Sword Saint

by Michael Wallace

  All three stones would be used in the coming fight, and over the years she’d learned how best to put them to use. Once, when Narina was seventeen, she’d managed to knock her father’s demon sword from his grasp and closed with a thrill, thinking she’d finally defeated him, only to see him leap to the tallest of the stones, vault over her head, and come up behind her with his dragon sword pressed again her spine.

  In the ten years since, she’d never beaten him in single combat, only in joint training. Most likely she could have, given that he’d slowed considerably over the past five years, and had largely stopped training in tandem. But of course now she would never know.

  Her two opponents emerged from opposite ends of the shrine’s courtyard. One was her sister, Katalinka, who had Father’s penetrating gray eyes, but dark hair like Narina and their mother. She was a good two inches taller than Narina and managed to seem leaner and more muscular than her younger sister at the same time. A slight smile touched the corner of Katalinka’s mouth as she took several steps across the sand. She wasn’t barefoot, but wore thin, slipper-like shoes.

  The other was a man in his early forties, with a longer reach and more powerful stroke than either of the two sisters. Abelard had been Father’s first apprentice, and Narina could remember sitting on the same balcony against which the observers now leaned while master and apprentice trained. Abelard had gained the rank of sohn just as Narina and Katalinka began their own training, and had been gaining in power ever since.

  Above all, Narina respected the man’s even temperament. He was steadier than either of the sisters, some of this no doubt due to the wisdom of age, but he also seemed to have a more naturally conciliatory personality. She couldn’t ever remember seeing him lose his temper, grow impatient with one of his students, or complain when the winter breath of the demigods buried the temple in snow.

  At the moment, it was Abelard’s skill with the blades that concerned her. In one-on-one combat, Abelard could still master either sister ninety percent of the time, but a subtle change had been working through the combined sohn combats over the past two years, and about a year ago Narina had realized with surprise that she and Katalinka had better mastery over their sowen than their companion. The more chaotic the situation, the slower he reacted compared to the sisters. When Father joined them in melee combat, making four, Abelard had often been first to fall.

  Father was gone, though. This would be a three-person fight, and it would be an even match.

  The combatants met in the center, near the tallest of the three stones, and Narina was not surprised to see grief written across her companions’ faces. Every student, frater, elder, and sohn in the temple was feeling the ache of loss, from the most bent of the old men and women to the youngest apprentice, a girl of twelve. But the three of them standing now with their swords had weighty decisions to consider as well.

  “First things first,” Narina said. “Who will be the new master? I propose Abelard.”

  He grunted, and Katalinka shook her head slowly. “Father said you.”

  “He was dying—he was barely holding his sowen at the time. He didn’t know what he was talking about. Anyway, it’s not his decision. Not anymore.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Abelard said. He had a low, rumbling voice that sounded like the distant roll of thunder. “It’s a consensus of us three. But I’ve been weighing his words, all the same. Joskasef wanted you—that’s what he told you with his dying breath, isn’t it? I will honor that.”

  “You’re more experienced than I am,” Narina argued, “and have the respect of the elders. The former sohn and the lifelong fraters all support you. They’ll accept you without question.”

  “They’ll accept you, too,” he said.

  “Eventually. But we’ll recover more quickly if you step in. This isn’t the time for doubts.”

  “I agree with Abelard,” Katalinka said. “It should be you.”

  “There’s no reason for it to be me,” Narina protested.

  “Except Father’s wishes,” Katalinka said. She waved a hand as if in anticipation of Narina’s objection. “All we have to do is be united, and the rest will fall in line. Anyway, none of us want to be master, and even if Father hadn’t said it, there’d be no compelling reason for any one of us over the others.”

  No, none of them did want it. Certainly Narina didn’t. If she’d ever longed to rise and claim master sohn, that ambition was long gone. Meditation, training, the years of isolation in their mountain redoubt—it all combined to dissolve her ambitions with the slow, relentless pace of crashing waves turning hardened lava to sand.

  “Is it settled, then?” Abelard asked.

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Katalinka said. “Sister?”

  Narina glanced between them. If she refused, they would have to back down, regroup, and have a more lengthy conversation. She longed to say no and force the discussion.

  But that would be an ambition of a sort, too, wouldn’t it? An ambition to avoid the heavy hand of responsibility and force others to bear it.

  “It’s settled,” Narina conceded.

  Anyway, there was no need for it to be a permanent change; master sohn wasn’t necessarily a lifelong calling. Once they’d settled more urgent matters, she could work on the other sohns in private. Bend the consensus to a different path. Perhaps even enlist the elders to argue her position.

  “Good,” Katalinka said. “Now that we’re agreed, there are other matters. We’d better figure out what to do about the other temples. And how about the crowlords?”

  Narina drew her dragon blade. It glinted white in the sunlight. She twirled it with a flick of the wrist and then pulled the demon blade and poised it in front of and perpendicular to her face.

  “One problem for each sword of the dance,” she said. “Let’s settle this the usual way.”

  “Hah,” Katalinka said, and then her own swords were in hand, and she was edging to one side.

  Abelard moved in a blur, and before Narina could turn her attention from her sister, the man was coming down on her with his dragon blade while simultaneously thrusting under her defenses with his demon.

  It was a familiar attack, and Narina responded in kind. She bent backward and let the first sword pass in front of her face, then rolled away from the slash at her belly. He moved past too quickly for her to counter, and she was forced to whirl about to beat back a flurry of blows from Katalinka, who’d taken advantage of the clash to mount her own attack.

  Narina was on the verge of being overwhelmed by her sister when Abelard rejoined the fight, and she leaped clear, which forced the other two into a short, blurred combat. Moments later, all three were separated from each other. Katalinka leaped to the top of the tallest of the standing stones to keep Abelard from doing the same, and Narina moved until her back was to the railing at the edge of the arena.

  “Abelard is dipping his demon low on the underthrust,” a voice said quietly to her shoulder. “Do you see it?”

  It was Kozmer, one of the elder sohns. He was over seventy, and unable to carry a sword—or so he claimed. His gait had turned stiff with age, and apart from polishing the temple bells, his primary duty was imparting temple lore to students. In his quiet moments, he carved walking staffs, and he was never without one. He leaned one arm against the railing and tilted the top of his staff over it toward Abelard.

  Narina replayed the brief skirmish in her mind to see what he was talking about. “Yes, I saw it.”

  Several of the younger temple members clustered around Kozmer, leaning in to hear his thoughts about the fight between the three sohns, and one of them was Narina’s student, Gyorgy. The boy had bathed and changed into a clean white robe since their work at the smithy, and his hair was brushed out and pulled back behind his head.

  “Should Narina come over the top with a mantis strike?” Gyorgy asked Kozmer.

  The old man snorted. “Only if she wants a cracked rib when he follows with a counterstrike.”


  “Not if she gets the high ground,” a girl said. “He’ll be too low to get at her ribs.”

  “Oh, my children. How is Narina going to do that with her sister atop the stone, ready to rain down death? You’d be better off with squatting turtle or twice-bold strike, as boring as that sounds.”

  “What are you muttering over there, old man?” Katalinka called in a loud voice. “You’re not giving my sister an unfair advantage, are you?”

  Kozmer gave a dry chuckle, then raised his voice. “Nothing I wouldn’t have told you, had you been over here instead of preening atop that stone.”

  “Ah, so it’s me you’re conspiring against,” Abelard said.

  “I’m mostly trying to disabuse these young people of their flashy notions,” he said. “They want excitement, while the three of you are trying to win in the most efficient way possible. I’m explaining the difference right now.”

  “I don’t know,” Narina said, her tone light, yet loud enough for the other combatants to hear. “I like a little flash—it makes the others look so foolish when they fall to it.”

  She eased away from the railing, as it looked like Abelard was about to move against her sister, probably launching himself off one of the shorter stones in order to knock her from her perch. Narina wanted to be close enough to stab him in the back if he gave her a chance.

  “What about this Zoltan?” Katalinka said from where she stood above them, and the other two hesitated. “Do we cut him down?”

  “Kill a crowlord?” Abelard said. “Is that prudent?

  “How do you mean, prudent?” Katalinka asked.

  “We kill—what is his name? Zoltan?—and we destabilize his fiefdom. That would set off more wars when the others rush in to claim his lands.”

  “He attacked the temple,” Katalinka said. “We can’t let that stand.”

  They were both right, in a way, and expressing themselves exactly as Narina would have predicted: Katalinka, wanting swift, decisive action, and Abelard more circumspect. Narina leaned more toward Abelard’s position, but not entirely.

  “Destroying Zoltan is too much,” she began.

  “Our father is dead,” her sister said. “Zoltan’s men murdered him.”

  “And it falls on us to act,” Narina agreed with a nod. “That’s what Sohn Joskasef would have ordered. Had they not killed him.” She hesitated. “But since he’s dead and I’m somehow taking his place, I say we do something about it. But cautiously.”

  “I would be fine with a limited response,” Abelard said. “What do you propose?”

  “Something like this,” Narina said.

  She charged at Abelard—a rather obvious feint—then made as if to change targets to her sister as he braced himself. But this was only a second, more subtle attempt to throw Abelard off his guard. She swung twice, waited for him to counterattack, then used his lowered demon blade to get her own demon in and smash it into his ribs. Had the sword been sharp, and not a training weapon, it would have cut him in two.

  She might have finished him off anyway—so far as sparring rules allowed—but Katalinka was on top of her in an instant. Her sister landed a glancing blow on Narina’s shoulder, and Narina struck Katalinka’s wrist in turn.

  Moments later, all three were standing apart, nursing their wounds, while fraters and elderly sohns discussed the action in an excited buzz all around them. The crowd around Kozmer had grown, and he leaned his weight against the railing and gestured with his staff while explaining the action. For the younger ones especially, the speed of the fight would be too quick for them to follow, a confusing blur of feints and thrusts and dancing bodies.

  “So that’s what that old villain was whispering in your ear,” Abelard said. He brought his arm in against his injured ribs and winced. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

  “Why would you lower your demon like that,” Narina said, “if you knew it would leave you vulnerable?”

  “Because your blades were too close together. I thought it worth the risk.” He gave himself a little shake, like a dog casting off rainwater, and his body already seemed to be recovering from the blow. “Apparently I was wrong.”

  “Who will go meet this crowlord?” Katalinka asked. “Can we get back to that before we batter each other senseless?”

  Narina thought her sister was likely to be too aggressive, and Abelard not aggressive enough when it came to confronting Zoltan.

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “Someone needs to escort the weapons to Balint Stronghand anyway. I’ll take the post road through the foothills, then drop into Zoltan’s lands when I’m done delivering them.”

  Abelard twisted his dragon, and the blade caught the light and gleamed. He nodded. “All right. Now what’s this about the other sword temples?” This was directed to Katalinka. “Are you proposing we warn them about Zoltan, or is it something else?”

  “It’s a disturbance of the peace,” Katalinka said. “They’ll want to know. Could be the crowlords will be more active in the mountains going forward. They should be warned the villains are not above attacking the temples.”

  “I suppose I could go,” he said. “Does anyone know if the high passes are clear of snow yet? I’ll visit the firewalkers first, then the warbrands.”

  “Better if it’s me,” Katalinka said. “When’s the last time you were up there—fifteen years ago? Nobody would even recognize you.”

  A smile touched his lips. “That’s right, I went with you and your father to meet the firewalkers. You were carrying training sticks at the time. Remember those braids you used to wear? Adorable.”

  “Ouch. All right, so neither of us are very well known.”

  “Why don’t you both go?” Narina suggested. “It’s safer anyway, in case there’s a misunderstanding.”

  “And leave the temple without any sohns at all?” Abelard asked.

  Katalinka, it seemed, had a different concern. “What’s this about a misunderstanding? Our relations with the other temples aren’t so distant as that, I would hope.”

  “Are any of you going to do some actual fighting?” Kozmer called out. “Plenty of places around here for mumbled conversations, if that’s all you’re planning.”

  The fighters ignored him. “So we’d tell the other temples, what, exactly?” Abelard asked.

  Narina wasn’t sure she’d fully defined that yet, only that her sister’s idea had seemed a good one. “I don’t know, tell them what happened here, I suppose. See if anything similar has happened. Is this one crowlord making a foolhardy move, or is a general war brewing?”

  “Exactly that,” Katalinka said. She crossed her swords and circled the other two at a distance. “If they’re amenable, we can gather the sohns and debate what should be done.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” Abelard said. “Someone might be tempted to. . .test matters.”

  Narina saw what he was driving at and was inclined to scoff. “That old legend?”

  “Why not?” Katalinka asked. “Aren’t you curious how you’d fare?”

  There were many things Narina was curious about, but this was not one of them. “I test myself against the pair of you at least once a month—I know my skills and my limitations.”

  “I’m not particularly interested, either,” Abelard said.

  “I am,” Katalinka said. “I’ll admit it.”

  It was a surprising confession. The thought of venturing out to battle the sohns of other temples seemed ludicrous. But Narina supposed her sister was slightly more skilled than she was, and also less likely to be introspective about her limitations. Narina knew her own. If she ever did battle with sharpened blades against either a firewalker or a warbrand, she might well lose. Her sister could easily fall, too. Who knew how good the other sohns were?

  “Warn them, then return,” Narina said. “If they want to discuss, we’ll let the elder sohns do the talking. The lame, those with bent backs and poor vision—the other temples must have them, too.”

  She nodded in the d
irection of Kozmer, who was back to discussing tactics with students and fraters. “Kozmer, Joreyna, or maybe Marton.”

  “I like that idea,” Abelard said. “None of the elders will be tempted to whip out blades and prove themselves a sword saint.” He gave a pointed look at Katalinka, who shrugged.

  “If that’s your plan,” Kozmer called over, “then why not send me in the first place?”

  “Hey, you gossipy old man,” Narina said. “Pay attention to your own conversation.”

  Kozmer chuckled. “We came to see a fight, and all you’re doing is talking. You expect me to not listen?”

  “I’m more than happy to send you in my place, friend,” Abelard said. “But do you think you’re up for a hike through the mountain passes? It’s dangerous up there.”

  “Bandits aren’t likely to bother an old man with a cane. If they do, I’ll make sure they regret it.”

  “I’m thinking more of ice and snow.”

  “Yes, well.” His expression soured. “It’s summer, and the worst is past. Cold rain is more likely to be a problem, but I’ll use my sowen to warm my bones, if it comes to that.”

  Narina raised her eyebrows. “You want to go?”

  Kozmer shrugged. “Maybe. Why not?”

  “I don’t like sending you into the mountains—the terrain seems too rough for you. But how about if you come with me? You know the plains—didn’t you live there at one time? I’ve never been below Hooffent, and I could use a guide, if you’re amenable.”

  Katalinka looked skeptical at this. “Are you sure an elder is what you need? You’ll need a strong back to help with the weapons, unloading and loading the cart, managing whatever beast is pulling it.”

  “I’ll take my student, too. Gyorgy will make three.”

  Narina, Katalinka, and Abelard exchanged glances, and a silent consensus was reached. Narina and her companions would deliver the weapons to Balint and then confront Zoltan. The other two sohns would visit warbrands and the firewalkers to discuss what threat, if any, the crowlords posed.

  After that, there was nothing to do but finish up their skirmish. Within seconds they were back at it, swords flashing, bodies twisting and rolling. They leaped atop the stones to gain small advantages, then tried to press their opponents against the railing surrounding the training sands. Abelard wasn’t at his sharpest this morning, and after Katalinka knocked him to the ground, Narina struck him with a flurry of blows that forced his submission.