To Serve the Light (Part 13)

“Again!”

She raised her weighted practice hammer, suppressing a wordless growl of frustration.

Bloody hammer is TWICE the weight of a true warhammer! ‘Tis e’en heavier ‘n da’s smithin hammer. Th’ TWO HANDED one, fer foldin sword-steel! An’ I’m supposed ta be wieldin th’ bloody thing wi’ one hand? In th’ bloody pourin rain?

In th’ bloody dark?

‘Tis nae trainin, this. ‘Tis bloody TORTURE!

“Put your back into it, Stelhamor!” he barked, tone stern, unyielding. “And don’t forget the chant, this time.”

Gritting her teeth, she took her stance against the practice dummy again, swinging the much-too-heavy hammer and chanting in time to her strokes. Her voice was harsh, ragged with the same seething anger that fueled her blows, one after the other.

The words of the chant flowed easily enough, now. Even the foreign humanish accent no longer felt so alien to her dwarven tongue.

“Focus!”

Her eyes narrowed, and her strikes came faster, stronger, her chanting becoming louder, harsher. The frustration transformed into rage, that familiar burning power, giving her strength and purpose. She took all that all that energy, directed it into a single vision – the wooden practice dummy shattering to a million pieces, pulverized by righteous dwarven wrath.

“Stop, STOP! You’re not focusing!”

Her swings came to a halt. She lifted the clunky visor of her helm and glowered fiercely at the dark figure that was her tormentor. “What?! I AM bloody focusing!”

Bernhardt shook his head grimly. “No, you’re not. At least, not focusing on what you SHOULD be focused on.”

“What? I’m takin my rage, and harnessing it! Just as you said I should!” She bit back resentment, even as she caught it trying to run away with her dwarvish brogue yet again.

“Yes, but what were you using it for, pray?”

She blinked, confused.

He sighed. “Enough for now. Tend your equipment, tend your sore muscles, and get some rest. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

She stared a moment in disbelief as he turned and walked away. “Then what the bloody hell SHOULD I be focused on?” she shouted at his back, above the downpour.

The old paladin stopped. Glanced at her over his shoulder. “Ah, now THERE’S the question,” he replied cryptically, a gleam in his eye. Then turned away again, making his way for the keep.

Leaving her standing in the rain. Alone.

Now wha’ th’ bloody hell…?