“I'll remember that.”
“My own fault. I been teachin' you dueling. Fencing instead of fighting. Your basic bladework is good. Your footwork is alright. But your mind is too channeled into expected paths. Predictable will get you killed.”
“So I'd never last as a soldier.”
“Och, dry your tears,” said Conn. “You'd beat most new recruits without breakin' a sweat. They all learn the same techniques, and you practice more than most. A real veteran would beat you. Because they've seen all the techniques. They know what's coming, so they can stop it. You have to not let them know what's coming next.”
“How do I do that?”
“Easiest way is for you not to know what's coming next.”
“Sir?”
“Sit,” Conn commanded, pulling up a chair for himself, dropping his mask and shaking out his sweat-soaked hair. “Don't plan your fight. Don't fall into the habit of the same combinations of parries and attacks from practice. Open your eyes. See what your enemy is doing. Where he leaves himself open. Then open your mind. When you see the opening, hit it. With whatever has the best chance. Cut, stab, kick, punch, head-butt, whatever. Just hit him. Most killing is done with the blade, but a lot of the set up for the kill isn't.”
“So, the secret to being a great fighter is to not know what to do next?”
Conn sighed. He took a moment before explaining.
“The secret is to know every technique, but not to choose one until the right moment. Then to choose without thought, by instinct.”
“So,” Ioresh said slowly, chewing over his words. “You actually win by knowing all that and calling it out when you need it by pure instinct?”
“Me? Gods, no! If I could do that I'd have conquered my own bloody kingdom by now. I just told you that's the secret. I have my moments, mind you, when the fight just flows, when I just feel what to do. I don't know that anybody can do it all the time, but that's the secret. The more you strive for it, the more often and more easily it'll come.”
“I suppose,” said the boy doubtfully.
“Trust me.” Conn clapped Ioresh on the shoulder. “Get yourself home. Be here tomorrow morning and we'll do some more practice before the students show up.”
The young man took his leave and Conn set to closing up shop. He replaced the practice swords in their rack and turned to gather up the mugs.
“So not knowing what to do is your secret? I never realized it was intentional.”
Conn whirled around and saw Trilisean seated at his small table. “I let myself in,” she smiled.
Conn looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Somethin' not natural about you, woman.”
She walked up treated him to a hug and kiss, “Nice to see you too.”
“Oh, I'm thrilled to see you,” he returned the embrace. “I haven't been in fear for my life in months. What've you been up to? Stealing hearts and heirlooms over on the good side of town?”
“Oh, if only there were a good side,” she sighed. “You seem to be doing alright.”
He waved dismissively. “Teaching highborn brats how to wave skinny swords. Keeps me in ale. The lad who works for me is a good one though. He'll be a better teacher than me someday. Assuming I can con him into this life instead of marching off to seek glory and dysentery in the Free Companies.” He rummaged in a cabinet and returned with a bottle of wine. “Kept some of this around in case you stopped by.” He spent some time looking for a pair of clean glasses, eventually succeeding.
She accepted a glass. “Thanks. I didn't think you drank wine.”
“Just a dram to keep you company. You shouldn't drink alone.” He dropped into a chair and flung a boot up on the table. “What brings you to my humble place of business?”
“I have a lead on a job.” She leaned forward, grinning over the rim of her glass.
Conn noticed the sparkle in her eyes. “Let me guess. Very dangerous but a chance at a lot of money?”
“Correction,” she said. “A whole lot of money.”
“But dangerous.”
“Where's your sense of adventure?”
“I dunno,” he chewed his words. “I've a good respectable business now…”
She leaned in closer, her grin positively wicked. “Where's your sense of greed?”
Conn felt his grin widen despite himself. When Trilisean talked about stealing, her eyes lit up like a child on Midwinters' morning. “Yours scared it off,” he joked. “Well, I'm drinking and you're pretty, so why don't you just tell me what's going to happen.”
* * *
Two days later, miles outside the city, the pair walked along the trail, eyes and ears tuned to the forest around them. Golden spears of late afternoon sunlight occasionally pierced the canopy in long, slanting beams that broke up the even dimness, throwing everything into vivid contrast, making the shade darker.
They were in the forest proper now. As Laimrig had shrunk in size and importance, outlying farms and villages had been swallowed by the woods. After a day of travel through increasingly smaller and less prosperous farms, they found their way through abandoned fields overrun by swift growing pines and a few new, green hardwoods that stood hardly taller than a man. A few roofless stone buildings, rotten doors hanging drunkenly from rusted hinges, and barns littered with corroded tools were all that remained of the farms which once supplied the busy bakeries and breweries and markets of the city when it was a great port, before the harbor became too shallow and dangerous for large vessels. The people who could leave, did. Even the fish seemed to seek better prospects.
As demand for goods to ship fell, and demand to feed ships' companies fell, the farms died off, the farmers heading to the city to compete for the
dwindling work, and the forest reclaimed the land.
Seeing the outskirts after so long at the center, Trilisean felt that the barony was dying as a leper dies, from the outside in. She shivered at the thought.
Conn hitched his pack higher on his shoulders. He had packed as lightly as he dared and as thoroughly as he could. Dried salted meat, cheese, hard tack, a bag of nuts and dried fruit and a bag of tea leaves were stuffed into a small pot, which was rolled up in a set of warmer clothes which was in turn rolled in a blanket and the whole bundled into a square of waxed canvas, bound with ropes and slung over his back with two wide leather straps. He had agonized over which sword to bring, finally settling on a medium length cut-and-thrust sword. Heavy enough to give a good slash to an unarmored man, but light enough to change direction in the attack, balanced well enough for defense and with a good, serviceable point. It was a solid, all purpose weapon, chosen because he was unsure what they'd find. A dirk hung at his right hip, and a long- handled axe, as much tool as weapon, beside it. His small round shield was secured to his pack, and he bore a six foot spear in his right hand. You never could underestimate the value of a walking stick and pole, especially when you had eight inches of sharpened steel on the end of it. A waterskin completed his load.
It was a light enough burden by infantry standards. He found himself settling into the long accustomed quick march without thinking on it. He looked to Trilisean. She kept pace easily. Her pack was smaller than his, although he noticed a crowbar jutting from it. Apart from a simple utilitarian dagger, she appeared unarmed, but Conn was certain that was misleading.
As they walked onward, through the bright sunlight and deep shadow, Conn began to rely more on his ears than his eyes. He let the normal sound and rhythm of birds and beasts insinuate itself into his senses and took note of any change.
Trilisean followed Conn, surprised at how lightly he could step. Not as lightly as she, but she'd made a career of it. Out here, far from her element of twisting alleyways, she placed her trust in the Aeransman's skills. She recognized what he was doing, sorting the common background noise, sights and scents from the dangerous ones, as she did so effortlessly in the slums of Laimrig.
She tried for a while to take note of each noise, but there were too
many and they were too strange. After the third time she half drew a dagger at the sound of an assassin's footstep which turned out to be a squirrel, she gave up trying to read the forest and concentrated on reading Conn. If he were not concerned with sounds, she would not be. If he stopped or cocked his head in uncertainty, she would prepare herself for action.
Suddenly, Conn tensed, flinging up a warning hand. Without a thought she dropped into a crouch, slipping her arms out of her pack straps. A club tumbled through the air above her head. A flick of her wrist and a dagger dropped from her sleeve into her right hand.
She turned to her left and saw half a dozen ruffians burst from the undergrowth. The three rushing toward her hefted club or saps, probably intending to capture her rather than slay her outright. Those approaching Conn bore steel. The first to reach Trilisean made a grab for her, but she ducked under his arm and darted past him, burying her dagger under his breastbone.
She abandoned her blade in her foe and sprinted for the cover of the woods. Her two remaining assailants made slithering turns on the path and followed.
She wasn't deserting Conn, she told herself. She was no warrior, and to stand beside him and fight back to back, two against five, would be suicide. By luring some of his foes away, she might give him the chance to defeat the remainder, while she lost or bested the others by trickery.
She had a decent lead, but not enough to disappear. She raced through the dappled light, dodging around trees, waiting for an opportunity.
As she ran, she drew a slim throwing knife from her left sleeve. As a performing acrobat, she had learned to hit a mark the size of a copper penny at twenty paces. She turned, spied her enemies a dozen steps behind, and made a throwing motion with her empty left hand. As the first man ducked, she whipped her right hand out sidearm, sending the narrow blade into his body. He stumbled and the second man plowed into him from behind, sending both tumbling on the forest floor.
Trilisean took the chance to dart out of view and swing up onto a low branch. She climbed up into the spreading arms of the tree. She heard the groans of the first man and his companion's attempts to aid him. She crept quietly along the branch, stepping into an adjacent tree and working her way to the far side of it.
She repeated the process, moving some distance from her pursuers before dropping lightly to the ground. She paused in the shadow of a massive forked trunk, listening for any sound of the bandits. Hearing none, she stood, looked with distaste at the sap on her hands, and began to walk back toward the trail, which was…
That way? She wondered.
* * *
Conn heard a crunching step in the undergrowth that could only be a man. He reacted with instincts honed by years of planning and avoiding ambushes back in the Aerendish forests.
He shouted a warning, ducked and swung his pack off his shoulders. A thrown hatchet whirred past his ear and a dagger struck the pack as he slung it to the ground. He had time to turn and poise his spear as three men charged him with bared blades.
He stepped to the outside of the rightmost foe to avoid being surrounded, and batted aside the brigand's cut with the haft of his spear. He spun, bringing the butt end of the spear around to connect with his assailant's head just behind the ear as he continued past.
The bandit sprawled like a loosely tied sack. Conn saw Trilisean evade her enemy's grasp and head for the trees with two thugs in pursuit. He just had time to decide that a betting man would place his money on the lady before the two remaining foes rushed him.
Again, he stepped to his right, engaging one of the advancing enemy. This one drove a short thrusting sword at Conn's breast. The Aeransman swept the blade aside with the shaft of his spear and brought the point into line, thrusting the sharpened steel spearhead into his enemy's body. The bandit's momentum carried him forward onto the weapon. The point burst, glistening crimson, from between his shoulder blades.
Conn released the spear, hopelessly embedded as it was, and whipped out his dirk with his left hand as the final brigand swung an axe at his head. He managed to deflect the blow, if only just, and the flat of the axe glanced against his shoulder.
Conn pulled out his sword, parrying another blow with his dirk, and circled to his left, just for variety. The bandit cut at his head, but Conn parried with his sword and slashed at the man's neck as he stepped past.
The brigand was a brawler, not a fencer, and could not recover from his cut in time to defend against the mercenary's blow. Conn felt his blade sigh through flesh and grate on bone as he drew it through the man's throat. The bandit took a few more stumbling steps before he fell, all but decapitated.
Conn whirled, panting, looking for more threats. He saw only the four fallen bandits and Trilisean's dropped pack.
He listened carefully for sounds of pursuit or struggle, but all was quiet. He shrugged, telling himself again that a wise man would give odds to the thief, and began to examine the fallen.
* * *
Trilisean considered her situation. She had come from that way…or had she? What was it, moss grew on the North side of trees? Anyway, the rays of the setting sun would be coming from the west, so that meant…
What did that mean? All she knew for certain was that she was somewhere south of Laimrig. She was fairly certain they'd been traveling southeast, more or less, when she left the trail. But then she had made a number of twists and turns to evade her pursuers.
She felt a quiver like a small furry creature stirring beneath her breastbone. Fathered by fear and born of helplessness, it clawed rat-like at her stomach. Her breath came faster as she looked frantically about. All she could see was trees and undergrowth, melding into a mottled grey-green distance. Sounds of birds and beast echoed through the endless woods, the wind sighing through the branches of the trees which supported the high, green ceiling like chaotic columns in a vast, overgrown cathedral to a mad god.
Her pulse raced. As far back as she could remember, she could read the city like a book. The feel of each neighborhood, the cobbles and architecture would tell her all she needed to know. At worst, she could take to the rooftops for shelter and a vantage. Here, she could not read the sounds and smells. She could see the difference in varieties of plants and trees, but what that meant was lost on her. Years of relying on her finely honed senses increased her frustration and cold, growing horror as none of the information that those senses supplied her meant anything.
She had spent years learning the rules of society, and of people. Rules both formal and unspoken, and while she had honored them as much in the breach as the observance, they were her strength. She survived because she could read the city and its people. For all that poets call the city a wilderness of stone and mortar, it was a thing of men, and obeyed the rules of men.
The forest had no rules. Her heart hammered in her chest. The fearful creature threatened to claw its way up her throat and escape in a scream.
She forced it down by a concentrated act of will. There were certainly rules, she told herself. She simply didn't know them. Fortunately, she had brought someone who did. She muzzled her fear by insisting that Conn would see them through. She refused to allow herself even the suspicion that he was killed or captured, knowing that the anxious beast within would smell her doubt and rage free again.
All I need to do, she told herself with exaggerated calm, is to find Conn. Or help him find me.
How to do that, she wondered.
A dark, cynical part of her replied, Stand in a clearing and make noises like a pint of stout.
* * *
Conn examined the fallen. Two were dead, one busy dying, moaning and writhing on the spear through his middle, and the fourth was unconscious.
He checked on the unconscious brigand. The man was out, his breath coming in ragged snores, his pupils sluggish when the Aeransman pried back an eyelid. He tied the man's wrists, then propped him against a tree in a sitting position, his head hanging between his knees. If he recovered, maybe he would answer some questions.
After that, he knelt beside the dying bandit. The man's eyes were closed, and he was breathing in shallow, gasping moans. The spear had entered his belly and a foot of it stood out his back. A pool of blood and worse spread around him. No man could survive a wound like that, but he could take a long time dying.
Conn drew his dirk. He placed his left hand over the bandit's eyes, holding his head steady. He put the point of his blade against the side of the man's neck. The bandit whimpered and writhed at the touch.
“Easy, lad,” Conn whispered, “just a little pinch now.” He quickly slid his dirk forward in a short, slicing
thrust. As the bright blood poured forth, the bandit quivered for a moment then lay still.
He stood, cleaned his blade and then set about freeing his spear.
As soon as Trilisean found her way back…
He stopped and considered. How well did she know the forest? He had grown to think of her as perfectly capable, but did her expertise extend to navigation in the woods?
He had no doubt she'd lose her pursuers. That wasn't quite true, a nagging worry for her safety troubled him, but he didn't allow it into his conscious mind. But after she lost them, could she find her way back? Well, he could help her there.
* * *
Trilisean crouched on the balls of her feet in the shadow of a huge tree. She thought it might be an oak. Or an elm. It had leaves instead of needles, at any rate. She held herself motionless, watching and listening and smelling the forest. There had to be clues. Signs of her pursuers, something.
Then faintly, she heard the sound of singing. A melancholy tune, about a man led astray by a beautiful woman who plied him with drink. Lyrics at once bitter, sentimental and terribly, terribly off key. A song that could only be sung by an Aeransman.
Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1) Page 5