"Look no further!" Mack stood to emphasise his point.
"You?" responded the Captean.
"Who better? I have travelled over their lands, slept in their tents, learned their language and sung their songs. Moreover, I am reliable, dependable and trustworthy."
The Captean looked particularly sceptical at this last point, but he glanced enquiringly at Luan.
"Well?" he said.
Luan fought back a laugh. For the first time he could think of the venture and feel something other than dread.
"Mack goes!" he said firmly.
"THE THING TO REMEMBER," said Fin, "is that he is very big!"
"But?" asked Brenn.
"But what?" replied Fin.
"I thought you were going to say 'but you can beat him!' or 'but he's slower than you'. You know, something encouraging?"
"No," said Fin.
"Thanks a lot!"
"Also," Fin continued, "because he is so big, if he hits you it's going to really hurt!"
"Shut up!" suggested Brenn in a slightly panicky voice.
"Ignore him," interrupted Luan. "Listen to me. Yes, Drustan is big and strong but he is also arrogant. He thinks he is too big to lose and that is his weakness." Luan took Brenn by the shoulders and looked him full in the face. "You are a fine swordsman, you're skilful, fast and hard to hit. You can beat him. Ok?"
"Ok!" replied Brenn with a nervous grin. Then he turned to Fin. "You see! That's how you do it!"
Over Brenn's shoulder Luan could see the imposing figure of Drustan step into the square.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready!" Brenn replied, taking the practice sword from Fin's hand. The slight boy span theatrically on his heel and strode arrogantly forwards. With a flourish he adopted the warrior's stance, holding the traditional salute.
"Feeling nervous Drustan?" he asked cheekily.
"What? No!" Drustan answered in a dangerous tone of voice. "I'm going to crush you like an ant!" At that he launched a vicious blow at Brenn. Despite his size, Drustan was fast, he almost caught the smaller boy by surprise but Brenn ducked away just in time.
"Got to catch me first!" he called out. Drustan followed up with a sweeping strike but Brenn danced away again.
"You can't win by running away little ant!" Drustan spat.
"Really?" Brenn replied. "Haven’t you read the rules?"
"What rules?" shouted Drustan as another of his blows met with thin air. "It's a fight, there are no rules!"
"Wrong!" called Brenn as he dodged again. "There are three ways to win a tournament bout; yielding, incapacitation or points."
"Points?" Drustan circled his prey.
"If a bout should last five minutes with neither side achieving an outright win," explained Brenn as he backed away, "then the fighter with the most legitimate hits is declared the winner."
Suddenly Brenn changed retreat into attack, launching three quick strikes. Drustan parried the first two but on the third his blade met thin air. Brenn slipped inside his opponents guard and jabbed him hard in the upper arm before dancing out of range.
"Point!” Brenn shouted.
"Point." Sword acknowledged. The master stood at the edge of the square, his face devoid of expression as always.
"And now I'm winning," said Brenn with a grin.
"Not for long!" roared Drustan and he launched a furious attack. Brenn was hard pressed, dodging where possible and parrying when he had to. It seemed as if Drustan was sure to prevail but then Brenn saw his chance. Slipping a parry he ran his sword point along the length of his opponents forearm.
"Point?" He called out again, and again Sword acknowledged the strike.
"Two ahead!" Brenn taunted.
Drustan stepped back, anger and bewilderment showing in his face.
"This is ridiculous!" he shouted. "Those pathetic jabs wouldn't do any real damage."
"Really?" There was an uncharacteristic edge to Brenn's voice. "You'd be bleeding from two cuts now and as the seconds went by and your blood seeped away you'd be getting weaker and slower. And with every minute that went by my advantage would be greater," Brenn sounded almost contemptuous. "If this was a real fight you'd be half way dead already."
Just for a moment, Drustan hesitated as if he felt a moment of doubt. The onlooking boys had fallen silent, aware that something unusual was happening. Brenn smiled. Suddenly the harsh voice of the Weasel broke the spell.
"What a load of horse dung! Just smash him Drustan!"
The hulking boy needed no further encouragement. He leapt forward and rained blow after blow on his tormentor. A tumult of noise filled the hall as Brenn retreated, dodging and parrying as before, but now his luck failed. Twisting away from a vicious sideways strike he came too close to the watching boys and the Ghost's outstretched leg. It wasn't much of a trip but it was all the advantage Drustan needed. Although Brenn parried the next blow, the sheer power forced him to his knees. Desperately he tried to twist and scramble away but it was no use. The kick from Drustan caught him hard in the stomach and flipped him into his back. Drustan didn't stop then. He slammed his sword down at Brenn's head.
"I yield!" shouted Brenn desperately as the wooden blade smashed into the floor just inches from his face. Unwilling or unable to stop, Drustan readied himself for another mighty blow, but as he lifted his sword above his head he felt his wrist encircled in an iron grip.
"He yields." The cold voice of the sword-master cut through the noise. The watching boys fell silent. For a moment Drustan stood immobile, breathing heavily, his face suffused with blood, then he nodded and lowered his sword. He stared at his fallen opponent for a second. Then, unable to find words to express his contempt, he spat heavily and turned his back before punching the air to receive the cheers of the cadre.
Thirteen – Victory and Defeat
There are three things which can increase the sword's ability to cut: sharpness, weight and speed. In a fight we cannot change the first. By training hard we can increase the second: our strength is added to the weight of the blade. The third is directly within our control.
BRENN WAS DISTRAUGHT. He had been shaking when Fin pulled him to his feet and now he sat red faced, blinking back the tears.
"I've made an idiot of myself!" he said bitterly.
"Rubbish!" said Luan.
"You were amazing!" added Fin.
"To think that I could beat him!”
"Don't you understand?" Fin grabbed Brenn by the shoulders and almost shook him. "You showed that he could be beaten!"
"That's right," Luan agreed. "And probably for the first time ever he felt a touch of doubt."
"Really?" asked Brenn hopefully.
"Really!" The voice of the sword-master cut through the conversation. Brenn turned nervously.
"You found a way to win, when others would have just accepted the inevitable defeat. The fact that it didn't work does not mean it wasn't the brave thing to do." Sword paused and held Brenn's gaze. "You must stop doubting yourself. You will be a fine swordsman if you can find the confidence you need."
"That's what I think too!" Fin said. The tall sword-master turned his cold eyes on Fin before speaking again.
"Perhaps you could borrow some of your friend’s confidence, he seems to have plenty to spare!"
Seven boys went through to the third round. As well as Luan, Fin and Drustan were Stav, Druca, Brico and Tavdi, the Ghost. According to tradition their names were drawn from a helmet: Fin's came out first followed by the Ghost's, then Druca followed by Luan for the second fight, then Stav and Brico for the third. Drustan looked disappointed. Any other boy would be delighted to go straight through to the last four, but Drustan relished any chance to show off his prowess. There were only six fights left in the competition and all would take place on the same day.
The next few days sped by. There was much speculation among the boys of the cadre, even some rumours of betting on the outcome. These were soon proved to be false, probably because, as Brenn remarke
d, 'No-one is going to bet against Drustan!' This was not to say that the whole cadre thought that the outcome was already decided, each of the boys left in the competition had their supporters. Luan was pleasantly surprised to find that he was considered one of the possible winners after Drustan and Fin. Obviously his win over the Weasel had improved his reputation.
LUAN LAY ON HIS BEDCOVERS and fretted. He was tired and yet every time he tried to sleep the events of the next day would leap into his thoughts and the more he tried to push them aside the more they had insisted on his attention. Eventually he had given up and decided to think the whole thing through. If things went well he would face three fights. If he managed to win all three then he would set off on his journey with his uncle's sword on his back. And if he didn't? What then? Could he defeat the Selgir Orduin with just any sword? Could he defeat the Selgir Orduin in any case? It was no use. There was nothing to be gained by that line of thought. Even as he lay there he started to drift off only to jerk back into wakefulness. One moment he was here in the dormitory, the next he was on the steps in Cy Malg, lashing out at the nedelhain that swooped from above. His hand twitched and grasped for a sword that wasn't there. This was ridiculous. Luan was suddenly aware of the need that assailed all non-sleepers at some point, he needed to go to the latrines.
On the next bunk Fin turned over and muttered in his sleep. Luan rolled off his bed, grabbed his cloak and made his way outside, being careful not to disturb the other boys. It had rained earlier in the day but now a gusty breeze tugged at his hair and clothes. About half of the sky was still obscured with cloud but to the north a splash of stars brought a promise of dryer weather to come. Luan was reminded of another night when he had stood guard duty and Fin had invented spear jumping. It seemed like such a long time ago. Luan shivered, and not only from the cold. A boy had died that night. That had been the start.
In front of him the latrine block was lit by a single torch and Luan increased his pace, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the darkness.
"Couldn't you sleep either?"
In the torchlight Tavdi was a pale shadow, the ghost that Fin had named him. Luan felt as if his heart stopped and then suddenly restarted in a frenzy of thumping beats. It took him a moment to get enough breath to speak.
"I didn't see you there," he said eventually.
"Did I make you jump?" Luan thought he saw a fleeting smile on those pale lips.
"You did rather," he replied.
"Sorry." Tavdi seemed unusually willing to talk "I couldn't sleep either, it's a big day tomorrow."
"Yes it is." Luan felt drawn into the conversation. "Are you feeling confident?”
"Against Fin?" Tavdi shrugged "He's a strong fighter, hard to beat, how about you?"
Luan shrugged in return. "I've not even sparred with Druca, I know he fought well in the first rounds."
"Well you outreach him. That should help."
Luan nodded. "I suppose so."
Tavdi paused as if considering what else to say and then seemed to think better of it.
"Well, I'm going back. Good luck for tomorrow."
"You too." Luan watched as the pale boy slipped away into the night. A minute later his silhouette showed briefly in the doorway to the dormitory. Luan turned thoughtfully and continued on his way. He had only ever thought of Tavdi as an enemy, once again he was forced to reappraise his simplistic views.
THE NEXT MORNING THE practice hall was packed, the ranks of the cadre swelled by boys from other years as well as some of the masters eager to see their students in action. Fin, up first against the ghost, seemed remarkably calm. Brenn more than made up for it.
"Watch his feet! I've watched and sometimes he forgets to move them in time with his strikes. And keep your feet moving! Remember you're bigger and stronger, use it! Don't bother trying to make him cross, it won't work. And he likes long sequences of strokes. And..."
"It's alright!" Fin put his hand over Brenn's mouth. "I've got this, ok?"
"Oh uh!" Brenn replied, as best he could through Fin's hand.
"Good luck!" Luan clapped Fin on the shoulder. The stocky boy grinned and released Brenn, who gasped in a lungful of air.
"I make my own luck!" He said and, with a practice swing of his sword, he stepped jauntily out into the fighting space.
It was a hard fight and a close one. Tavdi fought with cold precision, matching Fin's greater strength with a skilful series of parries and cuts. Several times Fin tried to close so he could bring his stocky build to bear, but each time the Ghost slipped away. Neither boy spoke as they traded blows, their focus was total, their world reduced to a space several paces across and everything outside it forgotten. In the end Fin simply wore his opponent down. At the end of a long series of Fin's strikes and cuts, Tavdi tried to counter attack but, sapped of strength, his feet didn't move in time. The mistake was small but Fin seized his chance. Winding his blade around the Ghost's he slipped inside and slammed his shoulder against Tavdi's chest. The pale boy crashed to the floor with Fin still holding his sword arm and cried out with pain. The fight was over.
Luan and Brenn rushed to congratulate their friend. Fin walked towards them but it was clear something was wrong. He held his arm across his chest and his breathing was laboured.
"Are you ok?" Brenn asked.
"It's my chest," Fin replied, "it hurts when I breathe."
Luan looked at him in concern. "Let's get you sat down."
"Can we go outside?" Fin winced as he spoke. "I could do with some fresh air."
They got Fin outside and sat him down on the grass. He leaned back against the wall and sighed with relief.
"That feels better!"
Luan squatted down near his friend. "What happened?"
"It was that last moment. As he went down I kept hold of his arm so he couldn't hit back, and something just wrenched, here." Fin gingerly rubbed the left side of his chest. The noise inside suddenly rose and fell again.
"Stav must be fighting Brico," Brenn remarked. "Hang on." He walked over to the doorway to look inside.
"What's happening?" called Luan.
"Looks like it's all over!" Brenn sounded surprised. "Yes, Stav won. That was quick!"
Fin was looking a little less white, but he was clearly still in pain. Luan made a decision.
"You need to go to the infirmary."
"But you're up next! I need to stay!" Fin tried to protest but Luan wasn't listening.
"I'll be fine. But you're hurt so you're going. Brenn! Go with him, make sure he's ok."
"Are you sure?" Brenn looked torn.
"Yes!" replied Luan, "now help me get him up."
They helped Fin to his feet as gently as they could, but he still gasped in pain. Then, with Brenn supporting him, they made their way slowly towards the infirmary.
"Good luck!" Brenn called over his shoulder. Luan raised his hand in reply. Then turned and walked back inside.
Druca was shorter than Luan and thickset. His skin was dark and his long black hair was tied back with a plait behind each ear. To complete his slightly outlandish appearance there were two marks tattooed on each cheek. He was from the very north of the Kingdom where it was not that unusual for people to intermarry with the northern tribes and his ancestry showed. He was one of those boys who threw himself eagerly into everything he did, perpetually surrounded by noise and laughter, and as far as Luan had seen he fought the same way. Druca was laughing now as he readied himself for the fight, slapping his friend, Brico, on the back. Luan by contrast stood quietly in the fighting space, trying to calm himself, searching in his mind for that other self that fought so well.
Druca walked out into the fighting space and stood, feet apart and head up with a big grin on his face. His hands rested on the pommel of his practice sword, standing point down on the floor in front of him.
"Well then Luan lad?" he said, nodding at the crowd. "Shall we give them a fight to remember?"
Luan stepped out and brought his sword up, suddenly
infected by his opponent’s reckless mood.
"Why not?" he replied.
With a piercing cry Druca leapt into the air, raising his sword over his head and bringing it down in a mighty blow. Luan ducked and rolled underneath, springing to his feet and launching a furious sequence of cuts and strikes. Druca laughed as he parried before spinning away. Luan turned quickly, trying to keep up and then was forced to jump backwards as Druca's blade scythed towards his feet. He landed awkwardly and Druca was on him like a cat on a mouse. Luan parried awkwardly, stumbling backwards, and only half stopped the blow which caught him just above his left ear. For a brief moment he felt only the force of the blow, and then the pain ripped through him. With it came a surge of adrenaline and he threw himself forwards, crashing into Druca and knocking him away. Druca stepped back a couple of paces and paused. Luan could feel wetness trickle down his ear and knew he was bleeding.
"Hey Luan lad!" Druca grinned across the fighting space. "Good fighting! Are you ready for some more?"
Luan was more than ready. Just as it had when Sword had cut him, the pain roused that other self. Time seemed to slow and the noise of the crowd dulled as Luan welcomed that feeling of calm. As Druca leaped forward once again, the parry from Luan was already there. As his senses flowed Luan timed the riposte to perfection and felt the wooden blade thump into Druca's body. Around him he sensed rather than heard the roar of the watching boys, but his mind was elsewhere as he pressed forward, striking hard. Druca, scrambling backwards and parrying desperately, suddenly slipped and crashed to the floor, his sword slipping from his grasp and skittering across the tiles. The watching boys quieted as they waited for Luan to force the swarthy boy to yield. To their amazement Luan stepped back, putting up his sword.
"You're right," he said, "It is a great fight!" And with a deft flick of his boot, slid the practice sword back across the floor to his fallen foe. For a second Druca looked stunned, but then, a huge smile shining on his face, he grabbed the sword and jumped to his feet.
The Guild of Warriors Page 11