Page 49 of Kingmakers, Year One

I barely look up from my notebook the entire ninety minutes. In fact, I’m surprised when the professor breaks off mid-sentence, saying, “That’s all the time for today. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

With that, she turns and strides out of the room, without bothering to bid us goodbye.

Leo practically rockets up out of his seat. “God, I thought that would never end.”

“I liked it,” I say.

“Of course you did.” Leo rolls his eyes. “You like learning.”

I laugh. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“What about you?” Leo demands of Ares. “Were you actually enjoying that?”

Ares shrugs. “I didn’t know barely any of it. I’ll probably have to study a lot.”

Leo snorts. “Nobody cares about grades here. It’s all about who wins the challenges.”

We have to change clothes before our next class. It’s a combat class, which means gym uniforms and sneakers.

I make sure to turn into the correct changing room, deliberately averting my eyes from the spot where I collided with Dean next to the showers.

The gymnasium is located in what used to be the Armory.

It’s a dim, cool space. The floors are soft with thick mats. Ancient medieval weapons hang from hooks on the walls: battle axes, swords, and morning stars, and then over on the far side of the room a selection of Asian katanas, bo staffs, and throwing stars. I assume these are for decoration and not something we’ll actually learn to use. But I can’t be certain of anything at Kingmakers.

There’s only four girls in the combat class, including me. The boys gaze hungrily at us in our shorts. We’ve only been out of civilization a couple of days, and already they’ve got the look of starving dogs.

I walk past Dean and Bram lounging on a pile of mats. Bram lets out a low wolf-whistle and Dean smirks. I’m sure he told Bram what happened.

Well, fuck them both.

Professor Howell joins us on the mats. He’s medium height, trim and fit, dressed in an olive-green t-shirt and cargo pants. He faces us, hands clasped behind his back, smiling pleasantly.

“Good morning, students,” he says. “In our combat class, you will be learning a variety of martial arts, self-defense, and weapons techniques. You’ll have separate classes to learn artillery and explosives. This semester, we will be focusing on Krav Maga. As you may already know, it’s a military self-defense and fighting system used by the Israel Defense Forces. It includes a combination of techniques drawn from aikido, boxing, wrestling, karate, and judo.”

His keen dark eyes scan our group, looking over each student in turn.

“You.” He points to the largest boy, a bull-like behemoth with straw-colored hair and trunk-like thighs stretching the limits of his gym shorts. “Come up here.”

The boy obliges, the gym mats indenting deeply under each of his steps.

“What’s your name?” the professor asks him.

“Bodashka Kushnir.” The boys smiles with an uneasy mixture of bravado and nerves.

“The primary tenet of Krav Maga is acting instinctively under high-stress and unpredictable circumstances…” The professor regards the blond boy with a teasing glint in his eye. “How would you describe your current level of combat skill, my friend?”

Bodashka considers. Goaded on by his friends watching, he grins and says, “High.”

“Excellent.” The professor nods. “I thought so just by looking at you. Why don’t we give a simple demonstration then? Attack me, and if I’m able, I’ll formulate a defense.”

Bodashka seems to be gaining confidence by the moment. He lifts his fists, facing the much smaller professor. The sense ofanticipation in the room is high. His Bratva pals cheer him on, while the rest of us suspect what’s about to happen.

The boy rushes the professor, throwing two jabs, a hard right cross, and then a surprisingly nimble kick to the face.

The professor barely has to shift his stance to block each one. Even though the blows are thrown with full strength, it’s Bodashka who winces as the professor uses his elbows, forearms, and shoulder to deflect the strikes.

As Bodashka throws his last desperate roundhouse kick at the professor’s head, Professor Howell ducks and neatly sweeps the boy’s leg out from under him, sending him crashing down on the mats.

---