A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Kaelid:

Morning sunlight filtered through the small window, casting warm patterns across his sleeping pallet. He'd been awake for some time, watching dust motes dance in the golden beams, his mind too restless for sleep. The heartwood seedling on his windowsill had grown noticeably in the days since Elder Myra had given it to him, its tiny leaves unfurling toward the light.

"Kaelid," his mother called from below. "Breakfast is ready. You don't want to be late."

He dressed quickly, tucking the amber heartstone crystal into the small pouch he wore around his neck. Its familiar warmth against his chest was reassuring, a reminder of the new awareness he was developing.

Downstairs, his mother was getting breakfast ready.

"Excited about today?"

"Yes," he replied, sitting at the table. "Doran says we'll get to see real fighting techniques."

She nodded, placing a bowl before him. "You know your father would be proud to see you taking an interest in the militia."

The mention of his father sent a familiar ache through his chest. He had few memories of the man who had died when he was four, just fragments of a deep voice and strong hands lifting him high.

After breakfast, he met Rannek at their usual spot by the old oak tree. His friend was bouncing on his toes, barely containing his excitement.

"Ready?" Rannek asked, falling into step beside him as they headed toward the western edge of the village where the training grounds were located.

"I think so. Doran says we'll mostly be watching and helping out, not actually training yet."

"Still, it's a start. Maybe they'll let us hold real weapons."

He nodded, sharing his friend's enthusiasm. Despite Elder Myra's fascinating lessons, there was something undeniably appealing about the more physical, tangible skills of the militia.

The training grounds came into view as they rounded the last cluster of houses. The training grounds were a wide expanse of packed earth, ringed by fencing and scattered with targets and practice weapons.

About twenty people were already gathered, ranging from teenagers only a few years older than Rannek to men and women Doran's age. They wore no uniforms, just practical clothing suitable for movement, though some of the older members had leather vests or arm guards.

A broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard noticed their arrival and strode toward them. Captain Tellen, he recognized him from village gatherings, though they'd never spoken directly.

"You must be Doran's nephew," the captain said, looking Kaelid over with appraising eyes. "And Julid's boy," he added, nodding to Rannek. "Your uncle spoke highly of your interest in the militia."

"Thank you for allowing us to observe, sir," he replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"More than observe, I think. We can always use extra hands." The captain gestured toward a stack of water buckets. "Start by filling those and bringing them to the training area. After that, help set up the striking posts. Then you can watch the drills while you catch your breath."

The morning passed in a blur of physical labor. They carried water, moved equipment, and helped reset training areas between exercises. All the while, they observed the militia members practicing various drills. Some worked with wooden swords against the striking posts, others practiced hand-to-hand combat techniques in pairs, while the more experienced members engaged in complex maneuvers involving shields and coordinated movements.

He found himself particularly fascinated by the sparring matches. He could now sometimes see the subtle shifts in weight and balance that telegraphed an opponent's next move.

"They're telegraphing their moves," he whispered to Rannek as they watched two teenagers circling each other. "See how he leans slightly before striking?"

Rannek nodded. "And listen to their breathing. It changes right before they attack."

A shadow fell across them, and they looked up to see one of the older militia members, a woman with graying hair pulled back in a tight braid.

"Observant, aren't you?" she said, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp. "Most beginners just see the flashy movements."

Before either boy could respond, a voice called out from across the training ground.

"Water carriers! We need those targets moved for archery practice!"

The woman gave them a nod before moving away. "Keep watching closely. That's how you learn."

By midday, both boys were sweating and tired, but exhilarated. They sat at the edge of the training ground, drinking from water cups and watching as the militia broke into smaller groups for specialized training.

"Look," Rannek nudged Kaelid, pointing toward a group of younger members. "Isn't that Marta?"

He followed his gaze and spotted the baker's daughter among a group of teenagers practicing basic strikes against padded targets. Her movements were precise and confident, suggesting she'd been training for some time.

"I didn't know she was in the militia," he said, surprised.

"Junior members," Rannek explained. "They start training at twelve if their parents approve."

As they watched, Captain Tellen approached their resting spot.

"Rested enough?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question. "The junior group could use some sparring partners. Nothing complicated, just basic defensive postures."

Kaelid and Rannek exchanged glances, excitement mingled with nervousness.

"We haven't had any training, sir."

The captain shrugged. "Consider this your first lesson, then. Sometimes the best way to learn is to feel what doesn't work."

He led them to the junior group, where six teenagers, including Marta, were practicing in pairs. "Two new volunteers for sparring practice," he announced. "Go easy on them, they're beginners."

A few of the older teens smirked, clearly relishing the opportunity to demonstrate their superior skills. Marta, however, simply assessed them with curious eyes.

"I'll take the tall one," she said, nodding toward Rannek.

Another girl, slightly older, stepped forward. "Guess that leaves you with me," she told him.

Captain Tellen reminded him, "Just try to block or avoid her strikes, don't worry about counterattacking for now."

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The girl, who introduced herself as Lina, started with slow, telegraphed movements, giving him time to react. To his surprise, he found he could anticipate her strikes quite easily. The subtle shifts in her weight, the tension in her shoulders, the direction of her gaze, all combined to create a clear picture of her intentions.

As the sparring continued, Lina increased her speed, seemingly frustrated by his ability to block or avoid most of her attacks. When she finally landed a solid hit to his shoulder, she looked almost relieved.

"You've done this before," she accused, stepping back to reset.

"No," Kaelid shook his head. "Just... watching carefully."

Nearby, Rannek was having a similar experience with Marta, though she adapted more quickly to his defensive abilities. She varied her timing and approach, making her movements harder to predict, and landed several solid hits.

After several rounds, Captain Tellen called for them to switch partners. He found himself facing Marta, while Rannek squared off against an older boy who had been watching from the sidelines.

"So you're the one who sees things coming," Marta said as they took their positions.

He blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Lina says you were reading her moves before she made them." Marta's stance was relaxed but alert. "Let's see how you do against someone less predictable."

She attacked without warning, a quick jab toward his midsection that he barely managed to deflect. Unlike Lina, Marta gave away almost nothing before she moved, her body remaining loose and neutral until the very moment of action.

Still, he found he could perceive subtle cues, not in her posture or expression, but in the faint trails of color that seemed to precede her movements. It wasn't enough to avoid all her strikes, but he managed to defend himself better than anyone would expect from a complete novice.

After landing a particularly solid hit to his ribs, Marta stepped back, her head tilted in curiosity. "You're not blocking based on what you see me doing," she observed. "You're blocking based on what you think I'm going to do. How?"

Before he could formulate a response, Captain Tellen called an end to the sparring session. "Water break, then we'll switch to staff practice."

As they moved toward the water buckets, Marta fell into step beside him and Rannek. "You two are strange," she said matter-of-factly. "Good strange, but strange. No one picks up defensive reading that quickly."

Rannek shrugged, trying to appear casual. "We've been practicing other things that might help. Awareness exercises."

"With who?" Marta pressed.

"Just... around the village," Kaelid said vaguely. "Observing people, animals, that sort of thing."

Marta clearly didn't believe them, but before she could ask more questions, one of the older teens approached, a tall boy with a perpetual smirk.

"Captain's pet projects holding up okay?" he asked, his tone making it clear he didn't particularly care about the answer. "Don't get too excited about your defensive luck. Real fighting isn't about blocking, it's about striking."

"Leave them alone, Hewitt," Marta said, her voice cooling. "They're doing fine for first-timers."

"Sure, if all you want to do is avoid getting hit." Hewitt's smirk widened. "But avoiding hits doesn't win fights, does it?"

He sauntered away, rejoining a group of older teens who were watching the younger members with barely concealed disdain.

"Ignore him," Marta advised. "He thinks being the tanner's son makes him special."

The afternoon session focused on staff techniques, with the boys watching rather than participating. He found himself analyzing the movements, seeing patterns.

As the training session wound down, he noticed Brannic arriving at the edge of the training grounds. Observing for a time, his golden eyes tracking the various practice groups with evident interest.

Marta:

When Captain Tellen called an end to the day's training, she wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her arm, eyes already on Brannic as he made his way toward the captain. They exchanged a few quiet words, too far to hear, but she caught the direction of their glances. Toward Kaelid. Rannek. More than once.

Brannic peeled away from Tellen and strode toward where she and the boys were stacking the last of the practice equipment.

"I hear you two made an impression today," he said, voice as blunt and dry as always.

She didn't give either boy a chance to answer. "They're unnaturally good at reading attacks," she said, matter-of-fact. "But terrible at doing anything about it."

Brannic's scales rippled subtly, just at the edge of his shoulders. Amusement, she guessed. He was hard to read, but not impossible.

"Seeing an opening and exploiting it are different skills," he said, calm and deliberate. "One comes from awareness. The other from practice."

He let the moment settle. She saw the way his eyes moved, reading all three of them like they were problems to solve. Then he seemed to come to a decision.

"If you're interested," he continued, "I could show you some techniques. Something to build on that... awareness. All three of you."

She blinked. Not at the offer, she'd suspected something was coming, but at the way he said it. "You're offering to train us? You're not militia."

"I've got some experience with combat," Brannic replied, with that kind of understatement that always made her suspicious. "And I've been observing these two for a while now. I think there's something worth developing."

"When?" Rannek asked, eyes lighting up. His excitement overflowing.

"Now, if you're not too tired. There's space behind my forge that'll work for starting out."

Marta traded a glance with the boys, then gave a quick nod. Whatever Brannic was offering, she wanted to see it firsthand.

They followed Brannic through the quiet forge to a packed-earth training space behind it. No grass. No clutter..

"First," he said, turning to face them, "show me what you learned today."

He paired them off, Kaelid with her, Rannek with him. She took up the stance they'd drilled, feet apart, knees bent, arms raised. She was already replaying Brannic's earlier conversation with Tellen in her head.

He circled between the pairs, correcting small things. A foot angle. A dropped shoulder. A lazy stance. His attention didn't linger on anyone too long, but he didn't miss a single flaw.

"Now," he rumbled once they'd finished the basics, "let's address the real issue. You can see attacks coming, but you don't know how to use that."

He stepped in front of Kaelid, motioning him forward.

"Attack me. Slowly."

Kaelid hesitated, then sent a clumsy punch toward Brannic's midsection. It wasn't about power. Brannic didn't block. Didn't flinch. He shifted slightly, using Kaelid's motion to open up a weak spot without ever following through.

"You see?" he said, addressing them all. "It's not just about avoiding. It's about creating chances, turning their momentum into your advantage."

He repeated the motion, once with Kaelid, once with Rannek. The transitions were seamless, movement to movement, like it was one long rhythm.

Then he had them pair up again. "Focus on recognizing the opening," he said. "Not landing the hit."

She squared off with Kaelid again. She slowed her attacks, testing his responses. She could feel him reacting before she fully committed to a strike, but he couldn't do much with it yet. It was like watching someone try to grab a fish bare-handed, he saw it but couldn't quite hold on.

He was watching her differently, though. Not her eyes or her hands, but… something else. It wasn't guessing. It was closer to knowing. That unsettled her.

Brannic moved between them again, offering small corrections. Encouraging, even when their attempts flopped. When Kaelid tried to counter one of her feints and ended up off-balance, Brannic nodded instead of criticizing.

"Don't be discouraged," he said to him. "Your mind is ahead of your body right now. With practice, your body will catch up."

She didn't miss the way Kaelid looked at the ground after that. The compliment hadn't made him proud, it had made him thoughtful. Maybe guilty.

As shadows stretched long across the dirt, Brannic clapped his hands once.

"That's enough for today. Practice this on your own, and we'll continue in a few days."

"Definitely," she said, not missing a beat. She turned to Kaelid and Rannek. "You two are coming back, right?"

They nodded, both a little dazed but smiling.

Brannic's voice softened. "Marta, your parents will be expecting you."

She sighed but nodded. "Right. I'll head back."

Then she hesitated.

"Tomorrow, after chores? By the old oak? We could work through the drills."

"We'll be there," Rannek said, before Kaelid could answer.

She left without another word, heading east past the baker's shop, then cutting across the long path by the outer fence. Her route gave her a view of Brannic's yard from the side.

Brannic stood too stiffly, tail low and sweeping. Adults only did that when they were hiding something.

She ducked out of sight before she could be seen.

They were hiding something. Something Kaelid didn't want her to know. She'd known it since halfway through their sparring. The way he'd blocked her strikes, not from watching her body, but something else. A delay in reaction that didn't match the speed of his eyes. He wasn't reacting. He was predicting.

Back in the village, she passed the bakery door, her father's voice drifting from inside, something about mixing proportions. She didn't stop. Just waved as she passed, trusting he'd assume she was finishing an errand.

She needed to think. Alone.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Kaelid. Or Rannek. But people only kept secrets when there was something important to protect. Or something dangerous.

She walked until she reached the old oak by the river bend. Sat in the low forked roots and stared at the water.

They didn't trust her yet. That much was obvious. But they weren't as tightly lipped as earlier in the summer.

She could push. Ask Kaelid direct, maybe even trick him into admitting something. But that wasn't the way. People clammed up under pressure. She'd wait. Watch. Learn the shape of the lie before trying to crack it.

And in the meantime, there was training. Real training. Brannic was the best kind of teacher: the kind who saw exactly where you were failing and didn't pretend otherwise.

She'd come back in a few days. Not just for the answers, but because she wanted to know what else her body could do if her brain kept catching up. And there was no one better with a spear than the large dragonkin.