Merdon roared as his shield slammed into the large-bodied orc. His green-skinned sparring partner was taken by surprise at the assault, his defense lacking in the face of the human's assault. He had barely managed to get a portion of his massive blade in front of him before Merdon crashed into him in full armor. Eyes wide, the orc looked down at the human as he came just far enough off the ground to be hurled across the dirty training field. Grot watched, slack-jawed, at the moment before him. Shade, at his side, looked just as surprised as the human stepped back, panting heavily, and eyed his recovering opponent. The dust had settled around the orc's body as he got his legs back under him. Shaking all over, the orc sat down, at last shaking his head in surrender.

“I thought Merdon needed a human to train him,” Shade said to Grot, eyeing her mate. Naturally, they had converged to speak about their respective apprentices.

“I told him as much,” Grot said, folding his arms. “He didn't tell me he had the bullhead of an orc.”

Merdon, across the way, peeled his helmet off, sweat pouring down his face like rain, leaving his short hair matted down on top of his head. He shook it off and looked at the sidelines. Another half dozen orcs stood, nervously now, waiting for their own sparring session. “Let's take a break,” the human said, catching the mood of the room. The orcs nodded and dispersed with deliberate care. Not too fast to appear afraid and not slow enough to get called back.

The knight took a deep breath and approached the orc he'd knocked flat, offering a hand. “I wasn't too rough, was I?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Not at all, Whisperer,” the orc said, taking Merdon's hand more as a gesture of goodwill than anything else. He could have easily pulled the human down to the ground with his weight. “The younger orcs are simply surprised. We tell tales of murderous humans killing orcs by the dozens in enchanted armor. Rarely do we speak of the few warriors that can battle us one on one.”

Merdon grunted in acceptance of that. “I suppose you haven't too many of those stories to begin with.”

The orc, standing again, gave him a smile. “Not many, no. Wars do not lend themselves to single combat.” Most of their stories were about triumph over the humans in groups, though their strength was beyond one normal man, there were hardened veterans that could stack up. With Grot's help, Merdon was becoming one of them.

The chief-of-chiefs stepped over and patted Merdon on the shoulder, causing the knight to bend and wince. “Good job,” he told the human. “You're starting to learn.”

“Starting,” Merdon gasped, rolling his probably bruised shoulder. “I have a long way to go before I match up to your warriors in a serious fight.”

Grot shrugged, “That's why I said starting, human. If my men were intending to kill you'd have to fight a few of them at once. You're not there, yet.”

Merdon chuckled and shook his head. “I doubt I'll ever be that strong without magic.”

“You never know,” Grot said with a smirk. “Keep training and we'll see what happens.”

“Assuming I survive this war.”

The dark-skinned orc nodded grimly and added, “Assuming any of us do, Merdon. Nothing is certain. The best we can do is our best, and hope the winds are in our favor.”

Their discussion was cut off by the sudden continuation of Sarel's training. The blue kobold had found a place to climb the orcs' wall, evaded several guards, and used the advantage to land on top of Shade in a surprise attack. It was one of the last parts of her training, the element of surprise. The black kobold was extremely stunned as she was tackled to the ground, rolled end over end, and pinned to the ground by the blue-scaled lizard. After a quick assessment of the situation, however, she turned the grapple around on the thief, launching her backward and twisting up to her feet.

Sarel was not done just yet though. She landed on her feet and darted towards Shade, sliding out of the blue onto the dusty ground towards her target's legs. Shade covered her face, trying to keep the dirt out of her eyes. A futile effort as she found her legs entangled by Sarel's, and moments later got dragged into the dust cloud the thief had kicked up. Grot turned to watch, what he could, as the silhouettes in the dirt scrapped with each other. Neither of them made a sound and their scuffle caused the cloud to slowly expand until the sounds stopped.

Merdon and Grot watched with burning interest, neither of them daring to blink, ears turned sharp and open for any noise. The dust fell, one shadow on top of another. Merdon took a step forward.

Sarel had her claw around Shade's neck, her other arm drawn back and poised stab or slash as necessary. Shade had both of her claws up and against Sarel, prepared to dig them into her. Neither of them had won, seemingly. As easily as Sarel could strangle or stab Shade, the other could leave her with a fatal wound on her chest. After a moment, the pair relaxed, the blue kobold helping her friend up.

“I think that's as far as I can get you,” Shade admitted with a smile. “The only thing you haven't done at this point is to sneak into someone's house and kill them.”

Sarel chuckled and told her, “Just wait. There are many in Ardmach that deserve it.”

Merdon stepped closer with a smile on his face. Sarel was a quick study, he knew that, yet he was still very proud of her for managing to catch up with Shade so quickly. The blue kobold grinned at Merdon and put her hands on her hips with confidence. He didn't need to say anything to her, she knew from the look on his face.

“I think we can take a break too,” Merdon said, still smiling.

Sarel nodded and started to walk off with him. “It's after midday,” she noted. “The cooks should be done with lunch.”

“Thank the gods,” Merdon stated with a breath like an explosion. “I missed breakfast because I was soaking my muscles after yesterday.”

The thief giggled and slapped his shin with her tail. “You'll be doing that more often if you keep throwing orcs around.”

While the pair were heading off, Grot looked at Shade and asked, “Did she really get the drop on you?”

She looked shocked. “Why would I lie to her, verakt?”

The chief-of-chiefs loosed a low chuckle and told her, “I saw the blue one's shadow twice as she moved around the parapet. You're getting sloppy.”

Shade looked aghast at his suggestion but considered it nonetheless. “Maybe I am,” she admitted. “Might be what taking a rookie under your wing does. You forget the nuances teaching broad strokes.”

“Are you saying we both need training?” the dark-skinned orc accused.

She looked at him flatly and said, “When was the last time you stepped into the arena?”

Grot riled up a retort, but it died on his tongue. She was just as right as he had been. They were both out of practice. A week of training others had dulled them. “A week of rust isn't hard to clean off a sword,” he mentioned. “I doubt it's any harder to get off us.”

“If we practice,” Shade mentioned.

Grot sighed and stretched. “I'll go find a few guards.”

Merdon had been pulling double duties, and after his lunch with Sarel came the second half of his work. He was standing next to Thickhide, the green kobold fully equipped, and watching their handful of kobold recruits experimenting with their armor. It had been custom made by the smiths in the orc city and it was their first day wearing it. Before they had to make do with ill-fitting scraps to simulate the weight, on that day they finally looked like a group. Thickhide was excited, to say the least. His tail thumped against the ground a few times as he looked over them but stopped when he got control over himself again.

As soon as the kobolds were outfitted, the green one stepped forward to give them instruction. Their first task was laps, just as Merdon had made him run in the tower. It raised groans from the crowd, but they had long been over the reasons why. Their armor slowed them, they needed to be aware of just how fast they could move in their armor, to know when a strike could be dodged, and when it needed to be blocked or parried. Thickhide joined them as an example, and while he didn't lead the pack in terms of speed he was the only one not out of breath when they finished.

The green-scaled kobold then subtly looked to Merdon for what to do next. He did a good job of imitating the things Merdon had made him do in Verist's tower but was helpless beyond that. Merdon quietly suggested sword-play, by grabbing the hilt of his own blade. Thickhide nodded enthusiastically and turned back to the recruits to instruct them to get ready. Their blades were smaller than a human's but larger than the knives and daggers kobolds were more commonly familiar with. Many of them had to hold them with both claws just to raise the blade off the ground. That would need to be fixed and it was exactly where they started. The green-scaled kobold demonstrated a few proper one-handed swings as he told the group to not be discouraged by their current lack of strength. Most important for them starting out was to build their muscle strength to use their equipment effectively, then they could focus on better techniques.

That was where Merdon came in. The human pulled his sword out and slung his shield over his arm, waving Thickhide to attack him. With only a little reluctance, the kobold moved forward, striking with a powerful overhead. Merdon caught it with his shield and pushed up, moving to thrust his blade at the kobold, who raised his own shield in response. Both attacks stalled, the pair retracted their blades and went for a new angle. This time Merdon went first, slicing at Thickhide's exposed side. The kobold stepped backward out of range and then lunged forward, aiming at Merdon's relatively unprotected legs. A gamble that didn't pay off, as the human readjusted his stance to avoid the attack and brought a knee towards Thickhide's face. He only just avoided the armored leg by rolling sideways, then backward, acrobatically, before springing up and raising his shield, a readied stance Merdon had explained. Any time he lost visual contact with the enemy, the shield was to go up in defense.

It was short, but exciting, and caught the interest of the kobolds watching. That was their future, being able to stand against a human with their own equipment. The demonstration over, Thickhide lowered his guard, sheathed his blade, and went back to shouting at the knights-in-training. They had a long way to go before they were ready, and they had much less time to get there than Thickhide had gotten. Grot had planned their invasion for as soon as Verist located the Eyes' training camp. It would be their first target. The kobolds wanted to help. How much time they had was uncertain, but Merdon would have liked to give them several months at least. It was doubtful they would get even one.

The next day came with the sweltering heat that signaled the end of spring and the start of summer. Where the mornings were hot and muggy before the sun even rose, the men, or orcs rather, grumbled as they changed guard, and the sight of the sunrise made them swear. A morning where Merdon awoke with the blankets kicked off, his body already moist, and a certain irritability setting into his bones. The castle stronghold seemed to do little against the heat, either because of its construction or a natural reaction of the building materials Merdon didn't know, but regardless it was only just cooler inside than outside. Sarel stirred with much the same grumpiness that Merdon had, promptly excusing herself to the baths. Kobolds could sweat. Yet another thing they must have taken from their human splicing. The knight wondered just how far that genetic similarity went when a heavy fist pounded at the door.

“You up yet?” Grot called from the other side, more awake than Merdon was by far.

“Barely,” the knight replied, pulling on his padded clothes. He could sweat, or he could have sun-heated metal pressed against his flesh all day. One was infinitely preferable after Red's mark.

The orc chief chuckled from the other side of the door. “Meet me on the field as soon as you can,” he told the knight before walking off. Merdon could tell from the footsteps that Grot was armored already.

He was curious, but not curious enough to skip a light breakfast and catch Sarel in the process. The blue thief shrugged at Merdon's story, unaware of what the chief-of-chiefs could want with him either, outside of the usual training. Their answer came when the knight stepped out onto the training grounds in the early morning light and saw Grot stretching, swinging his weapon casually, adjusting to its weight after his long absence from serious combat. Merdon, equally armored, looked at the orcs standing nearby, the ones looking between the two quietly. Orcs were not often quiet.

“Grot?” Merdon asked, apprehensively.

“We're sparring, Merdon,” the dark-skinned orc told him, hefting his ax up with both hands. “I gave the boys a thrashing yesterday afternoon and it reminded me of why I became a chief to begin with.”

Sarel chuckled, stepping out of the way. “Because you really don't like fighting?”

Grot laughed along. “No, little one. Because I'm the best in this whole region. There isn't an orc in this city I couldn't pound into a paste, and the human has been working his way up there.”

Merdon drew his sword and readied his shield. “Couldn't find a ravine for us to fight in?” he joked, nervously.

“I could have,” the chief-of-chiefs shrugged. “But it would have taken a little too long to march everyone out there just to watch me beat you again.”

The knight set his jaw and banged his shield, that familiar hum starting at his side. “You won because my shield broke,” he told Grot. “Not this time.”

The orc smiled and hefted his ax. No more words, only actions.

Merdon took advantage of the only positive he had over an orc, his size and speed. The knight dashed forward and made to intercept Grot's first swing, significantly reducing its impact. His shield might not have been breakable, but his bones were. Stopping Grot's swing before it had time to build up momentum saved him a lot of pain and opened the orc up to a few good swings in retaliation. Nothing near-fatal, but enough to make the chief more cautious of how he moved in the future. Testing, the orc angled a kick at Merdon, which went through, catching the knight in the shin.

Both combatants stepped back and reevaluated their situation. Merdon glanced at his shield and realized it didn't pull in every possible attack. It was a radius, or perhaps an angle. He had to be facing the general direction of a swing to block it. An attack from behind, or below, could get through. Grot came to the same conclusion and held his ax at a lower angle as he approached. Merdon rolled his shoulders and took a tighter, lower stance. The shield was large already, being made for an orc, but there were flaws in the angles. He had to cover himself. This was valuable information to him already.

Grot swung again, aiming from bottom-up, and Merdon blocked by pointing his shield down, which would have opened himself up to the orc's free fist, if not for his shoulder charge. Orcs were not so easy to move given their size and weight, and so it spoke volumes to the audience when Grot staggered backward, nearly dropping his weapon in the process. Merdon followed up with a fist, wrapped around his sword, to try and get the orc further away. He was too close for a proper swing, and also too close for the knight to put his weapon away to punch normally. The orc chief smirked and started a hectic barrage against Merdon, ignoring the shield blocking every strike.

“You have to make a move,” Grot shouted at Merdon.

“Not if my shield's unbreakable!” the knight replied, wincing at his already sore arm.

And then, the shield went quiet. Merdon blinked and looked at his first, last, and only real line of defense. He'd spent too much time on the offensive. Grot had planned to wait out the enchantment the whole time. As long as he pressed the knight, Merdon couldn't reactivate the spell with his own tap. The chief-of-chiefs grinned and swung hard, sideways, catching Merdon's shield and opening him up. It went flying, and Merdon thrust his own blade forward in a frantic assault. Grot froze as Merdon did. The knight's blade would have caught him in a space between his linked plates, but it wouldn't have killed. They could both see that.

“Not bad,” Grot muttered.

Merdon shook his head. “Not good,” he panted back. “I need more practice.”

The orc shrugged and lowered his weapon. “Aye, but you're still standing, aren't you?” The knight cocked his head ever so slightly at that. “When we first fought,” Grot reminded him, “You were on your knees taking a beating from my ax in seconds. You might have lost, but you lost on your feet. Maybe next time you'll keep your shield, and then...” Maybe he'd start winning.

“Baby steps,” Merdon simplified, sighing.

Grot laughed, “You've made a lot more than that, but as long as you don't get comfortable, think about it however you'd like.”

He'd fought other orcs and come out on top, just not Grot. He'd lasted longer, made a more even match for the chief-of-chiefs than the first time they fought. Merdon had made many strides in his weeks of training with the orcs, but the doubt had to remain, it had to be the fuel to move him forward. Would that training be enough? His enemy wasn't a mountain of muscle. No, the Eyes assassin was fast, cunning, and had some magical weapons at his disposal that Merdon couldn't practice against. At least, not in the same way.

The knight recovered himself and looked at the orcs standing around. Swords, axes, shields, spears, all hanging on backs or sides. He pointed to four orcs, each with different weapons.

“Come with me,” he told them. “I have some special training to do.”