Suffice to say, the Myrian had fond memories of Priskil's Pond. To him, it was more than just a convenient body of water; it was peace and refuge in a land where everything larger than a field mouse would try to rob, kill or eat you (whichever was more pressing). When the Valini Expedition had wound its way closer to the copse that hid it, Razkar had questioned the wisdom of leading the humans there.
So many of them, with their wagons that churned earth, their animals that spread muck and their dozens of travelers that defiled the earth... it was almost... unseemly.
But pragmatism won out. He was commander of the mercenaries protecting Leo Valini's investment and if a night or two relaxing off the Kabrin was most beneficial to them... then so be it.
By the time Leth rose in his pale splendor, the smiling Razkar was grateful he'd listened to that internal advice. After the tents were struck, the animals bedded down and the wood piled high and aflame, a strange and almost giddy calm had settled over the raucous assemblage of humanity. Sellswords who spent their nights grousing and drinking became giggling, story-swapping youths who sang and grinned by campfires. The passengers even mingled with the dirty laborers and sellswords, sharing drinks and advice to the proles and taking it in return.
Even Albrecht was mollified, in the middle of a long and light-hearted tale of when he was but a scrap of a lad far-flung from his home, plying his wagon from one end of Eyktol to the other. Razkar watched as his arms flailed and danced, casting shadows that caught the world in their embrace, hard-faced underlings as rapt as children around him.
It made them like children, this place that was a balm to souls without respite. The cool, vitalizing water. The shade of the trees. Some part of Razkar even feared to submit so freely to its allure, afraid that such beauty could not exist without some equal and opposing force eager to trample and defile it.
But he knew this was a fine place... and did not seek to waste his mood.
You would have seen him, that night, behind the tent he and his apprentice shared, body moving with slow but thoughtful purpose, eerily lit by pale Leth, scars and tattoos in sharp relief. His arms stretched out or jabbed in punches and blocks, and though they seemed far less than what the man covered in taut muscle could dish out, there was a sheen of sweat and the adrenaline-fueled light of happy exhaustion in his eyes.
The book had a lot to do with it.
That crotchety old bastard Dominac had hardly been one for cordiality, but he would sooner lose his balls than misdirect a customer to his
store. When the weapon-strewn warrior had come to it, seeking knowledge of The Flux, he'd been swiftly shown a large and venerable tome. "An Introduction To The Art of Flux", as Razkar had laboriously discovered (his while his speaking of Common ma have been fluent, his read of it was less so), was far more than a mere preamble, and thus worth the high price he paid for it.
But knowledge was nothing without practical application. Nights on the road, mind filled with concerns for his ragged band of sellswords and the security of the caravan, they were not the place for the freedom of thought such an artform required.
But there, by the shimmering silver of the Pond and with the soft night breeze caressing his bare body... such a thing was a gift.
Feel the strength beyond your muscles... within them, but separate... the layer of energy crafted to fit flesh and bone, but beyond it... intangible and invisible, but as necessary for life as will and intent...The wisdom from the tome echoed through the Myrian's mind as he planted his feet, squared his shoulders, arms raised... a fighting stance, adept for attack and defense... but with his eyes closed.
Why had he not felt this before? It took only a few ticks to find it. Careful, patient breathing, enough time to blot out the laughter and fluting from the caravan... and feel the faint stirrings of djed within himself... aching to be released...
With a thought, Razkar willed it to travel into his cocked arm... then opened his eyes, imagining an enemy before him... and his arm snapped outward-
-faster and stronger than his own muscles could manage, djed transformed to Flux in a blink, clenched fist that could have shattered a jaw flung straight out... and he braced himself-
-for a pain far less than expected. He breathed heavier for a moment, feeling the aching tingling that he'd become accustomed to when he harnessed this strange new power. The moment it faded his head snapped to the left, finding another phantom enemy coming from the side... and he directed that crackling, silent energy into his hips, swinging himself around-
-augmenting the snap kick he aimed at his opponent's crotch, that time not pulled off-balance. He remembered the
first time he'd attempted such a technique. The result? His balance ruined by over-confidence, rewarded by him flying back onto his arse with his legs in the air.
But this time...
"All true skill comes from practice," Razkar murmured, as if it were a prayer, but it was the words he'd read that night, from pages lightly rustling in the night wind, "Tested technique, proper stance, the mediation to find The Flux and use it... all these are needed. But what matters more is the will to practice and train, often for seasons and years, sometimes without seeing any evidence of improvement... and then finding, at some point in the unknown future, that you have become the knowledge, and a facet of that which you sought to master..."
Razkar did not pretend to understand all he read, but the proof was in the fact he was still upright. A season before, his attempt at a solid kick had ended with him on his back; now he was on his feet. Progress measured in a minute way, but progress nonetheless.
His mind cleared as he looked around, and a frown marred his features for a moment. She was not there. But then the frown became a smile, for he knew where she would be. Where else would one find a Svefra so close to such a pristine body of water?
Razkar walked calmly and slowly through the camp, exchanging words and nods here and there, happy to see all was as it should be and, perversely enough, that his people were content.
His people. These barbarians he'd scorned for years, and now he had come to regard them as under his protection. The young male shook his head and sighed.
Such things you learn with years and changes taken...Like him, she had found solace and peace in scrawled-upon parchment that night. He walked softly, favoring mud and sand to stifle his steps, enjoying the guilty pleasure of watching her unawares and immersed in her reading, toes flicking back and forth idly as she lay on hr back... until a shadow obscured her precious light and she looked up sharply-
-into a grin of sharpened teeth that would have chilled the blood of many, but the eyes above were so filled with fondness and affection.
"A fine night to broaden the mind, apprentice..."