by Alex Sapegin
The straw-haired, robust fellow, a friend of Berg’s, master Trego’s assistant, came to the fencing hall a few times. He introduced himself as Brig the Brick. He first set eyes on Andy who was blindfolded and dancing on the patterns on the floor of the second hall and noticed him with surprise. The second time he showed up, Andy was working on the platform with one of the senior students. Brick just whistled and used some choice words on the idiocy of the masters who had rejected Andy and Rigaud as students in their schools. Berg only puffed his chest up proudly and gave Andy a couple of whacks with the vine staff, so he wouldn’t get too big for his britches.
Andy was expecting something new and special from today’s lesson. He was in a good mood because of the recent events in the library, his contract with the School council, and gaining access to the closed archives. He felt like getting a present, like at Christmas! Strange as it may be, his expectations were met.
Berg began an ordinary lecture while the pupils warmed up.
“What is a sword?” The question demanded an answer. Their tutor answered his own question. “A sword is a universal symbol of life and death! The divine twin sisters, Hel, death, and Nel, life, gave swords to mortals so that they would always remember that their life and death are balanced on the edge of a blade. It’s life and death in a person’s hands. The shine of the blade is like the blink of the goddesses’ eyes. The slightest mistake will mean life for your enemy and death for you. If your foe errs, it means the opposite. Many people consider duels with swords a fatal dance. Imbeciles!! When two masters of the art meet face to face, the dance of their blades is the dance of Hel and Nel. Military prowess comes from the sisters! They also give one courage and fortitude. And the dance of the blades is the dance of the goddesses. The victor receives Nel’s light; the loser Hel’s kiss of repose. There are reverse cases as well, where fortitude in the battle and Hel’s embrace become the light of victory. The twins are so alike, they sometimes even mix themselves up! A master of the blade is a master of the dance. He is a priest of the goddesses, whether he likes it or not! A master should be pure, in every way, so as not to stain the goddesses with his uncleanliness….” Berg finished and looked at the silent pupils. It was the first time he had given such a lecture and no one understood why he had suddenly decided to. “What are you staring at? Let’s get to work!”
The senior students chased them all around the corners of the gym and began to heartily tweak the exactness and correctness of the newer students’ exercises. Berg’s speech had gotten to them too. Andy was left to his own devices for the first time in three months. Once he had warmed up and rehearsed his parries, he went into the other hall and was amazed by the changes to the Dance Pattern hall. Whatever Berg did, he did it with gusto. There were a great many pear-shaped bags stuffed with sand, metal pipes, hammers on long handles and a pair of long swords attached to hinges and rotating mechanisms, installed on the ceiling.
“Shall we dance?” he heard someone say. Andy started from the unexpectedness. Dios, the senior pupil, was grinning with one side of his mouth. “I got this all ready for you! Are you just going to stand there?”
“Let’s dance,” Andy replied thoughtfully. He picked up two heavy sparring swords and froze. Dios started the mechanism in motion. All the hanging objects began to move and swing, each in its own rhythm.
Andy closed his eyes and relaxed, as was his habit. A solid calm and serenity took over him. He heard music in his ears—the rumble of the gong and the whistle of the bagpipes, the fury of the military horns, and the happy frenzy of the bugle. The music summoned an ancient wrath from deep within his soul. It was the pure and unadulterated thirst for blood. A shiver ran through his whole body. His knees began to tremble like a thoroughbred horse’s do before a race. The light of the cord appeared before his inner eye. Warm waves of the ocean of energy filled him with strength. An amazing feeling! Giving in to the military rhythm, not opening his eyes and switching to true vision, he took a step. Then another. It was such a familiar dance. Another step. A pirouette. Fend, now attack. Another pirouette. He was a bird, a dragon in flight! One more step and he froze. Silence. It was so quiet his ears were ringing. Andy opened his eyes.
Mother of God! What had he done? Berg would kill him. The hall looked like a garbage heap. The objects were all scattered all over and broken, laying around in every corner. The motor-powered mechanism on the ceiling was torn out by the bearings. He had really done a number on things. What a dancer I am!
There was a quiet cough behind him. Andy turned. Master Berg was standing near the entrance to the hall and eying the piles of what used to be his training weapons, now junk. It seemed the one who had destroyed his property was the last thing he was interested in. Berg coughed again and yelled at the top of his lungs: “Dios!”
Just like a jack-in-the-box, Dios appeared from the far corner. He had decided, apparently, not to interfere with Andy’s dance which was the right choice. Andy would have cut him in two and not noticed.
“Yes, master!” He bowed to their tutor.
“Dios, bring me the red box from my office.” The student evaporated.
The tutor walked around Andy who was frozen in place. He pushed thoughts on the inevitability of punishment out of his head.
The ruined hall soon filled up with pupils. Brig the Brick appeared at the entrance with a whistle of surprise.
“Which one of your students hates hanging objects with a vengeance?” he asked. Berg poked Andy with the vine staff.
“I have one joker here,” he said.
Dios, out of breath, returned to the hall with a red box in his hands. Berg went over to him.
“Today one of my pupils has destroyed the Dance Pattern hall. And I’m not happy about that, very unhappy indeed. I think this student deserves a severe punishment!” That was it. Andy lowered his head guiltily. He readied himself for the fulfillment of the severe sentence. Berg opened the box and took out a new senior student’s vine staff. “My pupil Kerrovitarr is being promoted to the group of senior students. He will work with the junior student group. From now on, senior student Kerrovitarr’s classes will take place under my direct supervision and Brig’s close scrutiny.” There was a pause. Absolute silence. “Well, what’s everyone standing around for? Get to work! To wooork!”
Well, there you have it, Andy dear. May as well give it up for lost! You’ll get crippled by your own vine staff. You were too quick to celebrate.
The sound of busy feet let him know that all the students had followed the master’s command and were off to their lessons. The hall was empty. Time to get down to business.
Slap. The vine staff hit his right hand, which was clutching a heavy sparring sword of raw iron. Andy clenched his teeth and slowly breathed out. It hurt! The Brick, who was standing across from Andy, snarled in satisfaction, as if he were very glad to see Berg thrashing his senior student. Perhaps, he was?
“You’re lunging like a maniac. You thrust too soon to touch. You would have been left with a maimed stump instead of a hand!” Berg stood two steps away from the training circle and carefully observed the battle between Brig and Andy. He would “reward” every mistake by the fencers with a strike from the vine staff. He didn’t distinguish between the two opponents. It was 10 to 2, Brig, if you keep score according to the number of times each received the half-orc’s “encouragement.”
“Change hands. Fight with your left.”
Brig stopped grinning. Andy was ambidextrous; he could use his left and right arms equally well. Although right now it seemed he couldn’t do anything well, hadn’t learned anything, and couldn’t even control himself. The wide, sturdy Brick turned out to be as slippery as an eel and could flow like water. He constantly slipped to the side out of the line of attack and adroitly dodged. As soon as he smoothly moved Andy’s sword to the side (he didn’t block with his sword), he would immediately take a long step forward and would suddenly be standing right next to Andy tickling his unwary opponent with his bl
ade. Then Andy would always get a whack by the vine staff. It was frustrating beyond all measure. It was clear that half-swording was Brig the Brick’s strong suit, but that the long-armed Andy was not at all inclined to excel at this technique. The whole battle was under the straw-haired man’s control. On Berg’s command, both switched swords to their left hands. Brig squinted unhappily. Left-handed fencing was not very comfortable for him. It disturbed his groove in battle. Berg walked over to the other side of the circle. His vine staff lightly touched the curve of Andy’s elbow of his fighting arm.
“Relax. You’re too tense. How many times do I have to tell you not to let your blade be deflected off to the side? One move and your enemy can lead it away to the left! You’re exposed! If you don’t have at least a dagger or a gauntlet in your right hand, he’ll cut you to ribbons!” Berg pointed out yet another mistake. “You can use your left hand and you have an advantage over Brick, but with your childish mistakes, you’re even anyway. Stop. Out of the circle.”
Berg waited for the pair to get out of the circle and forcefully walked up to Andy.
“I don’t understand, I simply can’t understand it! What happened? It’s like a different you. I can’t believe that someone here brought the training hall to ruin less than a half an hour ago. Alright, let’s go at it from another angle. Stand on the circle line and try to feel what you felt in the Dance Pattern hall. I don’t want to think I shouldn’t have given you a vine staff! When you’re ready, step into the circle. Hey—and you can imagine what you need to, of course. But don’t destroy my second hall today, too!” Berg smiled. “If you can’t do it, don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ll just take the vine staff back.”
Yeah, right! I won’t give you anything back! His chest swelled with anger. Approaching the outline of the circle, Andy closed his eyes and tried to relax. Solid calm and serenity escaped him. He heard no music. His anger only distracted him. Suddenly, a crazy idea came to him like a flash. “The cord! There it is! Hold on, Berg asked me not to destroy his gym.” Andy scooped up a small portion of an external force and transformed the image of the “cord” into a small golden dragon. He then melded with it. This was something new. He stepped into the circle.
Brig the Brick jumped forcibly to meet him. Andy took a step to the side and let the other blade pass by, slightly correcting the trajectory and perfecting his counter-strike. Yes!
A new attempt. Let’s simulate an attack, shift my weight to my left foot. Take a step to the right. Brig saw Andy’s tense left leg, fell for it, and stepped closer to him. A sudden switch to a low stance, a dodge to the left with a parry, a stunning riposte, and a cutting blow across the stomach. If the sword had been real, not a sparring sword, Brig would be looking at his intestines.
Once again. Brig wasn’t burning with desire to be the first to attack. Two pretend deaths had increased his caution. Andy took a long step forward. Brig switched to a low pose, almost a lunge position from which to strike. He was ready to meet his opponent with a cutting blow to the legs or a direct thrust, followed by a parry to the left. That’s exactly why it was almost a winning stance. Andy transferred the sword to his left hand, then performed a diagonal downward strike. The sword froze a few centimeters from Brig’s hand which was jabbed forward.
“Stop. Out of bounds. How are you?” He was asking Brig, and got a playful whistle in reply. “Keep it up like that from now on,” Berg went on. “Hold on to the vine staff. I don’t need two of them.” A content Berg slapped Andy on the shoulder and awarded him a very pleasant-to-the-touch vine staff. “That’s all for today. You’re dismissed. Let’s go have a chat, Brig.”
In the changing room, Rigaud and Timur took the vine staff and proceeded to twist it in their hands. If it were a coin, they would have bitten it and tried to bend it. They took a couple whacks at each other with the staff and concluded unanimously that the master’s staff must contain a metal rod; Andy’s vine staff didn’t hurt half as much as Berg’s.
Andy was in a great mood and wanted to chow down on something, preferably meat. Perhaps bloody meat. His feats in both halls had really given him an appetite. Rigaud and Timur weren’t on a diet and seconded Andy’s motion to visit an establishment that specialized in public food services. There were three whole hours left before the School gates would close, and they could stuff themselves to their hearts’ content.
“I’ll choose the wine. You have a bad taste,” Rigaud announced, heading for the shower. “You’re such a jerk, Kerr! Can’t believe you made me stay away from Frida… she could’ve washed my back….”
Now this was a shower. Awesome! This world wasn’t all dark ages—they had some truly great ideas! How far Earth’s thinking still had to go compared to what they’ve thought of in this world. The Gremuchka fed cold water into aqueducts, which was later heated in big barrels on the roofs of buildings. Some by the sun, some people put “coins”—special artifacts—on the bottom of the barrels. This pleasure was pretty affordable. The coins cost ten silver pieces each. They changed the coins every month. We’re reaping the benefits of civilizatio, soaking them in with our bodies. Uh-oh, should I offer my ideas on the ancient Russian miracle—the banya? They have thermae (public bath houses) here that look like they’re straight out of Ancient Rome. But these bathhouses lack soul—what makes Russian banyas unique: a place for vigorous scrubbing, light exfoliating with the soft birch branches, dipping in cold water, and steaming till you can stand it no more!
Andy scooped up an abundant handful of extract of soaproot and started rubbing it on a washcloth. Once he had plenty of foam, he rubbed himself frantically and then ducked under a watering can. When he had rinsed off the foam, he relaxed under the flowing streams of water and let himself daydream. Rigaud was right… it would be nice to have Frida around here….
“Kerr,” Timur’s voice snapped Andy out of La La Land.
“What?”
“The little dragon on your shoulder… did you get it re-done?”
Andy wasn’t sure what he was talking about. What do you mean get it re-done? He cocked his head towards his shoulder and examined the tattoo. Jaga had given it her best creating such a beautiful design with only bone needles and ink, but this was not Jaga’s doing. She hadn’t created a filigree of every little scale. What the heck? Now there’s something you don’t see every day… The dragon had taken on a bright gold color and a lively charm. Well-well now. He’s the spitting image of his astral double! The runes around the dragon hadn’t changed. What could this mean for the future? I’ll have to keep an eye on that tattoo. It’s strange….
“It’s the ink’s reaction to the soaproot.” Perhaps. that’ll work. Timur raised his eyebrows skeptically. He wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t ask any further questions. Don’t ask any questions, and they won’t tell you any lies. Timur understood the terms.
Meanwhile, Andy and his friends got dressed and arrived at the restaurant. The waiter changed the tablecloth, set the table, and looked at his customers judgmentally.
“What are you gonna have?”
No greeting, no menu, no “glad to see you.” There were no flowers in the vase as on the other tables, either.
The bloke in the waiter’s shirt had sized up the group and mentally assigned them to the lowest category there is: poor bookworms. They wouldn’t order anything more expensive than three boxes of bread and a carafe of water. True, our clothes aren’t the fanciest, not the kind that gives the impression of being able to pay for one’s fare. It’s a prestigious restaurant. The smoke from burnt gravy here comes at the price of sheep’s feet in some roadside inn on the Plain. Or does he think we are in the wrong place? He shouldn’t think that. You mustn’t judge a client by his cover. He might take offense and fail to leave a tip.
The people’s assembly had exchanged words for a long time over which restaurant to choose. Rigaud and Timur didn’t want to go to a tavern or a simple cafe. They wouldn’t hear a word of Andy’s case. They insisted on celebrating the bestow
ing of the first vine staff in style. But there was clearly a hidden reason behind this conflict. Rigaud had gotten a stipend, and Timur an allowance from his father the count. They had money to burn! Then, they would live for the next month on whatever crumbs they could scrounge. They were rich for a day. Andy even got a little ashamed at one point; he certainly didn’t have to keep exact track of his funds. When he needed to pay, he just did. When he needed to buy something—go ahead. It was nice being one’s own wallet. After his first molting, Gmar had collected all his scales and brought them to the market in Gornbuld, a small dwarf city in the foothills fifty leagues from the valley. The Pastkoi merchants that had traveled in to do business there almost tore his product out of his hands and paid almost the same weight in gold. Possessing this profit, (minus the dwarf’s interest from banking operations and commission, almost 35 pounds of gold) just for the fact that nature determined you’d shed your scales every so often, was pretty cool! It was a lot of money. It was a nice bonus after having lived through the Incarnation and having gained wings and a tail. The down side was that there was an insanely sky-high price for dragons’ livers, hearts, and other internal organs and glands. Special hunting teams tracked down their victims, and no moral norms could stop them. Today, he was about to take advantage of his bonus. His friends had to hide their silver deep in their socks and be careful not to flaunt it in front of the local hustlers. The guy who caused the celebration should take all expenses upon himself.
“Well? Cat got your tongue? I’m waiting for your order…,” the waiter decided to speak up again. Andy almost choked. It was perhaps the first time he had ever seen such a blatant expression of rudeness and disdain for customers in Orten. Not counting what happened with the guards near the city gates. People here were proud; they could respond with quite an uproar or opposition, and they would have every right to. This creep had really crossed the line. Rigaud was so mad, he turned almost purple; he was about to blow. His injured dignity required retribution, somehow or another. Cool it, Rigaud. Andy was angry and offended too.
