Jill Williamson - To Darkness Fled

"No, I–I do not understand how…" Sparrow let his words die out, looking as though he had forgotten how to speak.

Sir Caleb gripped the back of his neck and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Never mind your modesty, boy. Now, hand me your sword and we'll teach you to use it. Give those black knights something to fear on all accounts."

Despite wanting to string Sparrow up a moment ago, Achan's mind knotted at this line of conversation. The Veil was the world between Er'Rets and eternity in Shamayim or the Lowerworld. Not to be confused with the Evenwall, which separated Light from Darkness. How did bloodvoices work with the Veil?

Sparrow drew his sword from the ring on his belt and handed it, blade first, to Sir Caleb.

Achan rolled his eyes.

Sir Caleb frowned and twirled his finger. "Turn it around. Never hand over a weapon blade first."

"Sorry." Sparrow turned the blade and poked himself in the nose with the tip. He jumped, eyes wide.

Achan chuckled silently, fighting to keep his cheeks from curling, but the image of Sparrow's shocked face as he stuck himself with his own blade amused him to no end. Veil warrior or not, Sparrow was a bungler.

Sir Caleb took the weapon and examined it, then passed it to Achan, hilt first, with a sideways glance at Sparrow. "What do you make of Vrell's purchase, Your Highness?"

Achan gripped the thick, wooden handle, squeezing and releasing. He stood, backed away from the torchlight, and swung. The sword felt lighter than Eagan's Elk, which made sense for a short arming sword, but the handle weighed too much. It felt like he was wielding a pitchfork by the prongs.

He knelt before the torch, batted a moth aside, and scrutinized the blade. The cutting edges were crude, dirty with tool marks, gouges, and nicks. He held the sword flat in front of him, horizontal to the ground, and bent the end like he'd seen knights do to check the temper of the blade. It barely flexed.

He shot Sparrow a fleeting look. "How much did you pay for this?"

"Twenty pieces of silver."

Achan choked back a laugh. "Twenty!"

"Where does a stray come by twenty pieces of silver?" Sir Caleb asked.

Sparrow glanced from face to face. "My master in Walden's Watch gave it to me when I left."

Achan snorted. "You must be the luckiest stray I've ever met to have such a master."

"Lord Orthrop was more my warden than master. I apprenticed at the local apothecary."

Sir Caleb frowned. "The lord of the manor housed you and allowed you to apprentice? A stray?"

Sparrow's eyes cast down. "Lord Orthrop is a kind man."

"I'll say." Achan held up the sword. "Well, it's not worth five in my opinion. They didn't even bother to sharpen or polish it. It's unfinished, Sparrow. But that's not the worst of it." He peeked at Sir Caleb, confidence waning.

"Go on," the knight said.

"Well…it's got no flexibility. It'll probably break under a real blow. Plus, the balance is off. The hilt is heavy. The blade should be longer for the weight of this hilt, I think."

"But I'm short," Sparrow said.

"That doesn't matter." Achan paused. The knights watched him. Heat smoldered in the pit of his stomach. What did he truly know about swords? "Well, maybe it does."

"No. You're doing fine," Sir Caleb said. "Go on."

"Well, you'll build arm muscle using any sword, so the size of it based on your height isn't the issue. It's the reach, I think. If you're fighting an opponent with a longer sword, they'll be able to strike you, but you won't be able to reach them. Plus if they have a shield, which most do…" He stood and pointed to Sir Caleb's shield propped against his pack. "Sir Caleb?"

The knight handed Achan the shield. Achan tossed it to Sparrow who nearly fell over trying to catch it. The boy examined the shield and looped his arm through the straps.

Achan drew Eagan's Elk and handed it to Sparrow grip first. "Take my sword."

Sparrow accepted the weapon. "It is lighter than I expected."

"Aye. And you're much smaller than me. Take a swing."

"Easy." Sir Gavin's lecturing tone rang out.

Like the boy could actually do any damage. "Don't try and kill me, just reach out."

Sparrow did, slowly. Achan gripped the end of the blade between his thumb and fingers and jerked it toward his chest.

"There. See? You can reach me with a decent blade, despite your size. Look here." Achan gripped Sparrow's sword in his right hand. He was naturally left-handed, but Sir Gavin had taught him to fight with both. He reached out with Sparrow's blade. Even with his long arms, the tip remained a hand's breadth from the lad's chest. Sparrow's eyes bulged.

Achan dropped the cheap sword in the grass. "Switch with me."

Sparrow passed over the sword and shield and retrieved his sword from the ground. Achan gripped the shield in front of him, slightly to his left, and held the flat of Eagan's Elk against the shield's edge.

Sparrow gaped.

"Well?" Achan asked.

"I see my disadvantage immediately. Not only do you stand over a foot taller and much stronger, but the shield covers most your body. Where am I supposed to strike?"

"My legs and head," Achan said.

To Achan's surprise, Sparrow darted left and lunged for his foot, but his blade struck the dirt.

Achan whacked Sparrow's head with the flat of his blade, the way Sir Gavin had done to him time and again.

Sparrow yelped and stumbled, clutching his head.

The knights laughed.

Achan fought back a smile. "You just lost your head. Keep your chin up. Look with your eyes so you can see as much as possible at all times and not leave yourself wide open. Oh, and you aren't digging a pit. Yours is a cutting blade. A dull one. But your grip is all wrong, as is your swing. Don't swing like you're afraid you'll miss. Put your heart into it. Passion increases a man's strength."

Achan shrugged his arm out of Sir Caleb's shield and let it fall on the ground. "But none of that matters if your blade can't even reach me. And if your opponent slips his grip to the pommel, he can get another four inches on you."

Inko chuckled. "It seems our prince is to be knowing a mite more than you were to be thinking, Caleb."

"Aye, he knows some, but there are strategies for fighting against a longsword with a shorter blade or dagger. You and I will work on that, Vrell, and see if we can outwit our prince." Sir Caleb raised a bushy blond eyebrow at Achan. "And I don't care how much you know, Your Highness. If you keep throwing swords and shields in the dirt, they won't be useful for long. Bring your blade here and I'll teach you to clean it. Vrell, you can learn too."

Achan knelt beside Sparrow at Sir Caleb's bedroll. "Honestly, you wouldn't stand a chance with that sword, even if you knew what you were doing. If we meet further opposition, I suggest you find a tree to hide behind. You'd cause more trouble in battle with us trying to keep you alive."

Sparrow's bottom lip trembled.

Pig snout, the boy was going to cry.

"There's no shame in it, Sparrow," Achan said quickly. "We need you as much as you need us. If not for you, who would patch us up when we're half dead?"

Sparrow folded his arms, but his lips curved up a bit.

"Now, Your Highness, that's not fair." Sir Caleb pulled his pack onto his lap. "If not for Vrell, we might not have survived those black knights, isn't that right, Gavin?"

"Aye. What concerns me is how they're finding us."

"Are you keeping your mind shielded, Your Majesty?" Sir Caleb asked.

"That shouldn't matter, Caleb," Sir Gavin said. "I sensed no ability to bloodvoice from the ebens or black knights. They found us by other means."

"Both attacks came in the morning. Ebens are good trackers. And black knights may have used gowzals. They can speak to them, you know, use them as messengers."