The Swordsman's Intent Page 2

  First, Markus had them place their practice blades by their feet while he led them through some physical exercises, to “get the blood flowing”. Then he had them work through some solo drills as he walked amongst them, correcting posture and stance here, a murmured word of advice there, before pairing them up to work through some drills and exercises together.

  “To begin with, you’ll work with people who are a close physical match in terms of height, reach, and so on. As we progress through the next few weeks, your partners will vary in order to present you with the greatest challenges and opportunities to stretch yourself. Today I am just trying to get a feel for your abilities, so please keep to the exercises as given. No extemporising.”

  Belasko found himself paired with the sandy-haired young courtier he had observed earlier, the one who had brought his own training blade. He offered the other student his hand.

  “Belasko. Markus said your name was Ervan? Nice to meet you.”

  Ervan, with an expression of mild distaste that was not easily hidden, gave his hand a peremptory shake.

  “No,” said Belasko, “like this. If we’re brothers in arms under Markus’s tutelage, then we should use the warrior’s grip.” He slid his hand up above Ervan’s wrist to hold his forearm, correcting the other man’s grip on his own arm, before giving a more emphatic shake and releasing his hold.

  The look of distaste on Ervan’s face was no longer mild. “I’m not sure we could be considered brothers in anything. I’m not a soldier.”

  “Yes, your clothing does rather give that away. Although you must be skilled with a blade for Markus to invite you here; you must have something of the warrior about you.”

  Ervan sniffed. “Yes, well, I have won the city fencing championships for the last three years running, which Markus judged himself. He’s aware of my quality.”

  “Is he now? That’s good. Curious that he paired us together. Perhaps he thinks we have something to teach each other? Although I’ve never attended a fencing school, or anything so refined as a competition. What I’ve learned of handling a blade has come through my army training, practice, and my best efforts at staying alive. I’m sure your technique is... more refined.”

  “I don’t doubt it. It will certainly be interesting to cross blades with the hero of Dellan Pass. I must get that story from your own lips. The version the balladeers sing of... it can’t all be true.”

  Belasko smiled. “Let’s just say they tell a more... exaggerated version of events. It’s not something I like to dwell on. I might tell of it later. Meantime, we’d best follow Markus’s instructions.”

  Markus had finished pairing up the other students as they’d been talking. He retook his place at the front of the room, picked up his own practice blade from the floor, and began to talk the students through an exercise.

  Ervan gritted his teeth in frustration. Markus had set them simple exercises, basic stances, thrusts, parries, and ripostes—the simplicities covered in a beginners’ fencing class. The level of ability in the room was far above such basics, but perhaps that was Markus’s intention. Take them back to the fundamentals, see what they were made of. Although running through such beginners’ exercises was annoying to Ervan, that was not why he was frustrated.

  He had barely landed a touch on Belasko all morning. The soldier’s technique was as rough and ready as his manner, but he was quick. Blindingly quick. He had landed as many strikes on Ervan as the young courtier had been able to dole out. They appeared to be equally matched, which was a victory for Belasko as far as Ervan was concerned. I should be thrashing him. Instead, he’s the equal of me. He doesn’t even have the decency to be triumphant. He’s being... nice about it.

  Belasko continued to smile, enjoying the exercises, encouraging Ervan—who found the whole thing infuriating. Markus called a break, and he wiped the sweat from his eyes as he stood back.

  The Royal Champion gestured to a table set against one wall and laden with fresh fruit, bread, and cheese. “Time for some refreshments. Come and help yourselves. Don’t take too much, mind. You don’t want to make yourselves sick when we continue.”

  Belasko clapped Ervan on the shoulder. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up a bit of a thirst.”

  Ervan sighed but followed Belasko over to a water butt positioned at one end of the table. The soldier picked up a cup, dipping it into the barrel and sipping from it as he surveyed the spread. He turned to Ervan. “One thing a soldier learns: eat when food’s available. Although not too much if action is expected. I’ll take a few slices of that melon and an orange. Bread and cheese might be somewhat heavy.”

  “Coarse, too. Common food.” Ervan sniffed. “Lead on. I’ll follow your example.”

  Ervan leaned forward as they took up their place in the line, murmuring to Belasko, “Now, about Dellan Pass...”

  The soldier grinned. “I wondered how long that would take. What would you like to know?”

  “Well,” Ervan frowned, “the story is that you held the pass on your own for an entire day, before challenging the Baskan champion to a duel to decide the battle. That can’t be true. It’s just not possible.”

  Belasko shrugged. “That’s more or less what happened. If I learned one thing that day, it’s that to achieve something people believe to be impossible, you have to keep working at what’s in front of you—one task at a time. Whether you’re building walls, digging ditches, or killing enemy soldiers, there’s only one way to get a job done.”

  The rest of the students had quieted, eavesdropping on their conversation.

  Ervan shook his head. “I can’t believe it. You held the pass, on your own, for a whole day?”

  Belasko nodded. “My friend Orren and I were dispatched to check the pass, to make sure the Baskans weren’t moving through it—which no one thought was likely as it’s so narrow at points that it’s only possible to pass through in single file.” Belasko picked up a plate, waiting to move forward in the line. “To our surprise, we found a large Baskan force at the other end of the pass. Orren was the better horseman, and I the better swordsman, so I sent him back to raise the alarm and return with our own forces while I held the pass as long as I could.”

  He moved forwards, picking up a slice of melon and putting it on his plate. “I had to hold the pass for all of the next day to give him time, which seemed impossible, but I did what I could.” Belasko shrugged. “Lucky for me, the pass was so narrow they could only come at me one at a time. So I dealt with them one at a time, concentrating on the task in front of me. Somehow I was able to hold in there long enough that the Baskan commander called a halt to reclaim their dead and try to reason with me. He offered me the chance to settle it by a duel then, which I accepted.”

  Belasko took his plate and moved out of the line, taking another slice of melon. He continued to talk to Ervan, but by now all the other students, and Markus himself, were openly listening.

  “I fought the duel with the Baskan champion and won. Much to my surprise.”

  “How did you win?” asked Markus, speaking from the back of the group that had by now gathered around Belasko as he told his tale. “You must have been beyond tired.”

  Belasko swallowed. “I didn’t have a choice. It was kill or be killed, and after surviving that day, I had no intention of dying if I could possibly avoid it. I was exhausted though, so I barely even raised my blade to begin with. I focused on getting out of the way, waiting for my time to strike.” He took another bite of melon, chewed and swallowed. “Which was when I got their champion turned around to face the setting sun. It blinded him.”

  Markus laughed, but judging from Ervan’s expression, the story appalled him. “But-but that’s dishonourable!” the courtier spluttered.

  Belasko shrugged. “There’s precious little honour in war, I’m afraid to say, and it was him or me. There’s a little more to it than that, but I’ve no desire to relive that fight blow for blow.”

  Markus spoke up. “Our f
riend has just given you all a valuable lesson. In a duel, you have two options: kill or be killed. Everything else is unimportant, just dressing up those two things.” The class turned now to face him. “Be assured, when you face someone in a duel, what matters most is your intention. It is not a fencing lesson or a bout to be scored. It is a battle. A desperate battle to the death. If you treat it as anything other than that, you will almost certainly lose. Especially if the other duellist has any idea what they’re about. Remember this. It is in some ways what matters above all else, even skill. The swordsman’s intent. Kill or be killed.” He clapped his hands. “Finish up your food. Belasko has given us all something to think about, but we must move on. Back into your pairs.”

  Belasko winked at Ervan. “Come on. Let’s get through this afternoon. I’ll tell you the full story over a drink some time.”

  As they moved to take up their places once more, Ervan could only shake his head. Who is this rough, uncultured man? He’s not what I expected a hero to be.

  That night, after an interminable day’s training, Ervan went home disheartened. As he walked through the front door of his family townhouse, his mother appeared. Ervan barely noticed the footman who appeared, as if from nowhere, to take his cloak and boots, slipping into the slippers he provided with the easy familiarity of long practice.

  “So, how did it go?” Lavinia asked. She sniffed when he only grunted in response. “Come into the back parlour. I’ve had cook put together a light supper for you. I want to hear all about it.”

  Ervan followed her through into the parlour, where he piled his plate before retreating to a comfortable chair to pick at the delicacies.

  “To judge from your expression, today did not go as intended. What happened?” Lavinia frowned at him. Today she was dressed in a white, cream, and pale blue ensemble, with pearl buttons and delicate lacework by the yard. “You’re one of the best swordsmen in the city. How can it have gone badly?”

  “Belasko,” Ervan muttered around a mouthful of pastry. “A common soldier. Dear god, he’s fast. His technique is rough, but I’ve faced no one like him before. We were training together today, running through basic exercises, and I could barely get a touch on him.”

  “Belasko?” Lavinia’s delicately plucked eyebrows climbed high on her forehead. “The hero of Dellan Pass? That Belasko?”

  Ervan sighed. “That’s the one. Magnificent warrior of the Baskan War, come to show us a thing or two. I’d hate him if he wasn’t so likeable.”

  “That’s no reason not to hate him, son. If he takes this opportunity away from you, then our whole family will be set against him. You need this position at court. As our third child, you won’t inherit much, if any, of this.” Lavinia waved her hand in the air in a vague attempt to indicate all their wealth and the trappings thereof. “You need to make your own path. Beat this man and all the others. Be the best.”

  “Don’t you think I’m trying?” Ervan snapped at his mother. “He’s not normal. He’s too damn quick. How can I beat him? It’s all I can do to equal him.”

  Lavinia stepped forward, taking her son’s face in both hands. “Listen here. So what if he’s quicker? You’re better. You’ve had access to all the best fencing masters, dedicated yourself to the art of swordplay. Your technique, the skills and tricks you’ve built up—they are better than him. Find a way.”

  Ervan sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

  As Belasko didn’t reside in the city, he was offered accommodation in the old barracks building where they were training. The barracks had been built to house a large contingent of the City Watch, and as there weren’t that many students, those who were resident were each given one of the rooms intended for officers. This guaranteed a certain amount of privacy and was more pleasant than sharing one of the dormitories normally reserved for the lower ranks.

  It was a mixed group that sat down to the dinner provided that night—a rich stew with chunky bread served alongside watered wine. Conversation was scarce as those gathered sated their appetites. Some headed back for seconds and thirds. It had been a long and tiring day.

  Eventually, replete, Belasko pushed back his plate and settled into his chair with a sigh. “Now that was a damn sight better than the provisions I’ve been getting of late.”

  Byrta, a cavalry officer, chewed and swallowed her mouthful before replying. “Have you been out on manoeuvres? Our food’s normally good at the barracks.”

  “Ours too.” Belasko nodded. “Yes, we’ve been out marching around the countryside and working through training exercises. The war might be over, but we need to show we’re still active, still sharp, in case the Baskans get any more ideas. And we’ve got to blood in these recent recruits we’ve picked up in peacetime somehow.”

  “I was due out with my squadron in the next few days, for the same reasons. Instead, here I am.” Byrta shrugged. “I’m honoured to have been invited, but there’s not much chance any of us will become the Champion. The role will probably go to one of the posh lot.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Umbert, a large and well-muscled man who was surprisingly quick for his size. “Markus doesn’t come from wealth—not one of the founding families at least, is what I heard. I don’t think he’ll favour them all that much.”

  “You’ve got a chance, surely, Belasko? The glorious hero, the man who stood alone against the Baskan army. Sounds like Champion material to me!” This last, accompanied by a sarcastic eye-roll, came from Artur, a hawk-faced man whose tone was as sharp as his appearance.

  Belasko’s smile was a little forced. “It wasn’t quite like that.” His smile faded. “I don’t know who of us has a chance. I’ll tell you what though, the man they partnered me with today, Ervan. He was good. Very good. It’s been a long time since I’ve faced anyone that good with a blade, if ever.”

  There was silence at this, which eventually Byrta broke with a cough. “Was he that skilled?”

  Belasko nodded. “It’s been a long time since I’ve struggled so much against an opponent.”

  “Aye, but you’re better. I’m sure you landed more touches than him. I was watching,” said Umbert.

  “Is that why you were so rubbish during our exercise? Your attention was elsewhere?” A slight smile took the sting out of Artur’s words, but Umbert still flushed.

  “All right lads, that’s enough. You can bet the posh lot will work together. We’d best do the same. No fighting amongst ourselves.” Byrta’s countenance was stern.

  “What about what Markus said?” Belasko asked. “About us all being students together? Who we are outside these walls doesn’t matter, or isn’t supposed to.”

  Artur snorted. “Idealistic nonsense. Markus has been too long at court, forgotten what it’s like to be a nobody in the eyes of the high and mighty. They respect him because of who he is, his position at court, his proximity to the king. We don’t have that advantage. He’s earned their respect.”

  “So has Belasko, if you think about it.” Umbert waved a hand in his direction. “He’s a hero. Everyone knows about his actions in the war.”

  Artur gave a cynical laugh, shaking his head. “Crawl out of his arse Umbert, Belasko’s good with a blade. That’s all. Doesn’t mean we should worship him.”

  Belasko coughed, somewhat uncomfortable. “I don’t know how much leverage my past gives me, but I’m of a mind to take Markus at his word. Give things a go his way.” He shrugged. “You’re all my comrades in arms. In battle, I’d give my life for any of you. Here we are students again, Markus’s, and I say we do things the way he wants.” The soldier grinned. “At least until the little lords and ladies show they’re not playing along.” The rest of them laughed. Belasko’s face straightened, serious again. “Now, help me figure out how to improve against this Ervan fellow. I want to beat him tomorrow.”

  2

  Ervan stepped back and wiped the sweat from his brow as Markus called a break. If anything, Belasko was even faster today, and he had yet to land a touch
on the soldier. Ervan, meanwhile, had deployed every trick at his disposal and had kept Belasko at bay. The war hero was also yet to land a touch on him.

  He nodded to Belasko as they made their way into the line for refreshments. “You seem faster today than yesterday. Did you fit in some extra practice last night?”

  Belasko shook his head. “No, yesterday I was tired from my journey. Last night I slept well and woke feeling refreshed.” He grinned. “Although I will admit to having a brief discussion over dinner last night with the others staying here. It was useful to pick the day apart with them.” His grin widened. “And for getting a few tips on moves to use against you.”

  “So would you say that staying here gives you an advantage in your training?”

  Belasko mused this over for a moment as they moved forward in the line. “I suppose it does. It helps to talk things over with the other students.”

  Ervan reached the front of the line, pouring himself a glass of sweet fruit juice. “I may ask Markus if I can stay here, while we’re training.”

  The grin shrank a little. “I’m sure you’d be welcome.”

  “Good. Well then, no time like the present.” Ervan peeled off from the group and walked over to Markus, who was in conversation with Byrta. Their conversation finished as Ervan approached. Byrta nodded at what Markus had to say and left to join the queue for refreshments.

  Markus looked up as the student approached. “Ervan, how are you finding things? I’ve been observing you and Belasko closely. You’ve both impressed me.”

  “Thank you. I think things are going rather well. I have to admit that it’s nice to be pushed. I don’t think I’ve had to work this hard against an opponent... well, ever.”

  Markus smiled. “Yes, Belasko is something special, is he not? As are you. As is everyone here. Choosing my successor will be no straightforward task! Anyway, what can I do for you?”