However, no matter how he hard he had tried, when the first lash fell, he did cry out, he screamed despite himself. It fell across his back, then his legs, his backside, his legs again and his back. Over and over again the lashes came. The pain was searing; he cried out over and over again. After a few lashes the pain dulled, became a pounding ache, somewhere distant, somewhere faint. As lash upon lash fell, his skin blazed. It felt like it was on fire, and amidst that fire the next lash was barely distinguishable from the previous.
He wasn’t sure when the master of arms stopped. He only remembered hearing the man say, “Do you want to end up like your father, boy? Listen to me, for I know what your path should be.”
The next thing he remembered was finding himself face down on the floor, lying in a small pool of spittle. It hurt to move, but he did. The room was dark. Across the way, there was a fire in the hearth. Who had lit it? The heat felt horrible on his legs and back. He crawled away from it with every bit of strength he could manage. Every inch of his body hurt. He tried to make his way over to his bed, but the pain was too much. His eyes rimmed with tears. Then before he could stop it, they were running down his face, despite any attempt to stem the flow.
All he could think about was trying not to move, staying utterly still. The day’s events seemed so far away now. Nikolis curled into a ball. He hugged his knees against his chest. The blisters on the backs of his legs throbbed with the effort, but he did it anyway. The pain felt almost good then, it blocked out what had happened, how he had existed at the keep, and the questions about what was to come now, in the future. He thought about his mother and father, really thought about them for the first time in nearly a year. He squeezed his legs in as hard as he could and sobbed into the night.
He awoke on his chamber floor some time later. Only coals, dark and dirty, were in the fireplace now. At his window the ravens were pecking at this or that and flapping their wings every once in a while, as they repositioned themselves. One of them looked up and seemed to notice him. Then the other looked up, and the pair flew over to him. The paced about, cocking their heads back and forth and looking at him with dark eyes.
He realized he was still crunched up in a ball; in fact, his back ached horribly, and he was sure that was why, but he was almost afraid to move. Though the lashing of the previous night was now a distant memory, a foggy haze of half-remembrance, the pain was still very real.
Nikolis forced his legs from his body, pushed them out slowly, but steadily. They ached, but the burning fire of pain that he had experienced was gone. He tried to sit up, but jolts of pain ran up his legs and back when he did. He craned his neck to look at the back of his legs. His shirt and breeches were in tatters. Torn, blooded skin and dark purplish-black bruises ran from heel to thigh. He could only imagine that his back looked very much the same. There were only a few serious wounds; small cuts here and there, caked with dried blood.
A sudden fit of anger overtook him, and he lurched to his feet. He moved over to the mantle. Always he had avoided gazing or even moving near it before – his father’s sword. He suddenly realized he had grown more than he had thought. He could easily reach the blade.
Nicholas grabbed the hilt of sweeping steel and pulled. He wrenched it free from the mantle place. No one will tell me my destiny.
He moved to the door, flung it open, and then went out into the hallway. His arm went back, and then the sword was flying through the air. It crashed against the door across the hall, Drennen’s door, then rebounded onto the stone floor, spun about and fell onto the stairs. From there it crashed down several steps and off into darkness.
Nicholas flung his door closed, and then fell onto the ground in a huff. As he did, searing fire roared through his thighs and back, and though he tried to push through it, he could not. The pain made his eyes tear again, and he lost his hold on the bed, falling down onto his back. The pain swelled, sought to consume him. Darkness reached up and pulled him under again.
The next thing he remembered was the door to his chamber creaking open. Suddenly there was a form at his side, talking to him, helping him up. It was a girl’s voice. When he opened his eyes, he saw the familiarity of his room, and the girl – she was not much older than he was, perhaps a year or two at most.
“There, there, now,” she was saying. Her voice was not so much kindly as commanding. She took him by the arm, helped him onto the bed. Nikolis fell into the sheets, but soft as they were, even this small pressure on his back was painful. He rolled over awkwardly, onto his stomach. “Easy there, boy, easy,” the girl was saying. It was a command, not a suggestion.
Nikolis studied the girl, really looked at her for the first time. She was dressed in servants’ attire: a long, black, dress of simple cut, with a high neck and low hem. The sleeves were turned-up, exposing a white lining. Her small, rounded, nose marked a youthful face, and her hair, which was tied up in a bun on the back of her neck, was a pale, sandy color.
“The master did a number on you, didn’t he?” the girl asked, as she inspected his legs and back. Nikolis made no response.
“Well, my name is Toleah Simms. I already know yours, so there’s no need in you telling me it. They’ve sent me to get you fixed up. Now, we’re going to have to clean up all these little cuts. It’ll probably sting a bit, but what’s got to be done s’got to be done.”
He felt and heard the tattered remains of his clothes being torn away. Suddenly, potential embarrassment overcame all other senses. He tried to turn, or to get away but every twist of his body sent pain coursing through him.
“Down.” It was not a suggestion. Toleah shot him a glare. She had a hand on his back. It hurt. She was strong, despite her age and size. “This is going to be no more fun for me, than for you. Best we get it over with as quick as possible. Now, don’t move.”
He dared not. He was too weak, and in too much pain to put up much of a fight. The rest of his clothes were torn away and then she was bringing a bowl from the floor onto the bed. It smelled of alcohol.
Toleah scrubbed at his legs and back and when she rung out the cloth, the water was red. She started again. The alcohol stung the small cuts the switch had given him, but it was a minor pain in comparison to the lashing and its aftermath. He suffered in silence, gritting his teeth.
The serving girl constantly glanced at him, as if to see if what she was doing was causing him any pain. However, it was not necessarily a look of concern on her face that he saw, it was almost as if she might enjoy causing him a little discomfort. Perhaps repayment for the task she now had to endure.
Nikolis did not moan or cry out. He promised himself he wouldn’t, and this time he was determined to live up to that promise. Toleah would not have the pleasure of his pain, though the cuts did sting and the scrubbing over his welts and bruises was torture. He bit his lip and closed his eyes.
Soon enough the agony was over, and Toleah was tying strips of linen about his legs. Then she stood and left the room, only to return in a few moments with a steaming bowl. His stomach growled when he smelled the broth. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was.
Toleah set the bowl down on the bed. “Now eat all of that, you need your strength,” she said, before standing and leaving the room.
Nikolis inspected the bowl. It was a thin, yellow broth with various bits of cut vegetables. He turned over enough to slurp the contents down as quickly as he could; his mouth and throat burning as it went down. After he finished, he laid back with a sigh. He was exhausted and sleep soon found him.
Over the next few days he slept a lot. He barely remembered being awake, only brief glimmers of images and memories remained in his mind. He saw Toleah a lot in them, changing the bandages on his legs and about his body, and even thought he saw Jak holding a wooden practice sword above him once. There was a vague recollection that Garley had come as well, smiling from between chubby cheeks, with Raife at his side.
Most of it seemed impossible. Jak was always out at the armory and the boys w
ould never have been able to get away from the kitchen. However, when Nikolis awoke, there on the end of his bed was a practice sword. On the floor was a plate with some half-eaten vegetables and some bread that had quite possibly came from the keep kitchens. His head was foggy. It felt thick and heavy.
Nikolis forced himself up. His legs and arms were stiff, but he felt better. It was still painful to walk, but he grabbed the wooden sword from the end of his bed and used it as a crutch. Morning was dawning outside, and the ravens were at his window again. He recognized some food on the sill that they most likely had stolen from his plate on the floor.
With a yawn, he moved over to a table in the corner. There was a basin of water beside it and he washed as best as he could while holding himself up with the sword. All that he had left for clothing was his old roughspun; his other clothes had been ripped to shreds the other night. He put the roughspun on. They didn’t fit as well as they used to, he had grown in the time he had been at the keep. The sleeves of his tunic barely made it past his elbows, and the breeches now went to only a few inches above his ankles.
Nikolis hobbled his way out of the room, and down the stairs. It was dawn and he had a duty at dawn. He made his way out onto the field. There were guardsmen all about, practicing and sparring with one another. Master Drennen was out in the field as well, instructing a group of guardsmen.
When he was nearly to the center of the field, he stood on his own two feet as best he could, wobbling a bit here and there, and put his sword up. He ran through various motions and stances. Neither his hands nor his mind had forgotten them.
Across the field he saw Jak step out of the armory. He had a practice sword in his hands. He looked up at Nikolis, and Nikolis nodded and waved him over. Drennen noticed Jak then and followed his path over to Nikolis. As much as was possible, there was surprise on his usually expressionless face.
Jak and Nikolis put up their swords and ran through a series of attacks and counters, slow and steady. It was clear Jak knew Nikolis was hurt; he did not press him. They simply danced their dance of swordplay, learning as they went.
When the pair had stopped to take a rest, Nikolis leaning on his knees and Jak on his sword, Drennen made his way over.
“Good to see you up and about, Nikolis,” he said, when he stood before them. “You improve with the sword every time you lift it.”
Nikolis scowled. He crossed his arms and looked away.
“Yes, well at any rate,” Master Drennen went on, “you won’t be permitted inside the keep for a while. We’ll find other activities to occupy your time.”
Nikolis nodded, not looking up.
“Well…back to it then. Jak,” he nodded to the other boy, and walked away.
Jak scowled, watching him go. “That son of a–”
“Never mind.” Nikolis put his sword back up. “Ready for another round?”
Jak grinned and put up his own. “Alright.”
Spring came and still the boys trained on. The wounds on Nikolis’ back healed, and toward the end of the summer months, Drennen brought them into the armory, before a rack of well-used weaponry. “It is time for you to put down the practice blades and take up real swords. You shall still train with a wide variety of weapons of course, but for now you shall choose those that fit you best.”
Nikolis and Jak eyed the row of swords. There were all sorts, well-used and bearing nicks, and wear. Jak did not hesitate, moving swiftly over to a longsword that he took up and moved about in his hands. Nikolis scratched his head and eyed the rack. Toward the far corner, behind a row of rusting sabers was a slender blade, with a straight, simple crossguard and a ring on one side. Thought its bronze hilt was nicked and scratched, it still shone, and the blade looked fine and strong. He moved over to the rack, feeling the master’s eyes following him.
To go the way of the longsword was to follow the path of a gate guardsman or recruit. Brute strength and avoidance were the key strategies with that weapon. This sword was a weapon of style and grace, a refined blade dependent on skill. It was also the sword of his father, the man who had raised him, the man he had watched die, the man that was a supposed traitor to the kingdom.
He let his hands coast over the hilts of the various swords, then set his palm to rest on the pommel of the bronze hilt. It was the weapon that felt most comfortable in his grasp. It was light, powerful, familiar. He closed his hand around the sword and drew it forth.
Arthur Drennen sighed. “A courtier’s blade,” he remarked.
Nikolis turned about and worked the sword around in the air. “Or the sword of a house guard,” he said. Light played off the weapon as he swept it about, feeling its weight, its balance. It was of fine enough craft, easy to handle and maneuver.
“Like the one your father bore,” said the master of arms.
Not looking away from the sword, Nikolis only nodded.
CHAPTER SIX
Nikolis sprang from his bed as the first light of morning was entering through his window. He threw on shirt and breeches and belted his sword about his waist. The sword was fast becoming a part of him, an extension of his body. He stamped on his boots and headed for the door.
Nikolis raced around the keep, past the barracks to a tall, slant-roofed structure supported by thick, red beams. The smell of fresh hay was thick in the air, and for a moment he was taken back to a small farm on the edge of the forest surrounding Lilton. He shook away the memory and headed toward the stables.
He could already hear the whinny of horses and the sound of forks digging into hay. Drennen and Littlefield had arranged for him to pick up his chores here, since he was still not allowed inside the castle walls. A stern looking man, with a thick black beard and mustache, greeted him with a wave at the door to the stables. He caught a brief glimpse of a brown gelding, before he was handed a piece of parchment and sent on his way. The list gave him several shops to visit in town, acquiring all manner of things. Since he couldn’t venture inside the keep, Drennen had found an alternative solution – running errands in town.
“Do what you have been instructed to and return straightaway.” Drennen had said, when he first assigned him his task. “You are still treading on thin ice. I expect you back in your chamber by sundown or there will be hell to pay.”
Continuing around the keep, walking between its high walls of stone to his right and the twisting moat to his left, he made his way to front. It took him quite some time to get around the massive structure, but he finally came to the front gate, from which protruded the long bridge into town.
As Nikolis made his way toward the bridge, a guard stepped in front of him, barring his way. “What you want?” he demanded. It was Raife’s older brother, Lirk Penderton.
“Hello, Lirk,” Nikolis said. “I was given a list of things to fetch from town.” He proffered his list, which Lirk snatched from him and began looking over. He furrowed his brow for some reason, and squinted at it, as he scored over its contents.
Another recognizable face made his way over, burdened under the weight of his own spear. He snatched the note away from Lirk and smiled. “Looks like it checks out to me, Nik,” Evar Dolbrand said, handing the parchment back to him. “Let him by, Lirk.”
Lirk grumbled something under his breath and stepped aside. As Nikolis moved across the bridge he heard Lirk arguing with Evar, but Evar was only laughing. It was all confusing to him, so Nikolis decided to make his way over the bridge. Below, the dark water was still and deep. He made his way past a set of four guards on the opposite side of the moat that paid him only a passing regard and then the town rose before him.
It was different than he remembered. The buildings were all browns and grays, some of stone, some of fire-hardened bricks of clay, and some of dark wooden beams. There were many tall and skinny structures, and many that were short and broad. All about people moved down the various streets and avenues. The cobblestone roads twisted and turned as he walked. The further he got into the town, the more congested it became. The
roads remained neat, but the buildings became closer together and more numerous. Walking down one such street lined with shops, he looked up at the buildings so tall, towering above him, and so closely packed together, that he felt as if they might collapse in on him at any moment.
He picked up a dozen candles from a wicker he happened upon and marked it off the list with a piece of charcoal. He needed no money. He simply showed the list to the shopkeeper and was given what he needed. He then made his way down an avenue and happened upon a spicer’s shop. He picked up some strange bottles of dark powders, none of which he recognized, and continued on his way.
It took quite some time for him to get anywhere, considering he had no idea where he was going. Before long, his feet became sore, as they weren’t used to tramping down such an unyielding ground for long periods of time. After his feet began aching, he then became so disoriented that he had no idea which way the keep was. From within the cloistered maze of high reaching building he could no longer see the four points of the castle towers. He decided not to panic, and simply to work his way along the streets, looking for any place that might provide the remainder of what he needed. He would find his way to a place from which he could see the keep again before long; he had to eventually.
Without warning he happened upon a less impressive section of town. The buildings were all short and squat and made of wood. The streets, though still paved, were lined with dirt, and flooded in places with large puddles. He found a few more of the items he needed there, though the shopkeepers he encountered looked more questioningly at his parchment than the others had. As he was exiting one such shop, he noticed a group of boys standing in an alleyway. They were arranged in a circle and were laughing and shouting. Many of them were shoving and pushing at something within the center of the circle, while all the others looked on and laughed.
Nikolis made his way over to the small crowd – there were perhaps a dozen boys – and tried to see what had so interested them. He worked his way around the crowd and tried to get a view of what was going on between the bodies. When he finally got a glimpse of what was happening, he was at first startled, and then shocked.
The Last Swordsman Page 9