by Troy A Hill
Emlyn turned toward me as he finished his lecture. “Trade your steel for a practice blade. Select just one,” he pointed at the wooden rack where the practice swords stood. I moved toward Gwen as I unfastened my sword belt and passed it off to her.
I wasn’t sure yet what he had in mind, but I selected a practice blade about the same size and weight and my steel blade. The wooden weapon was long enough to give me reach, but not too much to hinder my swings. Swords don’t recover fast when you bury their blades in the ground.
When I turned, I cocked an eyebrow at him. He selected two shorter weapons for himself. One weapon against two can favour the single weapon unless the dual-wielder knows what they’re doing.
“Two weapons can seem intimidating,” he told the crowd. “But, you can even the odds by depriving your opponent of one of his weapons.” I was supposed to be the one who knew what I was doing. He directed me to the centre of floor. I raised my blade in salute and gave him my best evil grin. If he kept his sword play at a normal man’s skill level, I would win every time.
He rushed me.
This was a demonstration, so I didn’t want to use my special abilities to avoid his blows with speed. Instead I let the blade do the work. He kept his skill and speed in a normal fighter’s range. I used two hands on the hilt of my weapon and used it to knock his first blow out of the line of attack. His second weapon arcing over his main arm, aiming for a strike at me. I thrust my sword over his, toward his face. But, I dropped my off hand onto his right wrist and hand. A twist, and I held his wooden sword.
“Very good,” he said and reached for the blade I had taken from him. “Lady Mair will show you again, slowly, then we’ll have volunteers practice.”
Again? He made me run it four more times for different sections of the audience. His arm must to be sore from all the twisting I gave it.
“Since the guards in the Teulu should know this technique,” Emlyn looked across the ranks where the men with their weapons stood or sat. Most nodded, but one, a man in a ragged grey cloak bowed toward him with a smile. “Afon and Gerallt, will be the attackers. The Lady Penllyn, and Lady Enid will be our first to try the disarm techniques.” Emlyn waved Rhian and Enid onto the floor.
Rhian gave the sword master a glare, but there was a fire in her eyes as she stalked to the sword stand and jerked a weapon from the rack. I was impressed if Lord Penllyn and his brother trained the women of the cantref in weapons use. Some cultures relegated women to running and hiding, never to touch a weapon.
Enid reached for mine, which I passed over. She spun it with some skill, getting the feel of its balance and reach. Even Lord Meirionnydd trained his womenfolk. Excellent. I liked this land of the Cymry.
Emlyn called them to the centre and paired the ladies off against a guardsman each. The guard in the old worn cloak dropped it to the side. He tied his straight light brown hair behind him. It was past his shoulders, unlike many other men’s hair. He bowed with a flourish to Lady Enid.
“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” he said with a smile and a wink at her. “But dying is my job. Let’s teach you how to live tonight, milady.”
Emlyn would coach Rhian and Gerallt. He motioned that I should help Enid and her opponent.
“Go!” he commanded after they exchanged salutes.
I kept my attention on Enid. She performed the block with some skill, but didn’t pivot her weapon into him fast. She caught a light blow on her shoulder for it.
I called hold and directed Afon repeat his movement slower. I held her shoulders and pushed her through the dodge and spin, several times.
“It takes a while to connect your muscles and the timing in your mind.” I offered. We went through it again. She succeeded with her blow this time. “Try it again,” I commanded. Afon repeated the attack, but sped up enough to challenge her. Her weapon deflected his, then began its slide over with a long hiss of wood on wood. She made sure her left hand was where it was supposed to be. That gave Afon the second he needed to get his blow at her. Enid bit her lip as she worked through the block, slide, attack while moving her other hands to twist his main wrist. Afon gave her a smile.
“We over think things in the beginning,” he said, his voice kind and quiet. “You’ll get it with more practice. Train your muscles so you don’t have to think.” Enid gave him a smile, then worked through it once more before she raised her weapon into the front guard position.
“Again,” I said. They moved at the same speed. Same result. “Again,” I said. Enid made her strike and twisted his arm this time. She didn’t have a grip on the hilt, so when Afon dropped his weapon it clattered on the wooden floor.
“Faster.” I said after the guardsman retrieved the wooden weapon. He moved at a slow battle speed this time. Enid worked the manoeuvre several times and finally succeeded. In real life, it might not have disarmed him, but he again released the weapon.
“Took her six tries,” a voice from the sidelines said. “Training from a woman is for children.” I spun toward the sound, my mouth open for a retort.
“HOLD!” Emlyn said with a battlefield authority in his tone before I could speak. “Thank you, ladies,” he waved them to the weapons rack to replace their blades.
Emlyn planted himself in front of the heckler.
“Sawyl,” he said. The man glanced at his feet, red flushing his face.
Ah, this was the infamous Sawyl. I remembered he was the one in trouble with Emlyn on the first day when we arrived at Caer Penllyn. “Our rules are that if you brag, you must bring it to the practice floor. Choose your weapons.”
“Competition sparring. Practice floor etiquette,” Emlyn said. He had to know I had studied with Aemilianus. Although, he probably didn’t realise how many centuries I had done so.
I gave him a nod and my best “I’ll try not to hurt your guard too badly” smile. Emlyn nodded toward the weapons rack. I found two weapons in the rack in my preferred range.
Sawyl stood opposite me with a single wooden longsword. A heavy one. He was a big fellow, as tall as Cadoc, but bulkier. A man his size could knock an ox senseless if he tried. Big men look as though they’ll be slow, but large men had surprised me often with their fast reflexes. I had learned to not judge them based on size alone.
Sawyl grinned at me like a dog looking at a rabbit. Hungry and not the least concerned that the prey would fight back. He paid more attention to my feminine figure than my stance or movement. As for his speed, I’d find out soon enough. But he was of only average skill. Not like Afon, who had obviously been trained by Emlyn.
Since Emlyn was their superior, I found Sawyl’s lack of training unlikely. More than likely, he was cocky enough to ignore what Emlyn tried to teach, and relied only on just his brawn and strength.
Emlyn motioned for us to salute. I raised my weapons. Sawyl twirling the tip of his in a mocking fashion.
“Begin!” Emlyn’s command echoed across the room. But my opponent didn’t move. He had dropped to a ready stance, his blade waving me forward. I obliged him and moved in. One blade swung in, probing, then the other. I wanted to see his style, and his speed.
He parried my blows. He had reach on me, between his long arms and the long blade he had selected. I had to move well into his measure to attack. Whenever I did, he was slow as I expected him to be. But, I didn’t go for a win right away. First, I needed to see how good he was. I set a blow, parry, strike sequence. One sword then the other to size him up. So far, I wasn’t impressed.
He didn't notice the rhythm. Sawyl merely blocked at random, jerking in response to my assaults. He was quick enough to block normal blows, I had to give him that. But it was his only asset. This was no dance; only the gyrations of a dragon in its death throes. Granted, I had never seen a dragon. But, he reminded me of one. He raised his two-handed sword in an overhead parry and barely saved himself from an overhand blow. He seemed pleased with himself and turned toward the audience with a smug grin.
My off-hand weapon came i
n under his block and smacked him in the side of the head.
His head jerked back, and a fire blazed in his eyes. He came out of his lethargic style and moved with skill. Nowhere close to Emlyn's level, but enough to show he had paid some attention.
His first blow was an overhead to my upper right. As I expected, when I parried the blow, he tried to use his mass and strength to push my weapon lower and in towards me, so he could score a hit with the tip of his weapon. That was an easy dodge for me. I ignored the openings he left as he swung again. I let him back me up a few steps so I could measure his movements. His next strike was a thrust toward my lower, inside quadrant, just above my hip. The longer of my two wooden blades guided his blade out of his line of attack. I pivoted outside his thrust. I caught his weapon with the thicker end of my blade, right above the cross guard. This gave me more control over the weapon than he had. I twisted it out of line and whirled my other weapon toward his head.
He jerked his weapon back to block, which left his lower half unprotected. His weapon couldn’t block both blows. I rapped his knee before he could recover to block there. He pulled it back too far, and I had time to rap his forearm with one blade, and the side of his other knee with the second wooden blade.
He growled and swung hard with the wooden sword. I leaned back a few inches and let it sail over me. My swords were in motion. I struck him under his sword arm in the torso with one and spun around him to his backside. He was slow. He tried to spin to meet me, but I used a leg sweep. As he hit the floor, I rapped his sword hand hard. He yelped and dropped the practice weapon. His eyes were wide as he felt my crossed swords caress the sides of his neck.
“HOLD.”
Humiliation can be a cruel mistress.
“Swallow your pride, and I will train you,” I said. My voice quiet. Just for Sawyl’s ears. “Sunrise, out in front. If you’re not there, I will understand that you’re not interested in being trained by a woman.
Emlyn stepped in close.
“You’d be a fool to refuse,” he said and extended an arm to his man. Sawyl glanced at me and let his eyes slide off like a child who had just been caught in a boast they couldn’t fulfil. He nodded once, but didn’t look at me. He took Emlyn’s arm and let the swordmaster pull him up.
Once on his feet, Sawyl bowed to me, his eyes still downcast. I raised my swords in salute. Emlyn directed Sawyl to his seat.
“Would any other ladies like to try the disarm defence?” Several girls yelled that they would. It seemed that time on the practice floor with the sword master of Penllyn was a bragging right among the kitchen girls. One landholder’s wife timidly raised her hand. I waved her forward while Emlyn motioned one of the kitchen girls to join him. I held my two wooden longswords out to the woman.
I walked to the weapons rack and exchanged weapons so I had two wooden short swords. Sawyl darted his eyes down I approached. He looked up at me only when I thrust the two weapons under his face.
“You have the ability,” I said. “You lack the discipline to use it to your advantage.” I tilted my head toward the lady on the practice floor. “I can use your help now. Show me you have the finesse to handle this, and you’ll have taken the first step in your training.” I held his eyes while he pondered his next action. Finally, he stood and took the weapons from me.
Back on the floor, Sawyl shuffled a few steps behind me. He was hesitant at first, but settled into the role. With his size and bulk, though, none of the other ladies wanted to volunteer against him. Except one, a taller, plump girl from the kitchen. She had long reddish hair and kept her eyes on Sawyl. I soon realised that her desire wasn’t to train, but to be near the large guardsman. He didn't catch her intent. She played the helpless maid role and seemed to want him to coach her the way Afon had with Enid.
I debated what to do. Did the girl have a crush on him? With his attitude? She seemed like such a nice girl the few times she had come around to fill my mug for me. I sighed. I may as well help them out. I had promised to train the lumbering guardsman. If he ignored her any longer, it would be painful to keep watching.
“Enough,” I whispered in her ear, as I stood behind her to push her body through the movements. “If you act like a dolt, he’ll not pay you any attention later.” The girl stiffened. She caught on to the moves much faster after that and scored the disarm on the large guardsman. After I had sent her back to her seat, I stopped by Sawyl.
“That one has her eye on you,” I told him. He shot a glance over his shoulder. He smiled as he turned back. “Sunrise comes early this time of summer. Don’t be late for our appointment,” I added.
“Yes, Milady,” he said with a slight bow.
Emlyn allowed one more round of training before he called an end.
“You like your formalities, milord,” I said.
“My teacher has rubbed off on me,” he said. “Respect isn’t given, unless it’s taught. Thank you for your help tonight. I will join you in the morning with Sawyl. I won’t stay beyond the first day. The practice field is yours each morning. Do with your student what you will over the next few months. Or as long as you desire. Sawyl will be there every morning he is at Caer Penllyn.” I had volunteered. Emlyn was right to hold me to that promise.
Gwen approached as I settled the sword belt on my hip. Too many years had gone since I had felt a hilt in my hand. Now, the weight on my hip, and the scabbard tapping my leg were like the caress of an old love. Tonight, I felt fully dressed.
As we exited the building, I glanced at the stars overhead.
“It’s a good night to be alive,” I sent to Gwen.
“You said ‘alive,’ dearest.”
“Tonight, I feel alive again.” I knew why, too. Even though the particular blade was new to me, it had awakened a desire I had forgotten I had.
“You’re not going to bring that sword to bed are you?” She giggled.
“I might,” I said aloud as we reached the door to our little cottage.
7
The Other Half of My Soul
Gwen stroked my hair as we lay in each other’s arms.
“Troubled?”
The afterglow of our passion slowly faded. No feeding tonight, just pleasure. The energy the goddess sent was enough to offset my exposure to the sun. But, that wasn’t what gnawed at my mind.
“The Witch Hunters. Not only are they here, but I upstaged them with the ghosts.” I pulled her hand down and kissed it. “Fortunately, they weren’t here to see my sword play with Emlyn. Gods! How I have missed that dance. But, the guild is set about the role of women. We are to bear and raise children, be meek and mild. Nothing more.”
“You are who you are, dearest.” She kissed my shoulder, then pressed her cheek to mine. “Your extended time alive has given you more experience than a normal person can dream of. That’s how you surprised us with your knowledge of Emlyn’s blade dance, or whatever he calls it.”
“I have always enjoyed the poetry of the blades,” I replied. “When I saw him dance the meditation of the blades, the fire of that dance awoke within me. I have been away from Aemilianus too long, and I forgot how strong the call is. Once you learn the dance, it never leaves you.”
“You sound like Emlyn, now.” She chuckled. “You will bed him and feed soon, will you not? Promise me?”
“Bed him? I only need his blood.”
My lover had urged me to take another. Would she really be comfortable with that?
“No, Mair,” she sent. She was using her Gwen-the-Leader tone, even in our mental conversation. “You have not seen how you and he move. At first you struggled to recall your movements and your form. Once you found them you move as an identical twin to him. He ran your tempo faster than he ever runs with the men. You and he were counterpoints to each other’s melodies.”
She pushed herself onto an elbow. She pressed my bare shoulder so I would roll onto my back where she could see my eyes.
“If you and he do not dance, your souls will be incomplete. And the en
ergy you generate in the blade dance will need to be used. The easiest way will be to bed him, and you can both get the release you need.” She winked at me. “And with your other charms, you should be able to find a way to feed your body as well as your spirit.”
I chuckled. She leaned in and kissed me. This was new. Rarely did I have a lover that urged me to share. The few I took who knew of my nature had always been jealous when I fed from another. Like I had when I built the memories in Syram’s mind in that hayloft. But, Gwen told me in no uncertain terms what I was to do. That was… refreshing. Yet, I was still cautious. I didn’t want to lose her affection, nor risk losing Emlyn.
“Are you going out to wander again tonight?” Gwen interrupted my thoughts.
“Probably. I am restless.”
“Cuddle me until I sleep?” Her blue eyes were irresistible. I let her roll so I could slide against her in the small bed.
Once I sensed her mind drift off, I eased myself out of bed. I donned the clothing Emlyn had sent me. I lifted the sword belt off the other bed where it lay. Now that I had a blade, and had felt the call of the dance again, I didn’t want to be separated from it. The movements of the mediations with the blade had rekindled a fire in my soul again. I had to dance with the blade again.
Once outside, with the door shut behind me, I wrapped the belt around me, so the pommel of the blade rode in front of my left hip.
Afon, the guard, came around the main keep. He jumped when he saw me, but I waved lightly. Once the recognition dawned, he waved back. I wasn’t sure yet what I needed to do, but the night was my time. The moon still had a few hours left in the sky.
I walked up the hill toward the weapons field. I wanted to be on the field where I had first seen Emlyn dance with the swords.
My blade was in my hand. I didn’t remember drawing it. It called to be danced with again. Gwen was correct. I had found a lost part of my soul in the sword master of Penllyn. We were not here to fight, but to dance with our blades in ways that only another who understands the poetry in the movement can.