Authors: Julianne Lee
Tags: #Kidnapping, #Science Fiction, #Fantasy fiction, #Married people, #Scotland, #General, #Fantasy, #Children - Crimes against, #Fighter pilots, #Fiction, #Time travel
Knight's Blood (18 page)
Trefor was sitting at his fire and looked up at Alex with an air of offended ego. “I told you, I can handle a sword.” Alex may have been his father, but there was no getting around that he was still only five years older and could not command the authority of an older and wiser parent. All he had on Trefor was the two years he’d spent in this century his son had not. But Alex didn’t want to think of that.
“Right. Show me.” Alex drew his sword and held it ready at his side.
Trefor considered the challenge for a moment, then stood and reached for his sword from among the pile of belongings next to his bedroll. As he straightened, Alex hauled back and swung, and Trefor parried like a fencer, misdirecting the force of the assault, and his eyes went wide at the force of Alex’s sword. He stumbled back as Alex swung again. And again Trefor was forced to retreat under the fast blows of his father’s sword.
The terrible thing, though, was that Alex was not trying for speed. He was telegraphing his moves in order not to damage Trefor unnecessarily. His heart tightened that his son had come to this century as poorly prepared to survive as he’d been in the twenty-first century. This was very bad. Trefor wouldn’t last more than a minute in a real fight.
An Dubhar laid off and stood down after backing Trefor a few steps. The dread of losing Trefor to an English sword shocked him with its power. As thoroughly annoying as the guy was, he was still somehow more important than anything else in Alex’s life, and the realization of that vulnerability nearly paralyzed him. His response was to fight the emotion, as he fought all emotions that gave him trouble, and his voice went to a snarl with it.
“Had I been a real opponent,” Alex said, “you would be lying on the ground now, bleeding to death.
Death
. Do you understand what that means? I would have sliced through your mail, hacked you to bits, and you would be helpless and dying with the full knowledge that there is no surgery here, no medical attention that will put you back together once you’ve been laid open sufficiently.” He paused to let that sink in, and his mouth pressed together with the anger that rose from his concern. Trefor was a problem that needed to be solved.
Death
. Do you understand what that means? I would have sliced through your mail, hacked you to bits, and you would be helpless and dying with the full knowledge that there is no surgery here, no medical attention that will put you back together once you’ve been laid open sufficiently.” He paused to let that sink in, and his mouth pressed together with the anger that rose from his concern. Trefor was a problem that needed to be solved.
Trefor gazed at him, his eyes aflame with rage. He was probably about to tell Alex off for attacking him like that, but Alex also saw a little fear in his demeanor. Good. Fear, he’d learned, was an excellent motivator, and even if Trefor would never admit Alex was right in his assessment, then at least the guy might want to learn how to survive. It didn’t matter whether Trefor liked him; it only mattered that he would live.
Alex sheathed his sword and held out his hand. “Let me see your sword.”
Trefor hesitated, then handed over his weapon. Alex examined it, a long-bladed cross-hilt with a grip nearly long enough to use as a hand-and-a-half bastard sword. It was genuine, crafted in this time. “You bought it after you arrived in this century.”
“Of course I did. I’m not stupid.”
Alex ignored that. “It’s still too heavy. You need a lighter sword. Faster. Shorter, because you’re not tall enough to wield a sword this long. You and I are taller than most around here, but this thing is for someone well over six feet, and it’s too heavy for anyone who wants to last more than a few minutes in a fight.”
“I want a heavy sword, to cut through chain mail.”
“You don’t need this much weight for that. If you were bigger, then maybe you could get away with this blade. A smaller sword, wielded correctly, will do what you want. And it’ll do it without wearing you out.”
“I’ve seen your claymore. It’s a monster.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed at him. “You’ll never see me swing it while mounted, because I use both hands. I can use it one-handed if I have to, if I hook a finger over a quillon, but I prefer not to. Two hands are better. Lindsay used to carry it on her saddle, to hand to me if I was ever unhorsed.” For a moment he flashed on how he’d used it to defend her at Bannockburn, and his chest tightened. Quickly he took a deep breath and put her out of his mind. He continued. “And it’s lighter than you think it is.” He hefted Trefor’s sword in his hand. “It’s hardly any heavier than this thing. Next chance you get, replace this with a lighter sword. One that really will cut through chain mail.”
“This’ll be fine.”
“Do what I say.”
“No.”
Alex wanted to smack him for this stubbornness. He wanted to slap him around like the fool he was acting, and make him understand that because Alex had experience he knew best. But he also knew Trefor would never listen on that account. Alex’s authority as laird wasn’t going to cut it because Trefor hadn’t been raised to respect this system. Alex had no hold, no leverage to even make Trefor understand the importance of what he would teach.
Then Alex realized what he must do. It was a terrible thing, but it was necessary. Trefor would never learn any other way, and it was far better he be taught now, by someone who would not kill him, than by an opponent who would certainly try and probably succeed. Alex tossed Trefor’s weapon back to him and drew his own sword again. “Defend yourself.”
Trefor readily went
en garde
like an eighteenth-century dandy, and Alex sighed with deep impatience.
Fencing
. Perfunctorily, with almost no effort, he feinted to the left and stabbed to the right. Trefor fell for it completely, and the tip of Alex’s blade went easily through Trefor’s hauberk, into his left arm, then through and partway into a back muscle. Trefor gasped and stumbled back. Alex stood down, knowing he’d shocked Trefor enough that there would be no reprisal. Not today, anyway.
en garde
like an eighteenth-century dandy, and Alex sighed with deep impatience.
Fencing
. Perfunctorily, with almost no effort, he feinted to the left and stabbed to the right. Trefor fell for it completely, and the tip of Alex’s blade went easily through Trefor’s hauberk, into his left arm, then through and partway into a back muscle. Trefor gasped and stumbled back. Alex stood down, knowing he’d shocked Trefor enough that there would be no reprisal. Not today, anyway.
“What the fuck did you do that for?” Trefor let his sword drop to the ground, and he held his bleeding shoulder.
“Probably just extended your life expectancy. There’s always the possibility of infection, but you probably won’t get one.”
“You stabbed me!”
“I could have killed you!” Alex wiped Trefor’s blood from his sword onto his trews and scabbarded the weapon, then stepped in to impress his words upon his son. “When you are fighting for real, you are defending your
life
. There are no rules. There is no such thing as honor or chivalry when you are fighting someone who wants to kill you. There is only making certain you are not the one to die that day.”
life
. There are no rules. There is no such thing as honor or chivalry when you are fighting someone who wants to kill you. There is only making certain you are not the one to die that day.”
Trefor’s eyes took on the sullen look again that enraged Alex so terribly, and it was no longer such a puzzle why he hadn’t learned anything in high school. Alex gritted his teeth and held back his hand from slapping that look from Trefor’s face.
He continued. “When I tell you that you need a smaller sword, it isn’t because I like hearing myself talk. Nor is it because I’m a control freak who wants everyone around me to be like me. When I say you need another sword, it’s because you
need
it to stay alive. This one will get you killed, because it’s too damn big, too heavy, and you don’t know how to use a sword that has an edge and weighs more than a pound and a half. I don’t care where you bought it, or how much it cost, or how big my own standby sword is. Yours is too . . . bloody . . . big.” He glared at Trefor and let that sink in. The sullenness did not abate, but after a few seconds Alex said, “Here. Feel this.” He handed over his own sword.
need
it to stay alive. This one will get you killed, because it’s too damn big, too heavy, and you don’t know how to use a sword that has an edge and weighs more than a pound and a half. I don’t care where you bought it, or how much it cost, or how big my own standby sword is. Yours is too . . . bloody . . . big.” He glared at Trefor and let that sink in. The sullenness did not abate, but after a few seconds Alex said, “Here. Feel this.” He handed over his own sword.
For a second it looked like Trefor wasn’t going to comply, but then he took his hand from his wound, wiped the blood onto the thigh of his trews, and took the offered sword. It was also a cross-hilt, with a gilded pommel. Quite fancy compared to others wielded by knights of his station, and the tip of the blade was tapered to a point where Trefor’s was not.
Trefor admitted with obvious reluctance, “This went through the mail like it wasn’t there.”
“You’ve got to be faster. You’ve handicapped yourself by buying a sword that’s too long for you. Too heavy. You think that because it’s a broadsword it’s supposed to be slow, but you’re wrong. The guys you’ll be fighting are a lot faster than you think. They’re faster than I just was, and they’ll be out to kill you. Also, they’re not likely to ever feel it necessary to tell you to defend yourself. They’ll just come after you, and they won’t apologize afterward for being so rude.”
Even Trefor had to give a wry smile at that.
“Do what I say, man. Get yourself a new sword.” Alex took back his weapon, then gestured to Trefor’s on the ground. “Pick that up, and we’ll go on.”
Trefor grimaced and flexed his left shoulder a little to indicate his pain. “How about we let his heal first?”
Alex snorted. “That’s nothing, and if you can’t handle a little pain during practice you’ll be worthless on the field and I won’t have you in my outfit. Pick up your sword, and we’ll continue. It’ll be good experience to learn to ignore a little cut like that.”
“I’m still bleeding.”
“It’s almost stopped. Pick up your sword.”
“If I faint, will you kill me?”
“Piss me off, and we’ll see. Pick up the bloody sword.”
Trefor finally complied, and went back to
en garde
but this time with his left arm held to his side.
en garde
but this time with his left arm held to his side.
“Where’s your shield?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Why not?”
“I prefer not to use one.”
“Get one. In fact, go get that one over there.” He pointed with his chin to his own kite-shaped red, gold, and black shield leaning against a tree outside his tent. Then he whistled to Gregor and told him to bring Henry Ellot’s shield, which stood outside the next tent.
Trefor said, “I don’t need a shield. I have a dagger to use in that hand.”
“Get. The shield.” Alex was losing patience and would have liked to stab Trefor again just for being such a pain. Trefor glared at him, and Alex returned it until Trefor complied. Once he’d taken the shield, he went back to his fencing stance. Alex accepted Ellot’s shield from little Gregor.
“Forget
en garde
,” he told Trefor.
en garde
,” he told Trefor.
Trefor stood down. “What’s wrong with it?”
“You’re not playing a game, that’s what’s wrong with it. This isn’t sport—it isn’t even a duel—and you’re wielding a blade that cuts better than it stabs, and en garde isn’t appropriate.”
“I’ve done sabers.”
“Big deal. You’re using a shield, but by standing sideways like that you’re trying to hide the unprotected part of your body as if you weren’t carrying one.”
“See, I don’t need a shield. I—”
“
You’re not going to a tea party!
You’re going into battle, and if you are unhorsed you will be in the midst of a melee with blades all around you. Not just blades, but pikes, maces, axes, crossbows, and longbows. If you are not unhorsed, you will have guys coming at you with swords and lances.” Why wouldn’t this guy listen to him? What bug had gotten up his butt that he had to argue with everything Alex said? “Use the shield, forget
en garde
, and bloody well listen to me!”
You’re not going to a tea party!
You’re going into battle, and if you are unhorsed you will be in the midst of a melee with blades all around you. Not just blades, but pikes, maces, axes, crossbows, and longbows. If you are not unhorsed, you will have guys coming at you with swords and lances.” Why wouldn’t this guy listen to him? What bug had gotten up his butt that he had to argue with everything Alex said? “Use the shield, forget
en garde
, and bloody well listen to me!”
Trefor’s mouth pressed together and a white line formed around his lips. But he finally said, “All right. How do you want me to stand?”
“Like this.” Alex demonstrated a more face-on stance with his sword held high and the shield covering the left side of his torso. Trefor imitated. “You can see how your best targets are going to be the head, arms, and legs. Your opponent is going to be wearing a helmet and carrying a shield, so his legs are most vulnerable. Cut him off at the knees, as they say, and he’ll topple obligingly and become vulnerable elsewhere. But the good news around here is that you don’t need to bother with him once you’ve cut his leg deep enough. Especially if you manage to cut it
off
, because he’ll bleed to death, or at least be of no further use to his king with a missing leg. In any case, he won’t be annoying you anymore that day.”
off
, because he’ll bleed to death, or at least be of no further use to his king with a missing leg. In any case, he won’t be annoying you anymore that day.”
To Alex’s surprise, that seemed to sink into Trefor’s thick skull.
For another hour or so he coached his son on how to handle broadsword and shield, and Trefor managed to stop giving him guff at every turn. By the time Alex saw sweat popping out on Trefor’s forehead from the pain in his wounded shoulder, he was feeling more comfortable about Trefor’s ability to survive in combat.
Alex hoped Trefor’s improved attitude might stick with him, but in the following days around the cook fires along the way to the Marches, Trefor regained his sullen demeanor. Particularly if Hector was around. He bitched and moaned about the way people lived in this time, the lack of technology he considered basic, in modern English so Hector would wonder what he was saying.
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