Kendra said, “A mage brought them here and paid them the gold and silver.”
“Mage?” Flier asked, catching her slip instantly. “What mage?”
She faced him and said flatly. “Waystones and mages go together. You don’t find one without the other.”
He nodded and seemed to consider. “Twice I saw mages near the Waystone at Vin.”
That settled the matter. I shot my sister a warning look telling her to be more careful. She gave me a slight nod as she knelt and pulled her knife free. She used the sleeve of the dead man’s shirt to wipe it clean before replacing it into the holster under her sleeve.
“I have never seen a knife like that,” Flier said.
“A friend in Andover City made them for me,” she said.
“Them?” he asked.
She held up her other arm, allowed the sleeve to fall away and revealed the second knife. He was impressed but said nothing while giving her a slight nod of approval. She said to me, “We still need to tell Elizabeth he needs a commission from the crown.”
“Do you think she will sail past the storm?” I asked.
Kendra gave me one of those eyerolls that told me I’d asked a stupid question. Yes, Elizabeth would get past the storm, sail around it, or eventually follow us over the Vin Pass, or find another route. One way or another, the princess would arrive in Dagger, Will at her heels, and Avery would probably be there to greet her, dressed in his finest, leaning on the city gates to welcome her, perhaps with the King of Trager at his side.
However, the last Kendra had checked, the mages on the ships were still in place, so we assumed the storm still raged. Without saying so, my sister and I assumed the Blue Lady had all to do with the attack, and it may have been the very mage who had projected the blue image who knew of our location. And the one who brought the two attackers to kill us. When they failed, he fled via the Waystone. Neither of us believed in trusting coincidence too much.
Flier removed the sash from one attacker and tied it around his waist, then inserted the sword under it. His actions were clumsy and awkward, the knot at his waist fell open, and the sword hit the ground at his feet. Fortunately, he leaped aside before losing any toes.
I laughed with the rest, then picked up the weapon and examined it. While heavier than I preferred, it was a formidable sword, well-made in the manner of weapons forged for armies. That is to say, the workmanship was solid, lacking any decoration. It was a tool, no more than a shovel in the hands of a farmer.
A good shovel didn’t have to look pretty to dig a deep hole, and the sword in my hands would kill. My thumb explored the edge, finding it dull near the hilt and sharp for the remainder. The dullness was probably deliberate, so it didn’t cut through the sash worn to carry it. A few nicks and burrs were discovered by my thumbnail, the kind a few strokes of a sharpening stone would quickly remove. I said to him, “Do you know how to use a sword?”
“Not really. I was a messenger, not a regular soldier.”
“The blade is dull at the top near the pommel, so it doesn’t cut the sash when you walk. Don’t let that deceive you, this is a warrior’s weapon, sharp and heavy at the tip for speed and power.”
He listened intently. Kendra walked closer, the other sword in her hand. She raised it high above her head to demonstrate, bringing it down slowly at me in a chopping motion. Without thought, the one in my hand adjusted a quarter turn to effectively block her pretended blow. Meeting the other blade at a ninety-degree angle provided the best chance of stopping it.
Kendra recovered and attempted a side-slash, again moving slowly. My blade turned to meet it. “Defense. Block the attack. If you block them all, you live. It’s as simple as that.”
“But he will keep on attacking,” Flier said.
“Leave it for one of us to help you kill him. Your job is to stay alive. Nothing else,” Kendra said.
He clearly didn’t like her advice and turned to me, hoping for a contradiction that didn’t come. “She’s right. Remember this, you are probably fighting a professional, or at least someone with training. The moment you choose to attack, you lose your defensive position. In attacking, you leave yourself defenseless.”
Kendra said, “These blades are heavy and slow. An attacker has to swing and use much more energy, while all you have to do is meet his attempts with a turn of your wrist. He’ll quickly tire. But, my main point is that if you parry each blow, you can do it all day without injury.”
He didn’t appear to believe her. “Why doesn’t everyone do that?”
She turned to me and nodded at my sword at my side. I handed him back his, then drew mine with a flourish. The fine steel sparked in the sunlight, the long thin blade with the slight rearward curve felt at home in my hand, as it should after all the time it had spent there. It had occupied my almost daily practice for years, ever since the Weapons-Master proclaimed me proficient enough to put aside the oak practice-swords that had been my training for three years.
The sharp tip of my sword danced figure-eights in the mountain air, darting from side to side as it did, and melding into circles that grew larger with each revolution, the glinting metal moving so fast the eye could barely keep up with it. With a lunge of my right foot, the blade extended as if it had doubled in length, jabbing three times before swiping from left to right fast enough for the blade to sing as it passed through the air.
“Enough showing off,” she said. “He understands.”
Flier said, “I could never stop that.”
Kendra chuckled and nodded. “Told you he understood. If you ever face a blade-smith with half the skill of Damon, your options are to run or die. Don’t allow false pride to hold you back when your feet can save you.”
“Cowards run away,” he said stiffly.
Kendra half-closed her eyes in frustration. She spoke softly. “And brave men die. Listen well. If you encounter a poisonous snake that wants to bite you, will your choice be to remain and attempt to bite it first? No, that would be as likely to cause your death as attempting to cross swords with my brother. Run from the snake. Run from a swordsman.”
“I am not a coward.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nor are you going to be a live hero.” She spun in disgust and stalked away to rejoin the girls who were watching everything with wide eyes. She tied the other sash around her waist and placed the sword inside. She handed each girl a knife.
I still held my sword, so moved a few steps closer to Flier and raised it as if chopping wood. As it moved slowly down, he lifted his. However, it was held at an angle. “Stop,” I ordered. He did, and I allowed my blade to lightly touch his and slide off, where sharp edge came to rest on his shoulder.
I raised my blade and made as if to attack him again. This time, he met it squarely. I pulled back and attacked from the side, and again, he met it firmly, holding his with both hands. We varied attacks and defenses until he adjusted to each, and although we moved slowly, he understood what was required to block chops, swings, and slashes. Due to limited time, jabs and thrusts were ignored.
An arrow from the quiver on my back replaced the broken one in my scabbard, so I still carried four. We turned to continue up the path. Grass and plants grew where feet had once walked to clear a path wide enough for two to walk abreast, and I’d wager that small wagons or carts had used it in the past. From what was under our feet, nobody may have traveled the path for a year or more.