The Knight

“You kept hitting my legs,” I said, “and then you got my head. I was hitting your shield all the time. I didn’t want to and I tried not to, but that’s how it always was.”

“Good enough. When you came at me, you came sword-side first, like this.” Garvaon demonstrated.

“That was because you were thinking sword, sword, sword when you ought to have been thinking shield, sword, shield, sword, shield. Your shield is every bit as important as your sword. Never forget that.”

He paused to look at his own. “Sometimes I’ve fought men who had never really learned it, and I’ve always known after the second breath. They go down fast.”

I swallowed. “Like I would have, if you’d had a real sword. That first cut to my ankle.”

“Right. Now we’re going to try something different. Switch your shield over to your right hand, and hold the sword in your left. I want you to think shield, sword, shield, sword. Understand?”

So I learned to fight left-handed. It sounds dumb, I know, but it was a good lesson. When the shield is on your right arm and the sword is in your left hand, you use the shield as much as the sword, and that is the way to win. Beginners are always thinking about how they are going to stab or cut. Seasoned fighters think about staying in one piece while they do it. What’s more, they know you can make the shield your weapon and the sword your defense.

But first of all speed. Which is what Garvaon stressed over and over. If you cannot do it fast, you cannot do it. A young knight—as I was—has it in him to be faster than an older one like Garvaon. I knew that, and so did he. But he kept on being faster just the same, because he had fought and practiced so much that it was second nature to him. I did not get a lot of lessons from him. I rode ahead into Jotunland before we had gone much farther. But I learned enough that when I got to Skai some of the knights there, knights who were still famous in Mythgarthr, said I was a better swordsman than most newcomers.

Garvaon was a simple man, and it was that simplicity that made him hard to understand, although I am a simple man myself. He practiced with his men whenever he could, and he taught them to the best of his ability, which was great. He told me once that he was always afraid before the battle, but never afraid once battle was joined. That is the thing that makes men attack too soon, sometimes; but if it ever made Garvaon attack too soon, I never heard the story. When it was time to fight, he told them to follow him and waded into the thick of it. He took pride in his appearance, and in the appearance of his men. He did his duty as he saw it, saw that most men did not, and was a little contemptuous of them because of it. He was the kind of fighting man who sees to it that none of the horses has a loose shoe.

Chapter 56. Ashes In The Pass

For an hour I had been in sight of the pass as we toiled up the War Way. Now, abruptly, there was someone—no, two people—standing in the road there, crimson against the cloudy sky. I wanted to spur the stallion, but he had been working hard all morning, and whatever reserves he had might be needed that afternoon.

One of the figures was waving and pointing, hips thrown to counterbalance the graceful body; as it pointed I realized it was not that they were sunlit against the lowering clouds; but that they were in fact red.

And women.

“Uri! Baki! Is that you?”

Something bent and so dirty that it seemed to have been molded from the mud of the road rose from the ditch to catch my stirrup. “Master? Sar Able?

Master?”

Startled, I pulled up.

“Master! I found ya!”

I could only stare at the starved, grimy face.

“Ya was goin’ to take me. Ta give me a place, Master. Ya tolt Ma.”

“I’m sorry,” I said as gently as I could. “Do I know you?”

“Uns, Master. I’se Uns, ‘n I fought Org fer ya after he t’rue ya inna barley.”

“The farmwife’s son.” I was thinking out loud. “The younger son.”

“Yessar. Yes, Master. Org’d a’ killed ya if it hadn’t been fer me.” His watery eyes were exactly like those of a wounded animal.

“He hurt you,” I said. “I thought you’d run.”

Uns nodded frantically. “Ma said. She said you was goin’ ta take me on on’y ya t’ought I’d run off. So I gone lookin’ fer ya. I can’t stand up straight, but I can walk pretty fast.” Something like pride crept into Uns’ soiled face. “Dey tolt me inna castle where ya’d went. A scullion done, Master, ‘n give me somethin’ too. How far ’twas, ‘n how bad, but I come anyways. I knew I’d find ya, Master, ‘n it’d be awright.”

From the white stallion’s other side, Uri reached up to tap my thigh. “When you are through talking to that beggar, Lord, Baki and I have something of importance to show you.”

I looked around at her. “Is it urgent?”

“We think so.”

“I’m going up there, Uns.” I pointed as I spoke. “Meet me there. Or if I’ve gone before you arrive, follow me just as you’ve been doing. I’ll get you a horse as soon as I can manage it.”

Uri said, “May I sit behind, Lord? I ran down to you.”