by Vitaly Zykov
– I know all that and I'm willing to pass a qualifying exam. – Darg's intonations matched the tone of his interlocutor.
Yarik noticed how veteran's pupils dilated. The procedure requested by Darg, was obviously not very popular.
– Then I have to ask. – The one-legged man smoothed his hair and pulled his shirt. – Do you know the rules?
– I will not mind if you repeat them – Darg said politely.
And the veteran, enunciating every word, repeated the terms of the exam, citing the charter of the sword schools.
– «If the challenger wishing to receive the rank has not studied in the fencing school, he has to pay two hundred farlongs and pass the exam, consisting of three sword fights with fighters of the same rank. The test is considered passed if the challenger would stay unharmed during a continuous half-hour fight. – The veteran pursed his lips and continued: – A fight with one warrior proceeds until defeat of one of the fighters, or until the end of the ten-minute period. In case of victory the challenger gets the rank of swordsman, in the case of defeat he loses the right of passing the exam for one-year period». Is everything clear?
– I would like to pass the exam as soon as possible, – Darg said calmly.
– Then you may proceed to the hall on the second floor. Teachers Gvin, Morchit and Shas are warming up now. They will be glad to see you. Sword Master el'Jassir will attest the fight result. – The veteran smiled. – You can give the money to me.
Darg silently handed him the thick and very heavy bag. The veteran twitched the corner of his mouth again and scattered the coins on the table in front of him.
– All right! – He looked in Darg's face and paused, as if thinking about this incredible fact. A lifeless smile seemed to have frozen on the face of Yarik's master. – Well, you can go upstairs.
Darg nodded quite casually and headed to the stairs. Yarik followed him like a silent shadow – wooden stairs was creaking underfoot, and a few moments later they went to the wide-open door.
Thunder of thudding wooden swords was mixing with excited cries in the center of a brightly lit hall. The wooden floorboards were creaking quietly. Two middle-aged men were trying to get each other with varying success. Each of them was wearing light gray armor and protective masks. On the long bench that stretched along the wall under the windows, two more men were sitting watching the fight attentively. One of them was hardly older than Yarik, the second was approaching his fifties. The young man was watching the fight, biting his lip in agitation, and the older one was expressing polite disdain with all his posture.
– Stop the fight! – The voice of the older man suddenly swept through the hall. – Who fights like that?! Like a herd of pregnant hens! You move like Sarduor sixpaws! Gvin, you opened twice so that any half-wit loser could cut you in Ralayat gryg! And you, Morchit, you are worse than any loser! You never took advantage of these situations, you did not even see them!
Two adult men were standing their heads bowed, only nodding at each reproach.
– I wonder how you got the rank of swordsmen! Now, you both against Shas! – The severe schoolmaster nodded to the young guy sitting next to him. The latter jumped up eagerly, and picked up a sword and a mask.
Suddenly the schoolmaster saw Darg and Yarik who were standing like statues in the doorway.
– What do you want? The hall is open for training only in afternoon. – Teacher's voice expressed all his attitude to such training, but then his eyes narrowed, when he noticed the tag of foreigner on Darg's neck. – Or does the master wish to receive the rank of Swordsman?
Yarik's master nodded and started to unbutton his jacket, while the warriors were staring curiously at the newcomers.
– Very interesting, as far as I can remember, only three people received the rank of Swordsman, without training in a fencing school. All three of them were from the Celestial Empire. But you are no not from there?
Darg shook his head and put his jacket gently on the bench, then placed his belt with his weapon on the top. Darg ordered Yarik to sit down, turned to the schoolmaster and said:
– Now coming from Jugha… but before I had to travel a lot. – On these words, Darg chuckled cynically.
The teacher nodded understandingly. Apparently, he decided that Darg was a former sellsword.
– The first will be Gvin, Morchit will be the second. If you hold out against both, – the teacher chuckled – Shas will be the third. My name is master el'Jassir, and I will attest the result of the fight.
El'Jassir clapped his hands twice, and a bald man entered the hall through a narrow side entrance.
– Bring a basket with swords, quickly!
The man, or rather a slave, bowed respectfully and disappeared. Then could be heard some fuss, and the slave appeared now dragging a wicker basket full of wooden swords.
– Choose your sword and go into the center of the hall. You will fight without armor, so it will be easier to notice missed blows. – El'Jassir grinned.
Without objecting, Darg went up to the basket rummaged there for a little while and pulled a sword. Having spun it a couple of times, he nodded and stopped in front of Gvin who already stood in a fighting stance. At this point the slave returned into the hall and froze near an hourglass of an impressive size.
– Fight! – El'Jassir barked and waved his hand in addition.
The slave turned the hourglass on command, and a trickle of sand began to leave the top bulb. The fight began.
Gvin whirled his sword around him, showing off in front of the enemy. His eyes were gleaming sprightly as he slowly began to approach Darg who stood still like a statue. He was dead-motionless. He held the sword parallel to the floor, his arm away from his body, the center of gravity shifted forward, his attentive eyes tracing every movement of the approaching fighter.
Gvin, obviously, decided not to complicate the matter and just struck downwards, aiming at Darg's head, but instead of a thump on the head there was a ringing crack of facing swords. Darg rapidly turned and parried the blow, but his opponent immediately changed his stance and tried to attack Darg's core. The nomad parried this blow, then another and another… and then it was as if two deadly vortexes faced in the center of the room. The noise of the blows banging was pounding eardrums of the spectators. The fighters were sliding through the hall treading cautiously. Their positions alternated with enchanting rapidity. The speed and power of the attacks were such that any mistake would bring Darg a serious injury…
Suddenly came a sharp wail of pain, then two particularly strong blows rang out, and something fell to the floor and rolled. Then the floorboards shuddered from a heavy body falling. Darg with a particular trick hit struck the hand of his opponent, and even a glove could not protect him. Gvin screamed from a sudden sharp pain in his hand, his fingers paralyzed with pain opened, releasing the sword. Darg immediately slid sideways and struck a sharp blow with the tip of his sword under Gvin's supporting leg knee and the leg caved. Gvin began to fall on the knee, and Darg had only to finish the enemy with a powerful blow at his head…
Completing the blow, Yarik's master turned to face his sitting opponents. Just in time! Darg's sword managed to block a blow from Morchit who leaped at him. Morchit did not wait for his opponent to get prepared for fight, and struck immediately, but this trick did not work on Darg. Yarik noticed a cold grin of his master. This grin promised nothing good for the warrior who had exploited a dirty trick. Darg spent his whole life in battles where participants had no idea about «honest» strikes, so he had a lot to show to his enemy now.
Darg replied immediately. He threw his right hand somewhere aside, as if opening for strike. Morchit's eyes flashed triumphantly, he saw only an opportunity to attack, but missed the main point – his opponent was holding the sword in his left hand now. When the warrior in gray armor was ready to strike, Darg fell on his left side, letting the enemy's sword go past, and almost from the floor lunged under the plates forming the skirt of the armor. If wooden s
words did not have spherical tops, Morchit would have probably received a serious wound, but everything ended with a wild yell and a fall on the floor with bulging eyes and clenched knees. The slave who had just pulled defeated Gvin aside, got yet another portion of work. El'Jassir shook his head ruefully and nodded to Shas.
The latter easily jumped to his feet and as if flowed to the free space of the hall, then waved invitingly to Darg with his sword. Darg nodded calmly and stood in front of the young warrior. Shas froze in a strange stance – with half-bent legs, his sword above his head parallel to the floor. The young warrior showed that now it was Darg's turn to attack. Darg hid his left hand behind his back, saluted the contestant with his sword and without any preparations just exploded with a hurricane of strikes. Sometimes it even seemed to Yarik that his master did not have one working hand, but even two or three! Yarik could not imagine how Shas could withstand under this uncontrollable avalanche.
In a sword fight the main point – is to withstand the battle rhythm imposed by your enemy, adjust to it, and then destroy it, to break the pattern of fighting, to turn the enemy's attack into the beginning of yours. Shas coped with that, not easily, but he did! Darg performed a combination which could put an end to this fight if his opponent had no face shield. Inflicting another blow that Shas managed to block, Darg turned sideways, changed the grip on the sword hilt, so that the wooden blade was placed along his elbow, and made a side lunge into the enemy's face. This attack was a complete surprise for Shas. The strength of the impact was such that he was just thrown back, but even now he showed his skills – such a blow would have knocked down any other man, but Shas just swayed and took a couple steps back. Darg continued the attack in full confidence that his enemy was stunned and was not able to assess the situation correctly. That was his fault. Having jumped to Shas, he tried to make a chop blow, but his opponent, who was shaking his head in confusion a second ago, exposed his sword and then immediately changed his position, turning his body after Darg's blow and shortening distance to Darg. When Darg appeared exactly behind him, Shas made a sharp blow with his elbow into the unprotected solar plexus of his opponent. And immediately began to turn in the opposite direction, trying to slash with the blade across the enemy's throat who had dared to open his mouth to take a breath…
Darg showed himself as a real fighter: with his face pale from pain, pressing his left hand to his solar plexus, he fell on his back and with a reverse roll avoided the blow. His sword rattled on the floor in about ten cubits from the place where its owner had fallen. The distance was small, but Shas gave Darg no opportunity to take back the sword. The young warrior raced Darg around all the hall, constantly striking blows, threatening serious injuries. However Darg somehow managed dodge, although sometimes the enemy's blade passed within a hair's breadth from his body.
Darg recovered remarkably quickly. He constantly sought a chance for counterattack, and it looked like the sword absence had little effect on his plans… At some point of the fight Darg missed the enemy's sword over him and struck at the arm holding the sword. Shas swayed aside, and had to take a step to keep his balance, Darg took advantage of this falter, he rolled to the side and grabbed his sword. The thud from the enemy's strike at the floor showed that he had made it in time. Leaping to his feet, Darg did not waste time and rushed into attack again… and a ringing blow from the bulky hourglass announced the end of the fight.
– The fight finished! – It was hard to judge by the voice of el'Jassir if he was pleased with the result or not. On the one hand, his fighters lost, but on the other – he witnessed a great battle. – You're a great fighter. – It seemed that the Master was satisfied, after all. – I hope you will wear the title of Swordsman with dignity.
Panting heavily, Darg gratefully bowed to the local Teacher and his last contestant.
– It will be possible to perform the dedication ceremony tonight. – El'Jassir clearly did not like to lose time in vain. – And one more thing, young man. Never stop training. You do have chance to become a true Sword Master. A fighting tactic like yours is rare in our days, and it would be a sin to lose it…
The eyes of the master were talking to Darg about something clear for two people only – the nomad and el'Jassir himself. At least Yarik understood nothing…
The dedication into swordsmen, was conducted in the evening on the third floor of the building. The participants were, of course, el'Jassir, Darg's three opponents, a Tattoo Master, and a master of artifact magic. Oddly enough, but Yarik was allowed to participate in this rather serious and important action, one might even say a mystery. Or rather, simply no one paid any attention to him.
The ceremony took place in a room with curtained windows, lit with light from twelve ball-shaped lanterns. Darg naked to his waist, was standing on one knee, listening to the words of el'Jassir. The latter was drawling a rather artsy text, laced with colorful figures and juicy epithets. The gist was that Darg had now to follow the charter of warriors, to not denigrate the honor of Swordsman and to aspire to multiply his own glory and the glory of the whole military class. In addition, the opportunities that were revealed before Darg after receiving the new rank were listed.
Thus, every swordsman could defend his honour in a duel, could wear his sword with free hilt, had the right to teach martial art in public fencing schools and foreign swordsmen had the right for advanced acquisition of citizenship of Gartash. Hearing the latter Yarik understood the idea of his master better. Having received the confirmation of Darg's desire to become a swordsman, el'Jassir stepped aside, giving way for the Tattoo Master.
The latter appeared to be a wizened old man, but swift and sure movements of his hands did not match his age. Having laid a diverse set of needles on a small stool next to him (Yarik clearly felt the aroma of magic coming from these tools), the tattoo artist started his work. With light movements he began to put a small picture on Darg's left shoulder. As Yarik already knew, every swordsman as well as any nobleman had the right to have his own emblem. Sword was mandatory element of such an emblem. Yarik's master chose a small rounded shield of brownish color, reflecting a green lightning as his emblem. The mandatory sword acquired golden shade and was placed vertically, directly behind the shield. When el'Jassir saw the shield, he smiled and nodded, as if confirming his guess.
Then was the magician's turn. The ring on magician's finger contained a runic four, but he behaved with the importance of a Master of Magic. He pulled out a small golden ring from the folds of his robe, put it on the freshly made tattoo and started to sing a spell. Yarik saw as aura slowly began to flare around the ring and the drawing on the skin. Then came a quiet burst and a few sparks flushed in the air around Darg, the smell of ozone appeared in the room. Judging by a shiver running over Darg's face, he had felt a sharp pain.
– My congratulations, master Darg, with the rank of Swordsman! – Said the magician loudly, and gave the ring to the kneeling man.
Darg accepted it with a nod and immediately put the ring on the middle finger of his right hand. Yarik noticed as aura of the ring flushed again. Darg got to his feet, and took from Yarik his elegant jacket, made of yellow and red leather pieces. El'Jassir approached the newly made swordsman again and pinned some golden swords on his collar. The formal part was completed, and by tradition Darg now had to arrange a banquet for his new sword-mates. For this purpose, Yarik by an order of his master, pre-ordered a couple of tables in «Dream Wings» – a small local restaurant for nobility.
CHAPTER 37
His life in Gonul reminded Yarik of a dying river, which had lost its speed and power long ago, and now was gradually overgrowing with duckweed and slime, turning into a swamp. He did not have particularly heavy responsibilities: just to go to a shop, to run an errand, or to accompany his master to an important meeting. The latter was the only entertainment in a long line of empty and boring tasks.
Having received the swordsman rank Darg suddenly became a point of interest for the provincial city. Amon
g the local nobility it was considered fashionable to invite this rich foreigner to dinner parties. His manners, light accent, how he had received the swordsman rank, the unusual slave – all these attracted local nobility, not spoiled with amusements. Belonging to the higher military class was making communication with the former nomad honorable even to the most noble men.
Darg never refused invitations. The interest of noble men and merchants was exactly what he wanted. Making useful acquaintances during a table talk or gambling, Darg was building thereby steps of a long ladder, which should lead him to wealth and power. In about three weeks after the dedication ceremony, when he had already stroke up an acquaintance with captain Starg – the local garrison commander and landlord Vamis, who liked this energetic, inspiring respect stranger, Darg sent a request for acquisition Gartash citizenship into the Ministry of Foreign Affairs office. He attached to this request two guarantee letters of these worthy and respected people of the Gonul city. Especially promising was the fact that these noble men had extensive contacts in the capital, which could significantly accelerate the consideration of Darg's request.
Against the background of this feverish activity Yarik could only continue his attempts to break through the barrier of the hostile magic. From scraps of overheard conversations he knew about Pilma's branch of Mages Guild of Gartash, which was closely associated with Nold – the island state of magicians. Memories about magical experiments of old shaman Bosk still chilled his soul, and Yarik did not want to fall into the hands of experimenters from science. At the mention of Mages Guild laboratories, for some reason, the word «vivisection» appeared on the tip of his tongue accompanied by vile bitterness. Life put him in very severe time limits.
