Gold & Glory

by M. H. Johnson

  "I'm sorry, good sir, but we noticed that your fellow companions were not to be found in their beds, nor the mattresses themselves in some cases, so we just wanted to make sure all was well." She looked past Sorn a second time, at the triplets all tangled up in their mattresses and blankets, very much like a nest, Sorn knew.

  "Don't mind them, they haven't slept apart since birth," Sorn yawned. "Besides, makes it easier to keep an eye on them," Sorn confided with a conspiratorial smile, hoping his explanation didn't seem too unreasonable. From what information he had gathered, these people most often slept alone.

  "Of course." The chambermaid curtseyed, giving him a curious look. "Will you require me for anything, good sir?"

  "Oh, not at all," Sorn said. "Please enjoy your morning." He headed back to bed, not quite sure what to make of the look she had given him as he shut the door.

  "Sorn, wake up!"

  "Sorn, time for breakfast."

  There was an indistinct grumble from the pile of blankets and mattresses that of course the brothers could expertly decipher as something along the lines of leaving him alone, but bring him up some food while they were at it. Something they were not entirely unused to doing, being earlier risers by nature than he, so went out to enjoy the morning, breakfast and mischief both, and left their cousin to his sleep.

  It was a considerably more alert Sorn, munching contentedly on the sausages his cousins had snuck up for him, that made his way sometime later that morning to the practice yards below, where the lord's armsmen were practicing their sword-craft and bowmanship, excited cousins in tow.

  "Oh yes, now we can see how real men-at-arms do it," enthused Hanz.

  "Perhaps we can challenge them to a bout with us!" declared Fitz.

  "Yawn." Yawned Lieberman.

  Sorn smiled at his cousins. "We'll see, guys, but remember, we'll be practicing with their training blades, so we'd best get a feel for their balance. Our sword style relies heavily on the wrist and forearm as much as the shoulder when we swing, speed and parrying being as important to our style as brute force, as you know. I, in truth, have no idea what their swordplay involves, so I recommend you get a feel for the practice blade to get a sense of what you can do with it. Of course, with our strength, I am quite sure a heavier blade will make little difference in our ability to use it, so long as we practice with it first."

  Sorn's tone then became quite serious. "Cousins? One thing I do insist upon. If they do not have wooden practice swords, if all they have is blunted steel, we will only spar with ourselves. Your strength is just too great. And though I admire your enthusiasm, lack of control at a critical juncture could have terrible consequences here. These are our friends, after all. And I don't want you to have to worry so much about hurting them in any case. After all, the point is to make you a better swordsman, able to see your opponents' weakness and take advantage of it, quickly and efficiently. The last thing I want you to do is inadvertently teach yourselves to hold back from blows that would save your lives in a real fight."

  "We understand, Sorn," Lieberman said, rolling his eyes at the mother hen in their midst.

  "Yeah, Sorn, we're not idiots," Hanz chimed in.

  Sorn smiled. "Really? you could have fooled me."

  The thwack of wooden swords wrapped in leather pounding against armor, shields, or other wooden swords was a martial music all its own, the sights and sounds of the various pairs of armsmen sparring against each other serving as sufficient catalyst to get the youths' own blood pumping in anticipatory excitement. It was a disciplined affair, however, Sorn was happy to note; almost all the practicing armsmen used round shields along with their swords, lashing out with tightly controlled chops, sometimes seeking to charge into their opponent, slamming shield against shield before snapping their blade around to smack their opponent in the back. Were they fighting in earnest, Sorn had no doubt that those powerful backhand blows would have been aimed at the skull to devastating effect. The armsmen rarely sought to parry with their blades as a rapiersman or saberman might, instead relying on their shields for defense, even as their wooden blades lashed out at all angles, ringing powerfully against helms or cracking against armored limbs when their blows connected.

  It was a style of swordplay well suited to the battlefield, no doubt more than able to stagger even a helmeted man, if hit dead on, as well as cleave into armors of leather and cloth, and bruise flesh even under mail. It was a fighting style best used with shields, as the sword's point of balance was far from the hilt, if the guardsmen's swings were anything to go by. Of course, Sorn would only know for certain when he was holding the weapons in his own hands.

  The various pairs of men-at-arms sparring about the courtyard did so under the watchful eyes of what Sorn assumed to be the commander of the keep's men, who would occasionally move to correct the form of someone whose awkward stance made Sorn think of a new recruit, though he was otherwise content to leave his men alone.

  A couple of the men not actively sparring turned towards the cousins and made them welcome, one of them handing Sorn a bucket and dipper as he turned back to watch the sparring. "Well young sirs, would you be looking to try out the keeps men for size?" said one of the guardsmen, giving the youths a friendly smile, for all the challenge in his words.

  "Perhaps," Sorn allowed, smiling in turn. "Are there wooden blades we could use to warm up with?"

  "Of course, let me show you." The guardsman then proceeded to lead the youths toward a number of weapons and armor racks set up just outside what Sorn assumed were the barracks, showing the cousins sets of boiled rawhide and chain mail armor, helmets, and light wooden shields reinforced with rawhide and a thin metal rim, as well as a number of wooden swords of various sizes.

  The cousins thanked the man and then proceeded to change into the gear provided, finding pieces that suited them among the smaller sets of armor. Sorn was amused to note that they didn't think of taking their own mithril shirts off before putting the padded armaments on.

  "Did you find any sticks to your liking?" Fitz politely asked his cousin.

  "No... wait, this one is fine." Sorn replied, finding a stick whose balance, though different from the sabers he had trained with, was still light enough with his enhanced strength that he could still give it a comfortable snap with his wrist, instinctively settling into a saberman's half crouch. He then executed a casual series of strikes and lunges, warming up with his cousins, before practicing in full.

  "Ready, cousins?"

  "Yes, Sorn, we are ready." Fitz smiled at his cousin, and the four youths paired off. Forgoing shields, and unable to find poniards or sword breakers in the practice arsenal, they would practice with sticks alone.

  Pairing up against Sorn, Fitz started aggressively, snapping his blade towards his cousin, coming full head-on with a fierce set of feints and slashes aimed at crippling his opponent's arm, to leave him helpless for the kill. Keeping his balance, Fitz did his best to both be aggressive while avoiding over-committing.

  Sorn smiled, enjoying the exercise as well as the synergy between mind and reflexes as he deftly countered his cousin's dizzying set of feints, strikes, and lunges, doing so successfully but knowing that it took his full concentration to do so. Although only of moderate skill, being as young as he was, his cousin was naturally fast, and incredibly powerful. But then again, so was Sorn.

  Some minutes passed, and Sorn enjoyed the practice and the challenge of keeping Fitz at bay, keeping himself, for the moment, in full defensive mode. Eventually Fitz over-committed, and Sorn instinctively turned his parry into a counterstrike as Fitz lunged, tapping him on the forearm with a blow that even Fitz could feel.

  "Good show there, Sorn," Fitz smiled. Sorn gave him a moment to switch swords to his other hand, then went on the offensive, attacking with a savage control that left Fitz entirely on the defensive, though Sorn remained completely focused and balanced. Soon enough Sorn had tapped both the wrist and forehead of Fitz, and they called off.

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nbsp; One thing Sorn had emphasized while teaching his cousins is that in a real battle an opponent was as likely to skewer you as accept quarter, so one best learn how to fight with either hand, and fight till a mock mortal blow was landed. This, of course, being how Sorn was himself taught, lessons he tried to bring home to his cousins, though in truth, neither he nor they had ever fenced in anger, let alone in mortal combat before yesterday.

  Fitz breathed deeply for a moment. Not so much out of breath as exhilarated. "Nice show, cousin. Hanz and Lieberman are still at it. Shall we go again?"

  Sorn smiled and nodded. "Remember Fitz, no matter how badly you want me, keep your balance with your lunge, and precede it with a feint, if you can." And their second match began.

  Some minutes later both sets of youths took a breather, and Sorn, who had not surprisingly won the second bout, alternated cousins taking on Lieberman. It was a quick but furious match, Lieberman being even more aggressive than Fitz was, and he almost managed to tag Sorn's wrist before Sorn hooked Lieberman's blade, spun it away and took Lieberman out with what was for him a light tap to the neck. Lieberman smiled, rubbing the padded leather where Sorn had struck him. "Damn, Sorn, almost had you there!"

  Sorn nodded. "This is true, I wasn't expecting your riposte, and it certainly had its grace, but you had to commit to it fully, and since I was able to spin it out, you were open to my counter. Hence, the tap to the neck. Not a blow I would normally counter you with, since we rarely practice in full armor, but remember an enemy would be all too happy to strike you at your most vulnerable spot.

  "To be candid, Lieberman, I'm just a bit better than you and your brothers. An expert certainly could counter your blow as I did, particularly if he had our strength, which, granted, may not be too likely here."

  “Me thinks you understate your skill just a tad, cousin mine!” Lieberman replied with a wry grin, still rubbing his tingling neck.

  Sorn gave his cousin a friendly smile. "Nonetheless, train as if all your opponents were as good or better than me, and just as strong as you or I. Don't leave yourself vulnerable!"

  It was while they were taking a water break that several of the guards, having watched and been impressed by the speed with which the youths could handle their practice blades, hesitantly asked if they would like to spar together. Sorn looked at the commander who gave a small smile, perhaps at the respect Sorn showed him, and a slight nod of the head.

  "We would be honored to," Sorn said. To his cousins: "Remember what I said, guys. Parry as fiercely as you like, but light blows only, especially to the head! Better yet, for this fight try to avoid their heads entirely. If nothing else, this will give them experience facing off against lighter, quicker blades." To their credit, the brothers had paid sufficient attention to their cousin to at least nod in the affirmative, though they hadn't even glanced his way, exhilarated as they were at the prospect of matching their fledgling skills against new opponents.

  The armsmen used shields as well as the same leather sheathed sticks as the triplets did, leading with their shield as opposed to their weapon. Each chosen guardsmen circled a smiling brother cautiously, while Sorn watched on, himself forgoing a match at this time, for he felt it best to keep an eye on his cousins during their first practice bout with these people.

  The youths had forgone either shield or weapon in their off hand, something decidedly in the guards' favor. Yet despite this obvious handicap and their apparent youth, the guards still treated it as a serious match, treating their opponents with the respect due an unknown foe or a seasoned veteran.

  The armsmen were skilled, Sorn admitted to himself, no doubt well-trained and grilled by their commander who was looking at his own men, if anything, more keenly than Sorn his cousins. They were relatively quick, compared to what little swordplay he had actually seen on behalf of the bandits, and far more competent and practiced in terms of overall skill. They feinted well, their strokes were clean, and they parried deftly with their shields. Against three normal youths of his cousin's build, they would have no doubt have put them in their place rather quickly.

  However, things were different when your body possessed a strength many times greater than would be normal for one's size. Such power allowed Sorn's cousins to snap their wooden practice blades so as to parry and beat back their opponent's blade as quickly and deftly as a normal man would, wielding the lightest of fencing swords. Yet unlike such an individual with such a light blade, whose parry, unless executed with a great deal of skill, could be powered through by a skilled opponent, the triplets' parries stopped their opponent's blades cold.

  And whereas the guardsmen had to use their whole arm, especially their shoulder, in carrying through their blows, the brothers were strong enough to snap their blades through a series of quick, lightning-fast strikes powered primarily by their wrist and forearms alone. Thus the triplets were capable of bombarding their opponents with a series of blows with a speed and power not easily matched by the hard-pressed guardsmen. Nonetheless, the guardsmen were skilled, and remarkably adept at using their shields to parry the majority of the triplets' strikes. Thus Lord Canterbier’s troops were forced to fight very defensively. The brothers scored most of the hits, remembering to tap lightly most of the time, though the guards pained expressions and winces told all that this was a relative thing.

  One guard did in fact score very well against Fitz, Sorn thought, feinting with his shield while connecting with a snap kick to Fitz’s knee. The commander shouted at his man, considering it a very foul blow indeed in a practice match, but Fitz quickly laughed it off explaining that he was perfectly fine, though in truth such an overly enthusiastic blow would have left a normal person lacking Fitz's highly enhanced constitution hobbling for the rest of the day, if a bone hadn't been cracked outright.

  Another armsman managed to shield bash Hanz to the ground, causing him to laugh with surprise, deftly rolling out from under the guard's follow up thrust which would have counted as Hanz's unquestioned defeat. It was an invigorating set of matches for the brothers, and Sorn was glad to see that no one was permanently hurt.

  Sorn spotted the commander approaching, and turned to face him as he spoke. "Your cousins, yes? They fight well," the man said, giving them a polite nod in their direction. Sorn noted that the man was at least middle age, though his well-muscled body and swordsman's grace belied the years evidenced by his salt and pepper hair and weathered face.

  "Thank you, sir." Sorn nodded respectfully. "They are a bit overconfident, and I do fear that a skilled enough swordsman could take them completely by surprise, and that the lesson they would learn would consequently be a painful one."

  The commander gave a considering nod at Sorn's assessment. "I can tell the lads are quick, and obviously very strong. They whip their swords about like the lightest of sabers! They may lack the finesse of a true expert of the blade, but I suspect that will come to them in time. My name's Jesren, by the way. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  "Sorn," Sorn greeted, and shook his hand.

  "Sorn, may I speak frankly?" With Sorn's affirmative nod, the man went on. "Your cousins are skilled, and do have the potential of becoming quite competent swordsmen, had they the practice and dedication to do so. And you are right, their confidence is a weakness, and a thing that could only cause them further grief later on in their lives, were they to develop too strong an assurance of their own invulnerability at so young an age.

  "I will be candid, Sorn, their armor is a crutch. No no, don't say anything." Jesren raised his hands in a placatory gesture, as Sorn turned fully toward him, surprised by the man's comment. "From what our Lord Canterbier saw and Valentien deduced, it is not hard to figure out that the youths' suits of mail are enchanted somehow, endowing the wearer with great strength. Impressive artifacts indeed, I will grant you, and certain to make the wielder a mighty warrior, as your cousins so nobly proved in defeating twice their number of men to save our Lord and his family, for which we are all grateful.
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br />   "Now I myself do not care where those suits were obtained, nor how. As far as I am concerned, they are the rightful raiments of Lord Canterbier's saviors, and no one would gainsay that here, save perhaps Valentien. They are armaments fit for heroes, heroic is how you all acted, so in my mind, the matter is done.

  "However, that being said, I must say as well that it behooves your cousins to spar and practice and master their craft without their armor serving as a crutch. It will teach them how to wield various weapons as are proper, and force their bodies to naturally strengthen and fill out. It will also teach them caution, and force them to improve the same as any squire who cannot simply rely on enchanted armaments to beat back all danger.

  “Though it is all well and good for a life or death struggle to use whatever advantages you have at your disposal, when training, it is best to put all such advantages aside and test the true metal of oneself. For that is the one thing that can never be taken from you, the skill you earned by sweat and effort. Thus, as your cousins mature and develop the strength, prudence, and the martial mastery of a true knight, then they will truly be without peer when they do don their enchanted mail.

  "No, nothing need be said," Jesren assured a surprised looking Sorn. "I would just like you to reflect upon my words, that is all. They are, after all, for your cousins' benefit. The humbling they will get sparring as normal youths will translate into true skill and wisdom which will reward their humility many times over.”

  Jesren's weathered face cracked a smile. "Oh, and don't feel too bad. My boys knew what they were getting into before they invited your cousins to spar with them. After all, nothing in life is guaranteed or necessarily fair, and it can only help learning to battle such an unfair advantage in case, one day, we truly have to face its like. Besides, who are any of us to pass judgment on the very advantage that saved our lord and his family?" Saying the last with a small chuckle, Jesren clapped Sorn on the shoulder and walked back toward his men, who at that moment were shaking the hands of his cousins and sharing a laugh or two about one match or another.