The Summer of the Swordsman

Chapter VI

Danskagge isn't my favorite country. We people of Hellas get uneasy when we're out of sight of the sea, and Danskagge, while it borders the sea, does so with sheer cliffs and frowning piles of rock that would defeat even a mountain goat. I've seen the sea shatter against the heights of Hirstad, high above the angry green water, and I have heard the cry of the gulls wheeling and sweeping above the battlements of the city, but I felt no kinship to that wild ocean. It seemed a barrier, not a highway.

Well, Danskagge has plenty of mountains, even more plains, and an ocean that made me think of the warm, inviting Malusian sea near Latriae with longing and regret. It's a beautiful land in places, but they-re few and far between for me. There's too much wildness and flatlands, and little ocean. But the journey was beautiful nevertheless with most of the beauty coming from the joy of learning to write at last.

** ** **

The lessons were going well on the march, and I was learning swiftly. The Swordsman said he had never taught so quick a pupil as me. Quinquius, riding close by, said that that was because I had a lot of practice in quickness from fleeing various fights over the years.

Those were fighting words. I've never been known to run away from a fight, given reasonable odds, Quinquius to the contrary. So I rode alongside the Roman, put my foot beneath his stirrup, gave a little flip, and toppled him into the dust. It was an old trick that Kenui had taught me during one of his binges.

Kenui, just coming up, let out a whoop of laughter that spooked Quinquius' horse and set it to dancing around and waving its forelegs about his ears, which Quinquius didn't like much. Kenui kept on laughing while Mourner caught the horse's reins and quieted him. He was slapping his knee, and in a moment the Swordsman was smiling, too.

"Shut up!" said Quinquius. "And you, you bastard‑‑" This last was addressed to me.

"Ho!" said Kenui. "So the fool calls the fooler a bastard!"

Quinquius' brows drew together. He didn't like to be mocked any more than the rest of us. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Taken in by a trick to catch a fool," Kenui said, "Only a half‑wit is thrown by that‑‑" And then Kenui was on his back, whooping for breath, as the fool's trick was used on him to good effect. He rose, swearing, and took a swing at Quinquius, which was ducked and returned with interest.

"Stop it," said Mourner, holding both horses, Kenui's and Quinquius'. "You'll hurt each other."

"That's the idea," Kenui said through his teeth. Now he had a sword in his hand and a very ugly glint in his eye. He had been drinking after all. Moving did that to him. Every time he left a place where we'd been upwards of a week, he would grow maudlin and drown his woes in rot‑gut. And then he-d make life miserable for us and any new recruits for the next forty‑eight hours until he finally sobered. By his expression he meant to carve Quinquius into little pieces and feed him to the fish at the next stream we crossed.

This in and of itself was no new thing, since Kenui had always been a feisty man, but he seemed angry enough to succeed this time, and Quinquius had no knife to match Kenui's thick‑bladed gladius. Ordinarily I'd have let them thrash it out since they were almost like brothers, but not with Kenui ugly‑drunk as suddenly and as badly as this. I took the reins in my hand and started to edge my horse toward Quinquius, thinking to pull him up before me and hurry away from there.

I was saved the trouble. Kenui flinched and crumpled to a heap as I watched for an opening. It was only then that the wet thud of metal against flesh registered in my ears.