Mong Ho waited for Ryuo outside, his foot tapping slightly with impatience. "Follow me." he said, and then turned and started walking down the hall. Ryuo followed, carefully undoing the knot on his sword as his unshod feet slid along the stone corridor.
"Excuse me, but where are we going now?" Ryuo asked as they ducked down another, smaller hallway. He had not truly thought about what would happen after the audience with the Duke; he had hoped that someone would finally give him directions as to what he should do with this new life he had accepted.
Mong Ho was quiet for a while as they walked through the corridors of the Keep. "Here," he finally said, rounding another corner and then stopping before a wooden door. Sounds of steel hitting steel and faint shouts could be heard behind the thick wood of the portal. "This is one of the training rooms in the Keep. It has some weapons and armor that you may try, although most of the Keep's armaments are stored in the armory, and only a small selection is available here. There are also some targets to practice on as well."
As he spoke, Mong Ho pulled open the door, which groaned in protest but finally gave in. The sounds of practice were now considerably louder as the portal opened wide. Mong Ho stepped through, and Ryuo followed afterwards, closing the door behind them.
The sparsely furnished room was sturdy enough, with padded walls and a rack of training weapons on one side—mostly wooden weapons. Currently a group of about twenty or so young men and women were being put through their paces by a large, black backed Jackal.
George, the Patrol Master, growled silently to himself as he watched yet another young trainee completely miss his target. He opened his mouth to give the boy a good tongue-lashing, but his tirade was pre-maturely interrupted by a high-pitched voice coming from the dust mop of red feathers beside him.
"George Patrol Master," the voice said, "I am Mong Ho. I have been sent by order of Duke with Ryuo to you. I am here to translate for you." With the last, the red hen gave a deep bow.
George just nodded, his temper having yet to be released. Turning back to the new recruits he shouted, "All right! I want everyone to take twenty swings at the pell, then go out and take a double run around the parade grounds—IN FULL GEAR! Once you've finished that you can go ahead and clean up. Gil—get your flea-bitten mane out of that map! See to it that they do as they're told, then you can take your dinner. Alright, people, let's move!" He clapped his hands twice in emphasis, and the new recruits formed four ragged lines behind the practice pells. The first four started to move up on the pell and take their swings as George left with Mong Ho.
"I take it this is the new arrival I heard about from Misha?" George commented, having spent most of his frustration yelling, "Well, let's see what he's like."
The two strode up to Ryuo, who drew his attention away from the weapons on the wall as they came near. The fox bowed his head in respect as the black jackal strode forward. Mong Ho came up between them: «Ryuo, this is George, Patrol Master for Metamor Keep» he said in his native tongue, then he turned to George, "George Patrol Master, please let me give you introduction to Ryuo Musashinari."
Ryuo said something to George, and Mong Ho translated, "He says to please instruct him as to how he can serve."
"Well, first we've got to see what you can do." George said. "I see he has a sword, and I assume he can use it," Mong Ho translated as he spoke, "But I would like to see a demonstration, anyway. Are you feeling up to a bit of a sparring match?" George asked, a slight glint in his eye.
Ryuo bowed, "If you would be so kind as to give it." translated Mong Ho.
"Very well, this way." George led Ryuo past his own students, who were whacking away at the pells, then running off for the door that led outside. They ducked through a doorway and then through a rather thin hallway. Eventually they came to a larger hallway, and then to a set of large, iron banded doors.
George pushed the doors open, their hinges complaining under their own weight. The smell of leather and oil issued forth from the room, where a woman was practicing her sword work with a broken dummy. George let out a short cough and the woman spun around quickly and put the saber down at her side.
"Uhhh... sorry, sir, just practicing. Jack is out and he asked me to watch things for a while." She said by way of excuse. George just gave her a scowl and turned back to Ryuo.
"This is the Arsenal Tower." He explained, "In this tower are kept most of the weapons of the Keep. If you need anything for a patrol or any other assignment, come down here and pick it up. We also keep a variety of practice weapons here—rebated swords and the like—for tournaments or general sparring."
As he finished speaking, George began rummaging through the various tools of war. After a bit of searching he came up with two rebated swords that seemed to approximately match Ryuo's own pair, although the quality was anything but good. Ryuo took them as they were handed to him, feeling their weight in his hands.
"I know they aren't what you're used to," George said, noticing the scowl on Ryuo's face, "but they are all we've got, for the moment." George was holding a broadsword and buckler for his own, and he gestured with the former to the other side of the room.
"Over there is the protective armor." George explained, "For the most part we use either coats of plates," he said, noting towards the leather armor, which seemed studded with rivets, "Or some of the cloth armors, for practice." These latter were moth-eaten and ragged body armors made of layers of cloth and some sort of padding. These normally went under hauberks of chain, as could be seen by the deep, rust-stained impressions.
"You can also use your own armor, if you wish." George added, "Although many people prefer to use the Keep's armors if it will fit them. The main advantage of these types of armor is they can fit just about anybody. Plate armors are also used, but those are usually more specialized."
George slid one of the suits of armor over to Ryuo, and then looked at him. A foolish grin came over the jackal's face, "I'm sorry, I just realized you would probably want to get out of those dressy clothes and into something more comfortable. Mong Ho, why don't you let—Ruo?—here get a change of clothes, and then bring him back here. Wait... scratch that, meet me by the parade ground over near the archery range. That will make things simpler. I'll have one of my men get things ready there."
Mong Ho quickly explained to Ryuo what was happening, and Ryuo seemed to show some relief. He only had one set of good clothing to wear for formal occasions, and it was good to keep that as clean as he could. The two turned to leave.
"Oh, and one more thing!" George called after them, "If you have a set of armor you'd like to use, feel free to bring it along!"
Two figures groaned under the heavy loads they were carrying. Wearing armor was one thing, but carrying it around was another matter entirely.
"The weight is killing me," groaned the first, his eyes and golden mane barely peeking above the load.
"Then hurry up, don't wait." came a higher pitched strained laugh from the second.
"Truly, I should kill you for such a comment, but at the moment my hands are indisposed."
"Then dispose with your hands; or perhaps your head as it is heavier and works less."
"Are you saying I am hard-headed?"
"As you so say."
"And say I not?"
"Then 'tis not said. Yet, not being said means not it is not."
"But 'tis not and therefore needs not being said."
"And what is not?"
"My head of course—thick."
"A thick knot? Best untie it quick!"
"Truly I am now tied in knots. But ho! We have come, and the Jackal stands waiting."
"Waiting for our weight. Let us dispose of our weight, and therefore wait no more to take our dinner."
George was waiting near the archery field when Rose and Gil arrived and dropped off the various weapons and armor he had asked for. After making sure it was all there he dismissed them for dinner and began to prepare for Ryuo and Mong Ho's arrival.
He didn't have to wait long. As George heft up the broadsword and buckler he had had his eye on earlier he looked up to see the heads of the few people out and about all turned in a singular direction. Following their gaze, he soon saw what they were all looking at.
Striding onto the field was a colorful jangle of shiny black, covered in a rainbow of braided cord. George could only guess that it must be Ryuo, but he wondered at the strange armor he wore.
The pauldrons, for one, seemed overly large—almost like he had strapped kites to his arms. Furthermore, his helmet contained a large, bronze symbol of some sort that George could discern no possible purpose behind, and two flaps curled back from the open-face. However, he seemed to wear it well, and despite its seemingly ornamental nature, George definitely heard the clink of metal.
Mong Ho, of course, was at his side, chattering away as usual. The mask that Ryou wore hid the fox's expression, and as he walked forward George couldn't help but shiver slightly at the sight of him. However, as impractical the armor might appear, it had a strangely frightening appearance. Combine this with an almost tangible aura of cool confidence, and George had plenty of reasons to skip the melee test and go straight on to the archery.
George let out a silent sigh. Someone had to make sure all of the new recruits could handle a weapon, and short of shoving them out into a pack of lutins there wasn't much of a way to test their skills before a serious battle. Perhaps if the language barrier weren't there they would simply discuss the finer points of sword work. However, there was a barrier between them; George resigned himself to the task.
As Ryuo approached George made sure not to show any outward signs of his anxiety. "Alright," he said as Ryuo drew closer, "Let's see what you've got. I don't think we'll be needing any of this after all" he indicated the spare weapons and arms that Rose and Gil had hauled out here. He allowed a brief moment for Mong Ho to translate, and then he took up a casual stance across from Ryuo.
Ryuo watched the large jackal settle into a fighting stance. He guessed that the round, leather covered piece of wood on the Patrol Master's hand was some sort of defensive shield. It was an odd concept, to have a weapon that one could only use to block with, but one to take into account.
The Patrol Master's sword was also rather strange. Like the swords of the lutins Ryuo had fought previously, the sword was double-edged, with a horizontal bar in place of the katana's round tsuba. The hilt was shorter as well—hardly enough room for two hands. Of course, it apparently wasn't meant to be used in such a manner, which was just another concept of these exotic weapons that Ryuo couldn't quite understand.
Noting the stance of his opponent, Ryuo took up a middle stance, with the sword point extending towards his opponent's throat. With a nod of his head, the Patrol Master indicated that it was time to begin.
Giving in to years of trained reflexes, Ryuo suddenly let forth a yell from the pit of his stomach, projecting into and past his opponent. Following up with a lunge, he thrust his sword tip to the Patrol Master's throat and held it there.
Charles Matthias was wrenched from meditation—not a task accomplished easily or often, especially here. He looked quickly around the room, but nobody was there, and not a sound drifted in from outside.
George looked down at the sword point at his throat, his own weapons having remained still throughout the ordeal. He calmed himself, took a gulp, and lowered his own weapons.
What was that? he wondered, watching Ryuo carefully as they broke. He had been completely unprepared for the fox's yell, which had completely unnerved him. It had not been a sharp yell, but more like an extended bark. Starting deceptively low and quiet it had escalated quickly to a strong, fearful tone that had set George's bones shaking with the sheer ferocity of the yell. Before he had time to recover, Ryuo's sword had been at his throat.
This time, however, he was prepared. As they backed off, George gave a nod to Ryuo and took a much more serious position. He wasn't going to get caught quite so easily a second time.
Ryuo noticed that the Patrol Master had closed his defense. Nodding, Ryuo steeled himself as well, dropping his sword down and back on his left side. For a while he stood there, regarding the Patrol Master, and then he took the offensive.
Bounding forward on his toes, he rushed the Patrol Master. He had expected the man to retreat, but he stayed his ground, much to his credit. Ryuo saw the sword swing forward, but it was arching wide, so he stayed his course, drawing his own sword forward in a horizontal slash that would catch his opponent under his upraised arm.
Suddenly, George's momentum changed, his hips shifting back, pulling the sword with them. In that instant, Ryuo could clearly see the purpose of the double edge, but he had committed himself to the move, his armor and the poorly-balanced practice sword being too much to turn back quickly.
The clang of metal on metal filled the air.
George was impressed with Ryuo's speed, and he staggered back with the impact of the blow. However, a glance at the slightly dazed fox showed that his own rapped blow had landed as well. He knocked on his own breastplate, thankful for its protection, but something was wrong. Looking down, he saw a deep line running straight across where Ryuo's sword had connected.
As George looked back towards the fox, a rumble of laughter burst out from behind him. The jackal turned towards the source of the sound—a familiar dark shape that stood watching the combatants from the edge of the field. Slowly, Rickkter began to stroll forward.
"Testing the new recruit?" he asked in a jovial, rhetorical tone, "I really don't think you need to bother. After all, he did make it through the mountains and lutin territory, unless I miss my guess; he should be able to handle himself on patrol duty. As for that lucky rap to the back of his head," Rickkter added, "I doubt you will catch him with that trick a second time."
"So what are you suggesting?" George asked, his own ire rising with Rickkter's constantly condescending tone, "Do you want to step in here with him?"
The thought flicked visibly over the raccoon's face, but he dismissed it with a smile. "No thanks, I've had enough exercise for the time being."
With that, Rickkter turned to Ryuo. «Impressive.» he said with a bow, «May I ask what school?» he added, indicating the swords at Ryuo's side.
Ryuo returned the bow, holding the practice sword at his side by his own lethal pair. «Jitsuei-ryu.» he answered.
Rickkter nodded. «Ah, I know of that one. Who was your teacher? Honda Terayuki?»
Beneath the dark mask, Ryuo smiled, «Otani Kurosa.»
This answer seemed to catch Rickkter off guard for some reason, but he recovered. «I see.» he said, with a bow of respect, his own questions flashing unanswered in his eyes. Slowly he turned back to face George.
"As I figured." Rickkter said partly to himself, "Well, though I would love to have more of a demonstration, but I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to. Good luck with the testing!" He added, giving a slight nod to George as he strolled off the field.
As soon as Rickkter was gone George gave a slight "Harumph" and turned back to Ryuo. As he pondered what to do his hand unconsciously felt for the new battle scar his armor had recently acquired. Thinking of how much he would have to spend to get just that one dent hammered out properly, George decided to proceed to the archery evaluation.
"Next, let me show you the Archery fields." George said, placing the practice sword on the ground by the rest of the equipment, still unused. He made a mental note to have someone pick that up later. "I took the liberty of setting up several targets already. I noticed you have your own bow, so you won't be needing these." George indicated the selection that had been brought out with the melee weapons and armor, "We have extra longbows if you wish to use them, as well as a selection of arrows..."
George stopped as he realized that Mong Ho had stopped translating. He gave the hen a quizzical look.
"My apologies, but this is not longbow." Mong Ho explained, indicating the shaft that he had carried to the field for Ryuo.
George seemed to find that statement a little less than believable—after all, he didn't consider the bow to be the most complicated of weapons. "Very well, then how about we go right into the demonstration."
Ryuo nodded as Mong Ho relayed what George had said. Taking the bow from Mong Ho he deftly strung it and chose a simple arrow from the few remaining arrows he still had with him. Standing before the target he calmed himself, looking down the field at his target.
'Okay,' thought George to himself, 'Other than the grip being lower than normal I don't notice too much of a difference.' He shrugged. George had been around and seen much of the world, and eventually he had come to see patterns in weapons and armor. He'd found that most exotic weapons were simply fancy versions of the same plain old weapons people had been using forever, whatever people said about them.
As George continued to watch, the bow rose into the air above Ryuo's head. A single arrow was nocked and a second was hanging from his fingers. Slowly he brought the bow down, opening his arms as he did so, and thus drawing the bow. When it reached full extension he paused only a moment and then, with a motion that seemed almost as though he were plucking a harp string, Ryuo let go.
George looked at the bow. It appeared as though the fox had made a mistake—his grip had been too loose and the bow had completely turned itself around. George felt a slight well of satisfaction at that; at least the fox wasn't some kind of super-warrior. 'Oh well, he's only human after all.' George thought to himself.
Ryuo seemed to be taking the matter quite well, however. Curiosity aroused, George looked down the field to see where the arrow had hit. The patrol master was actually quite surprised to find it smack dab in the middle of the target Ryuo had been aiming for. By all that is holy, he had actually hit the bull's eye! George was scratching his head at this seeming fluke when a second arrow buried itself next to the first. George quickly turned his head.
Sure enough, Ryuo's bow was once more turned around. George just wondered at how such a thing could be, while Ryuo calmly went down the field to retrieve his arrows.
As Ryuo walked back George shook his head. "Alright, I guess that about seals it. "You came in on a horse, with a broken spear, so I'm just going to assume you can use both just as well. That really means that there is only one other part of soldiering around here that I really need to make sure you're familiar with..."
Raucous laughter filled the air of the Deaf Mule as Ryuo followed the Patrol Master into the establishment. The sun had begun to set, and though it was still light outside, the lamps had been lit inside the eatery, where the patrons were obviously enjoying themselves. The level of noise indicated that most of the patrons were still relatively sober. As the sun dropped lower, no doubt the alcohol would flow more freely as well.
George threw open the doors and bellowed a greeting to some of the other occupants in the room. Ryuo followed him, and was in turn followed by Desuka, who had taken over the translating duties from Mong Ho, who had also chosen to join them. Ryuo was dressed in more relaxed clothing than he had been previously attired in. He wore the loose, baggy trouser-like hakama and a blue jacket, decorated with his family crest in white. He also wore the same straw sandals he had been wearing whenever he went outside.
Ryuo sat down at the table the Patrol Master indicated, and a large bull came over and sat down a couple of drinks, silently returning to his bar after delivering the beverages. Ryuo sniffed the contents of the container suspiciously. The scent was strange, but not wholly unfamiliar—alcohol being a fairly universal concept. Peering into the glass he noticed that the liquid was a dark brown, and appeared to have some sort of sediment inside. Next to him, the Patrol Master took a long, deep drink.
Hesitantly, Ryuo took a sip himself. He considered the flavor for a bit and shrugged. He'd had worse, that's for sure, although it still didn't beat a nice rice wine, properly heated. Smiling at his drinking companion he took another, much longer sip.
Many sips later, the effects of the alcohol began to take hold. With the pleasant feeling of slight dizziness also came a relaxation of the strict social code. Ryuo found himself talking with George and Desuka, although often there were small pauses as Desuka tried to translate the humor of one culture to another. Often they resorted to charades to get their point across.
"What?" asked Ryuo, pointing across the room at a group of patrons gathered around a large table, balls skittering across its surface.
George leaned over the table a bit. "Poool," he said, drawing out the word as he spoke.
"Puuru?" Ryuo said, trying to imitate the sound coming from George's mouth.
"No." He said, having already explained such binary operators to the inebriated vulpine, "Pooool," he tried once more, hoping that the longer he drew out the sound, the better Ryuo would understand.
"Pooooru," Ryuo nodded. George shook his head and was about to try a third explanation when Ryuo interrupted him. "When?" he said, pointing.
George tried to figure out what he could be talking about, and looked over his shoulder in the direction the fur-covered hand was pointing. As he looked, he saw a figure familiar to him standing just inside the door. The figure was dressed in casual clothing, and as soon as he saw the jackal and his companions he began walking towards them.
"No, 'Who?'" George whispered, and then added, "Thomas."
George raised a glass in salutation. Desuka bowed low to the ground. Ryuo simply sat there as his mind tried to grasp what appeared to be a lethal broach of protocol somewhere—he just wasn't quite sure where.
Duke Thomas Hassan sat down across from the fox. "Hello there, Ryuo, I hoped you would be here." he said, Desuka translating for Ryuo.
"Hassan-dono," Ryuo said, bowing his head but not quite sure whether to get up or remain seated, and feeling quite awkward.
"Please, call me Thomas." he said, as another vessel of alcohol was placed on the table where the Duke was now sitting. "And here in the West it is customary to shake hands when greeting." He extended a black, hoof-like hand and a winning smile.
Ryuo finally gave in, throwing any cares of rank into the cup before him and drinking them down. He extended a hand to meet the Duke's. As they grasped hands, he let a smile creep onto his own face, matching that of the Duke's. Together the foursome talked into the night, rank bowing low to the pressure of liquid happiness.
Footfalls and the clink of metal rattled through the early morning fog.
"Hail, and well met!" one shadow greeted another. The only reply was a cross between a growl and a groan.
"I told you to lay off the liquor last night, my friend. The drink of the gods it may be, but it carries their thunder come morning." Rose was obviously having fun with her hungover friend.
"I'm fine." Gil said, putting a hand up to his head, "Tis truly my back 'tis killing me."
"From too much weight."
"Nay, too little wait, more like it." Gil countered, "I had hoped to float my back last night, but I think it only sunk further."
"Well, something you floated last night, of that I am sure. Did the waters of lethe leave you ought?"
"Only a phrase: 'Den-den, mushi, mushi,' whatever that means." Gil shook his head trying to remember.
"Ah yes, when we found out about the newest member of the Keep." Rose said.
"What mean you?"
"Just that the spirits seemed to stir the muse of the Duke's dining partner." Rose smiled at the remembrance of the fox standing on the tables, and apparently taking part in a cultural exchange. The patrons had loved the insane actions, and it had incurred a round of applause despite nobody actually knowing what had been said.
"Rose," asked Gil, his tone turning serious and philosophical, "Do you ever get the feeling that the world is a stage?"
Rose took a more serious tone as she answered, "What? And we are merely players? Or that we are simply characters on a page, scribed in as some sort of running theme?"
The two friends stood there for a moment in the silent fog.
"Nah!" burst out Gil, laughing. "You know, that is the silliest thing I've ever heard."
"I wholeheartedly concur." Agreed a lighthearted Rose. "Gi'g'morn to ya!" she added, tipping her helmet and striding off to finish her rounds in the lifting fog.
Gil just stood still, looking up at the stone towers above him. As he finally got moving once more, he began to whistle a lively tune. Through the early morning air the sound of morning birds like a lady's laughter followed him.