Fanfic:Lessons
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Kile hit the ground with a moan. Every inch of body he had, and some inches that he didn't realize existed ached in a dull burning throb, to make it worse, all the kids were laughing, and the raggedly old and bent beggar too! The older boy sneered wickedly and walked away with only the opened lip that Kile had managed to give him. Oh Light he hurt! His father had told him that no man could let a bully push him and his friends around, but that was all he would say. He wouldn't show Kile what to do once he confronted the larger boy, and now Kile surely regretted that. As he tried to stand a stone hit him in the head, opening another spout for his life's blood to flow from. His left arm was broken for sure and his right had been raked viscously with a shard of glass from a broken window at the mouth of an alley. Finally he managed to push himself up onto his scrapped knees and look down at the torn shirt that his father had just mended. Kile looked down! again as he noticed the crowd of tough kids, leaving, shouting jeers at him that he ignored, a problem for another time. The breeches he had donned that morning were torn, cut, and blood stained. His mother would likely never let him hear the end of that. Money was short, and Kile was too young to get a job so he worked his fathers farm until he was old enough to be a merchants guard.
He had always secretly aspired to be a merchant's guard, but when he mentioned it to his mother she called it nonsense, and his father just smiled and asked him where he'd get the money for a weapon with out even the grace to look as if he had thought about it. Well, he was young, only 12, but still that was what he wanted to do. His father had been promising to teach him the quarterstaff for months now, and next week he turned thirteen, so he would ask again. After what had just happened Kile wasn't sure if his father wouldn't start teaching him tomorow. The crowd had finally dispersed, so Kile picked himself up the rest of the way, and tried to brush himself off as best he could with both his eyes blackened and nearly swelled shut already. The blood from his broken nose ran down his chin, and his eyes watered as it smarted. He had to get them back, he had to! Kile decided that as soon as as he was home he would beg his father to start teaching him how! to fight, both with his fists and woth the quarterstaff.
He had thought about it all the way home to the small farm that his father had outside of Baerlon. When he walked into the house where his parents were readying dinner, his mothers eyes nearly popped out of her head as she looked him over. A thin woman, Mrs. Durann helped with as much of the outside chores as Kile did, as well as keeping up the house. She wore a ready smile usually, but there was no sign of it now. His father only looked approving, approving!
"Oh my! What on earth happened to you! You're bleeding, and your arm! Come sit down here after you take off those clothes so I can see to those cuts." Under the flurry exclamations Kile could do nothing but what she said. Relating the happenings of the day as his mother sent his sister Nora to get the Wisdom. His mother had a healing touch, his father always said, but setting a broken arm was beyond her. Through the entire story, Kile's father listened with a straight face while his mother shuddered from time to time. Kile winced as she cleaned out the gashes in his head, somehow those always managed to hurt more tan the others.
"Father?" He started nervously. "Will you teach me how to fight now? I can do it, I just know I can."
That had been almost eight years ago, and boy was Kile glad that his father had been willing to teach him. The man circling him was well dressed in a dark green coat, and blue breeches. His silver worked boots named him a Lord, but Kile didn't care who he was. He had been warned twice to watch his mouth, and the third time had earned him a darkened eye. The man was not quite drunk unfortunatly, which meant he still had the ability to fight with his brain. The nobleman stopped circling just long enough to draw the slim blade at his waist. He swung the blade in a wide horizontal slash that struck te tabletops. Kile jumped backwards to avoind being spilled onto the inns floor. The haughty half drunk man thrusted wildly for his middle. Kile took this as his opportuniy, and spun inward avoiding the blade to grab the ivory hilt and the mans hand. With a quick twist of his wrist he bent the man painfully over his arm with the sxord dangling from his numb fingers. Easily knocking away the mans hasty punch, he hooked a leg behind the other man's, and grabbed his throat. Pushing him backwards the man toppled, and ended up splayed on the floor.
"Next time know who your talking to before you go spouting off comments like that." Kile advised soberly.
"The next might not have my compunctions about killing."
"Yes," Kile thought, "I surely am glad I can fight now he thought. He smiled as he strolled, untouched from the inn searching for his friend.
