Free The Dark Age by Traci Harding

‘This morning, I be going to teach thee meditation.’ Tory beckoned for him to sit on the ground.
    â€˜What be meditation?’ the Prince asked, following her instruction.
    â€˜It relieves one’s body and mind of accumulated stress. Thee must set aside any emotional upsets or problems so thy concentration be not compromised. Only then can thee work to thy full potential. We will meditate before and after every workout.’
    The Prince was intrigued by the way she explained things, it always made perfect sense.
    â€˜Now, close thine eyes. Let the music relax thee and just listen to my voice.’
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    Tory planned to start the Prince’s real training in a few days’ time. Meanwhile, she’d issued Maelgwn with a list and the designs of all the equipment she needed made. She was keeping the local leather craftsmen well occupied, having requested a punching bag, punching mitts, padded gear for the head and waist to be used when sparring, and padded landing mats to cover the hard stone ground. She made a space for a workout area, rearranging the room to utilise the large mirror that stood on the west wall, reflecting the sea through the windows opposite. She would use this to monitor the Prince’s movements when they began kata.
    Her equipment was delivered two days later by Brockwell and a few guards. This thrilled the Prince no end, as now the real training could commence. He watched while Tory directed the men to set up the equipment. Maelgwn was considering how Tory had been pushing him to the limits of his endurance these past two days. She’d justified this torture by explaining that she needed to know his limitations to determine what aspects of his technique required the most work. He had to admit he enjoyed the meditation though, and he’d never felt so exhilarated and at peace in all his life.
    In making Tory’s equipment, the Britons had used hides shorn very short. So once the men had laid the mats out on the floor, it looked like the room had been carpeted.
    â€˜What be this?’ Brockwell referred to the punching bag as he hung it from a large hook and chain which was secured to a beam overhead.
    Tory turned to answer his question and burst into laughter. The punching bag was made from cowhide, and it appeared as though she had a dead carcass hanging from her roof. ‘I will show thee.’
    At just under two metres long, the bag stopped just above the floor, so that it could be used to practise kicks at any height. She started with a few low, sweeping kicks and gradually built up to the stage where she was propelling herself round in the air and ploughing her foot into it.
    Brockwell, Maelgwn and the guards were stunned by her aggression, speed and accuracy. ‘Unbelievable,’ Maelgwn mumbled in awe, motioning for Brockwell to get the other men out of there.
    Tory grabbed the only pair of stockings she had, tying one end through a loop in the bottom of the punching bag, and the other loosely around a hook in the floor.
    Brockwell returned after seeing the men out, and stood watching Tory demonstrate to the Prince how the bag would bounce back when struck. He observed with interest as she ducked and weaved her way around the bag, striking then darting out of the way. Tory was using more fist and open hand strikes now, and he was surprised by the amount of force she could summon up. He spied a punching mitt on the desk and picked it up. ‘What be this?’
    They’re like kids in a toyshop, Tory thought. ‘Put it on thy right hand, I will show thee.’ She almost dared him. ‘I think thee can take it.’
    Brockwell smiled at the invitation, pulling the glove on firmly.
    Tory showed him the correct height at which to hold his hand to fend off her attack, then took a few steps back.
    Brockwell hesitated, watching her concentrating closely on the mitt. ‘Thou art not going to do what thee did with the log?’
    â€˜Kind of