The Burning Bridge ra-2 Page 4

  He didn't wait for an answer, but turned to the smaller boy.

  "Now, Will," he said. "Let's see those knives of yours."

  "Both of them?" Will hesitated and Gilan rolled his eyes to heaven. The expression was remarkably like the one that Halt used when Will asked one question too many.

  "Sorry," Will mumbled, unsheathing his two knives and holding them out to Gilan. The older Ranger didn't take them. He quickly inspected their edges and checked to see that the fine layer of rust-proofing oil was on them. He nodded, satisfied, when he saw everything was as it should be.

  "Right," he said. "Saxe knife goes in your right hand, because that's the one you use to block a sword cut-"

  Will frowned. "Why would I need to block a sword cut?"

  Gilan leaned forward and rapped him none too gently on the top of his head with his knuckles.

  "Well, perhaps to stop it from splitting your skull might be a good reason," he suggested.

  "But Halt says Rangers don't fight at close quarters," Will protested. Gilan nodded agreement.

  "It's certainly not our role. But, if the occasion arises when we have to, it's a good idea to know how to go about it."

  As they'd been talking, Horace had risen from his spot on the log and moved closer to watch them. He interrupted, a trifle scornfully.

  "You don't think a little knife like that is going to stop a proper sword, do you?" he asked. Gilan raised one eyebrow at him.

  "Take a closer look at that 'little knife' before you sound so certain," he invited. Horace held out his hand for the knife. Will quickly reversed it and placed its hilt into Horace's hand.

  Will had to agree with Horace. The saxe knife was a large knife. Almost a short sword, in fact. But compared to a real sword, like Horace's or Gilan's, it seemed woefully inadequate.

  Horace swung the knife experimentally, testing its balance.

  "It's heavy," he said finally.

  "And hard. Very, very hard," Gilan told him. "Ranger knives are made by craftsmen who've perfected the art of hardening steel to an amazing degree. You'd blunt your sword edge against that, and barely leave a nick on it."

  Horace pursed his lips. "Even so, you've been teaching me the idea of movement and leverage all week. There's a lot less leverage in a short blade like this."

  "That's true," Gilan agreed. "So we have to find another source of leverage, don't we? And that's the shorter knife. The throwing knife."

  "I don't get it," said Horace, the frown deepening between his eyebrows. Will didn't either, but he was glad the other boy had admitted his ignorance first. He adopted a knowing look as he waited for Gilan to explain. He should have known better. The Ranger's sharp eyes missed very little.

  "Well, perhaps Will could explain it for you?" Gilan said pleasantly.

  He cocked his head at Will expectantly. Will hesitated.

  "Well:it's the:ah:um:the two knife defense," he stammered. There was a long pause as Gilan said nothing, so Will added, just a little doubtfully: "Isn't it?"

  "Of course it is!" Gilan replied. "Now would you care to demonstrate?" He didn't even wait for Will's reply, but went on with barely a pause, "I thought not. So, please, allow me."

  He took Will's saxe knife and withdrew his own throwing knife from its sheath. Then he gestured to Horace's sword with the smaller knife.

  "Right, then," he said, all business. "Pick up your sticker."

  Horace did so, doubtfully. Gilan gestured him out to the center of the practice area, then took a ready stance. Horace did the same, sword point up.

  "Now," said Gilan, "try an overhand cut at me."

  "But:" Horace gestured unhappily to the two smaller weapons in Gilan's grasp. Gilan rolled his eyes in exasperation.

  "When will you two learn?" he asked. "I do know what I'm doing. Now get on with it!"

  He actually shouted the last words at Horace. The big apprentice, galvanized into action, and conditioned to instant obedience to shouted commands by his months spent on the drill field, swung his sword in a murderous overhand cut at Gilan's head.

  There was a ringing clash of steel and the blade stopped dead in the air. Gilan had crossed the two Ranger knives in front of it, the throwing knife supporting the saxe knife blade, and blocked the cut easily. Horace stepped back, a little surprised.

  "See?" said Gilan. "The smaller knife provides the support, or the extra leverage, for the bigger weapon." He addressed these remarks mainly to Will, who looked on with great interest. Then he spoke to Horace again. "Right. Underhand cut, please."

  Horace swung underhand. Again, Gilan locked the two blades and blocked the stroke. He glanced at Will, who nodded his understanding.

  "Now, side cut," Gilan ordered. Again, Horace swung. Again, the sword was stopped cold.

  "Getting the idea?" Gilan asked Will.

  "Yes. What about a straight thrust?" he asked. Gilan nodded approvingly.

  "Good question. That's a little different." He turned back to Horace. "Incidentally, if you're ever facing a man using two knives, thrusting is your safest and most effective form of attack. Now, thrust, please."

  Horace lunged with the point of his sword, his right foot leading the way in a high-stepping stamp to deliver extra momentum to the stroke. This time, Gilan used only the saxe knife to deflect the blade, sending it gliding past his body with a slither of steel.

  "We can't stop this one," he instructed Will. "So we simply deflect it. On the positive side, there's less force behind a thrust, so we can use just the saxe knife."

  Horace, meeting no real resistance to the thrust, had stumbled forward as the blade was deflected. Instantly, Gilan's left hand was gripping a handful of his shirt and had pulled him closer, until their shoulders were almost touching. It happened so quickly and casually that Horace's eyes widened in surprise.

  "And this is where a short blade comes in very handy indeed," Gilan pointed out. He mimed an underarm thrust with the saxe knife into Horace's exposed side. The boy's eyes widened even further as he realized the full implications of what he had just been shown. His discomfort increased as Gilan continued his demonstration.

  "And of course, if you don't want to kill him, or if he's wearing a mail shirt, you can always use the saxe blade to cripple him."

  He mimed a short swing to the back of Horace's knee, bringing the heavy, razor-sharp blade to a halt a few inches from his leg.

  Horace gulped. But the lesson still wasn't over.

  "Or remember," Gilan added cheerfully, "this left hand, holding his collar, also has a rather nasty, rather sharp stabbing blade attached to it." He waggled the short, broad-bladed throwing knife to bring their attention to it.

  "A quick thrust up under the jaw and it's good night swordsman, isn't it?"

  Will shook his head in admiration. "That's amazing, Gilan!" he breathed. "I've never seen anything like it."

  Gilan released his grip on Horace's shirt and the boy stepped back quickly, before any more demonstrations of his vulnerability might be made.

  "We don't make a lot of noise about it," the Ranger admitted. "It's preferable to run into a swordsman who doesn't know the dangers involved in the double knife defense." He glanced apologetically at Horace. "Naturally, it's taught in the kingdom's Battleschools," he added. "But it's a second-year subject. Sir Rodney would have shown you next year."

  Will stepped forward into the practice ground. "Can I try it?" he asked eagerly, unsheathing his throwing knife.

  "Of course," said Gilan. "You two may as well practice together in the evenings from now on. But not with real weapons. Cut some practice sticks to use."

  Horace nodded at the wisdom of this. "That's right, Will," he said. "After all, you're just starting to learn this and I wouldn't want to hurt you." He thought about it, then added with a grin, "Well, not too badly, anyway."

  The grin faded as Gilan corrected him. "That's one reason, of course," said the Ranger. "But we also don't have the time for you to be resharpening your sword every night."r />
  He glanced meaningfully down at Horace's blade. The apprentice followed his gaze and let out a low moan. There were two deep nicks in the edge of his blade, obviously from the overhand and underhand cuts that Gilan had blocked. One glance told Horace that he'd spend at least an hour honing and sharpening to get rid of them. He looked questioningly at the saxe knife, hoping to see the same result there. Gilan shook his head cheerfully and brought the heavy blade up for inspection.

  "Not a mark," he said, grinning. "Remember, I told you that Ranger knives are specially made."

  Ruefully, Horace rummaged in his pack for his sharpening steel and, sitting down on the hard-packed sand, began to draw it along the edge of his sword.

  "Gilan," Will said. "I've been thinking:"

  Gilan raised his eyebrows to heaven in mock despair. Again, the expression reminded Will forcefully of Halt. "Always a problem," said the Ranger. "And what, pray tell, have you been thinking?"

  "Well," began Will slowly, "this double knife business is all well and good. But wouldn't it be better just to shoot the swordsman before he got to close quarters?"

  "Yes, Will. It certainly would," Gilan agreed patiently. "But what if you were about to do that and your bowstring broke?"

  "I could run and hide," he suggested, but Gilan pressed him.

  "What if there were nowhere to run? You're trapped against a sheer cliff. Nowhere to go. Your bowstring just broke and an angry swordsman is coming at you. What then?"

  Will shook his head. "I suppose then I'd have to fight," he admitted reluctantly.

  "Exactly," Gilan agreed. "We avoid close combat wherever possible. But if the time comes when there's no other choice, it's a good idea to be prepared, isn't it?"

  "I guess," Will said. Then Horace chimed in with a question.

  "What about an axman?" he said. Gilan looked at him, nonplussed for a moment.

  "An axman?" he asked.

  "Yes," said Horace, warming to his theme. "What about if you're facing an enemy with a battleax? Do your knives work then?"

  Gilan hesitated. "I wouldn't advise anyone to face a battleax with just two knives," he said carefully.

  "So what should I do?" Will joined in. Gilan glared from one boy to the other. He had the feeling he was being set up.

  "Shoot him," he said shortly. Will shook his head, grinning.

  "Can't," he said. "My bowstring's broken."

  "Then run and hide," said Gilan, between gritted teeth.

  "But there's a cliff," Horace pointed out. "A sheer drop behind him and an angry axman coming at him."

  "What do I do?" prompted Will.

  Gilan took a deep breath and looked them both in the eye, one after the other.

  "Jump off the cliff. It'll be less messy that way."

  6

  B ARON A RALD SHOVED THE HEAVY PARCHMENT SCROLL TO one side and looked up at Lady Pauline in exasperation.

  "Pauline, do you understand what this idiot is getting at?" he asked. The head of Castle Redmont's Diplomatic Corps nodded.

  "In principle, I do, my lord," she said. Arald made a frustrated gesture.

  "Then in principle, please explain it to me," he said, adding in an undertone, "as if I don't have enough on my plate planning for war without this sort of nonsense."

  Lady Pauline suppressed a smile. Arald had a well-known dislike of legal documents with their whereifs, wheretofores and notwithstandings.

  "Sir Montague of Cobram Keep is obliged to supply a draft of four knights and thirty men-at-arms when called upon," she began.

  "And I take it he is refusing to do so?" said the Baron wearily.

  "Not exactly, sir," she replied. "He is willing to supply the men. He is unwilling to place them, or himself, under your command."

  Arald frowned. There was no trace of his customary good humor evident at that statement.

  "But he is under my command," he said. "Cobram Keep is within the boundaries of Redmont Fief and I am his lord. And commander."

  Pauline nodded agreement. "Correct, my lord. But he does have a case. A very tenuous one, I must say, but a case nonetheless."

  Arald's face, already flushed with annoyance, became a little redder. "How can he have a case?" he demanded. "His castle is within my boundaries. I am the lord of Redmont Fief. He is my tenant. I am his commander. End of story. Ipso facto. Case-o closed-o."

  "As he sees it, my lord, the whole thing hinges on a treaty signed by his great-great-granduncle and the present king's great-great-grandfather, when Cobram Keep became part of the Kingdom of Araluen-and the Fief of Redmont. At that time, Cobram Keep was allowed to retain a certain level of independence."

  "That's ridiculous! You can't run a kingdom like that! What was Duncan's great-great-whatever-he-was thinking?"

  "It was a gesture only, my lord. The said independence would apply only to certain matters of civil administration-the right to perform and register marriages, for example-not military matters."

  "Well then!" Arald exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "If that's the case, where is the problem?"

  "The intent is obvious, my lord, in context. But this treaty was drawn up by lawyers, so there is a certain ambiguity in the wording."

  "Ambiguity is always certain when lawyers are involved," Arald said. His face brightened. He rather liked that piece of wordplay. It struck him as quite droll. He looked hopefully for a smile from Lady Pauline, but in vain. Deciding she must have missed it, he began again.

  "You see, you said 'a certain ambiguity' and I said, 'Ambiguity is always certain when'-"

  "Yes, yes, my lord. Quite so," Pauline said, cutting him off. Arald looked disappointed. She continued: "Nigel and I have gone through the treaty, and the letter, and Nigel has drafted a reply. He has found seventeen points of law where Montague has grossly misrepresented the intent of the treaty. In short, he has destroyed Montague's case most comprehensively."

  "He's good at that," Arald said, smiling once again. This time, Pauline smiled with him.

  "None better, my lord," she said.

  "So what's our next move?" the Baron asked. Pauline proffered the letter she had mentioned, but he waved it away. If Nigel and Pauline were happy with it, he knew it would be watertight. Pauline nodded. She appreciated the trust he placed in her.

  "Very well, my lord. We'll do a final draft and I thought I might have one of my students deliver it."

  She replaced the draft letter in a thin leather folder, and withdrew another document, laying it on the table in front of her and smoothing it out so that it lay flat.

  "Now, my lord, there is another matter we must discuss:"

  She saw the pained expression on the Baron's face. She knew he didn't want to discuss it.

  "You're talking about this brouhaha with Halt, I suppose? I really don't have the time," he said, making dismissive gestures at her.

  "Nonetheless, my lord, it is a brouhaha that we must make time for." She tapped the document with one forefinger. "This is a summary of the brouhaha in question, my lord."

  Arald glanced up at her. She seemed to be quite fond of that word, he thought. Or she was gently making fun of his choice of it in the first place. But Lady Pauline's face gave nothing away. She continued: "If you care to look through it?"

  He reached for it reluctantly. Pauline had known that he would try to avoid the subject. It was distasteful for all of them, but unfortunately, it had to be resolved. At that moment, there was a heavy-handed knock at the door to the Baron's office and, grateful for any interruption, he hastily called, "Come in!"

  She frowned at the distraction. It was Sir Rodney, head of the Redmont Battleschool. He threw the door open and entered with a little more than his usual energy. He was talking before he had even crossed the threshold.

  "My lord, you're simply going to have to do something about Halt!" he said. Then, noticing Lady Pauline, he made a small gesture of apology. "Oh, sorry, Pauline, didn't see you there."

  Lady Pauline inclined her head in acknowledgment of t
he apology. The department heads at Redmont were all good friends. There was no petty jealousy between them, none of the maneuvering for influence and favor that plagued some fiefs.

  The Baron sighed deeply. "What has he done now?" he asked.

  "Do I sense another brouhaha in the making?" Lady Pauline said innocently and he glanced suspiciously at her. She seemed not to notice.

  "Well, one of my fourth-year apprentices was stupid enough to make a remark about Will and Horace being sent off on a soft assignment. Said that's all they were good for."

  "Oh, dear," said Lady Pauline. "I do hope he didn't make this remark in Halt's hearing?"

  "Unfortunately, yes," said Rodney. "He's not a bad lad. All muscle and bone, mind you, and a good deal of that between his ears. But he was feeling his oats a little and told Halt to mind his own business." He paused, then added, by way of explanation, "Everyone's a little jumpy, what with all the preparations for war."

  "So how is the lad?" Arald asked. Rodney shrugged.

  "The infirmary says there's no lasting damage. He'll be back on duty in a few days' time. But the point is, I can't have Halt going around damaging my apprentices. I'm going to need them soon."

  Arald toyed with one of the quill pens on his desk. "He's definitely been difficult these past few days," he said. "It's like having a bear with a sore head around the castle. In fact, I think I might prefer a bear with a sore head. It would be less disruptive."

  "We were about to discuss Halt's behavior as you arrived," Lady Pauline said, taking the opportunity to return the conversation to the case in hand. "There's been a complaint about him from Sir Digby of Barga."

  "Digby?" Rodney said, a frown touching his face. "Didn't he try to shortchange us on his draft of men?"

  "Exactly," said the Baron. "We're having a lot of that going on at the moment. So I sent Halt to straighten matters out. Thought it might be a good idea to give him something to keep him busy."

  "So what's Digby got to complain about?" Rodney asked. It was obvious from his tone that he felt no sympathy for the recalcitrant commander of Barga Hold.

  The Baron gestured for Lady Pauline to explain.