9 – First Breath of Power Septa Roelle screamed from the mud pit.
The Tarth guards looked at one another.
Not one of them dared step forward to help her up.
Rek’Sai tugged the reins.
Pig started forward on its thick legs, following the stone road inland.
Brienne walked at his side, steps firm.
Ser Goodwin’s face stayed dark.
He ordered the sailors to lift the wooden box containing Roland’s body and led the guards after them at a quick pace.
Once they left the docks, the group moved along the broad mountain road of Tarth.
Rek’Sai pulled a wineskin from his belt and tipped his head back for a long swallow of ale.
“Since you chose the first road, don’t expect me to coddle you the way those soft lords do.” He wiped the alcohol from the corner of his mouth.
Brienne lifted her chin, voice steady.
“I’m not afraid of hardship.” Rek’Sai gave a short, derisive laugh.
“Hardship is nothing.
In my rules there is only living and dying.
All those pretty knightly forms that old man taught you are garbage.” Behind them Ser Goodwin’s face turned iron-gray.
“Storm!
Do not insult a veteran who fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings!” Rek’Sai did not even turn his head.
“Fighting a war doesn’t mean you know how to kill.
You taught her to strike those elegant poses.
They’re useless for anything except impressing highborn ladies at tourneys.” He looked at Brienne, eyes cold.
“Your strength foundation is decent and your frame is big enough.
But you have no idea how to use it.
When you swing a sword you don’t even put half your power into it.” Brienne frowned.
“Ser Goodwin taught me to lead the cut with the arm and finish with the wrist.” “That’s for soft-armed pretty boys.” Rek’Sai cut her off without mercy.
“Real killing power has to travel through the whole body.
First lesson: breathing.” He jumped down from Pig and walked over to a moss-covered granite boulder beside the road.
“Watch.” Rek’Sai stood casually and simply drove a fist into the stone.
A dull thud rang out.
A fist-sized chunk of rock broke off the surface.
Cracks spread two fingers wide from the point of impact.
“That was pure muscle contraction.
The level you fight at every day.” Brienne stepped closer to examine it.
The granite was extremely hard.
An ordinary man’s hand bones would have shattered.
Rek’Sai had produced that kind of destruction with a casual blow.
It was genuinely impressive.
Rek’Sai stepped back half a pace.
“Now watch with the breath.
Look carefully.” His chest sank as he drew a long, deep inhalation.
The muscles of his abdomen locked tight, clearly outlined even under the hide vest.
No extra wind-up.
As he exhaled, his right fist exploded forward.
A heavy cracking boom tore across the mountain road.
A deep crater appeared in the center of the granite.
The crack raced straight through the entire boulder.
With a harsh grinding sound the half-man-high stone split cleanly in two and collapsed, rubble tumbling across the road.
The guards at the rear of the column all stopped walking and swallowed hard.
Ser Goodwin’s eyes went wide.
The hand holding his reins trembled slightly.
That was solid granite.
A battering ram would have needed several hits to crack it.
Rek’Sai brushed the stone dust from his knuckles.
“Before a man lifts something truly heavy, he instinctively draws a deep breath and holds it.
That’s the body craving air.” His tone stayed even.
“Learn to use the rhythm of breath to guide power up from the heart, through the waist and back, and finally deliver it wherever you want it to go.” Brienne looked thoughtful as she stared at her own hands.
“Try it.
Find a stone.” She walked over to a smaller boulder.
She copied Rek’Sai’s movements as best she could—deep breath, hold, then punch.
The dull impact of bone on stone rang out.
Brienne winced at the pain.
Only a thin layer of stone skin flaked off.
“Idiot.” Rek’Sai strode over.
His massive frame stood directly behind her, completely covering her in shadow.
He reached out with both calloused, axe-hardened hands.
One settled on her abdomen.
The other pressed against the small of her back, right over the spine.
Brienne went rigid.
No man had ever touched her so roughly.
Rek’Sai’s palms were burning hot and enormously strong.
They locked her waist in place.
“Relax!” He barked.
“Your muscles are completely locked.” Brienne forced her body to loosen.
“Breathe in.” He felt the rise and fall of her abdomen.
“Too much!
Trying to explode yourself?
Only fill seven-tenths.
Press the air down below your navel—right here.” His thick fingers jabbed firmly into the muscle of her lower abdomen.
Brienne hissed at the sharp pressure.
“Hold it there.” One of his thick thighs pushed against the back of her knee, forcing her into the correct power stance.
“Power comes from the heart.” His hand shoved hard along the line of her waist.
“Turn the hip!” Her body was forced to twist by the external force.
“Exhale!
Punch!” Brienne let out a short shout.
Using the torque of her waist she drove her right fist into the stone in front of her.
Crack!
A piece of rock the size of a palm was smashed clean off.
She pulled her hand back.
The skin across her knuckles was scraped and bleeding, but she felt no pain at all.
She stared at the fresh chip.
That single punch had carried nearly twice the force of her usual strikes.
The power transfer felt unnaturally smooth—no hitch, no waste.
It was a completely new sensation.
What Rek’Sai had shown her was absolute control over her own body.
Power could now be stored, guided, and released.
“Got it?” Rek’Sai released her and stepped back.
“I got it, master.” Brienne turned.
Her blue eyes burned with fierce intensity.
“As long as I master the breathing, I can keep this kind of power.” Rek’Sai poured cold water on her without mercy.
“More or less.
But this is only the surface.
When it becomes pure instinct—when you can keep that breathing rhythm even while you sleep—then you’ve entered the door.
After that, simply maintaining the breath means every muscle in your body is training every single moment.” He swung back up onto Pig.
“For the rest of the road, with every step you take, run through the breathing method in your head.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Deliver power.” Brienne nodded hard.
The column continued toward Evenfall Hall.
All along the way Brienne walked while throwing empty punches, short exhalations bursting from her mouth.
Her movements were still rough, but the transmission of force already showed the first clear shape.
Ser Goodwin rode behind them, watching Brienne’s back, then glancing at the giant riding the boar.
The old master-at-arms tightened his grip on the reins.
He had no choice but to admit it—this savage was strong.
At dusk the high towers of Evenfall Hall appeared in the distance.
Ahead on the road a troop of cavalry came riding toward them.
Their armor was excellent.
The cloaks bore the arms of House Wagstaff.
At their head rode a thin, gray-haired knight.
Humphrey Wagstaff, acting castellan of Fullview.
He reined in his warhorse and swept his gaze over the approaching group.
When he saw the wooden box carrying a corpse, he frowned.
When he saw Brienne—covered in mud, armor deformed—the open contempt in his eyes was impossible to miss.
Finally his gaze landed on Rek’Sai and the giant boar beneath him.
His warhorse snorted in alarm and kept stepping backward.
“Brienne.” Humphrey’s voice was rough and carried the superior tone of a man delivering a lecture.
“Septa Roelle sent a raven ahead.
Look at the state of you.
You are a complete disgrace to House Tarth.” Brienne stopped walking.
Her fists clenched.
Humphrey pointed down at her from horseback.
“I will not allow my future wife to be a village woman who spends her days wallowing in mud.
Right now, go to the carriage behind us, wash yourself clean, and put on a silk gown.
Drive this stinking animal and this wild man off the island of Tarth.
That is my order.” Rek’Sai dug a finger into his ear, flicked away the wax, and gave Brienne a sideways look.
“Your trouble just arrived.” He said it casually.