Fearless (Nameless #3)(16)
Gryphon stared after Commander Laden as he stormed away with the messenger and the four guards who’d been following them. They must have been Laden’s private guard.
Hadn’t Laden only last night vowed that he didn’t trust him to walk the camp alone? He must have forgotten to have his guard remain behind.
Gryphon wasn’t about to remind him of his rather careless mistake.
He let his gaze settle over the training field. Multiple sparring matches were taking place in the open area. Tall grass lay matted from the traffic of boots, providing a soft cushion under Gryphon’s feet as he meandered along the perimeter.
He considered leaving the field to find Zo or Joshua, but found himself caught up in the clank of wooden swords and the buzz of training. He missed his old workout regimen—the burn of muscle and the thrill of exertion, the mental battle of pushing himself just a little beyond what he’d previously thought possible. Standing on this training field was the closest he’d been to feeling at home since leaving the Ram.
There was so much he didn’t understand about the world. But he knew war. He knew this.
The few Kodiak present were difficult to miss, not only due to their sheer size, but also because of their poor handling of the blade. Ravens too struggled with the weapon. While their movements were stiff and fast, the Kodiak put too much force behind each jab and thrust of the sword. Around them, Wolves carried out complicated movements with true technique. For some Wolf warriors, the sword was an extension of their arm, just like a claw to a beast. They made the work appear effortless.
Gryphon let his mind wander as he moved closer to observe a more advanced pair of fighters. Breakfast in Commander Laden’s tent. Now dinner?
Did Laden intend to have him at his side through every meal? It seemed strange that the Commander of such an enormous alliance would bother devoting so much time to Gryphon. Did he show Gryphon favor out of respect for Zo? More likely, he distrusted having a Ram in his camp and wanted to keep a close watch on him.
It wasn’t fair to judge Laden after watching his forces train for an afternoon, but Gryphon couldn’t understand why Laden had them all training with swords when he could be playing to the strengths of each clan. If he were plotting to overthrow the Ram, he would use the Raven’s bow and the Kodiak’s strength as well as the Wolf’s agility against his people. More than anything else, they would need to learn how to break down the phalanx. That could only be done by sheer force.
“You’re a brave man.”
Gryphon startled and turned around to find three Wolf soldiers about his age flanked by four others. They each carried a wooden practice sword in their hands and a menacing grin on their lips.
“The Commander should have slit your throat the minute you entered Camp,” said the taller Wolf in the center of the pack.
Fighting around the practice field diminished and a reluctant crowd gathered. Something in the air shifted. The same something that always stirred and swelled inside Gryphon’s stomach every time he sensed an enemy near.
He eyed the men forming a loose circle around him and scowled. If a fight broke out, no one would win. He was careful to keep his stance casual, his expression neutral.
“What? Not going to defend yourself, little lamb?” The tall Wolf reached out and struck Gryphon across the cheek with the back of his hand. The force of the blow made his head snap to the side. Young men around the circle hissed and jeered. A few clapped each other on the shoulders, clearly enjoying the chance to see a Ram whipped. Blood pooled inside Gryphon’s mouth, but he didn’t bother so much as balling a fist.
Pushing old hatred aside, Gryphon tried to calm his rage by imagining the humiliation many of these Wolves must have felt at the hand of the Ram. He’d give them this small win for Zo’s and Joshua’s sakes. He had nothing to prove.
The Wolf stepped even closer to Gryphon, his stance too open and his fists too low to properly protect his face. Gryphon fought the urge to roll his eyes at the untrained fool. How easy it would have been to knock the man on his rear and bloody him in the process.
The Wolf’s fist reared back to strike him again. Gryphon saw the attack coming long before he swung. The feet and hips always betray the fist. He’d learned to anticipate such attacks during his daily hand-to-hand trainings with Ajax. Rather than take another blow to the face, Gryphon ducked out of the way—a subtle move that required him only to lean a few inches to the side while keeping his feet planted.
A few of the men in the circle laughed as the miss sent the Wolf off balance.
“I will not fight you,” said Gryphon. This ignorant Wolf would not force him to lose his composure. During his short stay with the Allies, he’d gain nothing from creating more enemies.
“Suit yourself.” The Wolf took one step back and then charged Gryphon, wrapping his arms about his middle and propelling himself forward with all the aggression of a bull. Instinct won out and Gryphon, in one swift twist, launched his attacker into the arms of the men around the circle, knocking several off their feet.
Gryphon stood panting, looking around for another challenger.
“Take him out,” someone called, and a flood of men charged at once. Gryphon threw the first two down but was tackled from behind by a third and landed with the weight of several others on top of him. He laced his fingers behind his head, using his arms to protect his face. Fists landed against his stomach and ribs. He retreated into that mental place he knew so well as a child when he was given his yearly beatings. A place where pain and anger couldn’t reach him. Yet with every fist that connected with his body another layer of self-control crumbled. Old hatred, the kind ingrained in him from birth, roared to life, vicious in its demand for vengeance.