Bannon brought out his own sword as he sat on deck next to Nathan. Its steel wasn’t perfect, but the edge was sharp enough. “I still think Sturdy will serve me well.”
Since the young man seemed to expect sage advice, Nathan decided to give it. “A blade can only serve its wielder if he knows how to use it. You serve the sword just as the sword serves you.” He withdrew his own blade from its scabbard to admire the fine workings on the grip, the inlaid gold, the gleam of the expensive steel. He had always felt that it made him look bold and gallant, a man to be reckoned with, a warrior as well as a wizard. Standing, he held the blade in front of him, watching the play of sunlight along its edge. He gave the young man a hard look. “Do you know how to use your sword, my boy?”
“I know how to swing a blade,” Bannon said.
“We’re not cutting cabbages. What if you were fighting against a bloodthirsty warrior from the Imperial Order? Or worse, one of the flesh-eating half men from the Dark Lands?”
Bannon paled. “I’m sure I could take down at least five of them before they killed me.”
“Only five? So I would have to deal with the thousands that remained?” Nathan flexed his arms and bent his knees in his supple new travel pants. “Why don’t we practice? I could use a good training partner. I’ll teach you a few moves, so that if you ever find yourself facing a savage enemy horde, you could maybe kill fifteen of them before they took you down.”
Bannon grinned. “I’d like that.” A troubled expression crossed his face. “Well, I don’t mean I’d like being killed, but I would like to make a brave accounting of myself if I were ever in a great battle.”
“Those fighting at your side would like you to make a brave accounting as well, my boy.” Nathan stroked his chin with his left hand. “I may be a thousand years old, but I’m relatively new at being an adventurer. A sword looks so … dashing, don’t you think?” He held up the point.
“Your sword is fine, sir,” Bannon admitted. “But will a fine sword and a dashing appearance frighten away a horde of monsters?”
“I suppose not,” Nathan said. “Maybe we both could use the practice.” He wrapped his hands around the hilt and tried different stances. “Shall we learn together, Bannon Farmer?”
Grinning, the young man lifted his sword and stepped back to crouch into a fighting stance, or at least the best imitation of a fighting stance he could manage.
When Nathan swung, Bannon slashed sideways to meet the blade, but Nathan had to adjust the sweep of his arc to insure that their swords met with a clang. Then he struck backward, hitting the young man’s blade as it came up in defense. In a flurry of attack, Bannon swung and chopped, flailing from side to side.
The wizard scolded, “Are you a woodsman trying to clear a forest?”
“I’m trying to slay a thousand enemy soldiers!”
“An admirable goal. Now let’s try a combination of strokes and jabs and deflections.”
Bannon responded with another wild combination of slashes and counterslashes, which the wizard easily met, although he was by no means a master swordsman himself. In any confrontation, Nathan would always rely on magic as his first line of attack rather than a sword, but to teach the cocky young man a lesson, he worked his way through Bannon’s defenses and smacked him on the bottom with the flat of his blade.
Stung, Bannon yelped, his face flushing so crimson that even his freckles vanished. “You’ll pay for that, Wizard!”
“Take my payment on credit,” Nathan said with a proud smirk. “It may be quite some time before you can make me fulfill the debt.”
Some of the other sailors observed, amused by the swordplay. They howled with laughter. “Look at the cabbage farmer!” snorted Karl, a muscular veteran of many voyages, who considered it his duty to make sure Bannon was well initiated.
“Indeed, look at him,” Nathan called back. “Soon enough you’ll be afraid of him.”
Attacking again, Bannon released a bottled-up anger that startled Nathan, even frightened him. Ducking and defending himself, the wizard chided, “Show control as well as enthusiasm, my boy. Now then, let’s do it slowly. Watch me. Match my strokes.”
The two practiced for an hour in the hot sun, sweating with exertion. After Nathan had led him through several fluid but basic exercises, Bannon began to grow more confident with his weapon. He was bright-eyed and grinning as they picked up speed. The ring of blades brought out most of the crew to watch.
Finally panting with exhaustion, Nathan raised his hand to signal a halt. “Dear spirits, you’ve had as much instruction as you can handle for one day. I’d better give you time to absorb what you’ve learned.” He tried to control his heavy breathing so Bannon would not notice how winded he was.
The young man’s hair was damp with perspiration, but the sea breezes blew it in all directions. He showed no sign of being ready to give up.
Nathan continued, “Maybe it’s time for me to tell stories and teach you a bit about history. A good swordsman is also an intelligent swordsman.”
Bannon kept his sword up. “But how will a story from history teach me to be better with my blade?”
Nathan smiled back at him. “I could tell you the tale of a poorly skilled swordsman who had his head chopped off. Would that be a good enough object lesson?”
Bannon wiped his brow and sat on a mound of coiled rope. “Very well then, let’s hear the tale.”
*
Nicci spent the day at the ship’s stern in Captain Eli’s large chart room on the piloting deck. The captain had opened up twin windows at the rear to let in fresh breezes. The view of the ocean behind them showed a curl of foamy wake as the Wavewalker sailed along. The line of stirred water reminded Nicci of the broad imperial roads that Jagang had built across the Old World, but while Jagang’s roads would endure for a long time, this watery path faded as soon as the ship passed.
“I would like to study your charts and maps,” she told the captain. “As an emissary for Lord Rahl, I must see the far reaches of the Old World, where the Imperial Order conquered. That is all part of D’Hara now.”
Captain Eli toyed with his long-stemmed pipe, tapping its bowl on the hard wood of a map table. “Many captains keep their routes confidential, since the swiftest passage means money for a trader. I once knew the currents and the reefs and the shoreline so very well.” He sucked on the end of his pipe, musing to himself, but he didn’t light it inside the chart room, lest a stray ash catch the maps on fire. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I am not your competition, Captain,” Nicci said. “I have no interest in a map of the ocean. I want to know the coastline and the landscape inland. My companion and I are searching for a place called Kol Adair.”