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The Butterfly Sorceress, a serial novel

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JD:
Oh hey look at this doodle

I hid it behind a link because I ripped it straight from my sketchbook, no cleaning it up at all.

Jimor:
Hah, very cool! My first ever fan art.  :-D

JD:
Feel free to share it with the other forum

Jimor:
Done, thank you!

Jimor:
Chapter 1, Part 5


Belsira awoke to the morning horns echoing throughout the camp with a three-note
phrase.  She lay still, savoring the warm comfort of the bunk.  Despite it's
flaws, it was preferable to facing the chill, early morning.

When she finally rolled out of bed, she found Hylian already dressed in her
armor and ready to go.

"Hyl, what happened to your hair?"

"Hylian brushed her hand over the silver fuzz that was all that remained.  "Much
easier to deal with this way.  We'll be having rough times ahead, Bel, with very
little time for niceties.  Best you do the same."

Belsira brushed her fingers through her tangled locks of blond hair.  "I... I
don't think I could bear to do it.  Must I?"

"No, dear, nobody will force you.  In time you'll agree, though."

"Just the same, I'd like to wait until then."

"Very well."  Hylian pointed to Belsira's new armor.  "This however is not an
option.  You need to get used to it, and you also have to be sure that it fits
properly.  After training today, go to the chief armorer and tell him where it
hurts.  He'll know which pains call for refits, and which you'll have to tough out."

Belsira laughed.  "You sound like you've done all this before."

"Ha, no.  That's just what a kind young officer told me last evening when I was
wandering around exploring."

Belsira struggled with the fastenings.  The armorer had been thorough in
explaining, but there had been so much, she had forgotten the details anyway.
After a bit, with Hylian's help, she managed to get it all on at least.

After they found the mess tent and had a breakfast that Belsira felt was far too
much, they separated to find their respective units in each legion.

A few queries later, she found herself on the far side of the compound beyond
the mass of soldiers' tents.  In a small clearing, she found a couple dozen
soldiers and their captain in the middle of a training session.

She stood back and watched a bit.  The soldiers were lined up facing the
captain, and when he stepped in opposition to each, he set himself ready with a
wooden practice sword, then that soldier charged with his own sword.

Each time, the soldier would swing, and either miss or get blocked, then the
captain would make a counter move and whack the soldier with the blunt wooden
sword.  Belsira winced in sympathy each time, and could imagine the bruises that
the captain was inflicting on his men.

Another attacked, trying a different tactic, but the result was the same.
Belsira noticed the auras of frustration and anger growing in the men, but then
she realized that throughout the entire exercise, the captain had no aura around
him.  Not even a bit of satisfaction in winning each contest.  When he yelled
instructions to his men, no hint of anger accompanied the booming voice.  Nothing.

When the last in line had his turn at being swiftly defeated by the captain,
Belsira finally approached.

"Captain Portik?"

"Yes, that's me.  You must be Lady Belsira.  Welcome to the Fourth Legion.  Your
left shoulder strap is fastened wrong.  Dogan!  Show her how it's supposed to go."

"Yes sir!"  One of the young soldiers approached her, hesitated a bit, then
started fussing with her armor.  "Pardon me, Lady, but if you wrap it around the
leather this way, they tuck it under here, the fit will be more secure."

Belsira tried to stand still against his pushing and pulling, but she felt like
a rag doll against his obvious strength, and they both began to blush at the
awkwardness of the situation.  "Thank you, Dogan."

When he was finished, Portik approached her again.  "Have you ever handled a
sword before?"

"No, sir."

"The correct answer is 'no, Captain.'"

"Pardon me?"

"Battle Talents outrank all in the legion except the General or his aide,
therefor you do not call me sir.  Captain, or Captain Portik are both
acceptable, Lady."

"Oh, thank you, Captain."

"However, while you do outrank me in the legion, my duty and authority when it
comes to your protection is absolute, and when I give an order pertaining to
those duties, I expect it to be carried out instantly and without hesitation.
Do you, understand?"

"Yes, Captain Portik."

He reached for her right hand, took it in his, then examined it, turning it over
and rubbing her palm.  "You obviously have worked with tools,  your hands have
enough calluses where blisters shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"Yes, we have a large garden we have to work for most of our food, so I'm used
to hard work, Captain Portik."

He nodded, but said nothing.  He then handed her his wooden sword.  "Dogan, draw
your weapon and hold it in primary parry position."

The soldier did what he was told, holding his own wooden sword out in front of
him with the blade turned sideways and parallel to the ground.

"Lady Belsira, strike his weapon with your own, full strength."

She nodded, tested the grip in her hand.  She had swung hoe and sickle plenty
back at Hylian's cabin, so she felt confident she could put a good effort into
it.  She shifted her feet for balance, took a good windup, and arced the sword
overhead with all her might.

When hers struck Dogan's, the shock stung her hand so much she lost her grip and
her sword clunked to the ground.  Some of the men started to laugh, but a stare
from Portik silenced them immediately.

"Try again."

Belsira winced, tried the shake some feeling back into her numbed hand, picked
up the sword again.  She desperately wanted to take an easier swing, but she
knew that's what he expected her to do.  This time, she made sure to put more of
her legs and body into the motion for more power.  Again the sword came around
in an arc to strike Dogan's.

And again she dropped her own, this time with an audible yelp at the pain.  She
only just managed to keep herself from cursing as well.

"Again."

"I'm obviously doing something wrong, Captain Portik, I'm not afraid to admit
it.  So what should I be doing instead?"

"No, your form is actually decent for a beginner.  You just have to get used to
the impact.  Dogan, you stay with her until she completed fifty swings with each
hand.  Then she can parry your blows fifty times with each hand.  You may take
only half swings, but no less, understand?"

"Yes sir."

Fifty more times?  She didn't think her hands would survive five more blows,
much less another hundred.  She wasn't going to let him have the satisfaction of
watching her fail, however, so she picked up the sword once again.  Dogan braced
himself, and she could see the apology written in his eyes.  She nodded her
recognition to him, then swung again.

She stared at her sword on the ground once again, and it took every ounce of her
control not to use her anger to pulverize the cursed thing into dust.

An eternity later, she had finished her fifty blows with each hand.  For a while
during the middle of each run, she had managed to hang onto her sword most of
the time, but then she began dropping it again as the pain built beyond
tolerable levels near the end.  And now it was time for Dogan to strike at her
sword.

He never said a word, but she understood through his manner and aura that he
felt badly about it all.  She also understood that if he held back more than the
half blows Portik had allowed, there'd be consequences they'd both regret.

All the time, Portik worked with the other soldiers, never giving a hint of
emotion whether he was screaming at a recruit who had just failed an exercise,
or praising a successful effort.  The part of Belsira's mind not preoccupied
with pain was intensely curious about this man without the ubiquitous aura that
had previously surrounded everybody she had ever seen.  Even Hylian with her
vast practice at emotional control was never able to completely suppress her aura.

Whack!

Dogan's blow easily knocked the sword out her hand, and the world closed in to
just the agony of her hand as she squeezed her eyes tight to blank out the pain
and hide the tears welling up.

Breathing deeply in an almost trancelike state, she once again, bent down,
picked up her sword, and held it above her.  Dogan swung again, and this time
she held on, but nearly collapsed from the effort and pain.  Somewhere in a
distant part of her mind, she recognized that the muscles of her arms were
aching from the exertion as well, but it almost didn't matter against the
burning of her hands.  A blister had popped on her palm, and blood now dripped
onto the handle of the sword.

Still she held it aloft once again.

Finally, when she was reaching down to pick up the sword yet another time, Dogan
stepped in and told her they were done.  He took her gently by the shoulders,
and led her to the weapons rack where there was a bucket of water on the ground.
She dipped her hands into the cool water, and winced at the new pain mixed with
glorious relief.

Before she had much of a chance to tend to her aching and bleeding hands, Portik
began shouting to everybody in the unit.

"Good work, everybody.  I think such commendable effort deserves a nice scenic
tour of the compound, don't you?"

When Belsira heard all the men groan, she knew something bad was about to
happen.  Dogan's whisper to her confirmed her fears.  "That means we have to
take a run around the entire camp."  Then he walked over to join the other men.

Belsira closed her eyes, concentrated on the soothing coolness of the water,
fearing and knowing what was to come next.

"Lady Belsira, would you care to join us?"

Although phrased as a request, the tone certainly didn't imply any possibility
that she could decline.  She pulled her hands out of the water, stood up, and
with far more sarcasm than she intended, replied, "It would be my pleasure,
Captain Portik."

By the time they reached the far side of the perimeter, her only solace was that
the burning in her lungs and legs as least somewhat distracted her from the pain
in her hands.  The men in the unit were obviously used to this by now, and it
was almost funny how they had to slow down to let her keep up.  Laughing was the
furthest thing from her mind, however.

"You did good, Lady Belsira," Dogan said as he jogged beside her.  Several of
the other men agreed.  A couple told her how unfair Portik was being to her.

She sensed their anger on her behalf, but there was more. She glanced around at
how they were surrounding her, unconsciously forming a protective bubble as they
ran. She understood then that the point of the sword exercise was far more than
preparing her hands and arms for the rigor of combat.  Portik had been
deliberately cruel to make sure her guards formed a bond of common hardships
with her.

This insight didn't stop her hands from throbbing or her lungs from burning, but
her resentment of the treatment lessened somewhat.

When they finally got back to their training area, Portik allowed them all an
hour rest for lunch, but she could barely handle the utensils, and felt sick
from exhaustion on top of it all, so ate very little.

The afternoon was then spent doing general exercises, and by the time they were
done, Belsira's armor felt twice as heavy from her sweat alone.  When they
finally finished for the day, it was all she could do to drag herself back to
her quarters, squirm out of her wet stinky armor, and collapse into her bunk.
She wasn't sure anymore that camaraderie was worth this.

She heard Hylian come in, and by the way she was moving around, Bel could tell
that at least they didn't put her through the same kind of training, it likely
would have killed her mentor if they had.

All the time, as she drifted into an achy, fitful sleep, she kept asking
herself, "What did I do to deserve this?"

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