Memoirs of a Fallen God

Chapter 10

It was around this time that the fencing master arrived, as promised. He was a compact, intense little man from the island of Omari. He carried a riding crop, which he used as a teaching aid, and he worked Briar ragged. I was slightly ashamed by the relief I felt, being spared his attention alongside the young lord. But truth be told, I was more than a little frightened of the man. He was a tyrant.

He did know what he was about, though. From everything I saw, he had no patience for sloppiness or ineptitude. Or, judging by the disgusted glances he darted at me when I was around, slaves. It was likely just as well I was forbidden the green.

True to his word, Briar began passing on the lessons that very first night. We gathered in his rooms, a pair of borrowed cubclubs between us, pushed the furniture to the side of the room, and happily thrashed each other around the spacious quarters until exhausted.

Briar attempted to teach me as we sparred, and I (respectfully, of course) tried to squeeze every drop of knowledge I could from him.

Our makeshift battles were sloppy and more play than anything at the start, but as the days passed we began to see improvement. Briar was taking his lessons very seriously, and between his constant book studies on swordplay and his daily lessons, it soon became clear that he had a gift for instruction.

And it also became clear, after a week or two had passed, that I had a gift for hitting things with a stick.

I made a point of hovering within earshot whenever Briar had a session with the fencing master whenever possible, so most of the time I knew the basic lesson without Briar having to repeat a word later. It saved us time, and put us at a more even level, which made the sparring all the more enjoyable. We both made rapid progress.

Of course I still had all the normal duties of a slave, and Briar was as busy as ever--even more so now that the Count was marshaling troops for the war--but for all of that our days were consumed with swordplay. Everything else merely got in the way. When we were together it was all we spoke of, and when we were alone it was all we thought of.

Perhaps a month after the arrival of the fencing master, I became somewhat bolder, and, unsatisfied with merely listening, I crept closer and watched one of the lessons from what I thought a safe distance. I sat in the grass in a shaded corner and enjoyed the show.

This particular lesson was not going well for Briar. I knew he had been up late the night before, studying his books; dutiful slave that I was, I had even warned him against it. But he would have none of it, and now he was tired and it showed. His performance was sloppy and he seemed to be having trouble focusing. The fencing master was not pleased.

"What the devil is wrong with you?" I heard him scold from across the yard. "You handled this well enough a week ago. Here now, have you gone deaf? I said straighten your wrist." He walked up behind Briar and wrenched his wrist into the proper position. "There. Now give me another dozen jabs without it turning again and I might start to think you're not completely hopeless."

I could see the frustration on Briar's face, but he kept on jabbing. After just a few, though, I winced. Even from where I sat, I could tell his wrist had once again shifted from the proper angle.

"Stop! Stop!" The fencing master shook his head. "Gods," he said, clearly exasperated, "what's the point in teaching you the finer points of bladework if you're going to hold the thing so poorly any lout can just walk up and knock the thing from your hands?"

He turned away in disgust, then, and, in so doing, noticed me for the first time.

"Now what's this? You there. Yes, you. I see you. Come here, boy."