Benevolence Fiteprone
William Rodgers

 

“Benevolence Fiteprone, you have been charged with the disruption of training camp activities. You and Mr. Dawlings will be fined 30 gold Zeloths for your actions. You will spend a total of no less than one and a half days in ‘The Box.’ These are the findings of this court and so it shall be done.” Withro Bennent smacked his gavel on the block and nodded his head with finality. He stepped down and left the courtroom with his dried up little adviser Ancil Anthony. If one could call it a courtroom. It really was no more than a ten-foot by ten-foot room with a raised wooden platform and a few chairs from the mess room.

Benevolence left the room and looked up at the sky through the trees. He was not looking forward to his time in The Box. He was quietly cursing Withro for being so free with the power that working for the king gave him. It would be hot judging by the sky, and The Box workers were known for their cruelty. The fine, on the other hand, was quite a bit less than usual. Thirty gold was well within his allowance. Besides that, he and his best friend Jesse were experts at Bilgene, the popular card game at the training camp. They would have the money made up in an hour even with the stingiest of players.

He walked to his tent and started putting on a worn pair of clothes. They would undoubtedly take a knife to whatever he was wearing to make sure he wasn’t concealing any food. Through painful experience, he and Jesse had found a way to store food in their mouth without getting caught. He figured that they wouldn’t take him to the box until after dinner, so he would have time to eat a meal at least. He wondered what was on the menu for the evening meal. I hope its Chicken and Dumplings. Those always keep the best in The Box. After pulling on his worst shirt, he started the long walk to the mess room.
* * * * *
Withro walked briskly through the trees, away from the small huts and tents. He couldn’t wait to be away from the training camp. It was simply too green for his taste. Ancil rode on his hip the whole way to the wagon. Their conversation was centered on the young man that he had just sentenced to The Box.

“Do you really think that one and a half days is necessary? I mean, come on With, you remember the box!” exclaimed Ancil.

“Of course it is, Ancil. That boy is a Fiteprone,” retorted Withro. “I was in the Kings Guard with his father. William was the toughest egg you had ever seen. They cracked him all right though, and after they did, he was the best fighter the guard had ever seen. The boy is twice as hard as his father ever was. Fiteprones don’t break without work. They are the most stubborn people you have ever met, but they turn into soldiers like you wouldn’t believe. Besides, we are running out of time. Raker-Scouts say that we only have a month before they come. We need a leader. He is the one we will have to use. To do that, he will need to be ready.”

“I think I understand,” said Ancil, “I will put him through the most rigorous training session anyone has ever seen. Maybe three to four spar sessions in a day. He wont be able to stand when I’m though with him.”

“Good,” said Withro rubbing his hands together in greedy anticipation. “Putting together the pieces should be quite interesting. Especially after it’s over.” With that, Withro stepped into the cart and drove away from the harsh smoky climate of the forested training camp.
* * * * *
Fresh air had never smelled so good. Benevolence stepped out of The Box and took a long calming breath. He was weak from lack of food. They hadn’t waited until after dinner which meant he hadn’t eaten since mid meal the day before. He didn’t get very far in his thoughts about eating, though. A guard handed him his schedule of fights for the week. He had at least three spars a day. Five on Friday! That’s ludicrous! His first was scheduled for an hour later. He would have to cram food down his throat. There would be no time to properly prepare. He would have to eat in his training uniform.

An hour later he was at training area 3Q. His opponent was his best friend Jesse Hitso. He and Jesse had been friends since they were kids. Jesse never had a father and they had both looked upon William Fiteprone as a hero. Jesse ended up having the same violent disposition that Benevolence did. That had been the reason that Benevolence’s mother had given him his name. She had thought that perhaps she could break the long line of hard core fighters that the Fiteprones inevitably turned out to be, by naming her child something meaning “inclined to do good.” The only thing the name had accomplished was to push Benevolence harder to prove his name was just the outer shell.

Benevolence grinned at Jesse. This would have been a lot of fun if he had eaten a little more. His stomach growled in protest as he did his personal warm up exercises. When he was ready, he walked over to the sword rack and picked out a good practice sword. When Jesse had done the same they were ready to begin.

“Well,” said Jesse grinning.

“Well,” said Benevolence. “What are we waiting for, runt? Your butt is as good as toast. You wanna just give up now?”

“Not a chance,” said Jesse. He got into the ready sword stance looking at Benevolence expectantly. By now, word was getting out that the two best fighters in the camp were fighting and a crowd started to form around the tree walks above the training area. Benevolence decided to get the show on the road, despite the protests of his mid section. He dropped into the ready stance and the fight was on.
Right away Jesse charged him. It was easy business fending off the attack, but it left Jesse behind him, and he was known for his quick recoveries. Benevolence put his sword over his head protecting his back, and sure enough, he felt Jesse’s practice sword hit his. He turned before Jesse could recover and attempted a side strike. Jesse parried the attack easily. Benevolence didn’t end there, however. He kept attacking: left side, left side, right side, low left side, high right side. Again Jesse was able to turn every blow.

The crowd cheered as the two fighters danced with their swords. At one point Jesse appeared to have the upper hand. Benevolence started falling back. Then he surprised everyone by taking a leap over Jesse’s sword and striking at him with a non-stop volley of sword strikes. It still didn’t work. Jesse was just to fast and Benevolence was weakening with every strike. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. He would have to catch Jesse off balance. He moved out of his preferred strength stance into a balance stance that would help him turn Jesse’s blows. No sooner had he done this than they came. A tirade of sword strikes that more that once made it into his inner defense circle.

Finally, the blow came that he had been waiting for. Jesse attempted to strike with an overhead blow. It was a mistake. Benevolence was using what he called “soft eyes;” he wasn’t focusing on anything. This made it easy to predict the strike before it came. His timing had to be perfect, for if he didn’t wait long enough Jesse would recover he would have to come up with another plan. To long and he would be unconscious, ending the sparring match.

The blow ended up clipping his shoulder, but he was able to spin out of it anyway. Despite the sharp pain leaping up in his shoulder, he delivered a blow to the back of Jesse’s head sending him to the ground. Jesse was unconscious. The fight was over.
Ancil stepped out of the referee’s box. What’s that little worm doing here? Withro’s sidekick seemed to know what he was doing at least. He performed all of the correct rituals and ceremonies for after a training battle. After Jesse was awake again, benevolence asked Ancil what he was still at the camp for.

“Withro has taken an interest in you, kid.” Said Ancil. “Get used to it, I’ll be here for a while. I hope you like your battle week. This is only the beginning.” Ancil walked away laughing. Something was up with that pair.
* * * * *
In the following weeks Benevolence was put through the most rigorous training schedules anyone had ever seen. He had a minimum of three battles a day. No one in the camp had ever seen anything quite like it. He won every battle he fought in. It wasn’t long before he started feeling the strain of the long days. He was getting tired and everyone knew it. There began to be more and more spectators at his sparring matches as word spread of what they were doing to him. Someone was bound to beat Benevolence eventually.

His most pitiful match came when he was fighting the camps worst fighter. He let the newbie get past his inner circle and had to drop flat to the ground and role more than once to keep the kid from knocking him cold. He finally won after a fluke accident. The kid tripped on a twig and Benevolence was able to score a winning blow. It wasn’t long after he received his orders. He was being sent to become a squad leader in the front line. Not just going there, but leading! Plus I haven’t been through leadership training yet. What’s going ON? That night he had a dream.
* * * * *
His mother was putting him to bed. He asked where papa was and she told him that he was fighting on the front line for the rebellion. He asked why they were rebelling and she told him that the king was forcing them to pay triple taxes. They couldn’t give up the money. He asked question after question about his father. His mother’s only answer seemed to be “I don’t know, Ben.” Fear the predominant expression on her face.
* * * * *
That had been the night his father disappeared. Everyone knew that the rebellion had been stopped long ago. Or at least that’s what the king said. There was a popular rumor that said otherwise though. It said the rebellions had just stopped one day, and the army went into hiding in a far off land to gain strength. Benevolence did not believe his father was dead. He believed that they had gone to another land, and that the rebellion army had been captured. Since that night, his goal in life had been to rescue his father. Nothing else mattered to him. Now he was being given a chance to prove his worth. Then maybe, if he was good enough, they would let him go on a campaign. He was not sure how far he trusted the King, but the rebellion had stopped long ago, and there was no other way. The only person he was able to see before he left was Jesse. He was standing outside his tent when Jesse walked up.

“I heard you were transferred.” Said Jesse.

“Yep,” said Benevolence.

“Be careful who you trust out there.” A small look of worry crept onto his face, and then was gone. “Are they really making you a leader? You haven’t been to officers training yet.”

“They are. I don’t know why. I just can’t screw up. For my Fathers sake I must do well.” With a quick goodbye, they slapped hands as they had done since before they had come to camp. Jesse walked away. Benevolence wanted to cry. This would be the first time they were apart since joining the camp.

The trip to the front line was long and hard. He missed his friends, and Jesse. He also missed the training camp. Without realizing, he had become very attached to it. He had drawn comfort out of the harsh climate and never dying noise. The lush green trees and muddy ground were like a bowl of breakfast mush. Looked at in the right way, and it was heaven. If you had the wrong perspective the training period seemed endless.

Benevolence had little time to remember things, though. He was quickly becoming a very skilled leader with his squad. Soon after that he was promoted to being a section leader, and then again to a leg leader. Through it all, he taught everyone about “soft eyes” and its uses in defense. This is what seemed to give him the respect of everyone in the camp. A couple days after receiving his leg, he was paid an unexpected visit.

Withro walked into his tent completely unannounced. He was lucky Benevolence hadn’t chopped him to pieces! Withro inquired on his health, and made small talk for a little while. When it was clear that Benevolence had no interest in talking he got to the point.

“Raker-Scouts are coming in from all over. They say that there is an army approaching. A big one and its coming from all directions. I wish you good luck. Get your men ready. They could attack at any time.”

“Who are they?” asked Benevolence. “And why are they here?”

“You are not here to ask those questions,” said Withro with an especially harsh tone. “Never mind who they are. They are a threat to the throne, and you will help deal with them.” A mischievous grin crept onto his lips. “You might call this unfinished business. It’s what you’ve been training for. Now get your men ready.” Withro turned and walked away.
Benevolence was confused. He tried to figure out what Withro had meant, but soon gave up and went to assemble his men.

Two days later the armies met on the battlefield. The uniforms of their opponents seemed to tickle the mind of Benevolence, but he fought on in an effort to keep from being killed. The only thing he could think of was his father sitting in a cage from whatever country these men were from. The battle lasted throughout the afternoon, and many lives were lost on both sides. Eventually, they began to gain the upper hand. After that, the battle seemed to end quickly. Benevolence felt excitement. It had been his first real battle, and he had won. Grinning, he was one of the first in line for the cleanup crew

First they separated out all bodies of allies. After that, they assembled the officers from the other army and pulled off their helmets. Benevolence stood there. He now knew why the uniforms had looked so familiar. They were different now, true, but that was no excuse. He had thrown his whole trust into the king for training, and to point his finger in the right direction when it was time for battle. What had he done? What had the king made him do? Staring up into his eyes was the cold, unblinking gaze of his father.

 

 

Copyright © 2001 William Rodgers
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"