Shamus looked at him quizzically for a moment and then stepped in with two cuts to the head. Karl was strong, but his wrist could not absorb or stop the blows. His blade was knocked casually aside and Shamus’s sword rang off his helmet. Karl staggered back and nearly dropped the sword.
Shamus grasped his elbow to help support him. “Are you all right, My Lord?”
“Yeah, fine. Uh, in our system if you hit the other guy’s sword, the blow is considered blocked.”
“Matters are somewhat different in our world,” Shamus said dryly. “But tell me, how can you strike anyone with your sword in that position?”
“You mean down in front of the head like that? Easy. You twist your hips, drive your elbow down and throw the forearm out.” He demonstrated. “Like that.”
“Interesting, but is it strong enough?”
“Well, I can make someone’s helm ring pretty good with it.”
“Try it on the pell,” Shamus invited.
At the far end of the drill field was a row of head-high posts set in the earth. Each was about six inches thick and the dirt around them was freshly dug.
Karl stepped up to the nearest post, assumed his position and struck, overhead and slanting down and into the post. The blade turned in his hand, so the first cut only skimmed the post, scraping along the surface and taking a shaving with it. The second cut drove the sword edge perhaps two inches into the pine.
“Surprisingly strong, My Lord,” Shamus commented as Karl stepped back, massaging his wrist from the shock. Then he stepped up, assumed his guard stance and sheared the post off cleanly with a single mighty swing.
“Such blows win battles,” he said, stepping back.
“How did you do that?”
“Years of practice,” Shamus said with a smile. “Of course there are one or two small tricks. But mostly an hour or two practice every day for, oh, six or seven years and you would be a creditable swordsman.” He laughed and clapped the younger man on the shoulder.
“I think I just made a raging fool of myself,” Karl muttered to Judith as he came off the field.
“I think it’s called hubris,'” Judith told him. “How’s your head?”
Karl rubbed his wrist. “It’s my arm more than any my head and it will heal quicker than my pride.” He looked back out at the practicing guardsmen. “You know what the worst of it is? I can’t use any of this stuff in our combat back home. Our rules are so unrealistic that the techniques that really work won’t work for us.”
” . . . so anyway, we’re working on a user interface. It’s going to be really neat when we get it done.”
June watched Danny and said nothing.
They sat side by side on the roof, looking out over the Capital to where the late afternoon sun turned puffy clouds into a symphony of pale golds and blush pinks.
They had met up on the roof nearly every day since their first encounter. Sometimes one or both of them brought food and they had an impromptu picnic. Sometimes they just sat and talked. Or rather Danny talked and June listened. June hadn’t said a dozen words since that first day, but now they sat together on the slates. Sometimes they held hands.
“You ought to come and see the place sometime. It’s really pretty interesting.”
June smiled and shook her head.
“Well, look, I gotta get down there or they’re gonna start asking questions. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Danny started to rise, but June took hold of his arm and pulled him close. She kissed him full on the mouth and before Danny could respond she skittered away over the roof ridge.
Danny sat there for a moment longer, tasting her on his lips and trying to understand what had happened. One thing he was sure of. He liked it.
Even by the standards of the City of Night, this place was strange. The windows about the tower gave good light, else he never would have dared to approach the eerie blue glow issuing through the open doorway.
At this level the tower was divided into two rooms. The one beyond the carved black portal must be by far the larger, but the one was substantial as well. Looking at the layout, Wiz had the odd feeling that this level was larger inside than it was on the outside.