Burning Night: A Tale of the Everburning City

Chapter 11, Part 2: Adrian

The sun was well over the walls, and the chill of the early morning was beginning to evaporate when Sergeant Varnell finally opened the supply wagon.

"Take one. From today onwards, I will expect you to consider it part of your uniform. You will keep the belt and scabbard oiled, and the blade sharp."

Adrian drew out one of the weapons in the pile, and held a sheathed sword, with a heavy belt attached.

He took the weapon a few feet away, and immediately set the sword down on a nearby irrigation pipe.

He didn't draw the sword out immediately, instead taking a few moments to inspect the scabbard and belt.

"Smart man," Gerald said, setting a sword down nearby and taking an oddly meticulous look at the belt.

Adrian instead began to look at the clasp connecting the belt to the scabbard, testing it with his fingers.

"It's a habit from growing up in the fringes. Always check equipment for defects before use," Gerald said.

"I grew up with a similar motto," Adrian admitted ruefully. "You never knew if you could replace anything you broke."

"It wasn't quite as bad on the fringes. It took six different forms and nine months, rather than not at all," Gerald said. "And the replacement came with a lengthy letter detailing how paper is scarce, and reprimanding you for using so much of it."

"Wait, they sent a letter to do that?" Adrian asked.

"I wish I were making that up," Gerald replied. "Self-reflection is a dying art."

After Adrian was confident the scabbard and belt were undamaged, he finally let himself take the handle of the sword in his hand, and gently drew it out.

The blade slid out eagerly, practically jumping into Adrian's hand. Its gleaming length casting the morning sun directly into his eyes, and even without flourishing it, it's blade hissed as it cut at the air.

The blade fit comfortably in his hand, it's coarse, hemp-fibre grip firm and comfortable on his palm. The pommel was a simple, unadorned ball of steel, and the grip was a small 'T' shape just above his hand. The blade was slightly shorter than his arm, surprisingly narrow, and ended at a needle-like point.

"This is your standard military issue short-sword. It's light, durable, and a solid choice for both slashing and thrusting," Varnell announced to a larger group some distance away. "If any of you decide to become officers, you'll be given your choice of sword style, when they make you an officer's sword with a Coldstone core. Many officers still choose the sword you have now. Against Gloamtaken, it's an excellent weapon of last resort."

"Last resort?" Farah asked.

"Last resort. If you're using a sword against Gloamtaken, things are dire, or you're running low on ammunition. Or both," Varnell explained. "And things were dire in every invasion."

Varnell drew her own sword, and quickly lunged with the weapon, thrusting into the air in front of her. "Your basic motions are a thrust and a slash. This sword has point and edge enough to manage both. Which is good, because killing Gloamtaken is a little different from killing people. Can anyone tell me why?"

"Gloamtaken don't feel pain, ma'am. The sword can't be used defensively," Caitlin said, her astute answer no surprise to Adrian.

"Correct, Dremora. Losing a chunk of an arm will reliably stop a person, but Gloamtaken will ignore it," Varnell said. "What else is different?"

"Stabbing one isn't enough," Gerald said. "The wound needs to mix with open air. Not long, just a blink of an eye, but you need to pull the sword out."

Varnell turned to Gerald and nodded approvingly. "I should expect as much from someone willing to learn about the Gloam."

Louder, so that everyone could hear, Varnell said, "We believe Gloamtaken are animated by the Gloam trapped in their lungs. As Gerald mentioned, the lungs need to be opened to bring one down."

"It controls them like puppets," Gerald added, quietly. Adrian suspected his friend was talking to himself. "Our dead are puppets; the Gloam makes the strings."

"I wonder, then, who's the puppet master?" Gerald added.

Adrian couldn't help himself as he glanced back, to the miles of fallow field and a thin line of torches that separated him from those deadly mists.

"Yes, Keates," Varnell said, loudly. "If the Gloam swept over us right now, not only would we die, but we might fight the City during the Sixth. Worse, we wouldn't be the first this has happened to."

Adrian cursed and shuddered, glancing one more time towards the Gloam.

"So, each of you choose a dummy," Varnell said. "One of the inanimate ones, please. Trask, Keates and Respelli are not to be attacked until we take practice swords in a few hours. Choose your target, and draw your sword."

Adrian stopped in front of one of the bundled-straw targets, and drew his sword.

The weapon slid eagerly into the open air, just as keenly as the first time Adrian drew it. The steel gleamed in the sunlight and hissed as Adrian flourished it, as if the blade were cutting the air.

Without waiting for instruction, Adrian took a step forward and thrust his sword into the dummy, punching the weapon four inches in, and pulling it back out just as quickly.

"Good instincts, Keates!" Varnell said approvingly. "Just deep enough to pierce through the ribs, and back out. Everyone else, try that manoeuvre. Sword in your good hand, take a single step forward with your matching leg, and thrust so that your sword is three to five inches inside your target. Then pull the sword out quickly. Go!"

Farah was the first to try, lunging forward with fluid, practised grace as her sword punched into the dummy. Her attempt to pull the sword out was slow, however.

"You lunged top far, Respelli!" Varnell reprimanded Farah. "Good thrust, but you have to be able to pull that sword back out again. Don't commit quite so deeply, but good foot-work. You almost stab like a shadow."

Farah stared at the ground for a moment, before nodding and reading herself to try again.

Adrian glanced to his right, where Gerald looked somewhat clumsy as he stabbed at the dummy. His thrust buried too deeply, and he had to twist to get the needed leverage to pull his sword back out.

"Your arms are too long, lamp-post," Adrian remarked, just before he thrust again. As he pulled his sword out and stepped back, he added, "four inches is ideal. After six, the sword gets harder to pull out again."

"Odd," Gerald remarked. "Especially since these things will be charging at us."

"Clever soldier," Varnell said. "We chose the short-sword because it's hard to put more than eight inches of the blade into someone. That way, you still have a chance of pulling it out even if the Gloamtaken grapples with you. A lot of lives have been saved because someone stabbed, and then dropped their sword when one of those creatures came at them. Myself included."

"Keep this up until noon," Varnell said. "Practice thrusts and slashes. I want you to be able to do these motions in your sleep. After lunch, we'll practice on each other."