by Kris Hiatt
Further to the north he could see the constable’s estate sitting on the edge of the water. The road would eventually lead by there, after it merged with the road that came from the other side of town. That was the road he planned to take, so he wouldn’t make it as far as the estate.
It occurred to him that Wren lived at the estate, in the manor house with his father, and Treace hoped he wouldn’t run into him today.
He looked across the water to the west and he could see the thick woods in the distance. The mill workers would eventually get there, he thought, but it wouldn’t be for many years. There were several fishermen out on boats trying to earn a living. The number of fishermen increased over the years, mostly due to the lack of mill work. But, Treace knew the fish were tasty and the men either sold their catch in town, or ferried it downriver and eventually made a profit in the large city of Haven.
As he got closer to the estate he heard sounds of metal ringing on metal and a lot of cheering. That brought the forge back into his mind, but it wasn’t quite the same sound. It sounded more like sword ringing off sword. That made him think of the story of how the hero slays the beast with a sword.
He hadn’t planned on going to the constable’s estate, but his curiosity got the best of him, so he continued on. He couldn’t quite see it yet, there were too many trees in the way.
When it finally came into sight, he saw the constable’s guards engaged in some training; swordplay, just as he thought.
The estate was so large that two of the mills could be placed in there with room left over. The outer wooden fencing wrapped the entire area except where it met the road to the south. The estate sat on an inlet in the lake so that the north and west sides rested on the lakeshore. The stable and what looked to be a bunkhouse for the guards were on this end of the complex. The guard’s practice area was next to the fence with the stable next to it. There were wooden poles with lots of cuts on them and several archery targets in a line that backed up to the guardhouse. In the back-center of the estate he could see the four-story manor of the constable. It backed up to the water and was easily the largest structure in all of Lake City. It looked like it was built by the same masons that erected the Spiral Bridge. The crest, an eagle clutching a fish, was wonderfully etched into the center blocks below a large balcony that extended at least a third of the width of the building from a central doorway at the highest level. He wondered if Constable Wren watched his troops from there. From this vantage point he could see a few other structures on the other side of the complex, but he couldn’t tell what they were from here.
Treace didn’t think there was a great need for battle training; no warfare had found Onneron in many, many years. Granted there were a few highwaymen here and there, but the biggest danger around Lake City came from the abundant wildlife. There were a few bear attacks each year, and many livestock were taken by wolves. The guys he saw training served more as town guards to help keep the peace, even though it wasn’t needed often. The occasional theft and frequent brawls in the alehouses was the most he could think of. He figured it at least gave them something to do.
He walked up to the outer fencing of the estate and hopped up onto the bottom rail so he could see over the top of the fence. He was glad he decided to take a break from the forge for a bit; he loved to watch sword fights. Especially so when the swords being used were ones he helped craft.
There were two combatants squared off with one another, while another twenty or so guards stood around watching and cheering. Both combatants wore leather armor fitted with an iron breastplate emblazoned with an eagle clutching a fish in its claw; the crest of the constable and subsequently Lake City. One of them was using a short sword while the other wielded a short sword and shield.
The sword user seemed to be a young man Treace guessed was barely in his twenties with a pale complexion and short brown hair, while the shield user was a little older, probably not quite thirty. As Treace looked closer he noticed a scar running down the ridge of the older fighter’s nose. It wasn’t a large scar but it was large enough and dark enough that Treace could see it from this distance. His hair, as black as a raven, wasn’t quite long enough to interfere with his vision but it clung to the sweat on his forehead.
The one without the shield darted forward and to the left of the shield-bearer. He tried to thrust his sword in behind the shield but the shield-bearer pulled his shield in and to his left, then pivoted to his right and the sword deflected harmlessly off.
The fighter with the shield went on the offensive then and stepped forward and extended his shield, slamming it into his opponent and staggering him back.
Treace thought he would dart in for the finishing blow but the shield-bearer must have seen something that he didn’t because instead he backed off and let the sword user regain his balance.
The sword user shook his head as if he were clearing out some shield induced cobwebs and took a few steps to his left with his sword to his side. He dashed in and brought his sword in from his left to his right and was parried by the sword of the shield-bearer. He brought it around and slapped at the inside of the shield-bearer’s sword and quick-stepped in for what Treace thought would be a finishing blow, but instead found nothing but air as the shield-bearer pivoted to his left and tucked in behind his shield.
That produced murmurs of appreciation from the onlookers.
Once again the shield user stepped in and extended his shield arm and slammed into his opponent. This time, however, the sword user was already off balance and was knocked off his feet and fell sideways, eventually ending face down in the dirt.
The crowd howled, clapped each other on the back, and moved in to congratulate the winner.
Before accepting any congratulations, the winner extended his hand and helped his beaten opponent to his feet.
Both were smiling, which Treace thought was odd. He didn’t think he would be smiling after he was beaten like that.
The crowd converged over both of them and after some congratulations and playful jostling they started to move off and go about their own business.
Apparently the show was over.
A thought passed through Treace’s mind and he decided it couldn’t hurt to ask; at least that’s how the saying goes.
“Congratulations on winning, sir,” Treace called out.
The winner looked over his shoulder and gave a quick wave to Treace.
“Could you teach me to fight like that?”
Someone must have told a joke because everyone started laughing, including the winner, but he didn’t respond to Treace’s question.
“How did you win without even using your sword?” Treace asked, oblivious that he was being ignored.
The winner sighed, looked over his shoulder at Treace again and started walking toward him while shaking his head.
“I didn’t win because it wasn’t a contest,” the man said in slightly condescending tones. Treace was used to it, though, and took no offense. “I was simply giving a demonstration to the troops.”
“Two fighters squared off, one was placed on his backside by the other. I would say that makes you a winner,” Treace said and after seeing that familiar look on the guard’s face he added, “I’m almost twelve years old and I’m just small for my age. My mother says I’ll get my growth soon but I’m starting to doubt it.”
Someone must have told another joke because all the guards that were still within earshot started to laugh again.
“You hear that, Exodin? The little lad is almost twelve, he must be ready to fight. Hell, I’ll bet he could take you.”
Everyone really laughed at that, but the guard, Exodin, did not.
Exodin looked Treace right in the eye and didn’t turn away.
“Even at twelve and small enough to pass for nine he could still put you on your backside, Rinin,” Exodin said loudly before turning to face the upstart.
The crowd really howled at that, except for Rinin, who scowled heavily and opened his mouth in
protest.
“Shut your yap and get back to practice, all of you. I’ll have no more of your humor, Rinin,” Exodin said.
By the look on his face, Rinin appeared to like that less than the comment before, but walked off without saying anything else.
“You’re the smith’s apprentice aren’t you? Treace, right?” Exodin asked after turning back around. He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes, sir, and yes, nice to meet you too,” Treace put his small hand in Exodin’s. The older man’s hand fully enveloped his own.
“By the look on your face, you’re serious, aren’t you, boy?”
“Yes, sir, I am serious.”
“Well, if you’re learning to make swords I can’t see the harm in you learning to use one,” he said then put up a finger and a serious look on his face. “But, first you must learn to defend yourself.”
Treace thought he knew where this was going.
And,” he said, drawing out the word. “What are you going to do for me in return?”
Treace knew right away what he could offer the man.
“I’ll repair your armor, sharpen your blade, and shoe your horse for free while you train me,” he told him.
“Well now, not only are you small for your age, but you are also way too smart. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Not exactly like that, sir, but I think many people think that way. I’m used to people looking at me the way you just did.”
“That’s not a bad thing, never take it that way. I have heard you are the one doing most of the work at Jensen’s smith these days, is that so?”
“Yes, sir, why?”
“You may be smart, but maybe not that smart,” he said. He looked at Treace with a playful judging look and waited. After a few moments of not getting the response he must have hoped for he added, “At twelve you are already doing most of the work for a smith who’s been smithing for most of his life. You don’t find that unusual?”
Treace could see how some people might think that way, but he didn’t see what the big deal was.
“It’s not as hard as most people think it is. If they only tried it, they would see how easy it really is,” he said. “And, I’m not twelve yet. I’m almost twelve.”
Exodin first gave a very wide grin and then started to laugh. He reached over and clasped Treace on the shoulder.
“That’s the problem, young man, it isn’t that easy. You’re the only one that seems to think it is. That’s what is so unusual. Especially at eleven.”
Treace still wasn’t buying it but decided not to question the subject further.
“So, do we have a deal?” Treace asked.
“I’ll tell you what, you repair my armor, sharpen my blade, shoe my horse, be my personal smith and make me a sword, then we have a deal.”
“I can’t make a sword on my own yet, sir,” Treace said as he looked down, slightly embarrassed. He still required Jensen’s help in order to complete one.
“You will someday,” Exodin said and lifted Treace’s chin. “And you’ll make me a sword everyone will become jealous of, no doubt.”
Treace smiled at the encouragement but doubted he could ever make a sword that good. The tang of the sword was something Treace was having a little difficulty with. He didn’t think now was the time to share that with Exodin, so he remained silent.
Exodin stuck out his hand, which Treace accepted.
“Deal. When do we start?”
Exodin gave another laugh and Treace wondered why adults were always laughing at him. He didn’t take too much offense to it, he was used to it.
“What days do you work at the smith?”
“Almost every one of them.”
“What about schooling? From the way you talk, I know you’re going to school.”
“I school every day too, sir. My mother never lets me skip a day.”
“So, school, smith, and learning to sword fight at age twelve,” Exodin said, then shook his head.
Treace didn’t know what he was shaking his head for. Maybe he had a headache. He decided not to tell him again that he was only eleven, not twelve.
“When can you make it here?”
“Before supper, sir. I work at the smith until mid-afternoon and I school at night.”
“Alright, a deal is a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow an hour before supper,” Exodin said and turned and walked away.
“We’ll all be calling that kid sir someday, I swear,” he muttered as he walked away.
Treace didn’t think he was supposed to hear that part.
Now all Treace had to do was to tell Jensen of the added work that he thought he might be getting. He would offer up his wages to pay Jensen back for the use of the forge, if need be.
#
The day dragged on at the smith and Treace couldn’t wait to finish up his work and get over to see Exodin for his training. He did enjoy smithing, and he did appreciate Jensen, but nothing could compare to learning how to fight with a sword.
“I can see you’re excited, so just clean up and get going,” Jensen told him.
“Thank you!” Treace practically squealed.
“Just don’t be getting hurt, and you best tell your ma too,” Jensen instructed.
“I won’t get hurt, and I’ll tell my mother tonight,” Treace said, trying to sound sincere and thinking he wasn’t being very successful at it.
“Treace,” Jensen said, stopping him. “Promise me you’ll tell your mother. If she hears about this from someone else she’ll likely tan both our hides.”
“I will,” Treace said, smiling at the idea of the much larger man being scolded by his much smaller mother.
“And take this with ya,” Jensen said, tossing a sack at Treace, which he caught.
He opened it up to find a pear and some jerky. He smiled his thanks to Jensen as he took a large bite out of the pear.
“Thankless bottomless pit of a runt anyway,” Jensen said smiling.
Treace knew it was a joke. Jensen had pretty much fed him something or other every day for the past few months without Treace asking for food. He didn’t want to be rude, but after the first week or so he asked why. The smith just told him that boys needed to eat. He didn’t disagree. He smiled between bites and started off down the road.
Up to this point he hadn’t told his mother about the sword training. He hoped she wouldn’t make him quit, but it was a very real possibility so Treace decided to make the best of the one day of training he was most likely going to get. He hoped that once his mother put a stop to the training that Exodin wouldn’t force him to make good on his end of the bargain, but Treace was willing to make good anyway.
He arrived at the constable’s estate shortly after and quickly found Exodin near the fence where they talked the day before. As he neared, Exodin waved.
“I thought for sure your mother would have put a stop to this,” Exodin said.
Treace noticed that he wasn’t in the armor he wore yesterday. He wore leather pants and a simple white tunic with soft leather boots. He did still have his shield, however. “She doesn’t know yet,” he said. “I will ask her permission tonight. Jensen made me promise.”
“I knew I liked that smith,” Exodin said and motioned for Treace to come over the fence. “We can start tonight, I promise not to hurt you.”
Exodin walked over to a large sack that was on the ground nearby, bent down to open it, and pulled out a wooden sword that was roughly the same size as a short sword.
As Treace neared, Exodin removed his shield and held it out at arm’s length, obviously wanting him to take it.
“I thought I was going to learn how to swordfight,” Treace complained. His excitement was very much deflated at seeing the shield being offered to him rather than a sword.
“I told you that you must first learn to defend yourself. You do that with a shield,” Exodin explained. “A fighter must first learn how to defend himself if he ever wants to walk away from his first fight.”
Treace reluctantly took the shield, which was nearly the same size as him.
With the shield resting on the ground, Treace figured that barely more than his head showed above the top edge. Even though he was much stronger than he previously had been, the weight of the large shield was too much for him to keep it from hitting the ground. He felt ridiculous behind the shield and bet he looked even more ridiculous than he felt.
Exodin chuckled and then frowned.
“I didn’t think of that. Of course you can’t lift it. It probably weighs as much as you. I could probably have a smaller shield made, but it would take time and it wouldn’t do us much good tonight would it?”
Treace remained quiet thinking that Exodin was talking more to himself than to him, but he still held onto the shield. He could lift it, but it was just too heavy and bulky for him to move it quickly.
After a few moments of thought and pacing back and forth, Exodin took the shield back from Treace and handed him the wooden short sword.
“What hand are you?” Exodin asked.
Treace wasn’t sure what he was trying to ask and must be the look on his face showed as much.
“When you swing the smithing hammer, I mean. What hand are you?” Exodin clarified.
“Both,” he said. After seeing a bemused look on Exodin’s face, he added, “Jensen says that if a right handed smith loses his right arm then he’s out of work and going to starve. So he makes me swing the hammer with both hands.”
Exodin smiled and shook his head again, which Treace was very used to seeing when he spoke with adults, but he was starting to tire of it.
“Of course you do. Well, what hand do you write with?”
“My right hand.”
“Then put this in your left for now.”
Treace did as he was asked and wielded the sword with his left hand. Even though it was a short sword, it looked like a long sword because of his size.
“I normally start with the proper use of a shield, but I fear they are a bit out of your league for now. So, let’s see how you fare with using a sword to parry attacks rather than a shield to block,” Exodin stated as he reached into the sack and pulled forth another wooden sword.
