The Swordmaster, page 12
Forand remained calm, simply shrugging his shoulders. He seemed to understand that there was no way of getting around this duel.
‘Oh, Blinn, why didn’t you just bat him off?’ whispered Karek.
‘You, of all people, are asking me that? You want Bostun to get his just desserts more than anyone.’
‘The question is – can our captain really put him in his place? He’s almost forty years Bostun’s senior.’
‘But he claimed he could beat him, dammit.’ Blinn’s voice suggested that he felt slighted – probably because he was feeling guilty, too, for having put Forand in such a tricky situation.
Now it was Gryphon’s turn to speak – his tone was emotionless: ‘Are both captains agreed on a duel to settle the contest?’
Forand grumbled: ‘If it must be so.’
The soldiers around the oval guffawed.
‘Granddad really doesn’t want to do this.’
Critical voices were raised again.
‘Hey, Bostun, since when have you started beating up old fellas?’
‘Bostun, you really don’t need to do this,’ said another.
‘Granddad, give up now, then it will be all over. It’s the wise thing to do.’
But then the inevitable wagers began to be shouted out – the consensus seemed to be odds of thirty to one for a Forand victory. Compared to that, the odds in the morning’s contest between Brawl and Dragan were hardly worth talking about.
The captain of the whites picked up a wooden sword, examined it contemptuously and shouted at Forand: ‘Shouldn’t we really be using genuine swords instead of beating the crap out of each other with these bits of firewood? Of course, we will wear protective vests and only torso hits will count. Just like real soldiers do during training fights.’
Forand didn’t seem to really care anymore. ‘Whatever you say. I’ll get my sword.’
Karek was dismayed by the resignation in the old man’s voice.
News quickly spread throughout the fortress of a special showdown with real swords involving the two captains. Although not beloved, Bostun had a reputation as a first-rate swordman, who very few could equal. Soon he would present an exhibition of his art and make mincemeat of the old greybeard.
Suddenly, the bailey felt more crowded than any marketplace. There were even soldiers on the battlements, looking down in expectation of a very short but highly entertaining duel. Bostun was going to tan the old fellow’s hide.
A few moments later and the two captains were standing facing each other on the very spot where their cadets had been skirmishing the whole day through.
Both were wearing heavily padded practice vests and holding their real swords in their hand. Forand’s sword suited him. It looked even older than he did, while Bostun’s blade twinkled in the late afternoon sun.
Gryphon was on the point of opening the fight when suddenly the lord of the fortress appeared. Rogat strode up to the two combatants and asked: ‘Is this really what you want?’
Bostun answered with an arrogant smile: ‘Sure. We’re only practising a little. I will refrain myself, so you needn’t worry about the new captain. It would be a pity to have to get another replacement so soon.’
Rogat was silent for a while. He looked at Forand, then at Bostun. Then, with a concerned expression on his face he responded: ‘It’s you that I’m worried about, Bostun.’
Puzzled looks and plenty of shoulder shrugging did the rounds among the spectators. It seemed that no-one knew what to make of the statement that they had just heard.
Rogat went to the bench to his left – one of the younger soldiers immediately leaped up to make room for him.
Gryphon gave the signal to begin.
Bostun went on the attack immediately. He clearly didn’t plan on hanging about. He spun his sword quickly around his body and began his first assault. The old man pulled back with extraordinary fleet-footedness – extraordinary at least for those who had not watched him skipping – not to mention balancing on a log in the water. Karek noticed a certain amount of indecisiveness in his captain, for his face suggested that he desperately needed to do a pee. The old man parried Bostun’s waist-high thrusts easily, as he did the sweeps coming from above and the stabs from below. Hence, it looked as if the pair had been practising with each other for months on end and that they might well have agreed the order of strokes beforehand, so that they could present a really well-rehearsed performance to their audience. No matter where Bostun directed his attack – at a thoroughly impressive speed – Forand’s sword was already waiting patiently to parry it. The old man seemed almost embarrassed by the proceedings, for apart from that, he merely glided passively here and there in the oval.
Something was irritating Karek as he observed the fight. He looked more closely but couldn’t figure out what.
Blinn was standing beside him, growling excitedly: ‘Come on, Forand, finish him off!’
Someone tapped Karek on the shoulder. ‘Hey, Fatso. Since when has the old codger been left-handed?’
‘Brawl, you’re a genius! That’s what’s been bothering me the whole time. He’s using his left hand – unbelievable!’
Blinn’s eyes widened in surprise too. ‘Siblings be damned! What? Fighting with his left hand? You can’t do that if you’re right-handed. What does this nonsense mean?’
Bostun slowed down his attacks. ‘Not bad, old man. Are you able to attack, or is your whole strategy to defend?’
Bostun demonstratively offered him his undefended left side.
Forand ignored the invitation. It was hard to work out his demeanour behind his thick beard and long hair. Nonetheless, Karek couldn’t help feeling that his captain’s patience was gradually being stretched to its limit.
Bostun concentrated on attacking again. He swung his arm horizontally with his arm extended – Forand casually parried the blow.
An older soldier right in front of Karek who was wearing the uniform of a higher officer murmured: ‘The perfect balance parry.’
A diagonal attack from above, the resultant reply – a clanging of clashing blades.
‘The bear parry. What precision. What technique. But why with the left?’
Karek frowned. What was the fellow muttering under his breath.
The prince noticed that even the experienced soldiers around him were getting more and more excited. Some of them were no longer able to stay sitting – they leaped up and were staring in fascination at the proceedings. Something extraordinary was occurring in the bailey – that much was certain.
Karek craned his neck to see Rogat. He was one of the few spectators still sitting. The lord of the fortress seemed neither excited nor enthusiastic but was shaking his head ever so slightly.
All the while, the fight in the arena continued. Forand’s eyes had been trained on the middle of his opponent’s body for the most part – now he raised his head. For the first time during the skirmish, the two combatants were eyeing each other.
Blade clashed against blade. The old man countered now after each parry. Forand swung back, feigning a blow to the top of Bostun’s skull. Bostun’s blade, singing, slid onto the old sword’s crossguard. Forand’s right hand grabbed it.
‘Let’s leave it at that, Bostun. We can settle on an honourable draw.’
‘Never! Until now, I’ve made allowances for your dotage. No more, old man!’
He pushed Forand away from him with all his might and struck a pose. ‘You’re well and truly done now.’
The old warrior cast a look of resignation to Rogat, spreading his arms out almost imperceptibly – as though he wanted to emphasise his helplessness.
Then it happened. Bostun was as good as his word. Forand’s parry to a well-executed attack from his opponent was a little clumsy, so that the old warrior took a hit to his shoulder.
Gryphon raised the white shield.
Karek groaned and shook his head. It was maddening. He closed his eyes for a moment – as though he could no longer bear to look. Had the old captain bitten off more than he could chew?
A soldier called out: ‘Now the old man is getting tired, and the end is nigh. He’s done well, though, and deserves our respect. I was sure it would have been all over long ago.’
The prince looked into the oval again and examined the face of his captain. Was he imagining things, or did he see a look of determination in the man’s wrinkled face for the first time?
Blinn spat out in exasperation: ‘Damn and blast it – what have I done? All my fault.’
Forand switched his sword to his right hand.
Astonished murmurs rippled around the arena. What was going on? Was he about to capitulate? All good swordmen in this world optimised every movement of the sword, every action, even every reflex by using their strong hand, ergo their sword hand – it was the shield that belonged to the weak hand. And every spectator who didn’t know Forand any better had been able to see clearly up to now that Forand’s sword hand was his left one. It was unthinkable that anyone could fight ambidextrously at this level. Whatever was the old warrior up to, holding the weapon in his right hand?
Forand attacked. His movements were fluid, elegant and swift, with incredible precision and yet seemingly effortless. He feigned a horizontal attack. He answered the riposte before it had barely begun, hitting the underside of Bostun’s sword.
And so it went on – a rapid succession of attacks and parries, as if they had rehearsed them together, but this time with only one person in charge – the old man.
Forand then swung his word in a semi-circle, preparing to strike from above – amazing – for Bostun’s weapon was already there. But before the younger man had a chance to parry, the flat side of the old warrior’s sword landed directly on Bostun’s chest – at his heart, to be precise.
The general in front of Karek said in wonderment: ‘He is right-handed, after all. First bear, then bull – after bull, then roof. Such efficiency. A minimum of movement.’
The prince looked at Blinn, who was hopping up and down with excitement, then nodded towards the strange man, grinned and tapped his temple.
The next attack was accentuated by the roar of the spectators, for the fight was continuing apace. Bostun didn’t know what had hit him.
Whether Gryphon had raised a shield or not was of no interest to anyone now. Fascinated, they stared at the grey-bearded old man whose faded blade was dancing in elegant waves.
Forand half-turned, feigned a lunge to his left, rotated his weapon around the tip of Bostun’s sword as though he wanted to wrap it up, turned himself to the right and crashed into Bostun’s shoulder blade.
The black shield was raised a second time.
Bostun seemed dizzy, for he simply stood there, looking almost completely helpless. Forand even waited a moment before attacking again. For the blink of an eye, he held his sword as if it were a wedge, brushed away a half-hearted thrust from Bostun before catching him in his practice vest – the part protecting his stomach. Hit number three in the shortest time imaginable. The fight was over – the blacks had won.
This was followed by incredible scenes. While the black as well as the white cadets stood there, dumbfounded, trying to digest the incredible outcome, all the veterans rose to their feet in unison. They roared and cheered and cheered and roared. They were beside themselves with excitement. What a duel! Never before had they witnessed swordsmanship of such a high order.
The officer who had been mumbling his strange commentary and been standing in front of Karek, drew his sword from his scabbard and held it aloft. He cried out in a voice both clear and strong: ‘We greet the Grand Swordmaster Garemalan, the jade warrior!’
Suddenly, there was silence as the people stood in amazement. A silence that could hardly have been more surreal. Then the dams broke.
‘Garemalan?!’
‘Sure – who else can fight like that?’
‘He’s alive! It’s him!!’
Gryphon stood up from his stool and slapped his forehead: ‘Garemalan.’ The umpire bowed before Forand. ‘Apologies – I didn’t recognise you.’
Some of the soldiers sank to their knees. Others drew their weapons, and they, too, raised them aloft.
‘Garemalan, Garemalan, Garemalan!’ roared the crowd.
There were only two men who hadn’t joined in the celebrating – Captain Bostun and Rogat. The former was still standing there, gobsmacked in the middle of the oval, like a sodden poodle, whose favourite bone had been confiscated. Deceived. Defeated. Demoralised.
At least, that’s what he looked like to Karek, spotting him out of the corner of his eye as he cheered for his captain.
Bostun, you more than deserved this.
Rogat, for his part, stood up and walked back to the main building, his face expressionless.
the most dangerous place in Toladar
‘Was it not your express wish to remain anonymous, Mr Jade Warrior? Congratulations. Very impressive how you went about it,’ said Rogat sourly.
‘What else could I have done? Was it my idea to fight with the captain? Was it me who challenged him?’
Rogat scratched his chin. ‘And then your idea of starting off with your left hand. Stroke of genius! You made him into a complete laughingstock.’
‘I thought I would be able to defeat him with my left. I didn’t want my sword skills to be too obvious so that no-one would realise who I was, but he proved too good an opponent. He was leading one to nil.’
‘And? So what? Then the hero quickly changes to his right and bang, wallop, Bostun is standing there like a prize idiot.’
‘No – like a loser.’
Rogat forced himself to calm down. ‘Forgive the hard words, old friend, but I am being plagued with worries this past while. How are things to go on? The news that Garemalan, the jade warrior, is residing in Fortress Beachperch will be doing the rounds now.’
‘Leave it be, Rogat. Your Captain Bostun probably deserved to get a bloody nose. From all that I’ve heard and from my own experience of him, he’s a real charmer. But I admit that I shouldn’t have shot my mouth off like that – promising my boys that I could defeat Bostun. Never mind – what could possibly happen?’
Rogat’s fingers drummed the table top.
‘I’ll tell you what will happen. We’ve already discussed the fact that Duke Schohtar has already broken with Tedore and is preparing to rebel. In the middle of the lands that he controls is a fortress with a thousand soldiers loyal to the king – at least, that is what he assumes based on my blood ties to Tedore. And now the legendary Swordmaster Garemalan appears on the scene, whom he must either quickly dispose of or win over to his side.’
‘Maks, I allowed myself to lose control. Bostun provoked me, and in the end, I wanted to prove myself to him, even if it meant me losing my anonymity. Always remember – pride is no virtue.’
‘What do you mean by “what will happen”?’
Most of Rogat’s anger evaporated when he heard the note of embarrassment in the grand swordmaster’s voice.
‘I don’t know. Everything is very calm for the moment. The thing is even more complicated than you can imagine.’
‘How so?’
‘Here’s a theoretical question for you – if you were lord of the fortress here, would you take in and give refuge to Prince Karek Marein?’
Forand frowned, his wrinkles furrowing even more. ‘On no account. In this present climate, Duke Schohtar would do anything in his power to grab hold of him or have him eliminated. Really – absolutely anything. Don’t even think about it.’
Rogat sighed. ‘I will do as you say. If the prince were present, Fortress Beachperch would become the most dangerous place in all Toladar.’
Forand’s eyes peered into Rogat’s. ‘Tell me this – why would Tedore send his only son deep into presumed enemy territory at a time like this?’
Rogat shrugged his shoulders. ‘You know how unfathomable kings are. I can say no more, please understand. But even if the news is out that the Grand Swordmaster is spending time here, I am happy that you are with us, Garemalan.’
Rogat laid an arm around his old comrade’s shoulders.
Forand had always had a soft spot for the old warhorse. But something wasn’t right here – he didn’t know what yet, but he was going to find out.
He simply said: ‘Rogat, please stick to Forand. Garemalan died many years ago – at least for me.’
The old swordfighter enjoyed working with the boys. He was able to teach them things that he himself was good at. But sorrow gripped his heart, too. He was teaching them to kill, and if truth were told, to be killed. Until a short time earlier he had hoped that it was nothing more than theory, but the likelihood of their new-found knowledge soon having to be put into practice was growing greater by the day. And his recruits were still far from ready. There was still so much for him to tell and show them. He was particularly taken by the comrades who lodged in the first dormitory – Linnek, Eduk, Blinn, Impy and Brawl.
‘They remind me so much of you, Maks. Young, green, full of life, on the threshold between boy and man. Hopefully, war does not come soon, for if it does, their time on the other side of the threshold will be short.
He thought about the five lads. They were all so different. If there was any that he could say stood out, then it would have to be Linnek. The young boy radiated a natural strength and mental toughness which the old man could physically feel, despite the lad’s physical awkwardness. It was the same during their first encounter at the graveyard. If the stories he had heard about the boy were only half true, there was something very special about him. Although, one thing was certain: he would never amount to a decent swordman.
Forand stretched gently. The fight against Captain Bostun had taken a lot out of his old bones. That which had looked so playful and dancelike had in reality been very hard work. He wondered if he should take a hot bath.
He sighed. As yet, he hadn’t found out much about the murder of To Shyr Ban. Linnek, Eduk and Blinn had described the two fellows to him, who had met To Shyr Ban before the gates of the fortress and collected him. One of them colourfully dressed like a parrot wrapped in silk, the other shabby, with a shabby cloak. Their faces had been too far away, so the three boys had had little else to say about them.
