by Kal Spriggs
“Well, Aerion Swordbreaker, maybe we should start with some light practice,” Walker said, his high pitched voice laden with humor. He wore his flamboyant clothing again, a yellow shirt with red stripes and a lurid set of purple pants.
“What was that?” Aerion asked, suddenly confused.
Walker laughed, “Quinn noted that you broke your sword last battle and Jasen said the same happened to you in your first fight, so Quinn here suggested the nickname.”
“Swordbreaker?” Aerion flushed.
“It's got a certain fierce sound to it,” Arren called. “Though having seen you in the heat of battle, I think it descriptive enough.”
Aerion blushed, “It's not like I swing a sword like a smithy hammer, not anymore.” He didn't want people to think he was that incompetent. I have gotten better, he thought darkly, it's not fair for them to make fun of the past accidents.
“No,” Arren said. “It's not like that at all. You have increased in skill. But in battle... I swear you swing your blade as if it will cut through anything. I think it's less that you mistreat the blade and more that we haven't found the right sword for you.”
Aerion glanced down at his newest sword, sheathed at his hip. “Well, I'll try to take better care of this one.” He felt suddenly self-conscious.
“Alright, Swordbreaker,” Walker said. He held up both his own practice blades, the one a long dagger and the other a thrusting blade. “Let's see what you've got.”
Aerion shook his head, but he readied himself. He had acquired another sword similar to his last, a blade around three feet in length. That let him use the practice blade that he had made before and to continue to use a wooden shield with his right hand. He also wore the armor that his mother had given him. It felt right, somehow, to wear armor made for him by Taggart, almost as if the old blacksmith were here with him somehow.
Walker gave him a smile, then leapt into motion. The portly man moved with viper speed. He thrust with his longer blade. Aerion deflected the attack with his shield. Walker swung his dagger up with his left hand to trap Aerion's sword.
Before Aerion could use his strength to pull his blade free, Walker thrust again to catch him painfully in the ribs. Aerion stepped back and rubbed his side with a wince. That blow had hurt, even with the armor. “Got me there. You're fast.”
“Lots of practice,” Walker said with a wry smile, “Truth to tell, I get most people with that the first time.” He patted his rotund belly, “No one ever thinks I'll be fast, not until I get moving.”
“Let's go again,” Aerion said. He didn't wait for Walker to attack this time, but stepped forward and swung his sword. Walker deflected the first and second attacks and used his better speed to drop back and gain space. Aerion stepped back from a lunge, then blocked a series of lunges.
Walker then began a series of attacks, a constant stream of blows that forced Aerion on the defensive. Every time he tried to get an attack in, Walker would redouble his attacks, until finally, he caught Aerion in the ribs again with a lunge.
Aerion wiped sweat off his forehead. “You're good.”
“Like I said, lots of practice.” There was an edge to his high pitched voice, part challenge and part anger, almost as if he resented the fact that he was skilled. It didn't make sense to Aerion.
“You learned your sword work in the style of the Duchy of Asador,” Arren said. Aerion turned, he'd forgotten the others were even present during the mock-combat.
“Oh?” Walker asked. His voice had gone cold.
“Yes, but your footwork is from the Duchy of Masov,” Arren frowned and Aerion could see him stroke his beard in thought. “I find that an interesting combination, who was your teacher?” Aerion heard a tone of genuine curiosity in Arren's voice.
Walker's smile disappeared, “Just something I picked up.”
“No fencing instructor? I thought you to be from a wealthy family, perhaps from Longhaven?” Arren cocked his head, and Aerion saw his eyes narrow in interest.
“Old man, my father didn't pay for a fencing master,” Walker said. “Can you just leave it at that?” Walker glared at Arren, almost as if he found his words insulting. His normal cheerful manner had vanished, replaced by a sort of dangerous rage. Aerion realized with a shock exactly how dangerous Walker could be, especially with his speed and if he grew angry, how quickly a fight could end.
“Hey, Aerion, let's give it a go,” Josef said.
Aerion gave one last look between Arren and Walker, then gave the big man a nod. “Ready when you are.”
Josef grinned and then he stepped forward with a yell.
Aerion caught the first blow on his shield. Wooden practice weapon or not, the impact drove him back several steps. The big man continued forward and he whipped the wooden mallet around like a toy. Aerion caught two more hits on his shield and then ducked under one more and slammed his shoulder into Josef. The impact jarred him and they both stumbled back several feet. Aerion swung his practice blade at his friend, but Josef caught the hit with the handle of his hammer, then swung again.
Aerion suddenly thought of how Walker trapped his sword and he tried the same thing with his shield. As the hammer head swept towards him, Aerion deflected it upwards. He slipped the edge of his shield behind the head and trapped Josef with the hammer extended.
Aerion swung for Josef's neck, but pulled the strike at the last minute.
Josef rubbed at his neck where the blade had touched him, “Good.”
Aerion shook his head, “You're strong.” He rotated his shoulder on his right arm. It ached from the impacts.
“How'd you do that?” Arren asked. “You mimicked Walker's move.”
“But he did it with a shield,” Walker said. “I've seen some people do similar, but normally they use a buckler.” His tone was thoughtful, as if Aerion had revealed some aspect that he hadn't seen before. “Smart thing to do.”
“Yes, I've fought that way myself,” Arren said. “I'm surprised you thought of it, many people think of a shield purely as a defensive item, but it's a weapon.” He turned his gaze upon them all, “That's an important thing to remember, all of you. In battle, everything is a weapon, but your mind, your thoughts, are the most dangerous weapon of all.” Aerion nodded, though he flushed at the bit of praise. He didn't think what he'd done was all that impressive, just adapting a little bit. Arren looked around at them, “Josef, I've never fought with a hammer, but I've fought those who favor that style. Why don't you and I train a bit?”
Aerion stepped out of the way. He looked over at Walker, but the young man had a frown on his face and he'd drawn a few feet away. Something about his plump face looked brooding and Aerion didn't want to push him, not when he felt so new in this whole friendship thing. Aerion looked over at Quinn. The stocky man had adopted a shield and sword like Aerion. “Well?”
Quinn grinned, “Of course... Swordbreaker.” The stocky young man wasn't nearly so muscular as Aerion or Josef, nor did he have Walker's speed, Aerion knew. Apparently Arren had judged his arm healed, for Quinn no longer wore even a bandage, though he did have a lurid scar on his left arm.
Aerion shook his head, “I'll have to think of an appropriate name for you.”Aerion let Quinn attack. The former printer's apprentice came in cautiously and he circled around to Aerion's right side. That forced Aerion to turn right, to keep Quinn out of his blind spot. Quinn gave a swing and when Aerion blocked, went left and swung again.
Aerion caught that attack, barely. Quinn punched forward with the edge of his shield in a blow that caught Aerion in his sternum. Aerion felt his lungs freeze up, and he stumbled backwards. Quinn went right again and Aerion blocked a series of attacks that always seemed to come in from his sides.
Quinn copied Aerion's previous attack with his shield and for a moment, both had their shields locked together. He saw Quinn draw his sword back for a strike. Aerion gave a grunt and shoved as hard as he could, before Quinn could swing.
Quinn landed hard on his backside
. He looked up at Aerion with a look of surprise. “By the High King, you're strong!”
Aerion smiled and offered him his hand, “Josef's stronger.”
“Not by much,” Quinn said as he took Aerion's hand. “And you're fast. Every time I thought I had you, you blocked.”
“That's something that we practice for,” Aerion responded. “And really, this kind of sparring is more for raids and skirmishes, from what Bulmor said.”
Quinn frowned, “How many types of fighting are there?”
“There's a variety of tactics for different circumstances,” Arren said, even as he led Josef through a series of strikes. “Formation fighting is for heavy infantry, it's a style we may practice soon enough. Then there's mounted, both light cavalry and heavy, their forms vary, but it takes cycles to become proficient at both, at least to the level of Hector's mercenaries, much less professional soldiers.”
Walker spoke from nearby, “Yeah, we don't have the kind of time to spend on that. Mounted archery is something you need to practice from childhood to really be good at.”
Aerion looked over at the portly young man with a raised eyebrow.
Walker just shook his head, “Tried it once, on a lark. Fell off the horse.” He gave a broad smile then, “I was very drunk at the time, and there was a woman involved. She was very impressed at the attempt.” Josef gave a laugh and clapped the smaller man on the back. His enthusiasm nearly knocked Walker off his feet. Walker glared up at the big man with an offended expression.
“What other forms of fighting?” Quinn asked, though Aerion wasn't sure if it was to sidetrack the hotheaded Walker or out of actual curiosity.
“Skirmishing, which is what we are doing, fundamentally. Siege work, both fighting in trenches and along walls,” Arren shrugged, “Both of which are similar to fighting when magic is involved. Use cover and concealment, don't clump up and be a target, use ranged weapons as much as possible.” He rubbed his beard, “Then of course, there's runic knights.”
“What, like the legends?” Aerion asked.
“They aren't legends, though some might wish they were,” Arren said softly. “When I was younger, I saw a few of them turn the course of an entire battle. Three of them, in full runic armor and kit.”
“Where was this?” Walker asked.
“The Battle of Prenar, in the Duchy of Asador. Five thousand soldiers marshaled by Baron Ingail of Northward against Baron Artar of the Iron Fortress. Baron Ingail had a dozen Fire Wizards, siege weapons, and five thousand soldiers, against a thousand men and three runic knights, including Baron Artar.” Arren seemed lost in thought, his eyes focused on something only he could see.
“What happened?” Aerion asked.
“The runic knights fought through the center of the battlefield, cut down anyone who got in their way. When they went up against the best of Baron Ingail's guardsmen, they cut them down. Their armor turned spells, arrows, stones tossed at them... everything. There were only a handful armed with weapons that could harm them, and Baron Ingail ordered them to protect his daughter, to drag her away if necessary. Ingail continued to fight, and such was his men's dedication that they fought on too. The three of them cut their way through hundreds of men to reach him and Baron Artar struck him down with a single blow. Then they withdrew from the field. I think that even they tired of the slaughter.”
“How... how is that possible?” Quinn asked his voice awed.
“Runic magic, of one form or another, is how wizards do their magic. When a wizard makes an item, he emblazons the spell into the item, either carved, etched, or what have you, it depends on the form of wizardry and the type of spell.” Arren gave Quinn a piercing look, “And before you say how easy it is, think of your printing press, how carefully you must adjust it, so that you get it just right. Now think if you got even one letter slightly off, it could explode or burst into flames, or any number of other catastrophes.”
“Oh,” Quinn seemed intrigued rather than put off by that idea. Aerion met Josef's gaze and the two shook their heads. Aerion made a mental note to discourage Quinn's sudden interest in wizardry.
“So a wizard makes an item, lets say a sword... like this one.” Arren drew his sword and held it up. “You can see the runes in it, dragon runes, dragon magic.” He shrugged, “Generally, you don't mix runes. There's a school of wizardry focused on that, but everyone generally assumes they're crazy anyway.”
“The wizard who made this blade wanted it to last, so there are runes of strength and preservation, runes to prevent rust and to harden the blade. Then he wanted it to strike harder, so there are runes designed for that, ones that project energy at the point of impact, to cut through even runic armor. In addition, it has runes so that it can affect creatures of spirit as well as those of flesh and blood.” Arren turned it over, “Next, the wizard who made it wanted it to be useful for those who didn't have a wizard's source of power handy, so it draws energy from a number of sources. Last, it stores that power in other runes, it has a finite capacity, one that, over time, can be exhausted.”
“How do you know all of that?” Aerion asked. “Before, well, I heard you thought it would take months to figure it all out.”
Arren smiled slightly, “I cheated. I asked Cederic.”
His smile grew wide as he held the sword up. “If I were to have a set of runic armor, and let us even say a horse and runic armor for it, I would still not be a runic knight. This sword, though valuable, and in many ways irreplaceable, is nothing compared to the weapon of a runic knight. This sword as fourteen runes, more than any blade I've ever owned, more than most blades I've even seen. Though Lady Katarina made a gift of it... well, she could fund a small army from the sale of it, if it were possible to find a buyer. There's many who would kill for a blade like this rather than make a deal.”
“Why is it so valuable?” Josef asked. “It's just a piece of metal.”
“A piece of metal that someone with decades, perhaps centuries, of knowledge crafted,” Arren said. “A piece of metal designed to kill, and to do it well. Wizards spend decades learning their trade, and they jealously guard their runes. More, most wizards deliberately hide their runes in decorations or even cover over them. Runic magic is a science, but one that requires perfection. Each rune takes hours of labor, and cycles of knowledge,” Arren shrugged. “It is rather like a farmer raising a crop, any man can try, but how would someone who has not spent cycles at it, grown up around it, do as a farmer?”
Quinn snorted, “I tried to grow a vegetable garden once... I got nothing but weeds.” The printer's apprentice looked down at his hands and he had a sad look on his face, “My mum said I had black thumbs.”
Josef rested a hand on Quinn's shoulder. Quinn gave him a quirked smile and nodded. Aerion realized, suddenly, that the big man had become the heart of their group. His calm acceptance and his willingness to just be there meant that they trusted him. Josef looked over at Arren, “Yes, I can see that. It seems silly though that an item is that valuable.”
“Yes...” Arren smiled. “But then, wizards used to make many things. How would you like a plow that pulled itself and that split the rockiest, most overgrown field?”
“I'd say that sounded too good to be true,” Josef said. “Plowing fields is backbreaking labor.” Aerion saw him rub at his back, as if in memory.
“Yes, but in the days of the High Kings, wizards made tools for everyday use. There were thousands of wizards, and the Great Archive was open to those who wished to learn the art.” Aerion saw Quinn open his mouth to ask about that.
“But what about runic knights?” Aerion interrupted quickly, before the other man could speak.
“Well, imagine a sword with not fourteen runes, but fifty, and more, the armor the warrior wears has runes joined to the sword. They share power. Now add a shield, tied in to the same source of power and perhaps some rings. The armor will turn a sword or dagger, even a runic blade. The shield can deflect all manner of attacks, both energy and impact.
More, imagine that armor is tied to some great power source, one that cannot be exhausted in a few minutes combat.”
Aerion shook his head, “Why even make something like that?”
“To fight the battles that would doom a normal man, to kill demons and godlings, to slay dragons and to fight entire armies,” Walker said. “That, and to fight those who had the same weapons, right?” His tone had that same edge again, almost as if he resented the lecture.
Arren nodded, “Yes, that and more. There are many threats that we, as normal men, cannot face. Mad dragons, some of the Noric spirits, great demons, and godlings, and of course, there is the Darkstar Kingdom.”
“What manner of combat is it that the runic knights use?” Quinn asked.
“That, my boy, is something for another time,” Arren said. “I think you've all rested enough. Let's get back to practice, and let an old man catch his breath a bit, eh?”
***
Lady Katarina Emberhill
Lady Katarina stopped on her tour of the camp when she heard a staccato of practice combat. She glance over her shoulder at Gerlin, who gave her a shrug, “Bulmor finished training this morning.” He had, Katarina remembered. Her armsman had gone with Jasen to evaluate the canyon and to look at good spots to establish ambush positions along it.
Katarina snorted, “Maybe someone felt they needed the extra practice.” She frowned, “We should probably check in, if they don't have some experienced people around they might hurt themselves.” The last thing she wanted was some of her people getting in a fight or injuring some of the locals. There had already been some incidents, mostly from hotheads on both sides, eager to prove their abilities.
