Teldin nodded with a smile. "Aye," he said, mimicking his large friend's boisterous manner. "Got any scavvers you need dealt with?"
"Scavvers, is it?" Aelfred laughed. "Well, maybe you can kill us two or three for dawnfry. If you're feeling frisky, there's something more important for you to do." His bantering manner faded. "What's your experience with the short sword?"
Teldin shrugged-a little warily, because he thought he knew where the burly warrior was leading. "Some, when I was in the army."
The mate snorted. "Everybody who's ever joined an army gets 'some' experience with the sword. Any training?"
"Some," Teldin repeated. "I learned some simple moves, mainly from bored soldiers who had nothing better to do than teach a novice some of their skills. Are you feeling bored, Aelfred?"
Aelfred chuckled dryly. "Bored enough," he answered.
"Bored enough to teach you some real swordplay, something that'll maybe save your precious skin." He slapped at his left and for the first time Teldin noticed that the big man had on sword sheathed at his side. Aelfred noticed his glance. "Oh, aye, the deck crew's all armed now. Void scavvers don't often travel in schools, but it does happen." He turned and bellowed to one of the crewmen who was oiling the windlass ranked back the heavy ballista. "Hoi, Gendi. Toss me your weapon." The man in the turret hesitated. "Come on, toss it here," Aelfred repeated. "You don't have to worry about scavvers with Teldin around."
The man smiled and drew his sword. He gripped it by the thick forte of the blade and with an easy underarm toss lofted it, hilt first, toward Aelfred. The polished steel reflected a riot of colors. With the utmost nonchalance, Aelfred reached up, and the hilt slapped into his hand. He reversed the weapon and held it out, grip toward Teldin.
"Take it," he instructed. "Well, take it." Teldin grasped the proffered weapon. "Now look at it. Closely. Feel it."
Teldin followed his friend's instruction. He adjusted his hand around the grip. It felt quite different from the sword- Lort's sword-he'd driven into the scavver. That weapon had possessed a smooth grip, wrapped in something that felt somehow both smooth and rough-perhaps sharkskin, which he'd heard was a common wrapping for sword hilts. This weapon's grip was metal, the same golden metal as the pommel and guard-probably bronze, he thought. It was ridged, worked into a complex pattern of scrolls and leaves. While he thought that it might become uncomfortable in protracted use, he had to admit that the ridges made for a sure grip and that the depressions would probably be good to prevent sweat or blood from making the hilt slippery. The cross-guard-or quillions, sprang the word from some deep recess of his memory-curved forward and branched. The inner branches came within a finger's span of the blade's edges, presumably to trap or break an opponent's blade and, so, disarm him. The blade itself was oiled steel, shiny and clean, with a razor-sharp edge along almost the full length. The blade thickened and became blunt only within a hand's span of the quillions. The thick portion of the blade-the forte-was etched with a delicate pattern similar to that on the grip. Toward the extreme point, the blade thickened slightly, but the point itself looked as sharp as a needle. He swung the weapon back and forth gently, using only his wrist. He guessed it weighed two or three pounds, with the balance point way back in the forte, near the grip. Finished with his examination, he looked expectantly up at Aelfred.
The warrior had drawn his own weapon, holding it lightly, with a loose wrist. "Two things to remember about the short sword," Aelfred said. "First, it's a thrusting weapon, more precise than a broadsword. It doesn't have the heft to just hack away, like with a meat-axe, but if you put your weight behind the point, it'll go through most armor like it's soft cheese. Second, the point is mightier than the edge… but the short sword does have an edge. If you get an opening for a cut, take it, but keep it small, controlled. Like this." With the speed of a striking snake, Aelfred straightened his wrist from its partially bent position. Steel flashed like quicksilver in a short arc-a total distance less than the length of Teldin's forearm-and stopped as sharply as if it had struck a solid object. In even that short swing, the blade whistled. "See?" Aelfred asked. "Short, controlled. With a good edge, that's enough to split a man's skull. Try it."
Teldin gave the weapon a flip with his wrist, trying to imitate the big man's motion. The blade moved, but not nearly as fast, and it didn't stop sharply but continued its swing almost a hand's breadth beyond where Teldin wanted the swing to end. He felt his cheeks tingle a little in embarrassment. With his hours behind the plow and hewing wood on the farm, he figured his wrist should have been strong enough to do better. Aelfred didn't notice his discomfiture-or if he did, the warrior chose to ignore it. "It's leverage," he explained. "That sword doesn't weigh much, but it's spread over two feet of blade. Does your wrist hurt?"
Teldin flexed the wrist experimentally. Yes, it did, he noted with surprise-and even more embarrassment. The tendons along the side of the wrist, the ones that continued down from his little finger, were slightly sore.
"There's not much the average person does that uses the same muscles swordplay does," Aelfred continued. "You want to know how to tell a swordsman? Look at my wrist." Transferring his sword to his left hand, he extended his right arm to Teldin.
Teldin looked. The tendons of the warrior's wrist were thick and ridged, even with his hand relaxed. Aelfred clenched his big fist, and the tendons stood out like ropes of steel. He turned his hand so Teldin could better see the side of his wrist. From the edge of his hand down into his forearm, the ligaments and muscles under the skin showed pronouncedly, as hard as rock.
"All it takes is lots of work," Aelfred grinned. "If you want, I'll show you some exercises later. For now, defend yourself."
Standing square to Aelfred, Teldin bent his knees slightly in what he thought might look something like a fighter's crouch. A little self-consciously, he lifted the sword and held it out directly in front of his chest.
So fast that he hardly saw the big man move, Aelfred shot his empty right arm forward and poked Teldin painfully in the center of the chest with a thick finger. Instinctively Teldin brought up his empty left hand to block the thrust, but much too late. Aelfred's arm flashed again, this time grabbing Teldin's left hand in an immobilizing grip. The warrior looked down at the hand he held in feigned amazement.
"What's this?" he asked scathingly. "Trying to stop a thrust with a bare hand? Are you so tired of that hand that you want it chopped off? Well, you're run through the heart, so it doesn't matter anyway." He let Teldin's hand go with the same revulsion he'd show for a dead fish.
Teldin's face burned with embarrassment. "I didn't want to hurt you," he muttered.
"I wouldn't have let you. Trust me on that."
"All right," Teldin said with a sigh. "What am I doing wrong?"
Aelfred laughed. "What aren't you doing wrong? First, your stance is too open. You' re giving me your whole chest and belly to rip open if I want to. Turn like this." His hard hands took Teldin's shoulders and turned him until he was side-on. "There," he went on. "Smaller target area, right? Oh, aye, you'd fight more open if you had a dagger in your offhand, but one thing at a time, eh?" He grasped Teldin's right wrist and started to move the arm. "Relax," he growled. "Don't fight me. Bring your elbow down more. There." He stood back to examine his handiwork.
Teldin's elbow was lower, close against his right side. "Forearm parallel with the ground," Aelfred instructed. "Wrist straight and strong." The warrior's empty hand flashed again, dealing Teldin a stinging slap on the back of his left hand. "And get that left hand back. You're just asking to have it cut off. Tuck it under your belt if you have to."
Teldin nodded. With his forearm level and his wrist straight, the sword's blade angled upward and out, with the point on a level with his eyes. The position was very natural, he found, even comfortable. For the first time he started to feel like a swordsman… or at least a reasonable facsimile.
Aelfred stood back, appraising him. After a moment, the big man nodded his
satisfaction. "Good," he growled. "Now the thrust. It's like this." With the sword back in his right hand, he lunged with a speed that belied his size. His sword point flicked out fast and hard as he took a short step forward. He recovered instantly, returning to the ready position so fast that it almost looked as though his arm had stretched. The fluid grace of the movement astounded Teldin.
"Watch the footwork this time," Aelfred instructed. "Watch the step forward." He repeated the motion. "The step extends your reach, but it also puts your weight behind the point. Got it?"
Teldin nodded.
"You try it, slowly. I'll talk you through it." He stood beside Teldin and took the smaller man's right wrist in his big hand. "Start with the wrist like this. Extend the arm, but keep the wrist straight." Teldin tried to relax, to let the seemingly inexorable force move his sword hand forward. "As it comes forward, you take a short step forward flow. Got it? See how it makes you shift your weight so it's behind the blade?"
Teldin could feel the logic behind the moves. Even in slow motion, he felt the weight of his torso reinforcing the movement of his arm. "I've got it," he said.
Aelfred released him. "Have you, now?" he asked ironically. "Then I want you to kill the mainmast."
"What?"
"Do it!" Aelfred barked. "It's going to tear your face off and eat it for dawnfry. Kill it!"
Teldin heard a muffled chuckle from the crewman who'd lent him the sword but forced himself to ignore it. He stepped toward the mainmast until he was what he felt to be the right distance away and lunged.
It felt like he was doing everything right. The sword struck the thick mast… but not with the point. The blade had turned slightly out of true, and the flat of the blade glanced along the side of the mast. The impact-heavy, with his full weight behind it-bent his wrist back painfully, and the sword clattered to the deck.
"What happened?" Aelfred sneered. "Did the mast disarm you? No. Did you keep your wrist straight like I told you?"
"No," Teldin mumbled, cradling his sore wrist against his belly. "I bent it."
"Too bloody right, you bent it," Aelfred roared. "Pick up your sword and do it right. Pick it up!"
With a muttered curse, Teldin picked up the word. He knew that Aelfred's feigned anger was a tactic used by military trainers everywhere, but that didn't mean it stung him any less. He dropped back into the ready position and poised on the balls of his feet. The weight of the sword hurt his wrist, but he tried to force the pain from his mind. He tried to concentrate, tried to slip into the state of focus he'd felt before, but it wouldn't come. Why not? he found himself wondering. If Estriss was right, and the concentration was some power of the cloak, why couldn't he summon it now? Was it something that happened only when he was in real danger? Or had it nothing to do with the cloak at all?
"What are you waiting for?" Aelfred asked, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Waiting for the mast to come up and impale itself? Do id"
Teldin took a deep breath and lunged. At the last instant he remembered: straight mist. His arm shot out, backed by the full weight of his body. At the moment of impact he expected a jolt of agony in his wrist, but it never came. Straight and firm, the joint took the impact with no pain or problem. With a solid thunk the sword drove deep into the mast.
The lunge had felt good, he realized. Everything worked, and it felt smooth, almost natural. He looked at the sword, buried in the mast at chest-height. A full hand's breadth of the blade had sunk into the seasoned ironwood. He let go of the sword-giving the handle a slight tug to the side as he did so, so that the weapon quivered and sang. He pulled himself to rigid attention and snapped Aelfred a perfect salute the way he'd learned in the army. "The mast is dead, sir," he barked.
He held the salute while Aelfred struggled vainly not to laugh. The warrior slapped him on the shoulder. "Good for you, lad," he chuckled. "Nice thrust. We'll do some more work on this later." He paused. "Tell you what, head on down to the officers' saloon. I'll join you as fast as I can. I feel the urge to buy you a drink." In perfect parade-ground style, he returned Teldin's salute and barked, "Dismissed," then he turned to the crewman who'd been watching everything with some amusement. "Well, Gendi? Aren't you going to come and get your sword?"
*****
Teldin had come to appreciate the officers' saloon as a place to relax and to think. It was a comfortable room, much more so than any other cabin aboard the Probe. There was a single central table, large and circular, built out of a slice from the trunk of a great tree. The pale orange wood had, been oiled and polished to bring out the complex grain structure, and Teldin found it beautiful. All his life he'd had an appreciation for the carpenter's art and enjoyed the feel, of good wood and carving tools in his hands. At times he'd wished that his circumstances had been different, that he'd had time to devote to honing his skills. When-if-he ever returned home, he firmly intended to make himself a table like the one in the saloon.
The chairs that surrounded the table were covered in rich burgundy leather. The seats and backs were only slightly padded-probably with horsehair, he imagined-but their angle and form made them more comfortable than some of the deeply padded chairs he'd seen on his travels. There was a two-seat couch of the same construction against the forward bulkhead, and a small liquor cabinet-locked, with the only keys in the possession of the senior officers-in the corner just aft of the door.
The main feature of the officers' saloon, and the thing that attracted Teldin most of all, was the huge oval porthole mounted in the outboard bulkhead. This porthole filled the entire length of the bulkhead, more than the height of a man, and rose from the deck to the overhead. The crystal that filled it was quite different from the glass he'd seen in some windows on Krynn. While that glass had been rippled and uneven, distorting the view through it, this was smooth and uniform. It was thick, though; he could tell that from the fact that everything seen through it took on the faintest tinge of green. The crystal didn't feel like glass, either. A glass window would have been slightly chill to the touch. This, in contrast, seemed to have no temperature at all, and when he ran his hands over it, they left no streaks or fingerprints. The port was divided into panes: a central circle, like the pupil of an eye, surrounded by half a dozen curved segments.
During the voyage through wildspace before reaching the crystal shell, Teldin had found himself drawn to the saloon. He had often come here and drawn up one of the chairs in front of the port. Sometimes for hours he'd sat there, staring out on the blackness of space and the stats, given the faintest green tint by the crystal. There was beauty out there, he found. Not the beauty of the rugged mountains or rolling, golden-waved plains that he'd known on Krynn, but a pristine, crystal cleat beauty that he found endlessly fascinating.
There was peace out there, too, peace for a troubled soul. There was danger in wildspace, he knew-the gnomes and Estriss had told him so, and he'd seen it for himself-but when he looked out on its perfection, that danger seemed less emotionally burdensome. Seated here, with the stars spread out before him like a mighty tapestry, he could think and he could remember without the pangs of fear and sorrow that so often almost overwhelmed him. Particularly when he was supposed to be sleeping.
Sometimes when he'd come here, there had been others in the room: officers sitting around in low-voiced discussion. All had been friendly enough, even when it was apparent that he didn't want to join their conversation, and they'd had the sensitivity not to disturb him when he drew up his chair and turned his back to them. Perhaps they felt the same wonder he did. In fact, he was sure that another-perhaps more than one-did much the same as he did. When he was done with his introspection, he'd always returned his chair to its original spot. Sometimes when he had entered the saloon, one of the chairs had already faced the port.
He was well familiar with the officers' saloon and approved of Aelfred's suggestion of it as a place to talk.
When he entered the saloon now, however, there was already a figure there. Estriss sat alone
at the table, a goblet set before him. Teldin knew that the mind flayer didn't drink alcohol or even fruit juice, so he assumed the goblet contained either water or some illithid concoction. Teldin opened his mouth to greet the captain, but the creature beat him to it.
Welcome, Estriss said. Come, join me. He indicated a chair. I saw your practice on the forecastle, the creature continued as Teldin took the offered seat. Aelfred Silverhorn is a good instructor, and you will gain much from his tutelage.
"I need to," Teldin admitted.
The illithid's facial tentacles moved in a sinuous pattern that Teldin had tentatively identified as equivalent to a smile. Perhaps. Estriss raised his goblet into the midst of the tentacles, and Teldin heard a slurping sound. I thought perhaps we might continue our earlier conversation, the mind flayer continued. You must have questions.
Teldin hesitated. There was one thing he'd been wondering about…. Since he had come aboard the Probe, Teldin had referred to Estriss as "he," though he was never really sure of the creature's gender. "Are you male?" he blurted.
There was a booming laugh from the doorway. Both human and illithid turned.
Aelfred Silverhorn stood in the doorway, a broad grin on his face. "When I saw you were both here, I figured you were talking of weighty matters," he said, "and I walk in on this." He paused, then replied to a silent comment from Estriss, "Don't mind if I do. One for Teldin, too?" He sauntered over to the liquor cabinet and unlocked it. "Pray continue. Don't let me interrupt you."
From the burning in his cheeks, Teldin knew he was blushing furiously. Estriss seemed unaffected… but how could Teldin recognize embarrassment-or outrage-in a mind flayer? "No offense," he muttered.
None taken, Estriss replied immediately. Curiosity is understandable. You wonder, quite naturally, about my sex. Simply put, I have none, not in the biological sense. Any individual of my race can bring forth young, and with no participation from another individual. I have often thought that this is the single knot that most sets my race apart from yours. Think how much of your culture derives born sexual origins, from the necessary interaction between males and females. My culture has none of this. The illithid paused. But I digress. In answer to your question, strictly, I am not male. Neither am I female. But, since I am not currently generating an offspring, and will not consider it in the foreseeable future, you may think of me as a male.
Into the Void s-2 Page 10
