The Hammer Unfalls

1.8 The First Straw

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅

Afternoon sun sent long shadows through the guard’s quarters. He’d been training with his father for over an hour. His arms felt like limp noodles.

Glim took a swig of water and wiped his brow with a scrap of linen. His father handed him a hunk of bread and a handful of berries. Glim took them, eyes wide.

“Shhh…” his father said. “Perks of being on the guard.”

Glim savored the taste of each berry, letting the tart sweetness coat his tongue. Mind drifting, he thought back over Master Willow’s words: Think about which side of each polarity appeals to you. Glim had no idea. He didn’t even know how to figure it out. There were no other plyers he could ask.

“Did Mother ply balanced or skewed?”

The question clearly caught his father off guard. He opened and closed his mouth, soundlessly, in a way that made Glim laugh.

“Where did that question come from?”

“Master Willow told me to think about which polarity I like better.”

“I don’t know what a polarity is, son. Or what plying skewed means.”

“Well, it means to use the wrong essentiæ. Like if you’re an Icer, but you try to be popular and stuff.”

“I…” his father seemed flustered, “don’t really understand what that means.”

“Well, what kind of spells did she cast?”

“I can’t remember any specific ones.”

“Did she use wind to move things?”

“Not that I recall.”

“But she did use wind, right?”

“I’m not really sure, son.”

They lapsed into silence, neither of them seeming quite satisfied with the conversation. Glim certainly wasn’t. He knew even less now than he did before asking.

He put the questions out of his mind. By the time he’d finished eating, Glim felt restored.

“Now tell me,” his father asked as they both stood up, seeming grateful to be back on a topic he did know, “What is your main goal in a swordfight?”

“To not get hit.”

“Exactly. What are the three ways to not get hit?”

“To get out of the fight. To defend against attacks. And to in kit-tassipate your opponent.”

“Incapacitate. It means to make your opponent useless. By disarming them, or wounding them, or even killing if you have no other choice. Many casual fights can be won simply by projecting confidence in how you handle your sword. The easiest fight to win is the one you never get into.”

His father frowned slightly, then stood. “Ok, enough rest. Time to put those drills to good use.”

They walked back into the training ground. This time, his father squared off against him, putting his wooden sword into the ready position. Glim did the same, determined to show father he’d learned some things. To somehow make up for the awkward questions from earlier.

“The purpose of the eight-by-eight, as far as you’re concerned at least, is to move into the correct guard from any position. If I were to, say, take this stance—” he raised his sword high, and to the left, “Which counter should you make?”

Glim stepped back to the left, and raised his sword diagonally to the right. “Um, sixty-two.”

“Thirty-one is also a good choice. My whole right side would be exposed then. What would your worst choice be?”

“Twenty-six. I’d be turning my sword away from yours and exposing my ribs to you.”

“That’s right. Try to keep your sword always between mine and your body. Later we’ll learn other strategies. For now, show me… Seventy-eight!”

Glim side-stepped and swung his sword over his left shoulder.

“Thirty-two!”

He did the opposite movement, sliding right and swinging his sword over his right shoulder.

“Seventy-eight. Thirty-two. Seventy-eight. Thirty-two.”

Glim moved back and forth, making a V in the air, resetting his sword to ready each time. Father took him through several other combinations. Glim pleased himself by remembering what most of the numbers meant.

“That’s good. Now instead of getting into guards, show me blocks. When you block, where should your sword end up pointing when the block is done?”

“At your throat.”

“Why is that?”

“So I can thrust and end the fight.”

“Most real fights end that way once you’re in range. Maybe five seconds at the most. Your goal is to be the one whose throat does not get skewered. Now show me your blocks.”

Glim moved his sword over his head, and to the sides, swinging hard and returning to center each time.

“Don’t overextend. Let’s go at half speed. Are you ready?”

Glim felt a flutter in his belly. Half-speed may not sound like much to the man across from him, but it scared Glim. A half-speed sword blow still hurt plenty. “Yes, father.”

“Forty-eight!”

Glim moved back and to the left, and brought his sword up to block his head. His father brought his sword crashing down to meet his block. It stopped before meeting his face. The crack of wood on wood echoed from the stones. Glim’s forearm vibrated.

“Well done. Let’s try… thirty-seven!”

Glim side stepped and swatted his father’s sword to the side. Again, the echo of wood cracking against wood rang out through the chamber.

“Twenty-two!”

Glim lunged forward and brought his sword across to protect the right side of his face. But Glim felt nothing, and heard nothing. His father did not swing.

“Hold that. Don’t move. Now watch my swing.” He moved in slow motion, and brought his sword easily around Glim’s awkwardly extended block. The sword tip flicked his ear. “How do you correct that?”

Glim exaggerated the angle of his elbows and brought the sword in tighter.

“Let’s see.” His father swatted his sword at Glim’s ear, but this time he blocked it with a crack that startled him. “Much better. But you forgot your footwork. Your feet are in a straight line.” His father pushed gently and Glim staggered to the side. “Footwork, footwork. Foot—”

“Footwork. I just forgot.”

“You didn’t forget. You haven’t made it natural for yourself yet. Only practice can do that. Lots of practice. When you walk down the pathway to breakfast, or brush your teeth, always be practicing footwork. Keep your feet apart so you don’t topple. Keep your back foot at an angle. We’ll revisit it soon. Let’s get back to blocks. Forty-seven. Thirty-four. That’s right. Keep your feet apart. Fifty-six. Eighty-two.”

With each combination he called out, Glim stepped and swung to meet his father’s sword with the clack of crashing wood. The vibration made his arms tremble. He watched his father’s hips and elbows, anticipating the arc of his sword and meeting it. Eventually Glim realized his father had stopped calling out numbers. Instead, he simply swung his sword at Glim’s face. Glim blocked it on instinct.

“That’s great, son!” They came to a stop. “Now take your guard. Fifty-five.”

Glim stepped back and dropped his sword low.

“All the way to the ground. Let your sword rest. Give your arms a break. This is called ‘The Fool’s Guard.’ No one is sure whether the one who uses it is a fool, or the one who challenges it. But it’s the best guard to conserve your strength. I know you’re tired, but you’re also in the flow. I wasn’t even calling out numbers. So we’re going to push things just a bit. Is that okay with you?”

Father wasn’t asking to be polite. Glim knew he wanted a real answer, whether it was safe to go on. Few things made father angry. But lying and false bravado were two sure ways to win his ire.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

“Good, because I need to let you know: you’re making a terrible mistake. It’s going to cost you years if we don’t correct it now.”

Glim thought back over the drill in a embarrassment. What had he done wrong?

Father hugged him. “It’s nothing like that. You didn’t mess up. You simply need to adjust how you are moving. Your blocks are not going to be effective until you loosen up. The easiest way for me to show you how to block is to show you something new.”

“What’s that?”

“How to attack.”

Glim straightened immediately, a thrill running up his spine. “Attack? Why now?’

“Because your blocks are going to get you killed.”

His father walked into a storeroom and came out with a wooden beam set into a barrel. He rolled it carefully, as if it were very heavy. He slipped a fat cylinder of padding over it, wrapped in burlap. As he watched, Glim felt his elation growing.

“Come over here, son. Now get into the forty-two stance. That’s right, raise it higher. Drop the sword behind your back. Now, swing at the target. Hit it as hard as you can.”

Glim took a steadying breath. His nerves jangled, causing a mild euphoria. His soreness vanished. With a dramatic slicing motion, he swapped the burlap with his wooden sword.

“Again! Really let that dummy have it. Swing!”

Glim tried again, swinging even harder.

“Is that all you’ve got? Come on, Glim. Attack!”

Glim swung a third time, with a pathetic whomping sound that even he could tell had been weaker than his second strike. But it landed right where he’d been aiming, so that pleased him.

“It’s just as I thought. You’ve been sneaking in some attack drills when no one was looking, eh, son?”

A rush of embarrassment flushed within him. Father had caught him. He had been trying to learn strikes on his own, by watching the other guards and copying them. Sneaking into the training room and swatting at the dummies.

“Don’t worry about it. We all cheat a bit. But you’ve already picked up a bad habit. That must end. Watch me.”

Glim cleared out of the way, watching his father intently. He got into the forty-two stance. His sword whistled through the air and split the burlap. Straw poked out where his swing had landed.

“How was my strike superior to yours?”

“You’re… come on, father. You’re a grown man. I’m a kid.”

“So you think it’s my muscles?”

Glim nodded.

“We’ll soon see. You need to understand how to partition your energy. You’re spending it all equally as your sword moves through its arc. Your muscles shouldn’t be like a tree trunk swaying in a storm. They should be more like the limbs of a crossbow as it fires. You need to store up the energy and release it all at once in a snapping motion. Try again.”

Glim confronted the dummy once more. Like a crossbow. He swung with all his might. His sword bounced harmlessly off the padding.

“Keep going. What moves first when you swing?”

“My… my sword.”

“That’s right. Your sword. It’s swinging straight down in a perfect arc. A perfectly predictable arc, I might add. The same speed all the way through. Using up its energy with each degree, all the way to the last drop at the end. Now watch me again. What moves first?”

They switched places and his father swung again, slower this time. His sword exploded from his hand. Again, and a third time, he swung.

“Your hands. They move first, and then the sword follows right at the end.”

“Very good, Glim. You try.”

He squared up to the dummy and raised his sword. This time he did not swing with all his might, but thrust his hands forward then snapped the sword. It whistled downward and landed with a satisfying swap.

“Much better! Now let me show you this.” Father covered Glim’s hands with his own, scooting them apart on the grip. “To strike a sword properly, you hold your right hand under the quillons, and your left hand just above the pommel. Don’t cover the pommel. Never cover the pommel. You want it’s weight to counter the sword’s. The right hand pushes, the left hand pulls back in a snapping motion.”

Glim jerked his hands in a fluid motion, so the entire sword pivoted around the space between his hands.

“Push forward, pull back. Keep your grip loose. Tighten it at the very last second. You stay loose, too. And you tighten at the last second.”

Glim felt his leverage multiply. The sword seemed loose and alive in his hands. He wasn’t making the sword move, but guiding its movement.“I can feel it!” he said, his elation rising.

“Show me.” His father stepped back.

Glim focused. Like a crossbow. Like a crossbow. Loose, then tight. He thrust his hand forward and pivoted his sword at the last moment with a vicious push and pull.

“Excellent! Now where is your blade landing?”

“In the middle.”

“Step back a bit and try again.”

Glim moved back a step and swung. He heard the tip of his sword catch the very edge of the burlap. Not with the thunderous swap he’d hoped for, but a soft pop. From the corner of his eye he watched straw poke out from the nick he’d made in the burlap. He shrieked in triumph.

“You must have grown some huge muscles today!” his father teased. Glim ran to him and wrapped him in a hug.

“Thank you father!” He skipped and twirled, pleased with his newfound skill.

“You seem to be forgetting something.”

“What?”

“We’re doing blocks today. Maybe now that you know how to move your sword properly, you’ll block better.”

Glim groaned.

“Now show me… seventy-eight!”

Glim swatted his father’s attack away with a crack that split the room. His father’s sword tilted sideways from the thrust of his blow, completely out of the way as Glim’s sword centered its focus back on his father’s throat.

“That’s my boy.”