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Posted: March 11, 2005 - 10:45:02 am



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."

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