suggested they were not here to chat about the loveliness of the springs. They also had small round shields.
Had this happened but three days before, I might not have done so well. My leg wound still bothered me, but it had definitely gotten better. Also, the day before yesterday I had taken the time to spar with Piri’s Pathfinders, and I felt free and loose.
Without my shield, I decided to use theirs. I feinted slightly to my left, and once they reacted I took two quick chopping steps to my right. Their momentum carried them forward until I stood even with the shield held by the man to my right.
I grabbed the bottom of his shield and yanked up, taking the opportunity to thrust my blade into the side of the shield’s owner. I had heard that squishy sucking sound many times before, so it did not bother me as I withdrew my sword from his guts. Or, at least, not enough for me to lose track of the fight.
I pushed him and his shield at the other man, moving back to give us more space. Though we were of about the same height, my longer sword gave me a reach advantage. I tried to keep him away while nicking at his hands, legs, or anything else I could aim at around his shield.
I found myself slipping into the wrestling Long Guard that Desimir had taught me some weeks ago. It also tried to keep a foe at distance while channeling their rush when it came. Now, instead of keeping my hand out, I held my sword tip in that position, but the new footwork Desimir had drilled into me adapted itself well to this fight.
A quick jab put a small cut on his sword arm. He was barely aware of the cut, but was a touch nonetheless. I added another touch as a flip of my wrist allowed me to slash along his advancing thigh.
This combination of stance and length counteracted his extraordinary quickness, and the fight seemed to slow as we each probed for new lines of attack.
Suddenly, he charged. I stepped back, slashing downward to clear the space and keep the range. I realized, not quickly enough, that his charge was merely a feint. My reaction gave him the space he needed to run to his horse.
I had no chance to catch him before he mounted, so I ran to Deor. Unfortunately, Deor was near the springs while the man’s horse sat near the road, and by the time I had mounted, the quick swordsman had already pounded up to the Kopayalitsa and ridden off to the east, away from Achrida.
I gave Deor his head while I tried to keep my eye on the fleeing swordsman. After about a quarter of a mile, I realized that I probably would not catch him. Worse yet, I might catch him at the time and place of his choosing. I pulled Deor up.
There seemed no help for it, so I cleaned my sword off with the inside of my tunic and sheathed it. Better a stained tunic than a rusty sword. Then I turned Deor around and told him to get us back to Achrida as fast as he could.
As we rode up to the gate, I shouted for Vojin. He emerged and I led him to the side.
“Do you know Kapric and Zvono? The quaesitors?”
“I know Zvono.”
“Excellent, I need to get a message to them. Tell them to come to meet me at the springs.”
“You have a reason I should tell them?”
“Just tell them it’s me and they’ll probably know.”
He nodded and marched off, detailing a couple of men to the task.
I wheeled Deor around and we returned to Biljana’s Springs as quickly as we could.
Chapter 3
Afternoon, 30 Gersmoanne, 1712 MG
When I returned things seemed as I had left them, with the exception that the dead man’s horse had disappeared. I had no idea if someone had released him or if he had trotted off on his own.
I rode into the meadow, slid off of Deor, and told him to let me know when anyone arrived. He snorted as if insulted. I stroked his nose in apology and even let him land a playful nip.
The attacker I had killed remained facedown, sprawled upon his shield with his sword arm out at wide, odd angle. I left him for the moment.
I pushed into the trees and saw the
Had this happened but three days before, I might not have done so well. My leg wound still bothered me, but it had definitely gotten better. Also, the day before yesterday I had taken the time to spar with Piri’s Pathfinders, and I felt free and loose.
Without my shield, I decided to use theirs. I feinted slightly to my left, and once they reacted I took two quick chopping steps to my right. Their momentum carried them forward until I stood even with the shield held by the man to my right.
I grabbed the bottom of his shield and yanked up, taking the opportunity to thrust my blade into the side of the shield’s owner. I had heard that squishy sucking sound many times before, so it did not bother me as I withdrew my sword from his guts. Or, at least, not enough for me to lose track of the fight.
I pushed him and his shield at the other man, moving back to give us more space. Though we were of about the same height, my longer sword gave me a reach advantage. I tried to keep him away while nicking at his hands, legs, or anything else I could aim at around his shield.
I found myself slipping into the wrestling Long Guard that Desimir had taught me some weeks ago. It also tried to keep a foe at distance while channeling their rush when it came. Now, instead of keeping my hand out, I held my sword tip in that position, but the new footwork Desimir had drilled into me adapted itself well to this fight.
A quick jab put a small cut on his sword arm. He was barely aware of the cut, but was a touch nonetheless. I added another touch as a flip of my wrist allowed me to slash along his advancing thigh.
This combination of stance and length counteracted his extraordinary quickness, and the fight seemed to slow as we each probed for new lines of attack.
Suddenly, he charged. I stepped back, slashing downward to clear the space and keep the range. I realized, not quickly enough, that his charge was merely a feint. My reaction gave him the space he needed to run to his horse.
I had no chance to catch him before he mounted, so I ran to Deor. Unfortunately, Deor was near the springs while the man’s horse sat near the road, and by the time I had mounted, the quick swordsman had already pounded up to the Kopayalitsa and ridden off to the east, away from Achrida.
I gave Deor his head while I tried to keep my eye on the fleeing swordsman. After about a quarter of a mile, I realized that I probably would not catch him. Worse yet, I might catch him at the time and place of his choosing. I pulled Deor up.
There seemed no help for it, so I cleaned my sword off with the inside of my tunic and sheathed it. Better a stained tunic than a rusty sword. Then I turned Deor around and told him to get us back to Achrida as fast as he could.
As we rode up to the gate, I shouted for Vojin. He emerged and I led him to the side.
“Do you know Kapric and Zvono? The quaesitors?”
“I know Zvono.”
“Excellent, I need to get a message to them. Tell them to come to meet me at the springs.”
“You have a reason I should tell them?”
“Just tell them it’s me and they’ll probably know.”
He nodded and marched off, detailing a couple of men to the task.
I wheeled Deor around and we returned to Biljana’s Springs as quickly as we could.
Chapter 3
Afternoon, 30 Gersmoanne, 1712 MG
When I returned things seemed as I had left them, with the exception that the dead man’s horse had disappeared. I had no idea if someone had released him or if he had trotted off on his own.
I rode into the meadow, slid off of Deor, and told him to let me know when anyone arrived. He snorted as if insulted. I stroked his nose in apology and even let him land a playful nip.
The attacker I had killed remained facedown, sprawled upon his shield with his sword arm out at wide, odd angle. I left him for the moment.
I pushed into the trees and saw the
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