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From: Lazlo Zalezac <lzalezac@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Portal: Doorway to Adventure 04 (MF, Sci-fi, Fantasy)
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Date: Fri, 11 Mar 2005 10:10:03 -0500
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Lazlo Zalezac
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Lazlo_Zalezac
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Lazlo_Zalezac

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<1st attachment, "Intro 4.txt" begin>

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. If you are offended by 
sexually explicit material or are under the age of 18, stop reading 
now. This material cannot be reproduced for commercial purposes 
without the consent of the author.

The Portal: Doorway to Adventure
Chapter 4
By
Lazlo Zalezac
Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2005

Sid spent the day picking apples and acquired fifteen pinches. He 
was one pinch short of four quid, when the paymaster called it a 
day. Dropping off his last basket, he went over to the apple tree 
with the broken branch. It was almost more than the knife was 
capable of doing, but he managed to cut the branch from the tree 
with it. The knife broke when he started to trim the branch. 
Disgusted, he picked up the pieces of the knife and headed to the 
temporary camp where the other workers stayed. 

As he walked, the owner and the paymaster joined him. Looking 
from side to side at the men bracketing him, Sid asked, "What's a 
man to do for food around here?"

The owner answered, "We provide a good stew for the workers. 
My wife makes it and we are quite proud of her abilities as a cook. 
You won't be disappointed by her stew. We provide one mug of 
watered wine with the meal. If you want a mug of ale, that'll cost 
you a pinch. If you want more watered wine, that'll cost you a 
pinch for a pitcher."

"Sounds good to me," replied Sid. Watered wine was the staple 
drink in this world and contained just enough alcohol to kill off 
anything that lived in the water, but not enough to get drunk. Even 
kids in this world drank watered wine instead of just plain water. 
Plain wine was undiluted, but from what Sid had learned was still 
weaker than the wine that he knew at home. Ale was the stronger 
drink and was basically reserved for men.

"Are you staying here for another day?" asked the owner. He was 
concerned about Sid's presence. He had heard how easily the man 
had taken care of Clem and it seemed strange for the man to 
choose to work in such a menial job. 

"If you'll have me, Sir."

Convinced that Sid was there to rob them, the paymaster asked, 
"Why are you here?"

Holding up the branch, Sid said, "As a number of people have 
commented, I'm without a weapon. I'd like to fix that situation with 
this branch and figure that it will take a day to turn it into a 
reasonable weapon."

"A day?" asked the owner surprised by the answer. As far as he 
knew, once the branch was trimmed it could be used as a weapon.

"Sure. Have to clean it up, remove the bark and allow it to dry out 
a little more. I'll have to live with letting it dry overnight, although 
it looks like the wood is already pretty dry. A month in a 
smokehouse would be better and nine months at a lumber yard the 
best, but I can't wait that long. Then I'll fix the ends with wet 
leather and allow the leather to dry," answered Sid as he went 
through the process in his mind. Although metal bands at the end 
would be better, dried leather would serve well enough to keep the 
wood from splitting the first time he jammed the staff into 
something hard. 

The paymaster had served as captain of the guard at the Rider 
citadel until his brother had taken over the position. He knew 
exactly what Sid was saying. He'd watched an armorer go through 
a similar process, but he had used metal end caps on the staff. Not 
many people actually knew how to build a quality weapon. He 
asked, "So you came here to pick apples so that you could make an 
apple wood staff?"

"Yes. That and this place is on my way to where I need to be," 
answered Sid. He knew what was bothering the paymaster. His 
eyes flicked down to the massive sword encased in its sheath. He 
had no doubts that the paymaster knew how to use it. 

"And where do you need to be?" asked the paymaster.

"That's my business," answered Sid. 

The paymaster moved his hand down to his sword. In a calm voice, 
he asked, "What's your name?"

"Sid Jones," answered the young man watching the paymaster to 
see if he went for his sword. He could sense that others were 
watching the exchange. He guessed that they were additional 
guards in the employ of the paymaster.

"Jones? Are you kin of Gerald Jones?" asked the paymaster at 
hearing Sid give himself the unusual clan name. 

"Yes," answered Sid surprised to hear his uncle's name. 

"How is Gerald?" asked the paymaster pretending a familiarity 
intended to test the young man. To falsely claim kinship with 
Gerald Jones would be a major transgression.

Sid couldn't hide the sadness that the question invoked. In a tired 
voice, he answered, "He passed away."

"Oh," replied the retired soldier realizing that no one would claim 
that unless it was true. He could see the effort it took the young 
man to give his answer. Nodding his head, he asked, "So are you 
willing to swear on the honor of the Jones Clan that you aren't here 
to harm us?"

Sid stopped and looked at the paymaster with an angry frown at the 
accusation that he might be there for reasons that were no good. 
The owner of the orchard edged away, surprised at the sudden 
tension between the two men. This was too much for him to deal 
with; he was just a farmer trying to get his crops harvested. One of 
the guards stepped closer to provide support to the paymaster. 

With real anger in his voice, Sid asked, "You want me to swear on 
my Clan Honor?"

Holding his hands away from his sword to prevent an outbreak of 
violence, the paymaster answered, "I asked if you were willing, not 
that you had to swear on your Clan Honor."

"Either is an insult," said Sid, barely able to keep his hand from 
striking the paymaster. A man could be asked to swear upon his 
honor without insult, but swearing upon clan honor was reserved 
for major agreements between clans. Only leaders within a clan 
could make such an oath. A person that made such an oath without 
full rights would be hunted down and killed by the entire clan. The 
same punishment was served upon a person who broke such an 
oath. 

"Spoken like a true member of a clan that produced a man like 
Gerald Jones," replied the paymaster with a smile. He had reacted 
like a man who was actually authorized to swear on the honor of 
his clan. Shaking his head, he said, "An imposture wouldn't have 
reacted with your anger. If you hadn't reacted so, I would have 
killed you where you stood. You need not make any oath. I trust 
you not to harm us."

Sid relaxed a little at the explanation. It had surprised him at how 
angry he had gotten at the request and he wondered why. He 
replied, "Your trust is safe with me."

"I'll buy you dinner," said the paymaster with a smile

"I thought it was free."

"It is. That's why I'll buy you dinner," replied the paymaster with a 
laugh. As they walked to where the food was being served, the 
man said, "I'm Gregor of the Rider Clan."

"Pleased to met you Gregor," replied Sid. He tried to remember 
what he could of the Rider Clan. It was one of the older clans in 
this world and had started as tribe of nomads. They had eventually 
settled in a western area of the land, built the Rider citadel, and 
raised horses. In time, members of the Clan had spread across the 
land. Being a member of the Rider Clan on Chaos was almost as 
common as having the name Smith or Jones on Earth. The core of 
the clan still lived and worked in the citadel. Since so many people 
were named Rider, the core of the clan didn't recognize most of the 
people claiming to be clan. 

The two men stood in line to receive a bowl of stew. After 
receiving it, they took seats around a fire to eat and talk. Sid was 
pleased to learn that the owner had been telling the truth when he 
had boasted about his wife's cooking. The stew was very good. The 
watered wine wasn't nearly as bad as he had expected. After they 
had finished the meal, Sid used one of the broken pieces of the 
knife to strip the bark off the branch. 

As he worked, Gregor talked about his time spent as captain of the 
guard at the Rider Citadel. Sid listened to the man learning more 
about life here on Chaos. Upon learning that Gregor had once been 
Captain of the Guard at the Rider Citadel, Sid knew that Gregor 
was a member of the core Rider Clan. Only a true clan member 
would be allowed such a high position of responsibility. He asked, 
"So why did you step down as Captain of the Guard?"

"Tradition," answered Gregor.

"Tradition?"

"Our roots are as Nomads. At the age of twenty-five, we are 
expected to leave the Citadel for five years and see the world. 
When I return, I'll get a homestead and raise horses," he answered.

Sid nodded as he listened to Gregor answer his question. From 
what he understood, getting a homestead from within a clan was 
about the same as becoming a Lord in England. He was expected 
to have a standing army and to provide men upon request by the 
Clan Leader. For performing his Lordly duties, he would have a 
voice in the Clan Council. Sid asked, "So the fellow that's sitting 
over there is a retainer?"

"Retainer? I'm not familiar with the term," answered Gregor. 

"He works for your clan," clarified Sid wondering if the term 
carried over into this world. 

"No. He works for me," said Gregor with a frown. He wondered 
how the Jones Clan operated. The idea of a person working for a 
Clan rather than an individual seemed very odd.

Realizing that he had touched upon a concept that was not known 
here on Chaos, Sid shrugged his shoulders and said, "I just came 
from a place where that was common."

"Oh," replied Gregor.

Sid finished removing the bark from the branch. He examined it 
for a good straight section, finding that the main length was a little 
shorter than he would have liked. The result would be about four 
and a half feet long rather than the five feet that he wanted. The 
missing six inches would be a problem in a fight unless he took the 
time to practice. Frowning, he decided that it would have to do. 

Looking at the broken knife, he knew that it would take forever to 
trim the ends off of the branch. Gregor noticed and called out, 
"Derek, come here for a minute."

The man that had been watching over them stepped forward and 
nodded his head towards Gregor. In a very soft voice that didn't 
carry far, he asked, "What do you need, sir?"

"Run up to the barn and get an axe for me."

The tone of voice suggested Gregor was used to giving orders 
without the need for explaining them. The man walked off at a 
reasonable pace that was not a slow walk or a scurry. Gregor 
turned to Sid and said, "An axe will let you trim that little stick of 
yours."

"Yes, it would. Thank you," replied Sid. 

"You know how to make weapons. That's a rare skill," commented 
Gregor. He had been watching Sid work and noticed the care the 
man had taken in removing the bark and little imperfections in the 
surface of the wood. 

"I only know how to make simple weapons. Bows, arrows, staffs, 
and such," answered Sid as he ran a hand over the wood seeking 
out imperfections that could cut his hands when he used it. 

"You consider a bow to be a simple weapon?"

"Let's say there are bows and there are bows," answered Sid with a 
smile. He had made exactly one bow in the past under the direction 
of his uncle and it had been fairly crude. Despite the crudeness of 
his work, the result could launch an arrow straight and with 
sufficient momentum to be serviceable. 

Gregor laughed at the comment. He had seen some pretty sorry 
bows in his time. Growing up in the citadel, he had never had to 
make a weapon of his own. Weapons were purchased from master 
craftsmen who specialized in different kinds of weapons. If he 
were to lose his weapons, he would head to the nearest city and 
withdraw some money from a bank to purchase replacements. He 
hadn't thought about learning the ability to make his own 
replacements. In a respectful tone of voice, he said, "I can see 
where it is a useful skill to have."

"Useful enough," commented Sid. 

Derek returned with the axe and handed it to Gregor. Gregor 
nodded his thanks and handed the axe over to Sid. After glancing 
at the edge, Sid commented, "Thanks for sharpening it."

Derek shrugged and slipped into the background without saying a 
word. Gregor had watched the exchange with amusement. Sid got 
up and walked over to a woodpile and selected a simple log. It 
wouldn't do to use the axe on the branch with it resting on the bare 
ground. Nothing would dull a blade faster than using it against the 
ground. 

Returning to his spot by the fire, Sid set the log on the ground and 
then laid the branch across the length of it. Using a foot to hold the 
branch solidly against the log, he raised the axe and brought it 
down on the branch. The result was a nice single cut that was 
nearly square. He picked it up and examined the end. Satisfied, he 
turned the branch and repeated the process on the other end. 

Gregor commented, "It looks a little short to me."

"It is short, but I had to do it that way. If I had included a short 
section with a slight curve in it, the first time I powered the staff 
into a hard target it would have snapped," replied Sid as he 
checked the staff for imperfections. He had done this under the 
watchful eye of his uncle more than once and seen the results of 
each mistake.

"I didn't know that," said Gregor looking at the young man with a 
lot more respect. 

Sid removed the coin purse that had been taken from Clem. As he 
transferred the money from that coin purse into his, he found 
another nine pinches and a quid. At the moment, the leather of the 
purse was worth more to him than the contents. With the remains 
of his knife, he dismantled the leather coin purse and cut it into 
strips of leather. The strips went into his cup filled with the 
watered wine. 

While the leather soaked, Sid sat back and considered how to 
quickly dry out the wood. He stuck an end of the staff over the fire 
and slowly turned it. It wouldn't catch fire, but would dry it out. 
He'd have to be careful to dry it evenly or it would warp on him. 

Gregor watched as Sid turned the staff and adjusted what part of 
the staff was directly over the fire. After five minutes, he asked, 
"What are you doing?"

"Drying the wood. Dry wood is stronger than wet wood. Wet wood 
will warp as it dries and the staff could become useless by the time 
I need to use it," answered Sid. He pulled the staff back and turned 
it around to dry the other end of the staff.

For the next several hours, Sid worked the staff over the fire. When 
it began to warp in one direction, he turned the wood so that the 
curved side was facing the fire. The staff would slowly straighten 
out. With time, the wood could actually be seen getting harder. 
Gregor watched Sid work appreciating the skill the young man was 
demonstrating. At the same time, he was learning to make a staff. 

It was late at night when Sid pulled the staff from over the fire and 
examined the wood. He was satisfied with the result. Nodding his 
head, he reached for his cup and pulled out a piece of leather. With 
care, he wrapped the leather strip around one end of the staff. 
Noticing Gregor's attention, he said, "The leather is wet. If I wrap 
it tightly around the end, then when it dries it will become very 
tight. That will keep the end from splitting."

Gregor nodded his understanding. He was making mental notes. 
When he left this particular job, he'd spend a couple of days 
making his own staffs. The discussion around the fire had 
convinced him that it would be a good skill to have. His clan 
required the male members to travel on their own for five years. 
The official reason was to prove one's ability, but Gregor knew 
that the real reason was to learn from experiences that wouldn't be 
available within the citadel. 

It didn't take Sid long to finish the staff. He set it aside even though 
the leather was still wet. Gregor noticed and asked, "Why don't you 
dry the leather over the fire?"

"It needs to dry slow. The leather will shift as it dries," answered 
Sid. He remembered asking his uncle the exact same question. 

"Ah," commented Gregor. 

"Tomorrow afternoon, it'll be ready to use. I'll spend tomorrow 
night getting used to the weight and feel of it. It's a little heavier 
and shorter than I'm used to using," said Sid.

Gregor didn't comment. He was curious about what Sid's plans 
were and not once through the evening had the young man let slip 
where he was going. It was a rare occasion for two members of 
great clans to encounter each other in such circumstances. Most 
encounters came in the large towns or citadels. Of course, he didn't 
know much about the Clan Jones. The only member of that clan he 
had heard about was Gerald Jones and he had the reputation of 
being an adventurer. 

Gregor stood and said, "Better hit the bedroll. Work begins at 
sunrise."

"Good idea," answered Sid.

"Are you really going to pick apples tomorrow?"

"Yes," answered Sid. He would need money to get by in Chaos 
over the long run and to waste this opportunity to earn some would 
be just that - a waste. 

Shaking his head, Gregor walked off to where he and his man had 
their bedrolls. Sid settled onto the ground near the fire. He didn't 
have a bedroll yet. The night was cold, but the warmth from the 
fire helped stave off the worst of it. 

He woke early and stiff. It was cold and he was hungry. Picking up 
the staff, he examined his work in the light of day. The leather was 
still damp, but not soaking wet. He knew that over the course of 
the day it would finish drying. Taking his staff with him, he sought 
out and found another of the workers. He asked, "What do people 
do about breakfast around here?"

The man answered, "Usually eat a couple of apples while picking 
until dinner time. Don't eat too many or you'll get the shits."

"Thanks," said Sid. He hadn't thought of that obvious solution to 
hunger.

Sid returned to the field and started picking apples. After the 
experience of the previous day, he got off to a fast start. 
Understanding that this job was a lot like jogging, he didn't push 
himself too fast at the beginning. The idea was to produce the most 
over the long haul. The air got warmer as the sun rose and beat 
down on the workers. 

As he worked, Sid considered the life of the migrant worker. At 
home, he hadn't given it much thought. Fruits and vegetables 
showed up at the grocery store all waxed and polished. This was 
hard work, far harder than he had thought. Physically it was 
draining, but there were other problems that arose that surprised 
him. Hornets and bees were constant nuisances. He had even 
encountered a snake and had almost fallen off his ladder when it 
lunged at him. 

The day passed slowly as he filled basket after basket with apples. 
He wasn't even keeping count of how many baskets he filled. It 
was mid-afternoon when he took a break. The leather on the staff 
had dried completely and he set about practicing with it. For the 
next thirty minutes, he went his basic staff training steps. By the 
time he had finished, he considered his skill at the ninety-five 
percent level. The shortness of the staff kept throwing off his 
strikes. He had improved from missing by the six inches to hitting 
the target most of the time, but most of the time wasn't good 
enough. 

He set the staff down and returned to picking apples. After filling 
the basket, he carried it over to the paymaster's station. Setting the 
basket on the table, he said, "Here's another one."

Gregor looked up at Sid and said, "You're a hard worker."

"Thanks. Any job worth doing is worth doing right," commented 
Sid. 

"Good motto," admitted Gregor. When Sid had not shown up with 
an empty basket earlier, Gregor had gone over to see what was 
keeping him. He had watched the young man practice with his 
staff. If the fight the previous day hadn't convinced him that Sid 
was very skilled with weapons, then the practice session would 
have convinced even the densest man alive. 

Sid accepted the single pinch from the paymaster and picked up his 
basket. Before he had a chance to leave, Gregor asked, "With your 
skill at weapons, why are you picking apples?"

"Selling your sword means that you give away responsibility for 
the manner in which it is used," answered Sid. 

The total seriousness with which he delivered his answer cut short 
further discussion. Gregor was left staring at the back of the young 
man as he returned to the orchard. That was the kind of absolute 
answer to a general question that hinted at the danger that a man 
like Sid represented. To have a man like him by your side meant 
that you were dealing with an equal and you had better do the right 
thing at all times. 

Sid returned to picking apples. A glance at the sun suggested that 
he would be working for only another two hours. He jiggled his 
coin purse, appreciating the heft of the coins within it. He would 
have enough to purchase a real knife and to stay in an inn for a 
night or two. Depending upon the damsel that he was to rescue, a 
night at an inn might be a very real need.

It seemed as though time flew by and before he knew it the call to 
quit echoed through the orchard. Sid carried his last load of apples 
to the paymaster station and waited in line to get paid for his last 
basket. When he reached the head of the line, Gregor said, "Derek 
has a wooden practice sword. Go spar with him until dinner is 
ready."

Sid almost answered automatically that he wasn't interested, but 
had the luck of thinking twice before giving his answer. The 
practice session would give him two important pieces of 
information that he didn't have. First, he would learn if his staff 
would survive a real confrontation. Second, it would give him a 
chance to face a new style in a context that wasn't life threatening. 
He nodded and replied, "Thanks. I could use the practice."

Smiling at the suggestion that Sid needed practice, Gregor replied, 
"I was thinking that Derek could use the practice more than you."

The comment caused a frown to cross Derek's face. He didn't 
appreciate the suggestion that his skills might have been slipping. 
Gruff, he said, "Follow me. There's a clearing where we can spar 
without being disturbed."

As Gregor dealt with another picker, he said, "Warm up until I get 
there. I want to referee."

Sid smiled at the suggestion that they needed a referee. It was more 
likely that Gregor wanted to see him in action against a real 
opponent. He followed Derek to a clearing. Once there, he went 
through a series of warm up stretches and exercises. Derek 
watched him with a frown. He had expected that they would begin 
sparring slowly and work up to full speed over time. The actions of 
the other man looked ridiculous. What man would bend over and 
touch his toes while preparing to spar? After watching for five 
minutes, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm warming up," answered Sid looking over at the other fighter. 
He noticed that the man was just standing there watching him go 
through his warm up activities. He added, "Doing it this way 
prevents injuries."

"How does jumping around in place prevent injuries?"

"You loosen the muscles with controlled movements before 
stressing them with uncontrolled movements. As a result, you don't 
pull a muscle when you suddenly move during a practice bout," 
replied Sid. 

"You're an odd one," countered the man. 

Sid finished his stretches and picked up the staff. He went through 
a training exercise as Derek watched. Once he was convinced that 
he was ready to spar, he turned to Derek and asked, "Are you 
ready?"

"We'll start slow and move up in speed," answered Derek as he 
picked up the practice sword. 

Shrugging to indicate that he accepted the conditions, Sid took his 
standard starting position with the staff held lightly in both hands 
parallel to the ground. Derek swung the sword in a lazy arc that Sid 
blocked with ease. Five minutes later, Derek had begun to sweat as 
his body had warmed up. Ready to fight, Derek said, "We wait for 
Gregor to arrive."

Sid nodded and stepped back considering what he had learned 
about his opponent. During the warm up round, Sid had done 
nothing except practice his defense. The attacks had been simple 
and he was sure that the other man was holding back just as he 
was. Still, he had been surprised how easily he had blocked the 
attacks. The two men waited, watching each other with faces held 
expressionless.

Gregor stepped into the clearing and said, "Pull your blows. 
There's no sense braining each other. I'll call a stop when I deem a 
blow would have been sufficient to end the fight."

The two men stepped to face each other across the clearing as 
Gregor moved off to the side. Once they were in position, Gregor 
shouted, "Begin."

The lazy simple attacks disappeared and a flurry of rapid blows 
flew at Sid. His slow blocks disappeared to be replaced by blinding 
fast movements of his staff. Seeing an opening, he swung the staff 
upwards and froze before it made contact. Gregor shouted, "Stop!"

Derek froze and looked over at Gregor in confusion. At the gesture 
from Gregor, he looked down and saw that the end staff 
disappeared between his legs, a bare fraction of an inch from his 
private parts. A shudder coursed through his body. He hadn't even 
seen the blow coming. He swallowed heavily at the idea of what 
might have happened if his opponent hadn't been so skilled. He 
nodded and said, "Well done."

"Thank you," replied Sid as he stepped back. The staff never 
contacted the other man's body. He wasn't going to say that the 
attacks of the other man had kept him off balance for most of the 
bout. 

The men returned to face each other across the clearing. Gregor 
shouted, "Begin."

Rather than facing the blistering attack of the previous bout, Sid 
found himself facing a posed opponent. He realized that the other 
was waiting for him to attack. He started moving the staff in 
complex patterns intended to make it difficult to judge when and 
where the attack would originate. After a few seconds, he swung 
while dropping to a squat. The staff stopped beside the other man's 
knee as Gregor shouted, "Stop."

Derek looked down at the staff resting beside his knee. He could 
feel the hard surface of the staff pressing against his pants, but not 
against his skin. A hard blow would have taken out his knee and 
left him a cripple for life. He glanced over at Gregor and noticed 
the man wink at him. Uncertain at what the wink meant, he said, 
"Well done."

"Thank you," replied Sid as he stepped back. 

Gregor said, "It's been a while since you've faced a staff, Derek."

Considering his performance so far in the bout, he had to recognize 
that he was having trouble with his opponent. Nodding, he said, 
"That's true, sir."

The third bout began with the two men circling each other warily. 
When Derek lunged with a well-aimed strike, it was only the 
longer reach of the staff that saved Sid. The end of the staff hit the 
other man in the center of the chest, stopping his lunge. Gregor 
shouted, "Stop."

Derek stepped back rubbing his chest. The blow had been hard, but 
his momentum had contributed to the force behind the blow. 
Gregor asked, "You avoided hitting him a little lower, didn't you?"

Sid nodded as he answered, "Yes."

"I thought so. Derek, I have to give him this bout as well. Three 
inches lower and you'd have been on the ground struggling to catch 
your breath."

"I know," replied the man knowing he would have called it the 
same way if he had been the referee. It had been years since he had 
lost three in a row in such a decisive fashion. 

Gregor nodded and said, "Well done, Sid."

The two men returned to their starting positions. Fighting in this 
fashion might not look like much exercise. After all, they were just 
swinging a sword or a stick, but even after three bouts the sweat 
was running off each man. This round, each man took his time to 
wait for a clear opportunity to score. They ended in a draw, with 
each striking the other simultaneously. Each man had halted even 
before Gregor shouted, "Stop."

"Well done," commented Sid. He had performed that particular 
move hundreds of times back at the dojo and had never been 
effectively countered. 

"Same to you. I've never had anyone succeed with that attack 
before," countered Derek. The man had moved faster than 
lightening on closing the distance. It was with the barest of luck 
that he had managed to change the angle of attack with his sword 
to reach the arm.

Surprised by the result, Gregor said, "Enough sparring for now. It's 
time to eat."

Sid gave a half bow to his opponent and said, "Thank you for the 
opportunity to spar."

Giving a half bow back, Derek said, "Thank you. I think it was 
mutually beneficial."

Nodding in the direction of Gregor, Sid headed over to where 
dinner was being served. On the way, he stopped and washed. The 
workout had been exactly what he had needed to get comfortable 
with the staff. Its weight slowed down his movements, but gave 
more force in his attacks. The shorter length required him to fight 
closer to his opponent and he didn't think there were any 
advantages in that. 

When Sid had moved out of hearing, Gregor asked, "How was 
he?"

"I didn't hold back at all. They were legitimate wins," answered 
Derek watching Sid walk away. The young man looked much too 
young to have that kind of skill. Skill took practice and practice 
took time. He didn't know how much the young man had held 
back, but he sensed that he hadn't gone all out. That thought 
concerned him. He asked, "Why did you stop us?"

"I thought it would be best to leave him wondering," answered 
Gregor. He knew that the young man was learning as much about 
his opponent as they were learning about him. 

"Three losses and a tie," muttered Derek unable to believe the 
outcome of the sparring match. There would have been no way that 
he could have made up such a deficit in a match to five. He might 
have stood a chance in a match to ten, but he'd have no secrets left 
to the other man. 

Shaking his head, Gregor said, "And that was with a short staff that 
he was still getting used to using."
<1st attachment end>


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