Chapter 4

With a loud thwip, the butt of Sandra's stick slammed into Bruce's cheek and drove him to his knees. "Pay more attention to your blind spots," she coached. He lowered his own arms in defeat, exhausted and aching in all the spots that had fallen victim to Sandra's martial artistry. The woman was clearly skilled, and as much as Bruce wouldn't want to admit it; Alfred's training wasn't standing up to it much. He couldn't fault Sandra as a teacher, he did pick up several tips over the course of that session, but he was mostly disappointed in himself. He knew it would be a while before he would be able to work his way up to meet this elusive master of hers - not that he knew for certain it would improve his chances of being returned to Gotham. Sandra leaned back, planting her stick by her side. "You've had enough for today. It's time for you to go back and recuperate before we carry on."

"Back to my cell?" He asked levelly. His face was already swelling up, he could feel it bloat beneath his skin.

"I'm sorry, you must stay there till we can be sure that you won't try to run away."

Appealing to her better nature was one of the few plans he had cooked up as he was getting whipped around. Not one of his best, but he figured he would give it a shot anyway. "I don't belong here, Sandra. You must know that. I have a guardian back home. He doesn't know where I am. How is this fair to either one of us?"

"Life isn't fair," she replied with a tinge of cold, her eyes narrowed at him. "Some even less than others. You are the Prince of Gotham, you don't know the hell people go through."

Bruce was startled by her sudden outburst, there was obviously more to her than met the eye. "Sandra, why are you here?" He could see the pain ingrained into the stress marks on her face. Whatever reasons that had brought her to Nanda Parbat, they were likely not good.

All at once she backed down, and the strain on her face dissipated. "Let me walk you back to your cell," The charm in her voice had returned. She offered a hand to him. "You've done well for your first lesson. Keep it up and you'll go far." Retrieving both sticks, she placed them back on the rack. It became clear that she wasn't going to answer his question, so he asked a second one.

"Just out of sheer curiosity," he said as he followed her towards the doors carved in concentric patterns. "What will I be doing that requires me to learn how to fight with sticks?"

"Kendo," she replied. "I'm teaching you Kendo. We'll be moving on to swords once you're more familiar with the movements." She opened the door that led to a moderately large central area with four equal sides, lighted by bulbous red lamps that were fastened to the ceiling by thin metal wires. The room itself was lined with numerous men in dark-garments much like the one who had offered him tea - about forty would be his rough estimate. And they were all moving gracefully in sync with one another, stretching their arms in sweeping motions across their chest as their legs bent in slow motion at the knees.

"Tai chi, I've seen this before in the books," he remarked with a tinge of reverence for the art.

"Tài Jí Quán," she corrected him. "The men do this every evening to balance out their yin and yang, and bring about harmony from within. Would you like to join?"

Bruce took consideration of her offer before turning her down. As much as he was interested to learn, he was more keen to make a mental map of the route back to his cell. His final goal was still to find a way to get out of Nanda Parbat, and find a way back to Gotham... if it was at all possible. The worst part about all this was that no one in Gotham probably even knew that he was missing, nor if they did, would know where to go looking. All that he himself knew about Nanda Parbat was that it was a remote village somewhere in the Himalayas - he couldn't even place where exactly. If he couldn't rely on anyone getting him free from this predicament, he knew he would have to figure this one out on his own. "Not today, I need to recover from all the jabbing that you gave me," he half-lied and cast her a concocted smile.

She laughed, and her eyes lit up to crescent moons as she did. "I hope I haven't hurt you too badly. The good news is that you will have a soft bed to lie in tonight. Adept Harmen said that he would add a few pieces of furniture to your cell to make you feel more comfortable."

"Really..." he said, though he didn't really appreciate the thought that he was being prepared for an extended stay.

They made a turn and headed through a large corridor flanked with wooden doors on both sides. That corridor then led to a circular open area that had a similar structure as the large hall just in front of the war room, except there was a large air-well in the center that exposed two more floors below that were full of men roaming about, albeit more casually dressed than those having their evening exercises. He also noticed a gated door on the floor that he was on, that led to a large balcony that overlooked the mountains outside. From what his limited view of the balcony, he could see long wooden beams holding the entire structure of the building in place. They were on a precarious cliff of the mountain that the entire building was sitting on. Certainly, it didn't seem like an easy climb, but it was likely that his captors had a better, more efficient way of getting to their hideaway.

After taking a turn down a flight of stairs, two large and imposing sentries stood at the end of the path, dressed in thicker armor than their comrades. They took a look at Sandra, and immediately moved aside to reveal a solid iron door. One of the sentries unlocked the door with a ring of keys hung at his side, and she ushered Bruce into that familiar hall that led to his cell.

Adept Harmen was standing right outside the gate, with his hands on the open bars. Sandra bowed to him as soon as they met, and he returned one of his own. "How was his training?" asked the Adept.

"Very good," reported Sandra. "He is a fast learner."

Bruce noticed that Adept Harmen had made good on his word. There was now a simple bed, a thin mattress and a woolen blanket sitting in his cell. There was even a night table with a bowl of water, a cloth, a plate of rice, honeyed meat and vegetables, some paper and a wooden pencil for writing. The accommodation paled in comparison to what Bruce had been used to - but given the circumstances, he couldn't complain. "Rest well," said the Adept. "You will resume training tomorrow morning." With that, the Adept shut the gate tight, and departed with Sandra.

"Hall, corridor, circular air-well..." he muttered quietly to himself, replaying all that he had seen on his route back to the cell. The gears were already turning in his head, but there was only one thing that kept him from devising a full plan of escape  - that iron wrought gate that led to the balcony. It was similar to the one that kept him from leaving his cell, and in the same way, he could be assured that it would remain locked at all times. He would either manage to get the key, or pick the lock himself, but what with? He turned around to study the lock on the gate on his cell. It was embedded in the iron itself, one of those older models dating back to the early 1900s. He hadn't trained on such a lock though he was confident that Selina would know all about... He stopped himself short. Selina was gone, in all senses of the word. That last encounter between them marked the death of what they'd built up to that point. And even though he had told himself that it was time to move on, it still made him uncomfortable thinking about what they had lost.

He drew himself back from his thoughts - The gate... focus on getting the lock open. But a loud sigh left his lips instead. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd made it out to be - and it wasn't just the issue of the lock. He knew he'd have to work out the logistics of his escape, and it would take a while, judging from the number of people that roamed the halls outside. He couldn't possibly take them all on. If they were anywhere as good as the Adept or as Sandra was, he wouldn't be getting far, and he would only be ruining his own chances of getting back. He had to do it efficiently, or not try at all. If that meant spending the next few days, or weeks getting it right, then he'd to commit himself to the task. No room for errors... he whispered to himself. It's all or nothing at all.