centres. And there, striding towards him, was the fire-god.
•’
Up came the stave, defensively. But even as he was remembering the words of
Cappen Varra, about holding the stave in front of him, Stulwig – the stave
fighter – instinctively swung the stave in a hitting motion.
Swung it at the great being less than five feet away. And felt a momentary
savage surge of hope, as mighty Vashanka actually ducked to avoid the blow.
Stave fighting! He had done a lot of it out there in the wilderness, where he
either tended wild herbs, or gathered herbs for his greenhouse. Amazing how
often a wandering nomad or two, seeing him alone, instantly unsheathed swords
and came in for the kill.
In such a battle it would be deathly dangerous merely to prod with the stave.
Used as a prod, the stave could be snatched. At which, it was merely a tussle of
two men tugging for possession. And virtual certainty that some wild giant of a
man would swiftly wrestle it away from the unwise person who had mistakenly
tried to use it as if it also were a sword.
By Ils – thought a jubilant Stulwig – there is power in this stave. And he, the
lightning-god, perceives it as dangerous.
With that realization, he began to swing with all the force he could muster:
whack, whack, whack! Forgot was Cappen Varra’s admonishment to use the stave
only as a barrier.
It was fascinating – and exciting – to Stulwig to notice that Vashanka jumped
back from the stave whenever it swung towards him. Once, the god actually leaped
way up to avoid being hit. The stave went by almost two foot-lengths beneath his