Cshooter's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Cshooter carried Harwick's letter to the elite guard's training ground at dawn. The commander of that unit answered to no one. Soldiers crossed worn practice lanes and threw spears at sturdy targets. Cshooter held the paper out. The guards looked at it, then at his face, and stepped back the way they always did. Colonel Harrison Blackwood watched from the center of the yard. He was the commander, old and silver-haired, with thick glasses and a chest full of medals. He read Harwick's letter and let it drop in the dirt. "A captain's words," he said. "I decide who serves here. Not Harwick. Where is your record? What battles? What proof?" "I have none that would please you," Cshooter said. "I never fought a war. I trained." Blackwood laughed. "Then you are nothing." He waved at the lanes. "My best men clear this yard in under two minutes. Targets, dummies, the climbing wall. No one beats my time. If words are all you have, go home." Cshooter did not leave. He unrolled his own cloth and pulled out a pair of worn combat gloves. The knuckles were reinforced and scarred from years of drills. He slid them on and tightened the straps. "Run your course against me," he said. "If I beat your men, you watch me. That is all I ask." Blackwood smirked. He knew Cshooter had no record the old man would respect. A race on his own ground seemed a safe way to break him. "Fine," he said. "Fail, and never return." Two of Blackwood's best took the lanes beside Cshooter. A guard dropped his arm. They ran. Cshooter hit the first target dead center. He vaulted the barriers the other two climbed. His gloved fists cracked the wooden dummies apart in single blows. The soldiers fell behind at the wall. Cshooter reached the top, dropped, and struck the last target before his breath caught. The yard went silent. Blackwood checked the time and checked it again. Cshooter had beaten the course record. The guards who feared his face now watched his hands. Blackwood picked up Harwick's letter from the dirt. He did not smile. "Skill," he said. "You have that. I was wrong to need a record." He folded the paper slowly. "But skill alone does not make my guard. My men must trust the man beside them. They still flinch when you pass." He pointed at the soldiers, who stood apart from Cshooter even now. "You proved your arms today. You have not proved they will follow you. Earn their trust, or your speed means nothing." Blackwood turned away. Cshooter pulled off the gloves. He had won the trial. But the commander had set a harder test, one no course could measure. The men he hoped to lead still would not stand near him.