Learning the Footwork
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Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.
"Keep your shield higher, aiest'ja." Colja reminded Leita again, his tone still even and patient, despite that he'd had to repeat this advice over a dozen times already in the last few hours. "You are also still not pivoting your feet correctly."
Grimacing, Leita took a moment to lift each foot and give it a shake, as though to limber them. The apparent subtlety of proper footwork had been giving her quite a bit of trouble. According to the aljin, mastering how to properly plant and pivot one's feet, as well as putting them in just the right places, made a very significant difference in effective swordplay. It seemed to make it harder to fight, to her, since more than half her focus was on trying to remain aware of where her feet were and how she was moving them.
For days, she'd been trying to get her steps right, sure each time that she'd managed to finally get it, only to be told that she hadn't. The worst part was that she couldn't ever figure out what it was she'd gotten wrong. At least, with her feet.
Her issues with the shield never being high enough stemmed from Colja pointing out that she was significantly shorter than most gladiators, even other female ones. That meant her shield needed to have more elevation to it than might seem natural. With so much of her mind on trying to put her feet in the right places, her shield arm simply kept drifting back down to a more comfortable angle.
"Again." Colja said with a nod. "From the beginning."
Taking a couple steps backward, Leita took a breath to center herself and went into the routine of movements again. She'd spent the first day of practice learning the various pieces of the routine, a series of standard combat maneuvers. The exact order of the various moves Colja changed each day, both to keep her on her toes and to help her learn how to switch easily from action to action. She didn't have much trouble with performing the moves in the correct orders each day, but she'd yet to go through a full set without Colja finding something to nit-pick or correct.
Frustrating as it felt to her, he seemed to remain placidly at ease, seeming never daunted by her failures. His endless patience was perhaps one of the only reasons she'd managed to keep from giving up hope of ever mastering these things. Still, so much for being a natural at combat.
Shifting through the various maneuvers, concentrating on both where she was placing her feet and where her arms were, Leita fought off an imaginary army of attackers, sweeping back and forth, sword moving crisply. The whole of it took just under three minutes, Colja quietly walking circles around her as she went, inspecting her every move. Once she was finished, she waited for his critique.
"You are still dropping your shield down too much when you swing." He said after a moment. "And you are still not—"
"pivoting my feet correctly." She finished for him with a sigh. "Should I start again?" She asked wearily.
"Actually, it would seem you may take a moment, aiest'ja. Rest and drink some water." The aljin replied calmly, looking over to where a servant had come out of the house and was now standing to one side of the pitch, waiting expectantly. He gestured towards a wooden bench, on which rested a small jug of clean water and a towel. "The Mistress tasked me with meeting the guard for a bunkroom inspection. It would seem they are ready for me. It should not take long." With that, he gave her a small bow before striding off towards the waiting man.
Leita obeyed, actually glad for a moment to sit down and collect herself. Grabbing up the towel, she wiped away the gathered sweat from her face, running a corner around the inside of her new collar. It was a solid steel band, with a leather backing, joined together at the back of her neck by the house blacksmith. The flesh beneath the place where he'd sealed it was still tender from the heat of the molten metal that he'd used to connect it together.
Dropping the rag back to the bench, she retrieved the water and removed the cork. She was sure she was starting to get worse at this. Taking a long draw from the jug, she glanced off towards where the rest of the stable were sparring and practicing at the other end of the yard. She felt conspicuous sometimes, singled out and swinging at thin air while the rest of them were practicing with each other.
Most of the other gladiators had made little effort to speak with her or even acknowledge her, likely due to Kalder. The few that she had interacted with, save for Colja, had remained generally aloof, usually only doing so to explain some rule of the house or another. Only the aljin seemed actually friendly towards her, though even he'd made little effort to really speak with her about anything other than her lessons in combat.
In truth, much of the stable had been a bit disquieted the last two days, due to the death of a House gladiator during the midweek games. While she'd not seen any displays from the others to suggest that he'd been especially close to anyone here, the specter of death itself had sobered most of the stable. It seemed to stand as a stark reminder that being sent to fight on the sands always held the possibility of never returning from them.
Across the pitch, she watched the giant stone-like figure of the House Champion stalking through the gathered warriors as they practiced, occasionally shouting some nugget of criticism. Head and shoulders above everyone else, he was easy to keep track of as he passed among the knot of combatants, his brooding aura palpable even from where Leita sat. She'd yet to ever see him spare even a moment's notice for this end of the field, practically acting as though she didn't exist.
She thought again of what Colja had said, about his pride needing time to heal. He'd obviously not felt she was worthy to be here, regardless of what Colja, or their owner, thought. Still, he'd done nothing to hinder Colja from spending these days focused on her. She supposed that it had not hurt that Mistress Marlowe had come out on the upper balcony a few times to watch her working with the aljin, apparently approving of him teaching her.
Thinking of her, Leita glanced upwards to see if the Mistress was currently there. She wanted to impress her new owner, to prove that she was worth what had been paid, and that she deserved to remain in the stable. If she found her out and watching, she intended to rise and go through the routine again. Though she still wasn't sure why she was so determined to remain a gladiator, she'd stopped questioning it and just put all her energy on trying to learn how to fight. Knowing that Mistress Marlowe was watching only made her push harder and focus more.
At the moment, however, no one but guards were about the upper landings, lazily watching the gladiators training as they made casual circuits. Their aloofness never ceased to surprise, seeming completely unprepared should anything ever actually happen. She assumed it was because, being that they were at the compound's center, there was little concern of someone trying to escape from here. More likely, they were here just to remind all of them that they were still property of the House, despite the general freedom they seemed to have here.
Though they were closely watched everywhere, in the House they were herded like cattle and regularly tasked with all manner of menial labors, but here in the training yard they were allowed to do as they wished. Or, at least, as far as Kalder and the other 'Elements' allowed. It was rare to see anyone doing anything other than training or, in the case of the stable's four leaders, overseeing that training.
With Colja spending all his time with only her, Myrinus and Sasinel had become much more active in playing the roles of trainers. In the case of the blue-lipped mariner, the other gladiators seemed to heed his advice as closely as they did Kalder's, but the lithe sidil woman seemed to be more tolerated by them than anything else. She'd never seen the woman interacting with anyone other than her fellow Four Elements on a social level and, even among them, only Colja seemed to treat her with any sense of actual comradery.
Leita's eyes searched out the lean snowy form amid the sparring groups, finding her about as easily as she did Kalder due to her pale countenance. Like the large stone giant, she too stalked about the throng, dispensing advice and critique, regardless of how much it was really accepted. She seemed like some wintery hunting cat; her movements so naturally graceful that she seemed to almost glide along the ground.
She frowned at her own apparent clumsiness, unable to even get the basic footwork of battle down. She imagined herself as the awkward duck next to Sasinel's elegant swan. She'd considered a few times approaching the sidil to inquire about her helping he with some of her training. So far, though, she'd not managed to pluck up the courage to do so.
"Like what you see, slave?" Came a velvety voice from behind her, making her start slightly in surprise. Turning, she saw Cookie, dressed in a beautiful blue dress of material so supple that it seemed more liquid that cloth. It clung to her shapely torso in a way that seemed somehow indecent, though the garment was not at all revealing in the common sense.
"She is a beautiful specimen." Cooke continued, looking across the field at the white-skinned gladiator. "The Mistress has commanded her up to her chambers more than few times, you know, sometimes simply to watch her dance." She peered towards Leita. "You really should see her dance, darling. It is truly an act of pure art. I imagine much of her skill on the sands are due to her talent for dancing."
Cookie glanced back up the field, a sly smile parting her full lips. "And she tastes faintly of plum when she is deeply aroused. If you are want to know."
