Michael Sullivan - Avempartha

“Doing well, rubbing elbows with the nobility she tells me. She’s walking around just fine, the headaches are mostly gone. We’ll be on our way tomorrow morning, I expect.”

“Good to hear it,” Hadrian said.

“Who’s your friend?” Theron motioned to the dwarf, seated a few feet away in the shade of a poplar tree.

“Oh yeah. Theron meet Magnus. He’s not so much a friend as an associate.” He thought about that and added, “Actually, he’s more like an enemy I’m keeping an eye on.”

Theron nodded, but with a puzzled look, and the dwarf grumbled something neither caught.

“What about my lesson?” Theron asked.

“Are you kidding? I don’t really see the point in a lesson if you’re both leaving tomorrow.”

“You have something else to do? Besides the road is a dangerous place and it wouldn’t hurt to know a few more tricks, or is this your way of saying you want money now?”

“No,” Hadrian waved his hand at the farmer, “grab the sticks.”

By noon, the sun was hot and Hadrian had worked up a sweat sparring with Theron who was showing real improvement. Magnus sat on an overturned well bucket watching the two with interest. Hadrian explained proper form, how to obtain penetrating thrusts and grips which was hard using only rake handles.

“If you hold the sword with both hands, you lose versatility and reach, but you gain tremendous power. A good fighter knows when to switch from two hands to one and vice versa. If you are defending against someone with longer reach, you’d better be using one hand, but if you need to drive your sword deep through heavy armor-assuming you aren’t holding a shield in your off hand-grip the pommel with both palms and thrust. Remember to yell as you do like I taught you before. Then drive home the blow using all your power. A solid breastplate won’t stop a sword thrust. They aren’t designed to. Armor prevents a swing or a slice, and can deflect the point of a thrust; that’s why professional fighters wear smooth, unadorned armor. You always see these princes and dukes with all their fancy gilded breastplates and light thin metal heavily engraved-it’s like walking around in a death trap. Of course, they don’t really fight. They have knights do that for them. They just walk around and look pretty. So the idea is when you thrust, you aim for a crease, groove, or seam in the armor, something that will catch and hold the tip. The armpits are excellent targets, or up under the nose guard. Drive a four foot sword up under a nose guard and you don’t have to worry much about a counter attack.”

“How can you teach that poor fellow anything without swords?”

They both turned to see Mauvin Pickering walking toward them in his simple blue tunic. Gone was the dapper lord of Galilin, instead, he looked much like the boy Hadrian first saw at Drondil Fields. In his hands, he carried two swords and slung over his back two small round shields.

“I saw you from the walls and thought you might like to borrow these,” he said, handing a sword and shield to Theron who accepted them awkwardly. “They are mine and Fanen’s spares.”

Theron eyed the young man suspiciously then looked to Hadrian.

“Go ahead,” Hadrian told him, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “He’s right. You should know the feel of the real thing.”

When Theron appeared confused at how to hold the shield, Mauvin began instructing him, showing the farmer where his arm slipped through the leather straps.

“See Hadrian, it helps to actually teach your pupil how to put on a real shield; unless, of course, you expect he’ll be spending all of his time warring against maple trees. Where are your weapons anyway?”

Hadrian looked sheepish, “I lost them.”

“Don’t you carry enough for five people?”

“I’ve had a bad week.”

“And who might you be?” Mauvin asked, looking at the dwarf.

Hadrian started to answer then stopped himself. Alric likely told Mauvin all about the dwarf who had murdered his father. “Him? He’s…nobody.”

“Okay…” Mauvin laughed, raising his hand and waving. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Nobody.” He then went and sat on the edge of the well where he folded his arms across his chest. “Go on. Show me what he’s taught you.”

Hadrian and Theron returned to fighting, but slower now as the sharp swords made Theron nervous. He soon became frustrated and turned to Mauvin scowling.

“You any good with these things?”

The young man raised an eyebrow in surprise. “My dear sir, weren’t we already introduced? My name is Mauvin Pickering.” He grinned.

Theron narrowed his eyes in confusion, glanced at Hadrian who said nothing, then faced the boy once more. “I asked if you knew how to use a sword son, not your name.”

“But-I-oh, never mind. Yes, I have been trained in the use of a sword.”

“Well, I spent all my life on farms, or in villages not much bigger than this one and I’ve never had much chance to see fellas beating each other with blades. It might help if ’n I was to see what I’m ’sposed to be doing. You know, all proper like.”

“You want a demonstration?”

Theron nodded. “I have no way of knowing if Hadrian here even knows what he’s doing.”

“Alright,” Mauvin said flexing his fingers, and shaking his hands as he walked forward. He had a bright smile on his face as if Theron had just invited him to play his favorite game.

The two paired off. Magnus and Theron took seats in the dirt and watched as Mauvin and Hadrian first walked through the basic moves and then demonstrated each at actual combat speed. Hadrian would explain each maneuver and comment on the action afterward.

“See there? Mauvin thought I was going to slice inward toward his thigh and dropped his guard briefly. He did that because I told him to by suggesting with a dip of my shoulder that this was my intention, so before I even started my stroke I knew what Mauvin was going to do, because I was the one dictating it. In essence I knew what he would do before he did and in a battle that is very handy.”

“Enough of the lessons,” Mauvin said clearly irritated at being the illustration of a fencing mistake, “let’s show him a real demonstration.”

“Looking for a rematch?” Hadrian asked.

“Curious if it was luck.”

Hadrian smiled and muttered, “Pickerings.”

He took off his shirt and, wiping his face and hands, threw it on the grass and raised his sword to ready position. Mauvin lunged and immediately the two began to fight. The swords sang as they cut the air so fast their movements blurred. Hadrian and Mauvin danced around on the balls of their feet, shuffling in the dirt so briskly that a small cloud rose to knee height.

“By Mar!” the old farmer exclaimed.

Then abruptly they stopped, both panting from the exertion.

Mauvin glared at Hadrian with both an amazed and irritated look. “You’re playing with me.”

“I thought that was the point. You don’t really want me to kill you?”

“Well no, but-well, like he said-by Mar! I’ve never seen anyone fight like you do, you’re amazing.”

“I thought you both were pretty amazing,” Theron remarked. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“I have to agree,” Magnus chimed in. The dwarf was on his feet nodding his head.

Hadrian walked over to the well and poured half a bucket over himself then shook the water from his hair.

“Seriously, Hadrian,” Mauvin asked, “where did you learn it?”

“From a man named Danbury Blackwater.”

“Blackwater? Isn’t that your name?”

Hadrian nodded and a melancholy look stole over his face. “He was my father.”

“Was?”

“He died.”