Emergent, Book One : Isobel

by Virginia Nikolaou

  ~

  The sharp smell of old sweat and dried grass permeated the gutted car. Two walls of the coach were covered with weapons, the surface around each one smudged with oil from constant handling. Crossbows and longbows carved of solid yew hung alongside arming swords with handles wrapped in oiled leather. Various battle axes and sword staffs were arranged in rows according to size. The wood floor was laid with frayed, wheat colored jute mats while round shields made of wood and brass, adorned with the scars and blood of past battles, leaned against the wall next to siege weapons.

  "We're going to start you off with simple blocking techniques," Beatrice said, throwing her a wooden practice sword.

  Isobel caught the sword by the grip and grinned, quite proud of the catch, but her grin quickly faded when Beatrice attacked.

  "There will be no time during battle for self adulation, Isobel. Keep yourself in the state of apathy that we talked about, apathy for your opponent as well as for yourself. Do not get ardently involved," she said and lunged, smacking Isobel smartly on the thigh. "But remember: Apathy unchecked is dangerous. You must learn to control it. Channel it. Let it drive you. Your ideals, your passions, your hates, your loves have no place when you are facing your enemy. Only a neutral space will serve."

  Isobel was already out of breath from evading Beatrice and her stick.

  "You must also learn economy of movement. Make every move count. Otherwise you tire out, as you are now, giving your opponent the advantage," Beatrice said, cornering Isobel against a shield hanging on the wall, the blunt sword's tip pressing into her neck. "Isn't that right, Eadric?" she asked without turning.

  Eadric leaned into the door frame and smiled. "Yes, Captain Audreyn," he said, entering the room, pulling another wooden sword off one wall. He motioned for Isobel to meet him half way. "Lesson One: Emotion weakens you. The basic blocking move would be this," he said, "with one hand like this, raised." He demonstrated the maneuver and waited for Isobel to do the same. "So, now block this," he said, smiling as if entertaining a child, and came in low, prompting her to lower her weapon. The satisfying smack of wood on wood sounded through the small room. "Not bad. Now lets try this," he said, and on the fourth blocking move she stumbled, falling to the floor. He grabbed a shield from the wall and threw it at her feet. Isobel bent to pick it up and he stepped forward, one foot on the shield, the sword kissing the pulse point at her neck.

  "And never leave yourself open to frontal attack," he said, grinning down at her.

  "Wise words," she replied breathlessly, then nodded to her own sword tip that hovered an inch from his ribcage.

  Beatrice laughed, sapphire eyes gleaming. "Seems she has a point, Eadric, in more than one way," she chuckled.

  Isobel straightened and, with permission, picked up the shield, holding it out in front of her. The weight of it quickly fatigued her arm. "What is this made of, lead?"

  "Some are made of alder wood, fir, or linden, and most are reinforced with boiled and oiled leather. Others," he said, reaching for a smaller shield, "are made of metal. Here, try this one."

  She took the tarnished bronzed shield and braced it on her arm, finding the weight far more manageable. "This one is nice."

  "Yes, but not as strong as the wood and leather shields. The two weapons we use most are the broadsword and the short sword," Beatrice said, handing her a sword.

  Isobel wrapped her hand around the leather hilt. The wide, double edged blade was long and sharp. The weight of it felt good in her hand, perfectly balanced.

  "Keep it. That one's yours. You will learn how to fight with it, and in doing so, it will become part of you," Beatrice said. "It's not fancy, but it'll serve you."

  Isobel went to speak but her voice caught. No one had ever gifted her anything like this. "Thank you," she said simply.

  "May it serve you in health. Over the course of the next two days we will be covering various fight maneuvers. That sword will be your primary weapon. By the time we arrive at Moredea you should have a working knowledge of the basic fighting techniques. You will eat, sleep, and dream of nothing else until then."

  "Yes, of course," Isobel replied, proudly holding her sword up, glancing from Eadric to Beatrice, eager to start.

  "We start tomorrow. We've done enough for today after yesterday's battle. Eadric, I think that Isobel mentioned that she would like to see the rest of the train. Charley and Bertrand will want to meet you as well," she said, handing Isobel the sword's scuffed scabbard.

  "Thanks," she replied, taking the simple calfskin sheath. Isobel removed her cracked leather belt and laced it through the scabbard rings, adjusting the fit as she refastened the brass buckle. She sheathed the sword, sliding it to the rear as she'd seen Beatrice do, ignoring the awkward sensation of added weight.

  "You'll get used to it," Beatrice said, offering her another, more complicated leather contraption next. "Thigh holster for your dagger."

  Isobel held the holster this way and that, finally looking to Beatrice helplessly when she couldn't determine how she was supposed to wear the damned thing. Beatrice amusedly took the holster and slipped it through her belt, then around her thigh. The dagger slipped it effortlessly, a perfect fit.

  "After you finish with the tour I want you to meet me in my study. Eadric will tell you where it is. I'd like to give you a briefing on Moredea. Your family history and lineage. And tonight, we feast in true Moredean style. Vin is feeling strong enough for a dinner and I do believe we have reason for celebration."