Ravian's Quest

by Jerry Carpenter

  She wasn’t even breathing hard, he realised.

  ‘Well, Ravian,’ she said with a dazzling, victorious smile, ‘you handle your sword competently enough – for a sailor.’

  Ravian threw his sword down in disgust and walked, stiff-backed and sweating, to the shade of the olive trees. No other swordsman had ever beaten him so comprehensively– and this one wasn’t even a man. He was glad that there were no witnesses to his humiliation.

  She followed him into the shade and, seeing his face as he turned to sit down, her expression became one of mock concern.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she said, her voice dripping with insincerity. ‘It’s been a long time since you were beaten at swordplay, hasn’t it? – and by a woman too.’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ Ravian lied. ‘That sword of yours – it’s made from a metal unlike any I’ve seen before.’

  Lefia passed him her weapon and he found that it was surprisingly light and well balanced.

  ‘They are a speciality of the metalsmiths of this valley,’ she told him. ‘I’m not sure how they’re made, but they’re far lighter and stronger than your poor old bronze thing – and they hold their edge a lot better.’

  Ravian could see that she was right – despite their recent duel, her sword’s edge was still remarkably sharp.

  ‘I can see how it might give one an advantage,’ he said, feeling the way it became an extension of his arm.

  She smiled.

  ‘Perhaps, if you had been armed with one, you might have done better,’ she conceded. ‘However, while you’re obviously an experienced swordsman, you would need to change your fighting style to suit the white metal. Brute force is all very well, but to really use one of these you need to develop grace and balance.’

  Ravian felt himself colour. The girl had soundly thrashed him, a veteran swordsman, and now she was giving him advice about technique.

  ‘Where might I acquire such a blade?’ he asked.

  She frowned as she considered his question.

  ‘There aren’t many,’ she told him. ‘Some of the metal needed to make them has to come from as far away as the shores of the Eastern Sea, I believe. You could ask my...er...my hunting companion, Prince Pinnius. Usually, white-metal swords are reserved for royalty.’

  ‘Or woodland nymphs?’ he asked with a tight smile.

  ‘Or woodland nymphs,’ she said, with a wide grin. ‘If you were able to acquire one, perhaps you could return for a more even contest.’

  ‘Thank you for the offer,’ Ravian replied, ‘but now I must go.’

  He thought she looked disappointed, but he had to get away from her and from the humiliation of his defeat.

  ‘Very well, Ravian,’ she said, as he recovered his sword and walked to his horse. ‘Perhaps we will meet again tomorrow?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Ravian replied, desperately trying not to sound petulant.

  ‘Tomorrow then,’ she smiled. ‘Good luck with your sword-hunting.’

  As he rode back down into the valley, Ravian decided that the subject of the white-metal swords was something that he needed to talk to Prince Pinnius about urgently. He sought out the young man as soon as he returned to King Postus’s castle, finding him in the stables, grooming one of his horses.

  ‘I’ve just been given a lesson in swordsmanship by a friend of yours – one Lefia,’ Ravian told him bluntly.

  ‘Lefia? Oh, yes?’ Pinnius said, not looking up from his job but raising an eyebrow. ‘And how did that go?’

  ‘Well, quite frankly,’ said Ravian, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard by any of the stable hands, ‘I’ve never been so humiliated in my life – she thrashed me!’

  Pinnius grinned.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She was born with a sword in her hand, that one. If it makes you feel any better, she has beaten me more often than I her.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Ravian said, ‘she had this sword of white metal that did seem superior to my own weapon. I’m very keen to acquire one myself.’

  ‘Oh, you mean one like this?’ Pinnius said, walking to where his own sword leaned in a corner of the stable.

  ‘Yes,’ Ravian replied emphatically, as the younger man unsheathed the weapon and the white metal gleamed in the subdued light.

  ‘They are very rare,’ Pinnius told him. ‘There might only be a half a dozen produced each year and they are most sought after but…’

  ‘But?’ prompted Ravian.

  ‘But I’m fortunate in that I have several,’ Pinnius said. ‘Perhaps you would accept one from me as a gift?’

  ‘I should be honoured,’ Ravian declared, ‘if you are sure that you can spare it, of course.’

  Pinnius smiled again.

  ‘I believe that I can,’ he said. ‘If it suits you, I’ll bring it to your room this evening.’

  The weapon he brought to Ravian’s quarters that night was wrapped in an oil-soaked cloth.

  ‘These swords are produced by a technique known only to a handful of men,’ he said. ‘Each one is given an individual name – usually bloodthirsty in nature – and every one has different characteristics.’

  ‘Skull-Biter here,’ he continued, unwrapping the sword, ‘belonged to my father’s brother and covered itself many times in the glorious blood of his enemies. It would be a fitting sword for a prince of Tarcus.’

  He handed Skull-Biter to Ravian hilt-first and the Tarcun saw that the blade was smeared in oil.

  Seeing Ravian’s frown, Pinnius explained, ‘The blade needs to be protected with oil, otherwise it begins to pit and corrode in air – you will have to be especially careful at sea and I recommend that you wipe the weapon down every day. Also, blood seems to dull the metal somewhat. If you compare Skull-Biter to my own Viper-Tooth – which has spilled the blood of a man only occasionally – you will see that the metal of your sword is a lot darker.’

  As he compared the two swords, Ravian saw that it was so.

  ‘Uncle Tiobran was an enthusiastic defender of my father’s kingdom,’ Pinnius said with a wry smile.

  ‘This is a most wondrous gift, Pinnius,’ Ravian said gratefully.

  ‘You are very welcome to it,’ Pinnius replied, ‘although I don’t know how much it is going to help you in your conquest of Lefia.’

  The following day, Ravian found that, although his new weapon helped a lot, he was still no match for his female opponent.

  ‘You’re still swinging away like you were still using that great, bronze butcher’s cleaver you had yesterday,’ she said dancing about him as they duelled in the dell. ‘I must say though, Prince Pinnius must hold you in high regard to give you Skull-Biter – it’s a very famous sword. Don’t be fooled by the name though – the white-metal sword is quite capable of cleaving a man’s skull, but the thrust is its best move.’

  Discouraged, Ravian suggested that they take a rest.

  ‘And what is your sword known as?’ he asked.

  A mischievous grin spread over Lefia’s face.

  ‘Why, I believe that the translation into Chesa would be something like Testicle-Remover!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Ravian, chuckling and pretending to wince. ‘I do hope that you haven’t allowed it to live up to its name.’

  ‘Not recently,’ she replied – and he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.

  ‘Will you show me where you live now?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  Lefia looked at him calculatingly.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Tarcun, the day you can match me at swordplay, I might show you my humble house – although why you would want to see it is beyond me.’

  ‘And will you also play me some more music on your flute that day?’ Ravian asked.

  ‘Hmmm, that’s a hard bargain,’ she said, ‘but since you are unlikely ever to win – very well. I’ll show you my house and play you some music on my pipes. It’s a deal.’

  She extended her hand and Ravian took it eagerly. He held it too long but, looking into her deep, brown eyes
he fancied, for a moment, that he thought he saw his own attraction mirrored there. Then, something dark clouded Lefia’s gaze and she snatched her hand away.

  ‘And now it’s time for you to go,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Can we meet tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll be here,’ she said, but Ravian felt that all the life had suddenly gone out of her.

  Again, he watched, intrigued, as she followed the trail over the hill and disappeared.

  Returning to the castle at Trebedan, Ravian confided to Pinnius that he had been unable to match Lefia’s skills with the white-metal sword.

  ‘Bring your sword to the battlements at sunset,’ the younger prince told him, ‘and we’ll see if we can’t improve your game.’

  When they met as arranged and began to duel, Ravian was confounded to discover that Pinnius was just as difficult an adversary as Lefia.

  ‘Ravian, you’re not controlling your sword,’ Pinnius told him. ‘You’re swinging it like an axe and following through too far. Every time you do that, you open up your guard. You must think where the point of your sword is at all times. Learn to look for the opportunity to thrust – that’s where a white-metal sword is most deadly. If you must take a swing, make the strike and recovery one cohesive move so that you are back on guard in the shortest possible time.’

  Ravian found it difficult to accept the advice of the younger man and change the techniques of a lifetime. However, driven by Pinnius’s superiority with the white-metal weapon – and by his desperate need to impress Lefia – he began to apply the more refined techniques that the white-metal swords demanded. Slowly, he became more of a match for his young opponent.

  ‘That’s much better!’ Pinnius announced, as the sweating men finally stopped for a rest.

  ‘How do you think I would go against Lefia?’ Ravian asked.

  Pinnius smiled ruefully.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ravian, but, at this stage she would still beat you four times out of five. You’ve still got a long way to go – and she’s very, very quick.’

  Ravian looked crestfallen.

  ‘I have to beat her,’ he said. ‘I don’t think that I can earn her respect until I do.’

  Pinnius looked at him sympathetically.

  ‘Actually, Ravian,’ he said, ‘from what I know of Lefia, you don’t have to be a better swordsman than her to win her regard. What you do have to do is accept that she may not be inferior to you in everything just because she is a woman.’

  Ravian thought about this and could see that Pinnius was probably right. The more often Lefia had bested him, the more comfortable she had seemed to become with him. Nevertheless, he had a very important wager to win.

  ‘I’d just like to get inside her guard once,’ he said.

  Pinnius looked thoughtful.

  ‘Well, if you can use your sword well enough not to open yourself up all the time, you might be able to trick her.’

  ‘Trick her? How do you mean?’ Ravian asked.

  ‘Like any other swordsman, Lefia has her favourite moves,’ Pinnius told him. ‘She doesn’t try them on me because I know them all, but she will use them to surprise a new opponent. If you know it’s coming, her favourite ruse actually gives you the chance to set your sword at her throat.’

  ‘Show me,’ Ravian demanded.

  ‘Not yet,’ the Bolstenian prince told him. ‘You’re not fighting well enough for her to take you seriously yet and, believe me, you need to put her under pressure for her to reach into her bag of tricks. Let’s practice a bit more and see if we can’t lift your swordplay a notch or two.’

  By this time, it was completely dark on the battlements but the prince ordered some bemused servants to bring torches and stand around the combatants in a circle. Ravian and Pinnius continued their match by the flickering light, their white-metal blades spitting sparks against the night sky.

  Ravian began to find his rhythm with Skull-Biter and discovered that, by controlling each stroke or thrust of the sword, he was always in a position to defend himself from Pinnius’s attacks. Try as he might, however, he was still unable to find a way through the Bolstenian’s guard.

  For over an hour, the two men battled in stalemate, neither of them able to secure a point from the other, and Ravian was pleased to find that he did not tire as quickly as he would have done with his bronze sword. This was partially because of the lighter weight of Skull-Biter, he realised, but also because the technique demanded by the white-metal sword did not require the energy-sapping swings and lunges of his old weapon.

  ‘Enough!’ Pinnius said at last. ‘I think we’ve reached the point where I can show you how you might slip inside Lefia’s guard.’

  With exaggeratedly slow movements Pinnius went on to demonstrate Lefia’s favourite ruse and how Ravian might use it to overcome her.

  ‘Well,’ said Ravian, when the Bolstenian prince had finished his instruction, ‘let us hope that I can provoke her into using that trick when I next meet her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Pinnius said, ‘but remember that you have to put pressure on her before she’ll use it. It has never failed her with a new opponent because a man will always rely on his strength to prevail over a woman – especially as most men have never matched swords with a woman anyway. It doesn’t work on me because she’s my…er…my regular sword partner and I know just how dangerous she is with a blade.’

  Ravian rubbed his chin ruefully – Lefia had already taught him to respect her.

  After a moment of silence, Pinnius asked, ‘Ravian, will you promise me something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘If Lefia does let you inside her guard,’ the younger man said, ‘you won’t hurt her will you?’

  Ravian realised that the Bolstenian prince wasn’t just talking about swordplay.

  ‘No, Pinnius, I promise that I won’t hurt her.’

  The weather the next day continued fine as, once more, Ravian took the trail into the southern ranges. Thanks to Pinnius’s assistance, he was feeling optimistic that he would be able to beat Lefia this time but he was also asking himself why it was so important that he did so.

  Was it simply a competitive need to win, he wondered – or, in proving himself her equal with a sword, was he also looking to prove himself worthy in other ways?

  As before, she awaited him in the dell and he smiled at her as he swung down off his horse. The morning air was still pleasantly cool and the greens of the dell were at their most vibrant.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Lefia said, sensing the new confidence in him as they prepared for their duel, ‘you look refreshed. You must have slept well last night.’

  ‘Like a log,’ he replied. ‘I was exhausted when I got back to Trebedan so I went to bed early and slept the sleep of the dead.’

  Lefia couldn’t restrain a smile.

  ‘Yes, you worked hard with your sword yesterday,’ she said. ‘I’ll try and be a bit easier on your today.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that,’ he said.

  Got you! he thought to himself.

  They began their swordplay and, at first, Ravian used few of the skills he had learned from Pinnius the night before. Just as he had in the previous day’s match, he frequently over-swung – leading with the edge of his weapon rather than its tip – although, this time, he did not do so to an extent that would allow Lefia to slip inside his guard. As they continued to fence, he suddenly realised that she was also holding back, and that she had been doing so all along. Eventually, though, she paused.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said, giving him a cool, appraising look, ‘you learn a lot faster than I thought.’

  Ravian smiled.

  ‘It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, well,’ she replied with a calculating gleam in her eye, ‘now that we’ve both warmed up, it’s time to get serious.’

  With that, she flew at him like a hawk.

  She almost caught him off guard and Ravian realised that she was even faster and more agile th
an Pinnius. It took all his speed and concentration just to fend off her first assault but, as she circled, darted and probed, he settled into the faster rhythm and was even able to make some tentative attacks of his own. He saw surprise on her face – quickly replaced by suspicion and then, realisation.

  ‘Uh huh,’ he heard her mutter under her breath. ‘Pinnius!’

  Lefia redoubled the ferocity of her attacks, baring her teeth and beginning to perspire freely. Ravian’s world became a blur of flashing steel and yet, somehow, he managed to keep her out.

  They had been duelling for almost an hour when the prince saw a devious look cross Lefia’s face. He felt the intensity of her attack abate and noticed that she had begun to pant and grunt with each stroke as though she were tiring. As Ravian shifted onto the attack, she started to give ground with what appeared to be a worried expression on her face.

  ‘Here it comes,’ he thought, recalling Pinnius’s advice.

  Then, as Lefia caught his sword on hers, her wrist seemed to buckle and, with a delicate gasp, she staggered backward. Ravian almost burst out laughing at the sudden, feminine dramatics but, keeping a straight face, he feigned a clumsy lunge forward. As Pinnius had warned she would, Lefia deftly twisted away to his right, drawing back her sword arm for the thrust that would give her victory. Ravian was ready though and, just as quickly, he spun around and seized her right wrist with his free hand. Lefia shot out her own free hand to grab his sword arm but, as she did so, Ravian hooked his leg behind hers and swept her off her feet. They fell together, the prince on top, and he slammed her sword hand hard enough against the ground so that her weapon flew out of her grip. Instantly, he wrenched his own sword arm free and laid his blade across her throat.

  He was sure that a writer would have made this the romantic high point of a play, but playwrights, he well knew, seldom understood the reality of battle. As he held the struggling woman down, there was no maidenly surrender in Lefia’s eyes – just the angry heat of combat.

  ‘Get off me!’ she snarled through clenched teeth, sweat making trails through the dust on her face.