Angusel learns from the best in RAGING SEA Ch 3/Sc 2 #Arthurverse #MFRWorg #amwriting

Lion graphic overlay
(c) by Kim HeadleeTo become the best, one must learn from the best.

Today we tend to associate that mindset with golf, and perhaps college, if one is lucky enough to have a professor who cares more about his students than his research. But the mentorship process is as old as time and has produced excellent results in the disciplines of philosophy, music, the sciences... and warfare.

Legends abound of heroes being trained one-on-one with a mentor. Sometimes, as in the case of the Irish hero Cú Chulainn, that mentor is a woman.

Few details are given in traditional sources about Lancelot's early training; he is said to have been raised by the Lady of the Lake, and she armed him prior to sending him into the world, so presumably she arranged for his training too. Last week's installment of Raging Sea featured the commencement of that arrangement, and today that training begins.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea  Chapter 1: Scene 1 | Scene 2 | Scene 3 | Scene 4 | Scene 5 |Chapter 2: Scene 1-A | Scene 1-B | Scene 2 |Chapter 3: Scene 1-A | Scene 1-B |
Raging Sea Chapter 3, Scene 2©2015 by Kim HeadleeAll rights reserved.

Angusel a Dubh Loch sweated and grunted under the weight of the timber he’d been ordered to carry from the dwindling pile. Ever since the arrival of Centurion Elian and the Caledonach called Gull, coupled with Prioress Niniane’s pronouncement that Angusel’s shoulder and head were healed, the autumn days had become a blur of backbreaking effort: cutting wood and toting water and performing other heavy chores for the nuns each morning and toiling over this cottage in the afternoon, punctuated by brief periods to care for and exercise his warhorse Stonn, eat, and rest. In that order.

The work blessed him with dreamless nights and kept his waking thoughts from dwelling upon… her. Upon how he had failed her, how often she had rejected him, and how, as impossible as it seemed, he might earn her forgiveness.

With the beam teetering on his right shoulder, he trudged past Stonn’s corral and the accompanying whicker to the building site, where Elian sat astride a stool, hammering treenails into the lower portion of the wall. The centurion preferred to leave his new wooden leg off while he performed stationary tasks. It still unnerved Angusel to see the linen-wrapped stump twitch as if the rest of the flesh wasn’t missing. The crutch and leather-capped oaken leg leaned against the table that held an ale skin and bucket of treenails, close enough for Elian to press either walking tool into service as the need arose.

Gull stood perched on a ladder, working on framing the roof. At Angusel’s approach, Gull climbed down to help him with the timber. Hoisting it between them, they ascended separate ladders and wrestled the beam into the notches. When it had settled into place, they drew out their mallets and treenails to secure it to the supports.

Angusel dashed sweat from his eyes and glanced over to find Gull regarding him. Something about the Caledonach seemed familiar. Surely he’d have recalled seeing a man who wore black leather bracers up to the elbow on both forearms even though the elder’s days of waging war had to be long since done.

But he had not asked Gull about his past; he hadn’t dared, for Gull would expect the same of him. That would mean having to admit that he’d been outcast from Caledon and risk being rejected by Gull too. Worse still, he would have to admit why.

He shook off the chilling memories, holstered his mallet, and descended the ladder. Gull also had climbed down. “What next, sir?” Angusel asked Elian, flexing his arms and dreading the answer. He was still rebuilding strength in his shoulder, and the day’s work had left him more fatigued than he’d expected. “Thatching?”

The centurion surveyed the completed roof frame and gave a satisfied-looking nod. “Tomorrow you lay the wattles and thatch.” Elian exchanged a glance with Gull, who strode toward the tent where they had stowed their supplies and weapons. The Caledonach returned carrying two long, wooden practice swords. “Today,” Elian said with a grin as Gull tossed Angusel one of the swords, “we see just how much work is left to finish building you.”

He would have preferred to conduct this test when he felt better rested, but he suppressed his protest.

Only cowards and incompetents fashioned excuses.

While Elian grabbed his crutch and hopped over to perch on a log, the combatants kicked aside pieces of wood and other construction debris near the cottage to clear a larger area. By tacit agreement they met at the center and saluted each other with their swords.

As Angusel adopted an attack posture and began circling his opponent, he felt the familiar heat of battle-frenzy flood his veins, banishing the fatigue. The strike of sword on sword revived memories of his most recent battle, and Gull became the despised foe to be obliterated at any cost.

This foe was far cannier than most. He wielded his weapon with grace and precision, thwarting Angusel’s attack every time. When Angusel quickened the pace, Gull matched it blow for blow and countered with unexpected twists, feints, kicks, and lunges of his own.

Angusel’s frustration mounted. Something shifted inside his mind, and he unleashed the full fury of his assault.

***

Enter this great giveaway for e-books, note cards,
and an autographed print copy of Morning's Journey !

a Rafflecopter giveaway


For more chances to win this month, you are invited to...
— Follow me on Twitter
— Add me to Google+
— Subscribe to my YouTube channel
— Leave a comment on this blog, especially if you have done the Twitter and/or YouTube follow
...and each action this month is good for one chance to win an e-book copy of Morning's Journey . Please enter often, and good luck!