L. Modesitt - Natural Ordermage

Rahl couldn’t help but shiver at the implications of her words. He remained silent for a time as they walked uphill.

“You have great promise, Rahl…”

“But?”

She did not respond immediately, as if thinking what exactly to say in reply. Then she pointed. “Along this lane.”

“How far?”

“Three or four hundred cubits. It’s not that far from Kadara’s dwelling. The original Kadara, that is.”

“What were you going to say?” he asked.

“You have great promise,” she repeated, “but you need to think and feel beyond yourself without prompting. Especially to feel.”

The dwelling before which she stopped was small, no more than fifteen cubits in width, with a door in the middle. “It was once a small barn, but I don’t need much space, and it’s very quaint.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely inside.”

“I think so, but we’ll forgo your finding out tonight. You’re sweet at heart, and someday you’ll understand the difference between thinking you know what you feel and knowing with all your being what you feel.”

“Is that a promise?” Rahl replied lightly, although her words had somehow burned in a way that he could not have explained.

“No. I can’t make promises for you.” Deybri smiled, opening the door. “Good night, Rahl. Thank you for walking me home.”

“I enjoyed it.” He offered a smile, then stepped back and let her close the door.

Despite their age difference, Deybri was interested in him, but she wasn’t going to let him get closer to her, or herself to him. Was it just because he was being exiled? No…there was something else he was missing, something beyond the words about feeling.

But why couldn’t people just say what they meant?

He turned and began to walk back toward the training center and his own bed.

For almost an eightday, Zastryl had drilled Rahl with various blades, forcing him to learn the basic moves. Holding the blades had been uncomfortable, and more tiring than using a staff or truncheon, even though the ironbound staff was heavier than all but the big two-handed broadsword. But Rahl didn’t have any difficulty handling the discomfort. He did wonder why Zastryl insisted he spend so much time practicing by himself. When Rahl had asked why, the answer had sobered him.

“So long as you just practice moves, it’ll be slightly painful to most of you black types. Once I make you spar, it’s going to hurt a lot. There’s no point in hurting you while you’re learning the basics. That would just slow things down, and you don’t need that.”

Then, on threeday, Zastryl appeared with another weapon and handed the scabbard and sheath to Rahl. “This is a falchiona. It’s the most common blade in Hamor. It’s a cross between a sabre and a falchione, with a few nasty touches.” The armsmaster smiled. “The naval marines call it a bitch blade. It has a few peculiarities you won’t find anywhere except Hamor. For most of the length of the blade, like a sabre, it only has one edge. But from the tip back for the first hand, both sides are edged. The means you can slash from either direction at the tip, but you don’t sacrifice the strength of the body of the blade. It’s harder to handle well. That’s why we didn’t start with it.” He nodded. “Draw it.”

Rahl suppressed a wince as he did. The shimmering Hamorian steel felt evil, far more so than the other blades he’d handled.

“You can sheathe it. I’m going to give you a practice blade like it. There aren’t any edges, and you’ll need to wear some padded armor while you spar with Aleasya. Even without the edges, a blow can break an arm or fingers just like that.”

Rahl handed the falchiona back to Zastryl.

In turn, Zastryl extended another blade, less menacing, but just as heavy and more lifeless. “Just practice your basic moves with it, while I get Aleasya and the gear you’ll need.”

Rahl took a stance on the stone floor and began to practice with the substitute blade. It was better balanced than he’d thought, yet he felt somehow off-balance using it, even though he could tell that, physically, he was not.

After some time, Zastryl returned with Aleasya. He carried what looked like a padded coverall over one arm. She wore formfitting black, although Rahl thought he sensed some sort of light armor under the shirt-tunic, and held a practice blade.

“Have you met Aleasya?” asked the armsmaster.

“We’ve met a few times.” Rahl inclined his head to her.

“Let’s get you into the coverall,” Zastryl said.

Rahl was feeling more than a little warm in the coverall but suspected he might well need it. As broad-shouldered and muscular as Aleasya was, and as a former ship’s champion, whatever that was, Rahl knew he’d be fortunate to escape with only a few bruises.

“Aleasya will begin with some of the standard openings,” Zastryl offered. “Do your best to stop them, but don’t worry. Right now, she won’t carry through.”

“Yes, ser.” Facing the weapons trainer, Rahl felt chaos, almost as if it were trying to climb up from the blade through the hilt into his hand and arm. Every time he lifted the blade, a twinge of fire streaked up his arm. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, but the heat was coming from the blade and his struggles with it, not from the warmth of the partly armored coverall.

Aleasya began with a quick exploratory thrust, one that Rahl managed to deflect.

From there, it got harder, as much because Rahl had to fight the chaos-pain of handling the weapon as much as he had to fight Aleasya. At a pause, he blotted his forehead.

“Are you all right?” asked Zastryl.

“So far. Just let me have a moment.” Could he use his shields to block the chaos from striking back up the blade at him? If he could just concentrate on Aleasya…

He thought-and abruptly, the pain of the chaos vanished. He could sense it, just below his hand, but now he was free to concentrate fully on learning and using the falchiona. With each pass, he began to sense more and understand more about the blade and what lay behind the moves.

Zastryl began to offer quick comments in between the short encounters where Aleasya demonstrated various attacks and maneuvers before using them.

“Most of the time,” the armsmaster called from the side, “a lead from the edge side is a feint. But not always, especially if the aim is to disable or disarm you.”

“That’s a setup for an arm slash…”

“Don’t drop the blade tip!”

When Zastryl called a halt, sweat was pouring from Rahl’s forehead, and he felt light-headed, almost unsteady. He’d certainly worked harder and longer with the staff before without such effort tiring him so much, but he could have been getting overheated in the heavy coverall.

He began to unfasten the padded and sweaty coverall.

“I’ve never seen a mage type handle a blade that well, or learn it so quickly.” Aleasya glanced to Zastryl. “Have you?”

“No. He’s done something.” Zastryl began to walk toward the pair.

As if a giant wave had risen from a shore where he stood, Rahl could feel his shields crumpling under that unseen wave and redness rising around him. He could feel himself falling…forward into reddish blackness.

When he could see again, he was on his back looking up at the beamed ceiling of the arms-training building. Hovering over him was someone, but for several moments, the image was a swirl of indistinct color. Then he could make out the face of Kelyssa, the younger healer.

“Kelyssa?”

With that single word, Rahl’s head felt as though it were being hit with a heavy mallet and splitting apart, and his eyes burned.

“What did…you can tell us later. How do you feel? Can you see me?”