To Carry the Horn

Chapter 7-3

Rhian didn’t deign to respond to the tease. “Hadyn, can we borrow something for our guest?”

A broad-shouldered man looked up from a nearby bench and put down the sword he had been sharpening. “George, this is our weapons-master. Hadyn, my kinsman came here unexpectedly and thus not well-armed.”

Turning to George, she said, “I’ll put our horses away. Isolda will want to drive in. Meet you at the curtain gate?” George nodded and turned his attention back to the weapons-master.

Hadyn looked him over. “What sort of weapon will I get for you, now?”

George wasn’t eager to explain the differences between the life he led and this more active one. At least he had done some fencing in college. “Where I come from few are warriors, and it hasn’t been my training either. As a student I’ve handled small-sword and saber, but only as a sport, not mounted or in combat.” He flushed with embarrassment at this confession of incompetence before this group of trained men.

Hadyn kept his face expressionless. “You’ll be on horseback, is it?” George nodded. “Then a saber’s a good choice. You can use it mounted, and large enough you are to fight with it on foot.”

“Your hand is big, I see.” He took one down and felt its weight, then handed it to George to try.

George drew it from its scabbard, having first made sure the grip and guard accommodated his large hands. Hadyn had chosen well. Then he backed away and fell into a fencing stance, swinging it experimentally to test the weight and reach.

Hadyn took a similar saber from the wall and turned to face him. George pulled himself up. Though it shamed him, he felt he must explain. “Master Hadyn, I’m very out of practice even for sport, and not competent to prevent harm in a friendly bout. Could we do this with practice swords, or protective clothing?”

The weapons-master smiled slowly. “Don’t you worry about it none. You’ll not be harming me, nor I you.”

George nodded. Alright, then. He must know what he’s doing.

He executed a salute and returned to an opening position, his hand grasping the hilt lightly enough to maneuver quickly, and firmly enough not to lose the sword from a prise en fer. He circled warily, waiting for Hadyn to make the first moves. The weapons-master probed along each of the lines George recognized, and let him execute basic parries to block the attacks. George then returned the favor by attempting to press an attack from various directions, none of which came close to succeeding.

Hadyn took back the initiative and, in a series of attacks which went by in a blur, effortlessly touched George with point and blade in several places. He pulled up and nodded to George. “Well, there is some training you’ve had, but you fear too much to do harm. You must lose that. For today, if you meet anyone with a sword, it’s running away I think you should be doing, or maybe throwing something.” He turned and rehung the saber he had used.

George swallowed his pride and held his tongue. An accurate enough assessment, after all.

“We hold training for the beginners from mid to late afternoon. Welcome you are to join us, while you’re here.”

George thanked him. He looked at the sword belt and hanging straps and decided not to humiliate himself further by asking how to fasten it, taking the whole tangle with him.