c. 1993 · Two scenes — a birth, and a lesson.

Ulundul paced outside the door to the birthing tent. Sweat dripped for his forehead, and he crushed his hands between each other. Kierin was having their baby! It had seemed like a dream come true when she became pregnant, and when Marisse the Druid disclosed to them that the baby was a boy, the dream became a miracle.

He would name his son Ronik. His father’s name had been Ulm, and his father before him was named Onik. It was only proper to associate his boy’s name with that of his father’s line. He returned to stark reality when he heard the screams of an infant come from the tent. He could hear Kierin’s voice softly, painfully try to shout, “Come in, Ulundul! Our boy is born!” Ronik slipped inside the tent, the flap-doors billowing with the wind caused by his entrance.

The boy looked just like him. He had a lot of hair for an infant; thick dark hair that came from his father. Kierin’s own hair was golden-brown, as was her eyes. Ulundul’s eyes were a darker brown, but Ronik’s eyes reflected shiny silver, a nice contrast to the tanned hue of his skin. Marisse and Kierin looked at Ulundul expectantly. Smiling hugely and giving Kierin a kiss on the forehead, he shouted so that everyone around the tent could hear, “Ronik son of Ulundul and Kierin is born on this nineteenth day of June! Set up the dining hall–we will celebrate!”

RONIK’S TRAINING

Elliot countered Ronik’s stab with his main-gauche, nearly sending his sword to go skittering off across the training hall. Perspiring because of the weight of Ronik’s broadsword, he feinted another stab at Elliot, and then reversed his attack and swept low, attempting to break Elliot’s balance. Instead, Elliot leapt into the air and knocked Ronik on the side of his head with the powerful club. Dizzy and unsteady, Ronik lunged forward, breathing a curse, and with all his weight being thrown into his attack, he succeeded into throwing Elliot’s club to the ground. Ready to complement his first attack, he prepared to finish the battle by sending the flat of his sword against Elliot’s head. He made the swing…

And was thrown backward as his father tackled him to the ground. “Always give your foe a chance to surrender, boy! It is dishonorable to attack a disarmed enemy. Play with honor and you will win respect.” His father’s commanding voice brought him to immediant conformity. He walked over to where Elliot lay on the ground, bent over his club, and helped him up.

“Yes, sir. Is my training finished for the day, Master Elliot?” Ronik asked his teacher.

“Your training here is finished forever. You have grown very fast in your skills of war. You have made me proud, and your father, too, I’m sure. Take your skills and be sure to use them to advance the ways of Sun. You need not ever fail. Be true.” Ronik remembered those words as a rule; they would serve as his maxim for the years to come.

Composed 1993 · part of the Short Stories collection · authorship documented on the Provenance page.