The Burning Bridge- Character Reaction

5

"Here, Jen." Jenny took the proffered book from her boyfriend, reading the first few lines before she began aloud.

THEY WERE ON THE ROAD AGAIN BEFORE THE SUN WAS barely clear of the horizon. The clouds had cleared now, blown away by a fresh southerly wind, and the air was crisp and cold as their trail started to wind higher into the rocky foothills leading to the border with Celtica.

"That's an oddly peaceful description of it," Will muttered. Horace chuckled.

The trees grew more stunted and gnarled. The grass was coarse and the thick forest was replaced by short, windblown scrub.

"Well, there went that," Horace cut in.

This was a part of the land where the winds blew constantly, and the land itself reflected its constant scouring action. The few houses they saw in the distance were huddled into the side of hills, built of stone walls and rough thatch roofs. It was a cold, hard part of the kingdom and, as Gilan told them, it would become harder as they entered Celtica itself.

That evening, as they relaxed around the campfire, Gilan continued with Horace's instruction in swordsmanship. Horace smiled.

"Timing is the essence of the whole thing," he said to the sweating apprentice. "See how you're parrying with your arm locked and rigid?"

"Sometimes I didn't think I'd ever get it," Horace muttered.

Halt snorted, hiding a grin. "Who says you did get it?" The knight gave him a flat stare, and he shrugged innocently.

Horace looked at his right arm. Sure enough, it was locked, stiff as a board. He looked pained.

"But I have to be ready to stop your stroke," he explained.

Gilan nodded patiently, then demonstrated with his own sword. "Take a swing at me." As Horace did so, Gilan said, "Look...see how I'm doing it? As your stroke is coming, my hand and arm are relaxed. Then, just before your sword reaches the spot where I want to stop it, I make a small counterswing, see?" Rodney nodded approval.

He did so, using his hand and wrist to swing the blade of his sword in a small arc. "My grip tightens at the last moment, and the greater part of the energy of your swing is absorbed by the movement of my own blade."

Horace nodded doubtfully. It seemed so easy for Gilan.

Gilan snorted. "Not when I first started."

"But...what if I mistime it?" Halt snorted.

Gilan smiled widely. "Well, in that case, I'll probably just lop your head off your shoulders." He paused. Horace obviously wasn't too pleased with that answer. "The idea is not to mistime it," Gilan added gently.

"You can definitely tell Halt was your mentor," Arald said dryly. Gilan grinned.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"But..." the boy began.

"And the way to develop your timing is?" Gilan interrupted. Horace nodded wearily.

"Practice," Horace said glumly.

"I know. I know. Practice."

Gilan beamed at him again. "That's right. So, ready? One and two and three and four, that's better, and three and four...No! No! Just a small movement of the wrist...and one and two..."

The ring of their blades echoed through the campsite.

Will watched with some interest, heightened by the fact that he wasn't the one who was working up a sweat. Halt raised an eyebrow.