too held it out and turned it for inspection at the squint, and took hold of his
scabbard with his right hand, and turned his blade toward himself without ever
moving the dark, dark eyes that now gazed at his teacher. And he housed the
blade ‘neath but not through the hand on its sheath. With pride.
“Nicely done,” Niko could not quite help saying.
Not because he felt the need to compliment, or enjoyed it; but because there was
both edge and gratification in reminding both of them who had taught this wearer
of so many blades the maneuver he had just demonstrated.
(A man might draw at an untoward sound or to dispatch an enemy, Niko had told
Hanse. And having done, see to the housing of his blade at his side. At that
moment, while he held scabbard and looked down to see to its filling, he was
vulnerable. It was then the clever maker of the “innocent” noise or the hidden
confederate of the new-slain man might pounce, and there was an end to sheathing
and unsheathing, all at once. Thus a sensible man of weapons learned to bring
his blade up and over and back, its point toward himself, and guide it into its
sheath with a waiting off-hand. Meanwhile his eyes remained alert for the sudden
charge.
(Yes, Nikodemos called Stealth had taught even that to Hanse. For Tempus owed
him debt, and yet he and Tempus were no longer quite frinds. And so Niko paid as
Tempus’s agent: he trained this wiry, cocky hawk-nose called Hanse.)
“Your shield!” Hanse called.
Niko glanced at it, leaning against a mud-brick wall with Hanse’s buckler beside