by Troy A Hill
My feet and arms already moved as I thought through all of this. The blade itself had become an extension of my arm, another part of me as it slowly spun, twirled, and made its own song in the night. The rhythms I had learned over the centuries from Aemilianus crept from the quiet recesses of my memories. They flooded my muscles, and I found the harmony I had been missing for far too long. I drifted through the movements, to let my muscles recover their memories. I worked each meditation all the way through. Then I repeated it. Again. Faster. I closed my eyes for each set. My body remembered each song, and I brushed the rust out of the memories with my movements.
I began with the basic mediations, but lost track of time. The moon had moved across the sky. By now, I worked advanced meditations that few of my fellow students ever achieved. I closed my eyes and moved through the routine again. And again. Each time faster than before. With my eyes closed I wasn’t seeing – but feeling – the movements, the poetry of the song I wove with my sword.
The music of the blade drove my arms and feet. I knew I was near the end of the field and needed to turn. When I opened my eyes, I saw a familiar figure in front of me, his back to me. He had lit one of the lamps near the field. Its yellow light danced across the field and gave Emlyn enough light to see by. He completed the movements in time with me and spun to change direction. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. I had danced the dance of blades with only one person before who could keep up that well. My mentor, my brother of the undead. Aemi.
Emlyn moved with the human version of the grace that Aemi had. My passion increased to a level I hadn’t felt before with anyone other than Aemi. I wanted to watch him. I wanted to run my hands over his bare chest and smell his musk from the sweat that beaded on his skin. But, if I did, then I wouldn’t get to dance with the blade. And that call was strongest. For now.
Surprise lit his eyes when I didn’t rotate, but I passed the blade to my off hand, and began the complicated routine again. I slowed, so I could reeducate myself to the routine with my off hand. Emlyn followed along with me. We moved forward, twisting and turning. Each movement of our blades was to mimic a thrust or parry, defence leading into attack. The movements were precise. Just enough of a redirection of the imaginary foe’s weapon, then a dart in to attack with a killing stroke or thrust.
At this level of mediation, we also worked in the movements for blows and disarms more advanced than I had shown in the keep. But, through it all, Emlyn kept pace with me. His eyes sparked every time we faced each other. A smile stole onto my face and stayed there. And not just on my face, but into my soul. I had missed these dances. The only other man with this much skill was Aemi. He and I had parted many, many years before.
With Emlyn here, my heart and my soul were complete again. Just like they had when Aemi and I danced for hours, then made love for almost as long after. I desired Emlyn’s flesh against mine. He stirred in me the same feelings Aemi did. Completion.
When we reached the far end, he moved his blade to his off hand. I passed mine to the other hand as well. We stayed slow for a few steps until his off-hand muscles remembered. Then he increased the tempo. At the far end of the field, I stopped. We saluted each other with our weapons.
“You are an excellent partner for the meditations.” I said. He said nothing and turned toward the pile of practice weapons. He set his belt and blades on his cloak and motioned for me to do the same. I laid mine in between his two. He had left space for it there.
“Do you notice anything about the blades?” He pointed at them side by side.
“They are a matched set. Though this one is shorter than your longest.” I said as I noticed the similarities. “I thank you for the loan of your weapon.”
“It is not a loan.” He held my eyes with his gaze. “It is a gift. May it serve you well.” His eyes sparkled as I studied his face. This seemed important to him, so I stayed silent and let him explain.
“The last years I spent with my teacher, he spent the fees that my father, Lord Penllyn, sent him for my education. Each year, he had a blade made for me. When I left, he presented me with them. They matched the one he kept on the wall of the studio. He took that one down for his private meditations. I thought he was honouring me by having my blades made to match his. But on that last morning, he held out the third blade. The one he used himself.”
I pictured my brother, holding the blade out to Emlyn. A cocked, half-smile on his face.
“I asked him why I needed a third blade. He told me, ‘Because, you will find the other half of your soul one day. When you do, she will need a blade.’”
Emlyn stepped closer. I ran my eyes up his bare chest. My gaze moved to the chiselled features of his face, framed by his long, curly brown hair. I wanted to let myself fall into the pools of brown in his eyes. I wasn’t ready to feed yet, but I wanted my hands on his chest, to hold and be held by him. Gwen was right. I needed him to be complete. My heart felt pulled in two directions. Dammit, why is love so complicated?
“Your student will be here shortly,” his voice interrupted my plunge into fantasy.
“My brother decided to send men out to spread the word about not helping those Witch Hunters,” Emlyn said. “Once you offered to train him, I asked Bleddyn to keep Sawyl here. I couldn’t seem to get through his attitude as a bully. But you did.”
Emlyn paused while he held his eyes on my face. “We don’t have enough men in the teulu to cover all the routes. I will ride his mission instead.”
The disappointment must have shown in my eyes.
“We will have a night or two for practice. Once I leave, I expect to be gone about four days,” he added. I could handle four days without our dance, barely. The energy that he had awakened in me needed an outlet again.
“We have time for one more dance.”
I thought he meant to take me right there on the practice field, but he went to the stack of wooden weapons. He pulled out the two swords I had sparred with the night before and passed them over. His face was serious, but his eyes sparkled with mirth.
8
A Matched Set
His choice of dance disappointed me until I felt the weapons in my hands. Then the part of my soul that sang the melody of the blades rang out into song again. The sky to the east was just beginning its soft blue glow. Another hour and the sun would be visible. Penllyn’s swordmaster stood in the centre of the field, two wooden weapons in his hands.
Our weapons rose in salute. We lowered them, and a beat later he swung both at me. Our meditations with the blades earlier had brought my body back in tune with the dance. All the passion I felt for the man earlier, melted into the passion for the dance. With the sword, and a partner like… I almost thought my brother’s name, Aemi. With a partner like Emlyn to dance the dance with, my soul sang in a way I hadn’t felt for almost a century.
I parried and dodged, and launched blows at him. The wooden weapons clacked with quiet intent. We didn’t pull the blows. Instead, we read each swing, and our wooden shafts moved to redirect the path of the incoming weapons. Unlike Sawyl, Emlyn moved only the minimum amount to avoid my strike. Our blows missed by the widths of whiskers, not by the length of fingers.
We were evenly matched. The meditations knocked the rust out of my muscles and memories. He and I were a matched pair.
But he still had his surprises. One of his wooden blades spun in for a side strike over my thrust. I parried it with my other blade. His other blade slid above my off-hand weapon and came in for a strike on my head. I leaned away to avoid the strike.
I used my body’s momentum to my advantage and brought both my blades around at his off side. He was larger, and with my smaller size I could spin faster than he could. One blade high, the other low, ready to parry and deflect as needed.
Although he anticipated the strike, he was forced to defend against it. I moved my blades quicker than he did his and was on the offensive. After that first mistake I didn’t make another. My attack made him retreat to where he had begun
. He uttered one word.
“Faster.”
I changed the tempo and launched blow after blow. His blades parried and riposted. He stayed with me and didn’t lose the beat of the dance I set.
“Faster.”
Again, I increased my speed. In the back of my mind, I could feel my blood-demon stir. I wasn’t hungry, nor angry. I pulled just enough energy from my undead nature for the speed I was using. But, these thoughts didn’t impact my body. I moved in the free-form song we sang with our blades. Neither of us gained ground after that first step he took from me. Instead, we circled. Four hands, four weapons slid and spun in the waning hour of night.
We danced until the sun climbed above the horizon. My soul loved every movement. I paid the impending sun no mind. The last time I had danced this intense, this long, I was with my brother. I left Aemilianus behind for fear I might bring the witch hunters upon him.
“Faster.”
If he wanted it, I gave it.
My blood-demon sang with me now. Not full on, but I pulled the energy for some supernatural speed. Emlyn stayed with me, barely. After a few seconds, I saw an opening. I caught his swords low, and too far out to recover against my speed. Both of my weapons moved to strike his head, he dropped to a knee to avoid them. My blades were already dropped and crossed. Then I did pull the blows. The wooden weapons pressed against his neck, the blades crossed just above the hilt. Real steel would have sliced his neck wide open.
But, Emlyn's weapons pressed against my belly. A stalemate.
“The only way I could ever win against my teacher, was to sacrifice myself.” His brown eyes gleamed at me. The corners of his mouth tugged upward into a small, but amused smile. I wanted nothing more than to drop my weapons, and cup his face in my hands and send the passion the dance had awakened into him through a kiss… and more.
But, I could tell the practice field was a sacred space for him. The only passion here was with our blades. To have his body, I would have to wait. I wanted nothing else right then than to collapse into him and feel his body against mine. Unfortunately, the red rays of the sunrise stained the sky.
I stepped back to let him rise.
Sawyl was there, down on his knees, waiting. Behind him stood Gwen flanked on one side by Rhian and Bleddyn, and on the other by Caerwyn and Nesta.
Emlyn’s arm slid around my waist, and his body pressed against my right hip. Together we bowed toward them. His arm pushed me forward. I nodded to acknowledge Sawyl, but shifted my attention to the others.
“I suspected that my brother would be here, and I didn’t want to miss your dance,” Bleddyn said.
9
Students
The other nobles drifted away once they were sure Emlyn, and I were done with our dance. Gwen had brought a blanket, and asked if she could spread it out to sit and observe our lesson. I agreed. Emlyn sat next to her at the edge of the field.
I shifted my attention back to Sawyl.
He bowed low.
“I apologise for my insult to you, milady.”
“Forgiven,” I said. “Are you ready to begin?”
“Will you be able to teach me to fight like you just did?”
“No.”
The tall and husky guardsman lowered his eyes.
“You are not a woman, you are not as small as I am, and you have a longer reach than I do.” I could sense Emlyn’s nod at my statement, but I kept my gaze fixed on Sawyl’s face. His eyes returned to my face.
“What I can teach you," I said, "is how to become one with your weapon, how to dance with it, and how to become poetry with its motion.” Recognition dawned on him. “You will learn to dance, not to fight. If you fight, you’ve already lost.”
“You, a woman, beat me,” Sawyl said, his eyes down, “I was already humiliated. I’ve never felt that way. Why did you offer to teach me?”
“Because I don’t like seeing anyone put down,” I said. “Especially when they do it to themselves. Woman or man doesn't matter. Skill, training and practice do.” I looked the large guardsman over from head to toe. “You’ve got the coordination, you’ve got the ability to be better than you are. Somewhere inside you is a person who isn’t the braggart I faced last night. I want to see if I can find the Sawyl I saw in you after you realised you were beaten. That’s the man who will stand to protect his people.”
“I thought I already was,” he said.
"Select a practice weapon and we'll begin your second lesson."
"Second?"
"You had the first one last night." I had Sawyl meet me in the centre of the field and raise my steel in salute. He matched it. We swooshed our blades to the side. I turned, so I faced up the hill. "We'll begin with the first meditations."
"Emlyn has taught all of us those," he said.
"He has taught," I said with a grin over my shoulder. "But have you learned? Follow my lead on this set. I'll have you lead the next set."
I was about to begin when Emlyn cleared his throat to get my attention. He nodded at the path up from the keep. Lady Enid had climbed the path and ran to the edge of the field without even a glance at Gwen and Emlyn. She curtseyed deep toward me.
“Welcome, Lady Enid.”
“Milady Mair,” she raised her eyes to me. “I would ask that I may learn the dance of the swords that you speak of.” Her eyes held mine, awaiting my answer.
“What does your Lord husband think of this idea?” I asked, not sure what Lord Penllyn’s protocol would be. Penllyn seemed to encourage women to learn arms, but this was the new wife of the heir. Were the rules different for her?
“He said only I know what I need to fulfil my duties as future Lady of the cantref, and to teach the young to use their weapons.”
“Was this your idea or his?” I asked.
She grinned.
“Does Lord Penllyn have any stipulations against such?” I asked Emlyn. He shook his head. He was leaving this decision to me.
“Will you be here each morning, and work hard each day?”
“Yes, milady,” she said. She fixed her eyes on my face. Her look of apprehension at the possibility of being denied gave way to the realisation I was about to agree.
“Select a weapon.” I said and pointed at the pile of wooden swords.
As the future lady of two cantrefi bent to select a wooden sword, Gwen smiled to let me know she approved. Enid and I walked out to where Sawyl stood. He rolled his eyes once as Enid chose her weapon. I coughed to get his attention. His face went scarlet as he realised I had seen his reaction. His eyes darted to his feet and stayed there.
I began to teach them the first of the basic warm-up dances. Sawyl knew the movements but was sloppy. Cocky.
“Step out and watch Lady Enid,” I told him once we had run the first meditation several times. She was clumsy, but it was because she was learning. I pointed to her after a moment. “See how she flows with the blade. It’s an extension of her arm. But for you it is just a tool.”
He still looked confused.
“As a boy, did you ever go see the smith?” Sawyl nodded. Of course, he had. All boys seem to love watching a smith in action. Fire, noise, muscles in action.
“Every boy hears the sound of metal on metal and wants to learn that,” he said. “The hammer and the anvil make their own language. It draws us in.”
“Did the smith ever let you take the hammer?”
“Of course, milady,” he said. “I was big. I looked to be smith material he said.”
“Did you strike well those first tries?”
Sawyl shook his head. “I couldn’t get the rhythm he had. It was like the hammer was a part of his arm. He didn’t even have to think about his next blow and twisting the iron rod he worked. He just did it. But I couldn’t get more than two strikes in before he had me put the metal back into the fire. I had no idea how he did it.”
“That same extension of your body off the sword, like the smith from his hammer is what you’ve got to learn,” I explained. “The s
mith became the hammer, because he used it so often. He learned how to listen to it and the metal he struck. He learned to hear their language. That’s what these meditations are for. To teach you that you must do what the sword tells you to.”
“My sword never talked to me,” he said with a shake of his head.
“But, every young boy can hear the language of the smith’s hammer.” He glanced at me as that sunk in. I gave him a smile.
“You are going through the motions with the meditations because you have to. Stop moving to get done. Stop trying to fight. Learn to listen to the song of the blade.”
He let his eyes drift back to Enid as she began the meditation for a fourth time. He nodded.
“I will try, milady,” he said.
Gwen and Emlyn sat and watched us for the entire two hours.
I called a halt and maintained Emlyn’s tradition of saluting the students with my weapon. I reflected on their abilities as we moved off the field. If Aemi were here, he'd give Enid extra attention due to her natural talent. He or I could have her at Emlyn's level inside of two decades. The large guardsman, however, was too reliant on his size and strength. Enid would outpace him if I allowed her to advance as quickly as she was capable.
Sawyl's ego had been kicked enough. As long as he worked to correct his faults, I wouldn’t use Enid’s natural ability to humiliate him further.
As we moved to the side of the field, Emlyn pointed at the bundle of wooden weapons. “Your students both know where these are stored. Make sure they take their weapons back each day.” Enid tied wooden weapons into a bundle. Sawyl lifted them.
“You may have another student or two join you before the week is over,” Emlyn said. “You’ll attract some attention. People will want to see, or maybe even train with the mysterious swordswoman. Check with Gerallt or Cadoc first if any of the guards say want to train. They may just be trying to get out of a duty shift.”
