The Last Swordsman

by Benjamin Corman

  As he passed the armory on his way to the master of arms’ quarters, he saw Jak inside, sweeping the floors and neatening things up, as he always seemed to be. “Hello, Jak,” Nikolis said, as he rounded the corner and headed inside. He put his practice pole up on a set of pegs that had become its home. It was starting to show dirt and wear, especially around the end that he held. “This pole is getting old, I might have to get a new one soon.”

  “You’ll be ready for a sword before that,” Jak said, never raising his head. “You won’t need those old poles for much longer.”

  “Do you think?” asked Nikolis. When he was first asked if he wanted to be the apprentice to Master Drennen, he had envisioned himself wielding all manner of weapons. At this point, he had yet to touch the pommel of one.

  “Sure,” said Jak. “Soon enough. Drennen might not show it, but I can tell. He sees your improvement. You’ve got the principles down, now it’s time for the real stuff.”

  Nikolis looked down, studying his hands. “I don’t know. I haven’t even begun sparring yet. The nobles’ children start that in their fourth week.”

  “Ah, never mind that.” Jak wiped his brow and sat down on an upturned barrel. “The master just ain’t so interested in them, is all. Shows ‘em the basics, then sends ‘em packing. Same with the guards. Shows ‘em what he knows, teaches ‘em a bit about the sword, then sends ‘em on to their regiment commander. He grumbles about the whole thing, when he thinks no one is listening.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am, don’t you worry. You’ll be holding steel in your hands in no time.” Jak looked down. He scratched the back of his neck, staring off at nothing in particular. Nikolis had noticed that whenever they talked of his training, Jak often got distant like this. He had also caught him admiring quite a few of the armory’s stores, when he thought he was alone. No matter what Jak said about their poor quality, Nikolis was sure the boy took pride in them.

  “Well, I’m going to turn in for the night,” Nikolis said. “Sleep well, Jak.”

  “Yeah,” Jak replied. “You too, Nik. See you on the morrow?”

  “See you on the morrow.”

  Morning came quickly. Nikolis sprung out of bed, ate, dumped the bucket of water over his head, dressed, and made his way onto the field. The air was cold, crisp. Winter only had a month or so left to it, but its bite was still sharp. Drennen was waiting in the middle of the field, as Nikolis marched out pole in hand. He wasn’t always waiting anymore, leaving Nikolis to train by himself, but he was today, and that made Nikolis nervous.

  “You won’t be needing that today,” Master Drennen said, nodding toward Nikolis’ pole. He had a bundle under his arm that he unrolled onto the ground. Inside were various wooden practice swords of all shapes and sizes. They were built to mimic swords of all types: long, short, thin, wide, those with flat blades, and others very thin. “We’ll start with the longsword for now. Then move to the others. You’ll have to decide which suits you best in the end. You’ve already learned the stance and handling for various types of weapons, now it’s time to apply them in actual practice.”

  Nikolis nodded as he took the wooden longsword in hand. He couldn’t believe it; he would finally be sparring with someone. He had a good idea whom, too, though he would have to play this one carefully.

  “Now, for your sparring partner,” Drennen said, as if he heard the boy’s thoughts. “I am not sure who would suit you best. There are a few of the noble boys that would be a good match for your size and age, but we wouldn’t want to offend any of them. You might end up on the chopping block if things went awry. There’s not much talent in the keep…”

  Nikolis couldn’t contain himself any longer. “What about Jak?”

  “What’s that?” said Drennen. “Who?”

  “The boy that takes care of the armory,” Nikolis replied.

  “The armory?” Drennen asked. “Oh, the field armory?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he have any knowledge of the sword?”

  “I have a feeling he does, though perhaps only in self-practice.”

  “Well, he is of an age with you, though a bit taller and wider in the shoulders…and you haven’t begun sparring yet anyway…”

  Nikolis smiled. Everything was going according to plan. “Shall we ask him, sir?”

  Drennen eyed him, then looked over at the armory. He marched off toward the building, and then returned a few minutes later, a wide-eyed Jak in tow. Jak shot Nikolis a questioning glance when he came into view, but Nikolis only shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Jak return his mirth with a glare.

  “Take a sword, boy,” Drennen said. Jak bent down and scooped up one of the larger longswords. He checked the grip and felt the weight of it in his hands. The master watched him through all of this, looking as though he was taking mental notes.

  “Square off with one another.”

  Jak immediately went into a starting stance, his feet square with his shoulders, sword outstretched in one hand. He still scowled at Nikolis, who had to recall what he had seen and learned, to find his footing.

  “Begin,” Drennen said, when the two boys stood silent before one another. Nikolis smiled, but nothing could shake Jak’s glare. He had thought this was going to be fun. His smile quickly disappeared.

  Jak came at Nikolis with a hard overhand swing, making it clear that he would not be going easy on him. Nikolis had to get his sword up fast to block, and the shock of the impact sent a tingling sensation down his arm. Perhaps he had not realized the depth to which his friend had been watching, learning and training, on his own. He had theorized as much from his reaction to their conversations, but this was more than he expected.

  Before he could recover, Jak came back at him again with a series of chops to the side. Nikolis got his sword out in an attempt to counter the blows, but he only caught the first two. The third made it past his sword and gave him a crack on the side. All of his training, all of the knowledge that he had acquired from Master Drennen and from his observations, told him to stay on his feet, to never fall at all costs. His training abandoned him now, however, as he sunk to his knees, clutching at a bruise that was surely forming above his hip. He never even had a chance to make an attack of his own.

  “You were right, Nikolis. This was a good choice for your sparring partner.” Master Drennen smiled. “Well done, Jak.”

  Jak nodded and then extended a hand down to Nikolis. As he helped him up, he leaned in and whispered into his ear. “That was for scaring me half out of my mind. How was I to know what to expect when Drennen came knocking at my door?”

  When the two separated, Jak had a grin on his face. “Now, Nikolis,” the master began, “let’s discuss what you did wrong.”

  “Well,” the boy started, “he’s taller and stronger. So, when he came at me, I sought to turn his blows, to let him tire so that I could make my attacks when his arm was weak.”

  Arthur Drennen sighed. He took a pair of gloves from his waist and started slapping them against the palm of his hand. “You’re over thinking things, Nikolis. You’re talking strategy, before you’ve even mastered basic tactics.” Nikolis looked up at Master Drennen, confused. “Where did you look, when Jak was attacking you?”

  “Where did I look?” asked Nikolis.

  “Yes, where did you watch, what did you look for.”

  “I looked for the incoming blow.”

  “So, you watched where? Here?” Drennen moved over to Jak and pointed to the boy’s blade.

  “Yes,” said Nikolis. “I suppose I did.”

  “Why watch the blade?” asked the master.

  “That’s where the blow comes from,” the boy replied.

  “Is it?”

  “Well…”

  “Where does the blow actually come from, Nikolis?”

  Nikolis scratched the back of his neck. Where did it come from? “Well, I suppose it came from his hand.”

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking it
did.” He pointed to Jak’s hand. “But is that truly where it originated from?”

  Nikolis was far from comprehending what the master of arms was talking about. He tried to see where he was being led, but he couldn’t.

  Master Drennen traced his hand back from Jak’s hand, up to his arm. “Is the arm not attached to the hand?”

  “Yes,” said Nikolis. He thought he understood now. “The blow came from the hand, but the hand is connected to the arm. That moves first, to position the blade.”

  “And yet…” prompted the master.

  “The arm is connected to the body. The body gets into position first. So, therefore, I should watch where he positions himself and then watch his arm.”

  “Incorrect.” Arthur Drennen sighed and stepped back from Jak. He started to walk around the pair of boys, slapping his gloves into his open palm again. “What moves first?”

  Nikolis thought to himself. What moved first? What moved before the hand, before the arm, before the body? He replayed their short-lived encounter in his mind. He saw Jak charging at him, raising his sword for his first attack. What happened before that? All he could remember was the older boy glaring at him. Glaring at him. That was it. “Before he moves anything else, he moves his eyes. He looks at what he is going to do.” Nikolis smiled.

  “Yes,” said Master Drennen. “And before he moves his eyes…”

  “Nothing,” said Nikolis. “Nothing else moves. He only…he only thinks about what he is going to do, before he moves his eyes.”

  “And therefore…”

  “Well,” said Nikolis, “I cannot see his thoughts. So…I should watch for his eyes.”

  “Correct,” said Drennen. “Not even the most highly trained swordsman can do much without seeing it. He must listen, feel, think, but he also must see, if he is to best his opponent. Some can fare well blind-folded, but it can also be said that those few are at a great disadvantage against an opponent who has sight.”

  Nikolis smiled and looked at Jak. The two boys nodded at one another. Nikolis wondered if his friend had known the answer, for Drennen had not bothered to allow him to speak.

  “Square off,” Drennen said. The two boys did as they were told. “Begin.”

  The two boys sparred as the sun rose fully into the sky. Sometimes Jak bested Nikolis again, and sometimes Nikolis won him over. Nikolis was continually amazed at his friend’s ability. He must have been practicing on his own for a long time. However, he was also amazed at his own skill. His hard work training with Master Drennen had obviously paid off, because he found himself getting better and better as they went on.

  The sword felt natural in his grasp, almost as if it was something that had been missing his entire life and had just now been returned. As he countered blow after blow, the tingling sensation that each impact left in his hands and arms lessened. He got used to the feeling. After a while, it almost felt good.

  “Alright, boys,” Arthur Drennen said, after what must have been a few hours. “You both have duties to see to. Nikolis, off to the keep now, and Jak to the armory. I’ll expect you both back at midday, and again at sunset.” The two boys nodded. With a final glare at each of them he added, “Don’t be late.”

  Nikolis and Jak bundled up the practice swords, and Jak took them in hand. They each raced off in opposite directions. Nikolis knew his way to the kitchens as a matter of course now, and he easily entered the keep, raced up the stairs, and made his way there.

  When he arrived, he found Garley Dolbrand, as usual, preparing a chicken today, and Raife Penderton sitting up on a table. Garley smiled when he saw him and waved him over. “Nik, come here, come here,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  As Garley took Nikolis over to a table at the end of the room, Raife hopped off the counter with a sigh, and followed. There was seated a tall, lean, young fellow, with short light brown hair, and dressed in a chainmail shirt. Propped up against the table was a sword, a real sword, sheathed with the belt rapped around it. There was another man there too, a few years older than the first, with dark hair and a square-cut jaw. He was broad in the shoulders and seemed to have a perpetual scowl on his face, as he walked about throwing an apple up into the air and catching it. Both wore crimson tabards draped loosely about their bodies.

  Garley moved over to the first and smiled. “Nik, this is my brother. The one I was telling you about.”

  “The only one,” Raife added.

  Garley ignored the comment and continued with, “He’s a guardsman now.”

  The young man stood and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you Nik, I’m Evar Dolbrand.” Nikolis shook his hand. Evar had as pleasant a smile as Garley did, but without the chubby cheeks.

  “Please to meet you, Evar.” Nikolis made a slight bow.

  “Another one, eh?” the other man remarked. “What you squirts breedin’ or something?”

  “No need for introductions, here, Nikolis,” said Raife. “This is my brother, as misfortune has it. Lirk Penderton, at your service.”

  Lirk gave a slight bow of his head, and a sarcastic twirl of his hands. “Thank you, Raife. Though I’d watch myself if I were you. Start that nonsense with me again, and I’ll pound you.”

  Raife laughed. “You’d have to catch me first.”

  “Aye, not worth the trouble. You’re as slippery as fish guts.” Lirk sneered and took a bite out of his apples. “Evar, let’s get out of here. These little twerps are making me itch.”

  Evar smirked and shook his head. “Best be getting back to our duties, boys. Thanks for the food Garley, I’ll see you later.”

  Garley nodded, his cheeks and jowls swaying back and forth as he did. Evar and Lirk fastened their swordbelts about their waists, buckling them over tabards that reached nearly to their knees, and made their way out of the room.

  “Isn’t that amazing?” Garley said, when they were gone. “I want to be a guard one day…”

  “Fat chance of that,” Raife said, rolling his eyes.

  Nikolis shook his head. “You can be, if you want to Garley. Could you excuse me for a second, I have to check in with Master Littlefield.”

  Nikolis went to see the ever-difficult man, sure to knock first and wait for permission to enter, and soon he was running off with a message to carry. He did this several times and when he was done, it was nearly midday. On his way back from delivering the last message, which had gone to Master Filson on one of the topmost floors of the keep, he noticed a familiar face.

  It was that same golden-haired boy he had seen training with the nobles’ children, the boy that Jak had identified as the Prince. Beside him was a girl of an age with Nikolis. She had long, auburn hair, and was wearing a light dress of white cotton. There was the slightest spray of freckles across the bridge of her small nose, and she had a round face. Nikolis thought there was something funny about her. In fact, he might almost say she was pretty, if a girl could be such a thing.

  The two of them were walking down the hall toward Nikolis, laughing and shoving one another. He thought it rather bizarre behavior for the sole heir to the kingdom and his companion, but who was he to judge?

  As they were nearly upon him, he wondered what he should do when they passed. Should I genuflect? Should I keep my head down as servants are supposed to? He decided on the latter, though he kept an eye on them, for he was curious. In fact, he ended up paying so much attention to the pair that he failed to notice a small table set in the middle of the hall, that he proceeded to walk into.

  There was a small vase on top of the table, and it tipped over and started to roll toward the edge. Nikolis rushed around the far side of the table and lunged for the rolling vase. He didn’t get there in time to stop it from rolling off the edge, but he did manage to catch it before it hit the floor. He stood awkwardly and placed it back on the table.

  The Prince and his companion had stopped dead in their tracks when they heard the commotion, and now turned to the regard the bumbling boy. They stared at hi
m for a few moments, and then both broke into fits of laughter. Nikolis turned red and decided it would be best if he continued on his way. However, as he started to, they called after him.

  “Wait,” the girl said. “Don’t go. We weren’t laughing at you, it was just funny.”

  “Yes, very much so.” The second voice belonged to the Prince. The Prince of the Realm was talking to him. Nikolis turned around and bowed. The pair broke out into another fit of laughter. Nikolis’ face grew hot.

  “What’s your name, boy?” the Prince asked.

  “Nikolis,” he replied, keeping his eyes downcast.

  “Did you hear that, Karry? It’s the Ledervane boy.” They both shared a laugh again. Why is it that everyone seems to know who I am?

  “Well met, Niky,” the Price said. “I am Prince Erad Ryland.” He bowed low and swept a hand out in front of him.

  “Yes,” said the girl, “and I am the Lady Karlene Ryland, cousin to the Prince.” She spoke in a sort of false-bravado, when she said this, then bowed as well and swept her hand out. He thought ladies usually curtsied, but it was far from his place to comment.

  “Karry,” said Erad, “do you think we should bring Niky here along with us?”

  “Oh, yes, Erad.” She clapped her hands. “Let’s bring him.”

  “I know of the most perfect place we can take him. I’ve never brought you there either, Karry, it’ll be a first for both of you.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Erad!” she said, grinning. “Where is it? What is it?”

  “You’ll see, dear cousin. Well, what do you say, Niky? Want to come on a little adventure?” The prince smiled, showing white teeth.

  “I am supposed to be back to Master Littlefield…”

  “Never mind Littlefield,” Erad said. “I am the Prince.”

  “Well…alright.” said Nikolis, not sure of where he was going, or who he should be listening to.

  “On then!” said Erad, in a booming voice, “to the top of the eastern tower!”

  Erad and Karlene ran off down the hall, and Nikolis had no choice but to run to keep up with them. They went down various hallways and through a doorway or two. Then they came to a staircase, raced to the top of it, and ran down another hallway. Nikolis was soon panting for want of breath.