Real Steel

There was a knock at the door. Impatient. It was much heavier than the usual tapping by Corvo. He opened his eyes and saw the flicker of dying candle light. Asleep at his desk, again. Ink slowly crawled along his arithmetic, ruining the his night’s work. The knocking intensified. Biezel straightened his desk, throwing the ruined scrolls into his fireplace. He stood straighter and tried to look regal. Wondering what the time was, the young prince walked over and opened his chamber door, hoping it was just Kareen, coming to say hello.

It was his father, Royce Morduff, King of Corelt. Biezel did not gasp, though he was sorely tested. His father did not wear the royal robes, nor the crown. No, the King wore armour, recently cleaned by the look of it. His father's cold emerald eyes narrowed. “You have ink on your face.” Biezel immediately turned around, scrubbing at his cheeks. His hand peeled away, a deep blue. Typical. Another way he embarrassed his family. Wishing he could be more like Kareen, Biezel frantically looked for a wash basin and cloth. Sighing, his father walked into the room and put his hand on Biezel's shoulder. “Don't worry about it, your lessons are cancelled today in any case,” he spun Biezel around and knelt in front of him, “we have a different agenda.” His father's voice was grave, his words weighty. This was important, and that worried Biezel. “What... what are we to do today, father?”

“You are to train at swords today.”

“Sword play is on Brew-sai”

“This is training, not play. I will be your sparring partner, not Maise.”

“Did Lady Huttile displease you father? The fault is mine, not hers, that I flounder with the blade.” Biezel was stumbling over his words now. This was not how he wanted this morning to go.

His father’s face did not change, “I am aware of who is at fault. Clean your face and come to the yard. Today, you use steel.”

Those words left him cold. With a pat on the shoulder, his father turned and left. The servants came in, cleaning and dressing him. Biezel put on his cuirass in a daze. Real steel, if painted to display the royal red. They buckled a sheath to his hip and placed a sword into it. The weight sank through his side and touched at Biezel's heart. Real steel. He was not ready for that. Not ready to become a killer.

There was a giggle at the door. Biezel snapped out of his stupor to see his little sister, Bella, at the door. She was still in her night clothes, a long nightgown with a large trail, perfect for tripping harried servants. She was laughing, pointing at Biezel and talking to the doll in her arms. “Look Stella, Biezel wants to play soldier. Read too many of those stuffy tomes has my brother, thinks he’s a knight.”

“G-go away Bella. I'm to go down to the courtyard now.”

“Like that? Father will have a fit. You'll hurt yourself.” Biezel's cheeks glowed as his sister's mockery cut through him.

“Actually, father requested this. He is to train me today in steel, like his father did for him.”

Bella laughed harder, “You're barely ten. Kareen is twelve and she hasn't been trained properly.”

“Kareen is different.”

“Yes, father likes her.”

Biezel could feel the tears. He bit them down. “Bella would you go away!” His temper seeped into his words, his young voice cracking and echoing down the hall. Bella poked her tongue out and strutted off down the hallway, mumbling about her useless, pathetic brother. Biezel sent the servants away and put his gauntlets on himself. The chain links blurred as his stood in his room, alone. His arithmetic was ashes in the fireplace.

Half a turn later, Biezel wandered into the courtyard. It had been cleared of the usual practice dummies. His father stood alone, steel bared and glinting in the early morning sun. “Maise tells me you can do the basic manoeuvres.”

“Yes, almost. Father I don't-”

“I don't want to hear what you want Biezel. You must learn. Your sister will be queen and you will need to protect her. We have many enemies Biezel, as my father learned.”

“I heard that grandfather choked.” He was too scared to stop himself from saying it.

“You heard LIES!” His father's bellow ripped across the courtyard. He stared at Biezel, eyes wild. He took a long, steady breath. “Sword up.”

“Father, I-”

“Sword. Up.”

“I don't-” His father ran at him. The hilt of Blackvein, the Royce family sword, rang against Biezel's helmet. His ears ringing, Biezel was unprepared for the flat of the blade stinging the back of his legs. He fell forward, and his father's left hand smacked into the side of his head. Biezel hit the dirt. A sob crawled out of his mouth, and was quickly silenced as his father dragged him back up, pushed him back. “Against an enemy, you would be dead now Biezel. This is what Maise should have been teaching you. She worried because you're a prince, and soft. I will remove that softness Biezel. You will learn.”

Biezel swallowed down his cries, and finally drew his sword. It wavered in front of him, it felt heavy. His father lazily brushed it aside and stepped within his reach. Biezel jumped back, swinging wildly. Each swipe was deflected with ease, and Royce smacked Biezel across the arm. Then the leg. Arm. Leg. Arm. Leg. Face. Neck. Back. Back. Back. Biezel felt Blackvein's edge on his cheek, and then it burned. His father had cut him. “Get up Biezel. You must learn.” Biezel cried, he protested. His father gripped the back of his head and threw him back up. “Biezel. Defend.” Another assault. Biezel was in the dirt again. Then again. Then again.

It was two hours later. Biezel bleed. He whimpered. His father seethed. Each assault had been harder and harder. Biezel was scared. He didn't want to be a warrior, a killer. He did not like what his father wanted him to become. “I will run at you now Biezel. You will defend, or have an arm broken from my swing.”

“Father, please, no more. I'm sorry father, I don't want to be weak.”

“Then don't be.” His father walked back several paces, raised his blade, and ran. Instinctively, his hand lifted. His heart pumped faster, and something inside him bubbled. Biezel felt he was going to be sick.

A flash. A shout. Biezel opened his eyes and, through the tears, saw his father looking at scorch marks across his chest plate. Biezel's hand smoked faintly. “Father, I'm... I'm sorry. I don't know how I did that, I-” A swing. Biezel's vision went red. He felt hot liquid pour down his face. His mouth was filled with copper. Biezel screamed and screamed and screamed. He could hear his father in the distance, as he spread his breakfast across the tiles. “Magic! A trick! An assassin! My own son! You dare use my own son? Die, you Verrakian curr!” Biezel stumbled, screaming. He raised an arm, trying to grab his father, or anyone. Anyone to help him. Please, just help. There was a meaty thud, and Biezel's arm seared, adding white agony to the red haze already clouding his head. He screeched and begged for help. Help, or death. Something to stop the pain. Something heavy caught him in the chest, and suddenly he could not breath. On his back, the blood from his eyes filled his mouth, and Biezel’s screams only stopped once he started to choke. He heard more voices, and then black.

The next year was one of learning. Biezel learnt to traverse the castle in blackness. He learnt to eat and dress himself with only one hand. He learnt to avoid his father and that the servants wouldn't touch him. He learnt where Bella liked to place things to trip him. Most importantly of all, in the dead of night, through whispered lessons with Lord Shivari, Biezel learnt magic.

That was some half a decade ago. Since then, Biezel had gotten what he wanted, to be a scholar. His father ignored him, and that was a blessing to both of them. It had been some time since he wept. Now, Biezel’s eyes filled with shame. Tears burned tracks down his face, as hhe realised. He had finally become what his father had wanted. The door was hanging off of its hinges, wood smoking. The hallway was strewn with bodies, some crying out for water as they burned. They had already killed all the servants, so no one was coming. Kareen and Bella behind him finally recovered their senses, and came to him from their hiding place behind the bed. He fell to his knees exhausted, and could feel the change happening. He was still young, and had pushed too far, draining the Gift inside him, and now it turned on him. The Gift needed life, and was going to take it. Slowly, he could feel his insides turning to stone. Kareen hugged him as he wept, “It’s okay Biezel, you saved us. You’re a hero.”

“No, Kareen,” As his tears turned to stone, and the magic begun to freeze his lungs, “I’m a killer.”