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Ramirez had barely eaten anything during the past three days.
He knew that he should have been feeling sick and dizzy, that between his own hunger and the chill in the training room he should have been shaking hard enough that he could not stand. The Elders had warned him not to do things like this to himself, had all but ordered him not to attempt to go without food for too long. He knew that they'd been right; he could feel himself starting to shake, and knew that it was only going to get worse if he didn't stop and rest very soon.
But he refused to stop. He wasn't going to let any of it defeat him - the cold, the ache in his muscles or his stomach, the trembling in his hands. He kept training, his blade lashing out to strike his target again and again. It was a strange feeling, this sort of training - the complete abandonment of all else, even his own welfare, to improve his skill and release his mind. Somehow, after pushing himself so far beyond endurance, he found that his mind simply could not feel the things that had held him back before. The first day that he'd fasted, he'd felt very weak, and it had been all he could do to keep going, but he had done it anyway. Through sheer force of will, he'd forced himself past the barrier, and now...
Now he was free. He did not need to be disabled by the cold or the weakness. He would keep fighting, even if he had nothing.
He never would have dreamed of doing anything like this before he had entered Lord Galcian's service. Mendosa, foolish and indolent as he was, had never even considered the thought of denying himself anything. He still remembered the old man's weakness, sneering at the thought of it as he kept striking - the straw dummy was little more than shreds now, but he would not stop. Not yet.
"You're far too serious, Ramirez," the old fool had told him. He could see it now, Mendosa sitting at the head of a great banquet table that groaned with all manner of delicacies, more than the Lord Admiral and his two daughters could possibly eat in a week, let alone a day. "Come, now, and eat with us. Have a glass of loqua! You shouldn't be so sober all of the time - it's bad for the heart!"
Ramirez, as foolish and trusting as he'd been then, had listened. Ramirez had started to spend many of his evenings in Mendosa's cabin, or his banquet hall in his mansion in the Upper City, feasting and relaxing when he should have been honing himself for war. He had wasted too much time on pleasure, and would have probably become fat and indolent himself in short order, useless and foolish. Just like his so-called mentor.
One last swing, and what little was left of the training dummy fell from its stand to the floor, a useless pile of straw and burlap. He would have to replace it later. Lord Galcian would insist upon it... but for now he'd had enough of training with the sword. There were other exercises. Galcian had not only been encouraging him to train with the sword; in fact, he had opened his eyes to the fact that relying on the sword was one of his most fatal mistakes.
He still remembered. Remembered standing before Galcian, naked but for a loincloth, while his lord wore his full armor and carried his weapon in his hand. He remembered the cold look in Galcian's eyes. "I could kill you now, Ramirez," he had said. "It would not be difficult."
"My Lord," Ramirez had started. "I -"
Before he could think - before his mind had even really accepted what had happened - Galcian had moved, and had the point of his sword at his throat. "You are weak yet," he said. "If you had your sword you would have defended yourself. But you know nothing about how to fight without it."
"Master," Ramirez had managed through the sudden burst of fear, eyes fixed on Galcian's face. He tried hard not to think about the sword at his throat. He tried very hard not to wonder if Galcian would truly do this, if he would kill him only to prove his point....
"Yes," Galcian had agreed. "You know your place now. But you must learn. I won't have you killed by a weakling with a sword." He stepped back, lowering his weapon. "Pick up your blade, Ramirez."
"Yes, My Lord," Ramirez said, swallowing hard. He turned to pick it up, his hands shaking, then turned back to see Galcian laying his aside.
The Lord Admiral then took off his armor, laying it aside piece by piece, until he wore only his black undertunic and uniform trousers. "That's enough," he said. "Attack me. Strike me down, if you can."
"Strike you? My Lord, I wouldn't presume -"
"Are you disobeying me, Ramirez?" Galcian did not raise his voice, but his tone grew darker, more dangerous. He did not need to raise his voice, not with Ramirez. "Attack me!"
Ramirez was trembling as he moved, his sword moving in a well-practiced motion, straight for the Lord Admiral's heart. Two seconds, and -
He never felt the impact. He was not sure exactly what happened - only that he was struck once, twice, stealing his breath and making his vision swim with pain. Then a third, and he found himself sprawled on the ground. An involuntary moan escaped his lips as he struggled to stand.
Galcian was watching him, that same smile on his face, the same dark amusement in his eyes. "You still have much to learn," he said simply. "If you did not have so much promise, I would not find training you worth my time. But for the moment I consider it a worthwhile venture."
Ramirez smiled with pride at the memory; he had been beaten, yes, but that had been the beginning of what he considered his true training.
He moved to the center of the training room, where the drafts were strongest and coldest, sheathing his sword by his side. With his eyes closed he lifted his arms, holding them palms-up to either side, feeling them begin to ache and tremble almost immediately. He was tired from the sword training, very tired, but he had to persevere. Death would not stop for him because he was tired.
Closing his eyes, he tried to lose himself in thought, in silent meditation. He considered the things that Galcian had told him, the ways to rid himself of weakness. He had heeded his lesson well; he needed to purify himself of those desires for luxury, those things that did nothing to make him more powerful.
"A truly mighty man doesn't care where he sleeps," Lord Galcian had said once, while standing on the balcony overlooking the Upper City, "except that where he sleeps, he can influence those who only believe that they are powerful. The weaklings who rely on wealth are foolish, and if you take away their wealth, they are weaker and more foolish than ever before. I have seen enough nobles stripped of land and title to last me a lifetime, and all of them died with nothing; they did not know how to regain their strength and claw their way back to prosperity."
"And that's why I need to give up everything?" Ramirez had asked, somewhat nervous at the time. "So that I can learn to win it back again?"
"No. So that you can learn that you do not need it," Galcian corrected. "So that you will know that there is strength beyond the crude machinations of money." He turned his head to gaze out over the other side, the Lower City, its lights far dimmer and weaker than its powerful counterpart. "Do not be fooled by the people of the Lower City. The poor here are only weak because they are too downtrodden by the foolish rich to fight. A poor man with proper ambition can kill a king and take all that he owns, if he were to know how. You must be as mighty when you have nothing as you are when you have all of this."
Ramirez had understood then. Mendosa had been weak because he had used wealth as his motivation. Galcian used it as a means to an end. But Ramirez would have to learn to purge himself of the desire for it, if he was going to be as strong as his master. He stood for a time, not sure how long, trying to put all thoughts of weakness and desires to stop out of his mind. He stood until he could not feel the cold or the pain in his arms.
He did not know how long he had been standing there before he became aware of someone watching him. Lord Galcian was there, he was sure of that; he had not heard the door open or the sound of footsteps, but he could hear the sounds of his breathing, knew it as well as he knew his own heartbeat. But he knew that Lord Galcian would be very displeased with him if he acknowledged him, if he showed in any way that he is aware of or distracted by his presence - or, indeed, by anything else. So he stood very, very still, and strained to keep his eyes closed, not to look at his master's face.
"You're overcompensating, Ramirez," his lord said quite suddenly.
Ramirez wanted to drop his arms, to bow, to apologize to his master. But this was a test, or at least he dearly hoped that it was a test, and so he forced the impulses down into a place where they could do no damage.
"You stood more naturally before I came into the room. You reacted to my presence by attempting not to react to my presence. You must learn how to still the urge to react at all." He heard his footsteps come closer. "Still, I must compliment you on your control. A teacher who did not know you as well as I do would not have noticed."
His master was close, now. Close enough to touch... Ramirez swallowed, hard. There was another reaction that he had to control, and he wasn't at all sure that he could. It was easier to hide when he standing in the shadows, the left hand of his lord, seeking no acclaim for himself. But now... now that he had his lord's full attention, when he was being so closely scrutinized for weakness by such a practiced eye... how could he hide anything from him now?
"How long has it been since you have eaten?" He was beside him, speaking softly, almost too softly to hear. "A day, now? Two? How long has it been since you have allowed yourself to eat your fill at all? How long do you think you can tolerate it before your body falls, exhausted beyond reason?" Something cold and sharp moved slowly across his exposed back. Ramirez tried his best not to shudder. "Answer me, Ramirez. How long?"
"As long as I must," he said, simply, his voice strong and steady.
"Yes." Galcian laughed quietly. He could feel the man's breath against his skin, warm and steady. "A warrior must be ready to fight, even when he is hungry and thirsty. That is a lesson that many of the people of Valua need to learn."
Ramirez said nothing, because he had not been ordered to speak, although he privately agreed. Too many of the Admirals indulged in their pleasures whenever they wished - Alfonso and his thirst for luxury and wealth, Vigoro and his lust for easy women, De Loco and his fixation on his inventions. Mendosa himself had indulged himself on many occasions, eating and drinking more than his fill from what they had taken from Ixa'taca. He had been the one who had made Ramirez soft, who had made him forget the lessons about restraint and care that the Elders had taught him. What would have happened if he had not killed the two-faced old fool? Would Ramirez still be his man, and would he have become softer and slower for it? Would he have accepted the contract that Mendosa had been hinting at, married his spoiled older daughter, and become heir to his empire of cruelty and hypocrisy? If he had not learned the importance of self-control, he would have shuddered at the thought of it. How weak he would have been! No, he owed Lord Galcian much, for saving him from such a fate.
"Your control is admirable," Galcian said again. "Not perfect, but far better than I had expected so soon. I will permit you to rest tonight. Lower your arms, Ramirez."
Slowly, Ramirez turned and lowered his arms, feeling the ache burn anew with the motion; somehow it had been easier when they had been still. They felt worse when they were by his sides, as if they would never be able to move again. But he did not speak, did not even open his eyes.
"And you do not go too far. You are truly obedient. I am pleased." He heard his master walk away. "Be at ease, Ramirez. You may take your supper tonight, and you may sleep through the night. The Empress is sending us to battle a fleet of Black Pirates come the morning, and I wish for my student to be at his best, should the fight turn against my soldiers."
Ramirez opened his eyes. A flare of exultation consumed him, if only for a second. How long had it been since he had turned his sword against an opponent, even one as unworthy as the foolish Black Pirates? Under Mendosa, there had been no battles, only bureaucracy and the bullying of slaves. And Galcian had not trusted him to fight with his soldiers until this day. Was he truly advancing so quickly? "Thank you, Milord," he said, because he had been given him a great boon, and Galcian had permitted him to speak again. It would have been wrong not to offer his sincere thanks.
"Hm." Galcian smirked back at him. "Someday, when you have proven yourself worthy, I will give you greater boons. Those who serve me well are always rewarded. But you must prove yourself, and I do not like being disappointed." He turned away and left, still moving silently through the cold air.
He might have been sore and exhausted, and his stomach was already growling, hungry for the dinner that his master was permitting him to have. Still, even so... Ramirez smiled in the cold room. He felt stronger and more worthy than he had in a very, very long time.