John Flanagan: The Burning Bridge

Will frowned. "Why would I need to block a sword cut?"

Gilan leaned forward and rapped him none too gently on the top of his head with his knuckles.

"Well, perhaps to stop it from splitting your skull might be a good reason," he suggested.

"But Halt says Rangers don't fight at close quarters," Will protested. Gilan nodded agreement.

"It's certainly not our role. But, if the occasion arises when we have to, it's a good idea to know how to go about it."

As they'd been talking, Horace had risen from his spot on the log and moved closer to watch them. He interrupted, a trifle scornfully.

"You don't think a little knife like that is going to stop a proper sword, do you?" he asked. Gilan raised one eyebrow at him.

"Take a closer look at that 'little knife' before you sound so certain," he invited. Horace held out his hand for the knife. Will quickly reversed it and placed its hilt into Horace's hand.

Will had to agree with Horace. The saxe knife was a large knife. Almost a short sword, in fact. But compared to a real sword, like Horace's or Gilan's, it seemed woefully inadequate.

Horace swung the knife experimentally, testing its balance.

"It's heavy," he said finally.

"And hard. Very, very hard," Gilan told him. "Ranger knives are made by craftsmen who've perfected the art of hardening steel to an amazing degree. You'd blunt your sword edge against that, and barely leave a nick on it."

Horace pursed his lips. "Even so, you've been teaching me the idea of movement and leverage all week. There's a lot less leverage in a short blade like this."

"That's true," Gilan agreed. "So we have to find another source of leverage, don't we? And that's the shorter knife. The throwing knife."

"I don't get it," said Horace, the frown deepening between his eyebrows. Will didn't either, but he was glad the other boy had admitted his ignorance first. He adopted a knowing look as he waited for Gilan to explain. He should have known better. The Ranger's sharp eyes missed very little.

"Well, perhaps Will could explain it for you?" Gilan said pleasantly.

He cocked his head at Will expectantly. Will hesitated.

"Well:it's the:ah:um:the two knife defense," he stammered. There was a long pause as Gilan said nothing, so Will added, just a little doubtfully: "Isn't it?"

"Of course it is!" Gilan replied. "Now would you care to demonstrate?" He didn't even wait for Will's reply, but went on with barely a pause, "I thought not. So, please, allow me."

He took Will's saxe knife and withdrew his own throwing knife from its sheath. Then he gestured to Horace's sword with the smaller knife.

"Right, then," he said, all business. "Pick up your sticker."

Horace did so, doubtfully. Gilan gestured him out to the center of the practice area, then took a ready stance. Horace did the same, sword point up.

"Now," said Gilan, "try an overhand cut at me."

"But:" Horace gestured unhappily to the two smaller weapons in Gilan's grasp. Gilan rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"When will you two learn?" he asked. "I do know what I'm doing. Now get on with it!"

He actually shouted the last words at Horace. The big apprentice, galvanized into action, and conditioned to instant obedience to shouted commands by his months spent on the drill field, swung his sword in a murderous overhand cut at Gilan's head.

There was a ringing clash of steel and the blade stopped dead in the air. Gilan had crossed the two Ranger knives in front of it, the throwing knife supporting the saxe knife blade, and blocked the cut easily. Horace stepped back, a little surprised.

"See?" said Gilan. "The smaller knife provides the support, or the extra leverage, for the bigger weapon." He addressed these remarks mainly to Will, who looked on with great interest. Then he spoke to Horace again. "Right. Underhand cut, please."

Horace swung underhand. Again, Gilan locked the two blades and blocked the stroke. He glanced at Will, who nodded his understanding.

"Now, side cut," Gilan ordered. Again, Horace swung. Again, the sword was stopped cold.

"Getting the idea?" Gilan asked Will.

"Yes. What about a straight thrust?" he asked. Gilan nodded approvingly.

"Good question. That's a little different." He turned back to Horace. "Incidentally, if you're ever facing a man using two knives, thrusting is your safest and most effective form of attack. Now, thrust, please."

Horace lunged with the point of his sword, his right foot leading the way in a high-stepping stamp to deliver extra momentum to the stroke. This time, Gilan used only the saxe knife to deflect the blade, sending it gliding past his body with a slither of steel.

"We can't stop this one," he instructed Will. "So we simply deflect it. On the positive side, there's less force behind a thrust, so we can use just the saxe knife."

Horace, meeting no real resistance to the thrust, had stumbled forward as the blade was deflected. Instantly, Gilan's left hand was gripping a handful of his shirt and had pulled him closer, until their shoulders were almost touching. It happened so quickly and casually that Horace's eyes widened in surprise.

"And this is where a short blade comes in very handy indeed," Gilan pointed out. He mimed an underarm thrust with the saxe knife into Horace's exposed side. The boy's eyes widened even further as he realized the full implications of what he had just been shown. His discomfort increased as Gilan continued his demonstration.

"And of course, if you don't want to kill him, or if he's wearing a mail shirt, you can always use the saxe blade to cripple him."

He mimed a short swing to the back of Horace's knee, bringing the heavy, razor-sharp blade to a halt a few inches from his leg.

Horace gulped. But the lesson still wasn't over.

"Or remember," Gilan added cheerfully, "this left hand, holding his collar, also has a rather nasty, rather sharp stabbing blade attached to it." He waggled the short, broad-bladed throwing knife to bring their attention to it.

"A quick thrust up under the jaw and it's good night swordsman, isn't it?"

Will shook his head in admiration. "That's amazing, Gilan!" he breathed. "I've never seen anything like it."

Gilan released his grip on Horace's shirt and the boy stepped back quickly, before any more demonstrations of his vulnerability might be made.

"We don't make a lot of noise about it," the Ranger admitted. "It's preferable to run into a swordsman who doesn't know the dangers involved in the double knife defense." He glanced apologetically at Horace. "Naturally, it's taught in the kingdom's Battleschools," he added. "But it's a second-year subject. Sir Rodney would have shown you next year."

Will stepped forward into the practice ground. "Can I try it?" he asked eagerly, unsheathing his throwing knife.

"Of course," said Gilan. "You two may as well practice together in the evenings from now on. But not with real weapons. Cut some practice sticks to use."

Horace nodded at the wisdom of this. "That's right, Will," he said. "After all, you're just starting to learn this and I wouldn't want to hurt you." He thought about it, then added with a grin, "Well, not too badly, anyway."

The grin faded as Gilan corrected him. "That's one reason, of course," said the Ranger. "But we also don't have the time for you to be resharpening your sword every night."

He glanced meaningfully down at Horace's blade. The apprentice followed his gaze and let out a low moan. There were two deep nicks in the edge of his blade, obviously from the overhand and underhand cuts that Gilan had blocked. One glance told Horace that he'd spend at least an hour honing and sharpening to get rid of them. He looked questioningly at the saxe knife, hoping to see the same result there. Gilan shook his head cheerfully and brought the heavy blade up for inspection.