They spread out uncertainly, looking at each other. Another breath, and he attacked. His face suddenly twisted and the racking Mackenzie shriek burst from him stunning-loud. A crack of shields on shield, the hard clack as one blade met another, a dull thud of a blunt wooden point on mail over padded leather and hard stomach muscle, and Bonnngk!
The oaken practice sword glanced off a Readstowner?s kettle helmet, twisting it half around to break the chin strap and dropping him like a steer hit between the eyes with a sledge. Rudi stepped back and sloped the steel-cored oak lath over his shoulder.
One opponent was down, curled up like a shrimp and giving faint hoarse gasping whoops as he tried to draw breath through a diaphram half paralyzed by a thrust to the pit of the belly; another rolled about with his hands to a head still ringing from the blow that had set his helmet flying with a sound like some dull unmusical bell, and the third was white-faced and shaking from the hard rake across his leg just below his crotch, and from the thought of what it would have meant with live steel-which thought hit more like a message, flashed from gut and balls. ?You fellows are far from bad,? Rudi said.
His breath was deep but not panting. The world came back in its autumnal bleakness as he flicked the visor back up. ?But you?re being too much the gentlemen there. If you?re fighting a man three on one, just surround him and flail away, get in more strikes than he can block; even the Sedanta couldn?t fight two, as the saying goes. Don?t give him a chance to deal with you one at a time.? ?Listen to the voice of experience, you lambs still sucking at mommy?s tit,? said the Readstown arms master.
The three youngsters were all big rangy young men, but a few years shy of twenty. Even in their discomfort they managed to look sheepishly embarrassed. Their fathers were Farmers hereabout, which gave them more time to practice than common folk, and they were well equipped and supposedly well trained. In Rudi?s judgment they were on the better side of middling, as far as formal drill was concerned. Certainly they were strong, quick and fearless. ?He doesn?t use our moves,? one of them complained, when he could stand and speak.?And he?s a southpaw.?
The arms master?s smile was a wonder to see as he crossed his arms on his chest and stared at them; it reminded Rudi of one Sam Aylward had put on when he was fifteen and had done something truly stupid on Dun Juniper?s practice field. The kind that made you feel as if you were six and playing at warriors out behind the stable with a rotten stick for a sword and an old fence board for a shield, rather than training for the real thing. When the older man spoke his voice was like a flaying knife: ?Yah hey, if someone attacks you using different moves, or if they?re a leftie, you?re just going to say you?re taking your bat and ball and going home?cause it ain?t fair? Christ, Weiss, I?ve known you were a dumb little punk for years, but do you have to show it off in front of strangers??
Rudi laughed, in friendly wise.?If you travel, you do meet different ways of fighting, the which can be an unpleasant surprise. Surprises can kill you in this trade, for there?s no time to think things out when men fight to kill. I had the advantage of you, for I?ve trained with Ingolf Vogeler for some time now and know the Readstown style. Here, let me show you what happened. Half speed.?
He ran them through the moves of the fight.?See, when I sidestepped I put you out of line with your shield, and in the way of your friend here so he couldn?t strike while I took you out with a lunging thrust, then rammed him off-balance shield-to-shield on the next step.?
The DI nodded.?I keep telling you, Weiss, you can use the shield to hit with, not just block. So can the guy you?re fighting.? ?Then I backhanded this other fine fellow across the head, turned on my heel, and lunged while your friend there was off-balance, which left me with nothing to do but block your other friend with the black hair so -?
He mimed letting a shete-cut slide off the blade of his longsword. ?-which in turn left me in position for a quick stab to the inside of the thigh, below the armor and cup. It?s a low blow that?s often the most effective. A man who blocks strikes to his face and chest well can often be taken with a blow to the thighs or knees or shins-or even a thrust through his foot pinning it to the ground, after which he?ll be sadly lacking in nimbleness and no good at a dance at all.? ?Christ, you were fast,? one of the young men said reverently.?I didn?t think a guy your height could move like that. That?s why I tried to come in under your guard.? ?Well, to be sure, I am very quick,? Rudi said.
Modesty was a vice he left to Christians and there was also no point in denying what they?d seen with their own eyes; and while some of it was just the cradle gifts of the fey, more was honestly earned by long hard effort. ?And being both tall and fast is a fine thing. But also, there?s the matter of the weapons. Your Eastern shete hits hard, I will not dispute, but it recovers slowly even when held by a strong wrist. Good enough for a melee, where you seldom strike for the same man twice and few men see the blow that kills them, but not for the higher art. Here there?s just the four of us, and no interruptions or distractions, of which a battle has more than its share.?
The Readstown instructor held out his hand.?Can I see that? What do you call it?? ?A longsword. To be technical, it?s a hand-and-a-half, or a bastard longsword. Thirty-six inches in the blade, and the hilt long enough for either a single or two-hand grip. Here, try the steel, it?ll give you a better idea than wood.?
He picked up his sheathed sword where it rested with the belt wrapped around the scabbard and tossed it over. The Readstowner drew the great cross-hilted blade. His eyes picked out the spots where nicks had been ground out of the layer-forged steel, and he grunted approval of the state of the edge-knife sharp, but not a vulnerable hair-thin razor edge that would turn on bone, and all the metal covered with a barely perceptible film of neatsfoot oil. He tried it in a few broad sweeping cuts of the type the local blade-style used, feet rustling in the yellow-brown barley stubble, then held the weapon and turned it slowly in a circle from the wrist, and then flicked it back and forth. ?Nice piece of smith work here, you betcha. It?s no lighter than a cavalry shete,? he said.?But the balance is a lot further back. Just forward of the guard.? He tried a thrust.?Bet you could put this right through a mail shirt.? ?Yes, with a solid hit. And enough weight behind it and just a wee bit of luck. The blade tapers to a narrow point, as you see, and the tip of it will get inside the first link. Then the edges cut the rings from the inside. Even good riveted mail is much better protection against cuts than thrusts of that sort.? ?Like a thin-tipped spear?? ?Precisely, though you won?t run a man in a mail hauberk all the way through… but inches are enough in the right place, eh?? ?Yah hey, fighting or fucking,? the man said, to a general laugh.
Then he tossed it up a little, resheathed it and went on shrewdly: ?Bet this thing takes longer to learn well than a shete. Bet you?ve been at it a while; I?d say you?re a Changeling. All the way, too, not just mostly like me.? ?Probably, though a wise man never stops learning his tools,? Rudi acknowledged with respect to the first part of the statement.?And yes, I?ve been at it since I could walk, more or less, and I was born in the first Change Year. War?s my trade, though I?ve put my hand to other things in plenty.? ?Like to fight, do you?? ?No, that I do not,? Rudi replied.?I like the art of the thing, and the mastering of the skill, and the testing of the self. A bladesman?s skill can be as beautiful as any other. Fighting… that you do because it?s needful.? ?You?ve won a lot of fights,? one of the youngsters said brashly, despite a glare from his instructor when he pushed into the conversation.?What?s it like? We?ve had some brushes with outlaws lately but they just run off if they can?t bushwhack you.?