Sword Masters

by Selina Rosen

  "Help me!" the boy on the floor screamed. "Someone help me! My arm is broken!"

  "It's not broken," Tarius assured him. "I'll put it back in place—if you apologize to the boy."

  "Apologize to a servant!"

  "Or I leave you like that," Tarius assured him.

  "I'm sorry," he spat in Harris's direction.

  "Your apology lacks sincerity," Tarius hissed.

  "For all the gods' sake. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

  Tarius put a foot in the wounded boy's armpit, grabbed his hand and gave a quick yank, pulling the dislocated arm back into place.

  The boy all but passed out from the immediate relief, but feeling better, he was mad all over again. He jumped up and glared at Tarius.

  "You used magic on me," he accused.

  "He used Simbala on you," a tall, thin boy said, edging from the back of the crowd. "It's a Kartik marshal art form." They all looked at him and he shrugged. "I've seen my father and my brothers practice it."

  With much mumbling they all went back to their unpacking. Tarius had picked the bed at the end against the wall, and not too surprisingly the bed next door was still empty. Suddenly the boy with knowledge of Simbala walked over, threw his stuff on the bed and started unpacking.

  "I'm Tragon," he said, turning and holding out his hand to Tarius. Tarius took the offered hand and shook it much in the same way he had shaken Darian's hand, and Tragon smiled. He was obviously taking the 'shaking' part literally.

  "My name is Tarius."

  Tragon laughed. "Everyone knows who you are already. My father fought with your father at the battle of Riksdale. My father is Kliton of Brakston Ridge."

  "I believe my father spoke of him," Tarius said. It was a lie. Jabon never talked of the men he fought with in the Jethrik, not by name anyway. They weren't his people any more than they were Tarius's, and while he cared for them as comrades in arms, he had never felt like he was a part of them. It was only their common cause that brought them together. A common enemy that Jabon couldn't fight on his own then, any more than Tarius could fight it alone now. The Amalites and their horrors were the world's problem, and their annihilation the duty of any decent fighter.

  "My father said your father slew five hundred Amalites at the battle of Riksdale," Tragon said.

  "I doubt it was that many," Tarius said with a slight smile.

  "Even half that many would be a great feat," Tragon said excitedly.

  Tarius looked at Tragon and realized suddenly that this rather handsome young man was neither afraid nor intimidated. He wasn't as ignorant as the others and so believed he had nothing to fear from Tarius. He seemed to want to be close to Tarius, and this could be problematic.

  * * *

  Dinner had been nutritious and tasteless. The uniforms were plain blue puffy pants, black stirrup boots, and plain long-sleeved white tunics, which offered no protection at all. Tarius was accustomed to wearing armor as clothing, and this stuff made Tarius feel almost naked. Normally in the Kartik this would have been no problem, but under the circumstances this was the last thing Tarius needed.

  The haircut was worse. What protection did Tarius now have for the head area? What padding for a helmet? Everything these people did seemed to make no sense at all.

  Tarius lay fully clothed on top of the bedclothes, the sword drawn and lying beside the fighter. The lights were doused, and Tarius lay alone in the dark.

  Tarius's mind raced. What the hell was I thinking? I can't pull this off! I'm the only woman in a room with twenty-four men. A room where no woman is allowed. These people's ways are strange; they are crazy! Women are treated like a different species here. How can I hide my secrets from all these people when I live with them? Thank the one who has no name that they didn't make us strip!

  She looked over at where Tragon lay on his bed. He's followed me around like a puppy all night. I wonder if he knows. He damn near came in the shower with me. No locks on the doors; it's only a matter of time till I get caught. All this bathing . . . what a waste! I'll have to find some other place to bathe. I am caught up in my father's curse. Forced to live with these strange, basically stupid people, hiding all that I am so that I can do my part to weed the Amalites from the world, and gain my revenge.

  "Tarius, you asleep?" Tragon asked in a whisper.

  The sudden sound of his voice had made her jump, and her hand had automatically gripped her sword. "No, I'm not," she answered.

  "I can't sleep, either," he said. "It's not easy is it?"

  "What?" Tarius asked not understanding the question.

  "To be the son of a great fighting tradition. Every male member of my family has been a Swordmaster of the Jethrik. My father, my uncles, my two older brothers—all have been great warriors. My father is a Knight, and doubtless my brothers would have been knighted as well if they hadn't died in the Battle of Garrison. I am all that's left to carry on the tradition. I . . . I'm afraid. If I don't make the cut, I will disgrace my household. I'm not very good. In fact, I'm sort of clumsy. I am also afraid of dying, and I have no wish no desire to fight."

  This was the reason the boy had been drawn to her, because he felt a camaraderie. They both had their fathers reputations to live up to, but it was fair to say that Tarius didn't really understand the boy's problem. "You should go into farming and raise sons who might carry on your great fighting tradition."

  "And disgrace my family!" Tragon gasped in disbelief.

  "Why would that disgrace your family?" Tarius asked. "People can fight or they can't fight. It's in you, or it's not. If you die without producing children, then the line dies with you and no good fighting people can ever come from you again."

  "Wow! You really are a foreigner," Tragon scoffed.

  "If you were to marry a woman who came from a good fighting line but couldn't fight herself, then chances are your off-spring would be very good fighters," Tarius explained.

  Tragon laughed almost too loudly then. "Women fighting! Women don't fight."

  "Kartik women fight," Tarius said plainly. She was surprised at how utterly ignorant of Kartik culture these people were. After all, Orion Harbor was less than a days ride from here and it was always teaming with Kartik sailors and traders.

  "Oh, now you are pulling my leg," Tragon said.

  "No I'm not. My own mother was a fine swordswoman until an Amalite thug ran her through," Tarius said.

  "If you say so." Tragon yawned sleepily. "If I don't become a Swordmaster I will disgrace my family, my father will never forgive me, and I will be disinherited. Penniless, with no skills to sell."

  "You only think you have problems," Tarius mumbled.

  "What's that?" Tragon asked.

  "Relax. The more you think about fighting the worse you will be at it. It has to come from somewhere within. You see your sword as an inanimate object, something separate from yourself. Your sword must become part of you. As if your arm continued on past your fingers. As if the blade were a mixing of bone and flesh and steel. When you feel as if you have lost a part of yourself every time you sheath your sword, then the rest will come naturally."

  * * *

  When Harris woke them for breakfast the next morning, Tragon looked over and found that Tarius was already gone. He dressed hurriedly and rushed to the mess hall to find Tarius already there, obviously freshly bathed, dressed, and looking so wide awake that Tragon decided that at least for the moment he hated him. Even wearing the academy uniform Tarius stuck out like a sore thumb. So dark, so different, his sword on his back. If nothing else none of the rest of them carried steel. At least nothing more than a small dirk at their waist.

  When they were all seated breakfast was brought to them. Tragon sat across from Tarius.

  "What time did you get up? Are you trying to make points or something?"

  Tarius shrugged, stuffing food in his mouth however it would go down. He didn't bother to answer Tragon.

  Justin walked up behind Tarius and cleared his throat. "Tarius?" Just
in addressed him.

  "Yes, Sir," Tarius answered.

  Justin picked up the fork and put it into Tarius's hand.

  "Make us all happy by learning to use a fork and spoon as well as you use a sword," Justin half scolded. He walked away, and Tragon laughed.

  * * *

  Tarius glared at the boy, who fell silent, then looked around her at everyone else, obviously studying how they were eating. Then she quietly copied them, though it seemed a horrible waste of effort to her.

  Tarius watched out of the corner of her eye as Darian entered and started talking to Justin. They were looking at her, and she squirmed inwardly. She was afraid at any minute they would figure her out. If only she at least looked like the others, but she didn't. She was Kartik, and she looked and acted Kartik. She didn't even eat like they did.

  * * *

  "Well, how are they doing?" Darian asked.

  "Fairly well, all and all. Tarius is going to be a problem, Darian. He's too different," Justin reported. "Last night there was an altercation in the barracks. Young Derek tripped Harris, and Tarius took exception. On top of everything else, he is apparently a follower of the nameless god. The altercation ended with Tarius dislocating Derek's arm using Kartik Simbala. He only repaired it after Derek apologized to the boy."

  "That sounds like grounds for dismissing Derek, not Tarius," Darian said.

  "He sleeps in all his clothes with his sword across his chest. He eats with his hands. He's strange in a way I can't quite put my finger on, and I'm afraid the others will never accept him," Justin said.

  "Kliton's son, Tragon, seems to have accepted him just fine."

  "Then what of the sword, Darian? None of the other boys are armed yet. It must be intimidating for them knowing that Tarius, who can pull their arms out of socket like it was nothing, is also carrying around a bastard sword with—of all things—his finger in the hilt."

  "The boy has lived by the sword, Justin. The sword is literally part of him. You only have to look at the scars to see that. Yesterday when he was still in his own clothes I noticed that the skin between the point where his gambeson ends and his vambraces begin is scarred with a dozen different cuts. There's a small one on his chin, and look at his throat! Someone literally cut the boy's throat. It's a wonder that didn't kill him outright. I would no more take that boy's sword from him than I would lay my own weapon down."

  "All right, then I'll speak the words we all never spoke about the boy's father. There is something unnatural about him," Justin said lowering his voice still more. "There was something unnatural about Jabon, and there is something just as unnatural about his son—if not more so. They aren't like us, Darian! For the gods' sakes, they cut off their fingers and put them into the hilts of their swords!"

  "Give me twenty men as unorthodox with as much skill and as good a heart, and I'll have an army that will grind the Amalites into sand," Darian said. "Let this bunch learn to deal with diversity from Tarius. Let Tarius learn our ways from them. In the end, we will all be the same people. All will have gained from knowing one another. I learned much from Jabon and so did you. I only hope that he learned something from us as well."

  Chapter 2

  Tarius looked at the book in front of her in panic. She hadn't counted on this, hadn't counted on this at all.

  She listened intently as the teacher at the front of the room lectured, and the other students interacted with him. He liked to teach by asking them questions, having them answer, and then telling them whether they were right or wrong. He seemed to especially enjoy it when they were wrong.

  "Young Tarius?"

  Her head snapped up at the sound of her name. "Tell me, then, what would you do?"

  "The grain clearly belongs to the man who grew it and stored it. The man who stole the grain is a thief and should be punished."

  "How?"

  "I would order him to work for the farmer in the spring until he had done enough work to make up for what he had taken," Tarius said.

  All the other students laughed.

  Tarius shot a heated look around the room, and slowly the laughter died down.

  The teacher, Edmond, obviously a man of books and not of swords looked at them all and smiled, then picked a young man named Burgis. "So, Burgis . . . why are you laughing?"

  "The penalty for theft is death; everyone knows that," Burgis said.

  "You would kill a man because he was hungry?" Tarius asked, defending her answer.

  "He broke the law!" Burgis spat back at Tarius.

  "He stole grain, not even that much, obviously he doesn't mean to resell it," Tarius said.

  "It wasn't his . . ."

  "Which is why I said he should have to work off what he stole," Tarius said.

  "You don't understand our laws, foreigner," Burgis said.

  "Actually," Edmond said as if shocked, "Tarius is correct. As a Swordmaster of the Jethrik, you will occasionally be asked to patrol, and on these patrols you will sometimes be asked to settle local disputes. For some of the more remote villages you will be their only access to the law, and you must judge these cases carefully. Because of the small amount of grain that was taken, it is obvious that the man does not mean to sell it for a profit. You didn't even bother to ask important questions such as Does the man have a family? If he does, who will provide for them when he is killed? How does it serve the community to kill this man who was only trying to feed his family? The normal course is to make the man work on the village roadways for six weeks, but Tarius's answer is even more just. Let the man work for the person he has stolen from. People's lives will be in your hands; your ethics must be perfect. You must follow the spirt of the law, not follow it to the letter. That is the reason for this class, because out there you will not just be protecting the kingdom, but protecting what the king stands for. If you make a cruel judgment it will reflect on the king and the kingdom, as well as destroying the lives of people whose only crime might be that they are hungry."

  The class only lasted for an hour, and then they were dismissed. As the others walked by, Tarius could see that being right in class hadn't helped her popularity any. Not that she cared one bit. The further away they stayed, the less likely they were to learn her secrets.

  * * *

  Arvon shook the hair from his eyes. Now a full-fledged Swordmaster, he wore his hair as he wished. "That the one?" Arvon asked, although the boy was kind of hard to miss. Like looking for a black cat in a white room.

  "That's him," Darian said.

  "He's just a boy, and starving at that," Arvon said.

  "He is Jabon's son," Darian said.

  "Jabon the Breaker?" Arvon asked in hushed reverence upon hearing the name of one of his heroes.

  "The same. Boy even has his finger in the hilt of his sword like his father."

  "But still . . . He's just a boy!" Arvon balked. He felt like a schoolyard bully being asked to teach some wise ass a lesson.

  "Approach him as if he is only a boy, and he will make you look a fool. He took Gudgin out like it was nothing for him, and he wasn't even warmed up yet. He fights like his father—wild and yet calculated. He needs some refinement, and I figure you're the only one who can teach him anything he doesn't already know. Who knows? You might even learn a few new tricks yourself."

  * * *

  Tarius set the book down on a bench and went to join the others in line waiting for instruction. Darian came over and pulled Tarius out of line.

  "Follow me, Tarius," Darian said.

  Tarius nodded and followed him across the yard to where a young man, somewhat older than herself, stood holding a practice sword.

  "Tarius, I want you to meet Arvon. He will be in charge of your training from now on."

  Tarius looked from Arvon to where the others were being paired up to second term students. "No offense, but I don't want to be treated differently than the others." She looked Arvon up and down. It was evident by the scars on his forearms and cheek that he was the veteran of many
battles. His hair was blond and slightly longer than the cadets were allowed to wear. He wore a sleeveless white tunic.

  "Tarius, quite simply put, I can't afford to constantly be nursing the injuries you would make on second term students . . ."

  "My father always said there is something to be learned from even the slowest man," Tarius said.

  "If you're afraid you can't handle Arvon . . ."

  That was all it took. Tarius was looking for a practice weapon before Darian had a chance to finish his thought.

  "Take your sword off, Tarius," Darian instructed.

  Tarius reluctantly took the sword from her back. She put it on a bench close by, but then couldn't quite walk away from it.

  "No one will touch your sword, Tarius," Darian promised.

  Tarius nodded and went into the practice ring with Arvon where he was stretching. He told Tarius to do the same. Tarius went through the stretching exercises, and Arvon laughed.

  "Am I doing something wrong?" Tarius asked glaring at him.

  Arvon laughed louder and slapped Tarius hard on the back. "Not at all! I just never saw a man with so few bones in his body. So . . . you ready?"

  Tarius nodded, and without warning Arvon slung his wooden blade at Tarius's head. Tarius caught the blade and easily slung it off.

  "Ah!" Arvon said with a smile, jumping back and taking a more protective stance. "So, you are good."

  Tarius smiled back. She liked Arvon instantly. Here was a man who understood the sword; who loved it as much as she did. They were a pretty even match, and as Darian had predicted Arvon was learning as much from Tarius as Tarius was learning from him. When it was time to go to lunch, they both seemed reluctant to stop fighting.

  * * *

  Arvon sat with them at lunch, and as Tarius and Arvon talked on and on and on, Tragon felt more and more lost and afraid. He hadn't done so well in the arena. In fact, one of the second term boys had said it was sure to be the first time in Swordmaster history that a recruit had impaled themselves on their own practice blade. As if that weren't bad enough, no one had bothered to tell him that the cloth covered wooden practice blades actually hurt. He had knots and bruises everywhere. Tarius had a knot over his right eye, but it didn't seem to bother him at all.