The Skylord, part 7/?

[fromastudio]

After lunch was over Yamamoto went out to the front courtyard, where several dozen of the Cavallone soldiers were sparring with a variety of weapons – batons, pikes, daggers, maces. One used a heavy decorated flail, and others wielded no weapon at all, but merely fought with feet and fists. They nodded respectfully to Yamamoto as he joined their circle, his boots squelching through the mud.

“How are your wounds doing?” asked the man holding the steel flail. He was a thickset warrior in leather armour.

“Quite all right,” Yamamoto said, although in fact it hurt to move. “By the way, do any of you have a practice sword I could use, the bamboo kind? Namimori-style.”

The men conferred among themselves. “I brought a bamboo sword with me,” said one of the swordsmen. “You can keep it if you like. I heard that your blade snapped into pieces when you faced Squalo last night.”

“Not bad, going up against Squalo like that,” said someone else.

“More guts than brains, hmm?”

The mixture of approbation and gentle ribbing felt awkward. Yamamoto attempted to change the subject. “May I join you? Since I plan to return Squalo's favour, I could do with some practice.”

He saw some brows raise in skepticism, but others made approving noises. The man with the flail clapped Yamamoto on the back. “That's the spirit! Come and exchange blows with me. Hurry up and lend him that blade of yours, Pietro.”

“I'm giving it to him,” said Pietro, stepping forward and handing the bamboo blade to Yamamoto. “Don't go easy on Rufino; he won't go easy on you.”

A cheer went up as Yamamoto and Rufino took position in the middle of the courtyard, and a circle of spectators rapidly formed around them. Other fights were abandoned as men sheathed their weapons and came over to watch the two of them.

Yamamoto and Rufino bowed to each other. “The fight lasts until one of us yields,” Rufino said. “Are you ready to start now?”

Yamamoto nodded.

Slowly Rufino began to advance, his feet making ripples in the wide shallow puddles of water that covered the ground. He swung the flail in the air as he advanced, the spiked ball at the end of its chain circling through the air. For his size, Rufino was surprisingly agile. Yamamoto adjusted his feet into the starting position of the seventh Souen form, waiting for the rhythm of his opponent's movements to change.

He didn't have to wait long. Rufino continued his deliberate pace until they were within three yards of each other, then altered speed and sprang forward, swinging the ball around to strike at Yamamoto's face.

Yamamoto smiled, tilted the bamboo sword, and spun it around. The blade caught Rufino on the underside of his arm, knocking the flail's trajectory off-course. A murmur of appreciation went through the onlookers. The spiked ball sailed past, going wide of Yamamoto's head, and he saw irritation flit across Rufino's features for a transient moment.

Soon enough the larger man regained control of his weapon, shifting his grip on the handle and then bringing it across for a second attempt. But Yamamoto was ready.

He moved out of the flail's path, and as Rufino swung and missed again, angled his sword and brought it down in a rapid diagonal slash, connecting with the back of Rufino's knees. Rufino's legs buckled; caught off-balance by the momentum of the flail, he tumbled forward into the dirt.

Some of the men cheered. Yamamoto barely noticed them at the edges of his attention. He waited as Rufino sprawled on the ground, picked himself up, and then realigned his flail. He had not loosened his hold on it even while falling.

“That chivalry will kill you if you're not careful,” he told Yamamoto.

“Then I'll be careful.”

Movement in the bystanders distracted them. The rest of the men were turning towards the main building of the inn, and bowing. Within seconds Yamamoto saw the cause, as the crowd parted to reveal Dino Cavallone, carrying his whip coiled in one hand.

“So what's your assessment, Rufino?” he asked, coming closer, not looking much like the sort of person who spontaneously tripped over his own feet. In fact he looked dangerous.

“Hard to say, sir,” answered Rufino, bowing as well, “he's been holding back on me.”

Yamamoto smiled, but kept his posture steady, and did not alter the position of his sword. Dino's eyes met his.

“You should rest while your wounds are still healing,” Dino said.

“I feel all right.” -- although as he spoke there came flooding into his body an awareness of every cut Belphegor had landed last night, as well as grazes, bruises, knocks and scratches that had been inflicted at the same time and since. While he'd been facing Rufino it was as if the pain had disappeared from his body; he'd simply forgotten to notice it.

“I understand that you want to train as quickly as possible. Squalo broke your sword; I'd think less of you, if you weren't keen for repayment. But it'll hardly do your cause good if your wounds open up and you end up bedridden.”

Yamamoto had nothing to say to that.

“Milord, I'm sorry--” Rufino was cut-off in midsentence, by Dino.

“That's all right. You weren't acting against orders. But I forbid all of you to spar with Yamamoto for the next two days. After that, with Romario's treatment, he should be able to continue training. Don't look so frustrated, Yamamoto. I want to you come on a walk with me; we still have more to discuss.”

“Okay,” said Yamamoto, trying to look less frustrated than he was feeling.

“If it makes you feel better, I've got something good for you. Something that will help you against Squalo.”

“What is it?” asked Yamamoto.

Dino smiled. “Come and find out.”

#

The ring was solitaire, its silver band engraved with a complex and unfamiliar script that converged on a central, multifaceted gem. The gemstone threw off light from its angled surfaces, first pure like glass, then the colour of a shallow pond, then the sky at noon, then ultramarine.

Yamamoto cradled the ring in his left palm, brought it nearer to his face to examine closely, and then frowned at Dino. “What is it?” he asked.

“A present from an old teacher of mine. Would you like to try it on?”

Yamamoto did so, and found that it fit perfectly the ring finger of his right hand. It was snug and cool against his skin, and as he let it rest there, gleaming, a menagerie of scents came unbidden to his memory: the smell of of a coming storm, the salt of the Namimori sea; damp twigs, damp soil, damp grass. The sensation of raindrops falling against his skin, the roar of a waterfall. The sight of snowflake -- of flood -- of hail.

He let out a sound of surprise and looked down at his hand. The ring was freezing cold, colder than anything he'd ever felt.

“Do not take it off.” Dino's voice, urgent but calm. “Anything you're experiencing is just a natural result of your innate magic interacting with the ring. It's a rain-affinity ring, designed to enhance your powers. You must master the use of rings, if you plan to defeat Squalo.”

Yamamoto breathed deeply, calming himself, until the sounds and smells and sensations had dimmed to something in the background, like a distant burbling rivulet.

Dino said: “I was told to entrust this ring to you. But I cannot teach you how to use it.”

“Why not?”

Dino frowned at him, and then turned, to look outwards at the surrounding view. They were a good distance from the inn – past the main road running east-west through the duchy, up a narrow, barely-marked path that wound its way up a grassy slope cluttered with sheep – and stood on a ledge that, although not very elevated, commanded a unobstructed view of the surrounding plateau: inn, village, farmland, bordering forest, small brown dots of domesticated animals. Yamamoto saw Romario waiting at the foot of the hill, keeping a discrete eye on Dino.

“I should say rather, he doesn't want me to teach you.” Dino held out his hand, revealing the heavy, ornate, golden ring he wore. It was set with a brilliant fire opal. “As a skymage I use the magic of rain, but only in the most rudimentary way. To truly develop your abilities, it would be best if you were taught by someone who specialises in rain magic. A swordsman, even.”

“My father said that he had taught me all he could.”

“Then you will have to look for someone else. I'm very sorry to ask this of you while you're still recovering from your wounds, but time is running short, and I have an army to raise. I have a mission for you.”

“What is it?”

“About twenty miles north of this place lives a woman called Lal Mirch. I need you to bring Lambo there, as soon as possible. Lal is the only person I know who can train you now. If the Rainbow Children were permitted to take part in the choosing of the Guardians – but that is a different story. If they were involved then anything we or the Varia did would be useless. -- Can I trust you with your own safety, and Lambo's?

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Dino's shoulders relaxed, and it was only then that Yamamoto realised how tense they had been before. “Romario will see to your wounds this evening, and I'll see if I can speed up the healing process with sun-magic, before you leave this village. Tell Lal that you come on behalf of Dino Cavallone and the Yellow Child. If you see enemies on your way, you must hide, not fight. I will not allow you to risk your life and Lambo's until you have learned how to use your rings, is that understood?”

“If you and your men hadn't arrived last night, we would both be dead. I can't say I'm happy about hiding from the enemy, but I understand. I'll do as you say.”

“Thank you. I know it's not easy. I wish I could help you more.” Dino gestured outwards, at the hillside angling away from them, at the green countryside beyond, and the pale horizon of distant mountains. “Look at the land, Yamamoto. At the duchy of the Vongola. Three centuries ago it was nothing more than a bunch of fiefdoms, wracked by highway robberies and border disputes. My ancestors were among the petty lords who fought to defend their meagre lands, ignoring the suffering of the peasants.

“Giotto came along and changed all that, forged his contract with the land and sky. There've been merciful Skylords since, and cruel Skylords, and Guardians of all kinds. But they have always protected the duchy and its people. Frankly, I do not think Xanxus is qualified to be the Skylord. The Vongola Protection itself will reject him. This land does not need a ruler who carves his own power in blood. But the duchy needs leadership. Many nobles have said that they will accept Xanxus even if he does not go through the usual ordeals: even if the magic of the land rejects him.

“That's why you must protect yourself and Lambo, and quickly master your magical power. When Lal tells you that you are ready, travel to Vongola City. The final battle and choosing will take place there.” Dino paused his speech at last. “I've told you all I can. The rest is up to you now. Are you ready for what you must do?”

Yamamoto lightly touched the ring he wore. Rather than cool, it was now heated to the touch; he felt something stirring beneath the metallic surface. Above them, clouds shifted. It was sunshowering. A fine drizzle, barely palpable, rained down on Yamamoto's cheeks and arms. There was something optimistic and welcoming about it.

“When can we leave?” he asked.