Cyador’s Heirs

XLVIII

Each day seems like the one before, and almost two eightdays later, roughly at midmorning, Lerial finds himself instructing one of his “problem” sets of squads. Everything seems to take the two squads now before him twice as long to learn, and they seem to forget twice as quickly. The chill air and brisk winter wind doesn’t help either, although it isn’t as cold as the gray skies would indicate, but day after day of winter gray wears on Lerial.

He returns full concentration to instructing the group on various ways to slip or parry a blade, when one of the taller recruits asks, “Ser … why don’t we work more on blocks. They’re easier, and there’s so much to learn.”

Lerial swears that he has explained that at least five times before, but he takes a slow deep breath and smiles pleasantly. “I could say that you need to learn slipping and parrying because it’s better technique. Or I could say that you need to learn it because I said so, but the real reason is simple. If you make a practice of just holding up your blade in a block, your arms will get tired quickly … and if someone strikes it while they’re moving faster or if they’re stronger, they’ll throw you back or they can shiver the iron of your blade so much that you’ll lose control. Also, if you fight the same person for long, they’ll see that’s what you’re doing and come up under your blade with a gut thrust. All of those are good ways to get killed.”

“I don’t understand, ser.” A puzzled expression appears on the pleasant-enough face of the big blond youth-except that he’s likely older than Lerial.

“Hold your wand in a block,” Lerial orders, as he backs away. “Just hold it there.”

The puzzled expression intensifies, but the ranker trainee follows Lerial’s instructions.

What Lerial is about to do won’t work in a real fight, he knows, but he hopes it will get his point across. One of them, anyway. He stops five yards back. “Ready?”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial sprints forward, then, whips the wand into a half-down and half-sideways arc so that both his momentum and the force of his strike land on the wand of the trainee. At that last moment, he also adds a touch of order to the point of contact of his wand, because he can’t afford to have it shatter, and it should add more force to his blade.

The effect isn’t quite what Lerial hoped, because the rather sturdy and stout trainee rocks back on his feet rather than loses his balance, but Lerial finishes with a back cut that rips the wand out of the other’s hands.

Lerial’s own hands are tingling, but the trainee is standing openmouthed.

As Lerial steps back and lowers his wand, he hears a murmur.

“… giving away a stone, and Storen’s a logger…”

“That’s a crude example of what can happen with a stationary block when you’re mounted,” Lerial says into the silence. “Technique with strength usually beats greater strength with poorer technique-unless you’re lucky. It’s not a good idea to trust your life to luck. Pick up your wand.” He waits until the former logger picks up the wand before he says. “Turn to your partner. On my signal, those on the left, aim a thrust for the chest. Those on the right, slip the attacking wand, or parry it. Ready! Now!”

For the remainder of his session with those two squads, no one raises any more questions, stupid or otherwise, and Lerial thanks the Rational Stars that his impromptu demonstration worked, because he can see, in hindsight, that it could have gone terribly wrong.

After a third session, Lerial is walking toward the small building that holds Altyrn’s study when Kusyl rides by and reins up. “Ser…?”

“Yes, Kusyl?”

“I was riding by a glass or so ago, and I saw you … well, it was a strange move…”

Lerial frowns. “Oh … when I was trying to show what could happen if all they did was block a cut or slash.”

“How did you think of that, ser?” asks Kusyl.

“I was just trying to get across what would happen if they’re just sticking a blade up in a block. I remembered how much it hurt when I tried that.” Lerial smiles wryly. “It would have been easier if I hadn’t picked one of the biggest trainees.”

Kusyl grins. “Might be, ser, but they’ll remember it. Never show anything against the smallest man in the squad. Everyone will think it’s because you’re bigger. ’Course, I never had to worry about that.” The squad leader, who is acting as an undercaptain and training the squads in company-sized maneuvers, grins.

Lerial laughs softly. “Do you have any other suggestions?”

“It helps if you can use a blade with either hand.”

“That’s a good idea.” If you can find time to practice with your other hand. “Anything else?”

“Keep it simple. Most of them will forget half what you teach them in their first skirmish, and some poor squad leader will have to beat it back into them again.”

“Repeat and repeat,” Lerial says dryly, knowing that he is merely uttering what Altyrn has already emphasized.

“And do it again.” Kusyl pauses. “I’d still like to know how you did that.”

“Luck. I don’t think I’ll try it again. It was one of those ideas that seemed good at the time, and I was lucky it worked. The problem is, I realized, that an officer-or a squad leader-who’s instructing can’t afford to make obvious mistakes or look bad … and that could easily have gone wrong.” And almost did.

“That’s true, ser.”

“How are your squads doing in riding as a group?”

“They all stay together, and they’ve finally managed not to hit each other with their weapons. In another eightday, I might be able to get them to use real sabres without worrying. That is, if the Meroweyans don’t attack first. Have you heard anything, ser?”

“Not so far.” What Lerial doesn’t say, but Kusyl knows, is that it’s a good eightday for a dispatch rider from Cigoerne, and it’s still winter. “Have your scouts reported anything happening around Yakaat?”

“They’ve seen some wagon teams and armsmen accompanying them, but there’s only a squad of armsmen staying in the town.”

“That sounds like they’re sending tools and equipment there.”

“Be my thought. Probably send armsmen and engineers right after spring planting … maybe before, if the weather holds, and there’s no rain.”

“If there’s rain…” Lerial shakes his head.

“Be a bitch either way, ser.”

Lerial nods. Even he understands that. Enough rain to slow the Meroweyans will also slow training the recruits.

“Begging your pardon, ser, but I’ve got another company coming up for maneuvers.”

“Don’t let me keep you.” Lerial needs to hurry himself, if he is to get back to the drill field in time for his next two squads.