with the movement. Since returning from Blackmarsh they had almost grown into a mass of dreadlocks but other than cutting them short enough for a helmet she ignored them. “What’s the other important bits?”
“Be mindful of the recoil once you strike,” Caleb replied simply. “and target anything breakable.”
“Now yer getting it!” Mazoga was practically beaming which seemed to accentuate the enormous jagged scar that ran from eyebrow to behind her ear; one of the several scars she had gained during our retrieval of the Shield.
“Brutal and crude as always Orc.” Called out another voice, and I tried not to sigh with recognition. “Perhaps next you’ll be able to teach him how to rifle though the trough for the best gristle.”
Like a stormcloud covering the sun, her expression darkened as she turned to regard the short Breton sitting on a crate scrubbing his sword with a set of chainmail too clean to be his own. Detane was stripped to the waist to deal with the heat and humidity of southern Cyrodiil and the layer of sweat seemed to make him appear greasier than normal.
“Go crawl up yer own arse. Can’t yer see that we’re busy?”
“Yeah. Busy wasting time. The kid’s never going to be a knight, especially with a pig teaching him how to smack people around.”
Mazoga growled and turned her back to him and I watched them all carefully for the moment, realising that Detane hadn’t yet realised I was there. He did nothing more than smile venomously but ducked his head back to cleaning his exquisite rapier, chuckling under his breath.
“Just ignore him.” There was no doubting the growl in Mazoga’s tone as she turned back to her young charge. “He’s just pissy at how good maces are for clubbin’ knights. Swords don’t cut plate, but a mace? Yer can break them into puddin’ under all their fancy armour. Like I taught yer yesterday; aim for the knees, the elbows and the joints. Cripple the bastards, knock them on their arses, flick their visors up and put a knife through an eye.”
I continued watching, curious and finding it somewhat amusing that such a being like Mazoga was an extremely capable fighter in her own right. She seemed too large, too clumsy and slow to be a dangerous adversary in the presence of masters of the sword such as Alexi and Viconia. There were however a lot of dead Black Bows to show that she could be armed with nothing more than a tree branch and still prevail. This, among other reasons was why of everyone; she was the undisputed champion with a mace or club.
“Of course, you will never be a true knight.” Detane suddenly added, just as Mazoga went to show Caleb the effect of strength with technique on the dummy. “Not until you ride at least.”
