Burning Bridge by John Flanagan Read Free Book Online

you’re ever facing a man using two knives, thrusting is your safest and most effective form of attack. Now, thrust, please.”
    Horace lunged with the point of his sword, his right foot leading the way in a high-stepping stamp to deliver extra momentum to the stroke. This time, Gilan used only the saxe knife to deflect the blade, sending it gliding past his body with a slither of steel.
    “We can’t stop this one,” he instructed Will. “So we simply deflect it. On the positive side, there’s less force behind a thrust, so we can use just the saxe knife.”
    Horace, meeting no real resistance to the thrust, had stumbled forward as the blade was deflected. Instantly, Gilan’s left hand was gripping a handful of his shirt and had pulled him closer, until their shoulders were almost touching. It happened so quickly and casually that Horace’s eyes widened in surprise.
    “And this is where a short blade comes in very handy indeed,” Gilan pointed out. He mimed an underarm thrust with the saxe knife into Horace’s exposed side. The boy’s eyes widened even further as he realized the full implications of what he had just been shown. His discomfort increased as Gilan continued his demonstration.
    “And of course, if you don’t want to kill him, or if he’s wearing a mail shirt, you can always use the saxe blade to cripple him.”
    He mimed a short swing to the back of Horace’s knee, bringing the heavy, razor-sharp blade to a halt a few inches from his leg.
    Horace gulped. But the lesson still wasn’t over.
    “Or remember,” Gilan added cheerfully, “this left hand, holding his collar, also has a rather nasty, rather sharp stabbing blade attached to it.” He waggled the short, broad-bladed throwing knife to bring their attention to it.
    “A quick thrust up under the jaw and it’s good night swordsman, isn’t it?”
    Will shook his head in admiration. “That’s amazing, Gilan!” he breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    Gilan released his grip on Horace’s shirt and the boy stepped back quickly, before any more demonstrations of his vulnerability might be made.
    “We don’t make a lot of noise about it,” the Ranger admitted. “It’s preferable to run into a swordsman who doesn’t know the dangers involved in the double knife defense.” He glanced apologetically at Horace. “Naturally, it’s taught in the kingdom’s Battleschools,” he added. “But it’s a second-year subject. Sir Rodney would have shown you next year.”
    Will stepped forward into the practice ground. “Can I try it?” he asked eagerly, unsheathing his throwing knife.
    “Of course,” said Gilan. “You two may as well practice together in the evenings from now on. But not with real weapons. Cut some practice sticks to use.”
    Horace nodded at the wisdom of this. “That’s right, Will,” he said. “After all, you’re just starting to learn this and I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He thought about it, then added with a grin, “Well, not too badly, anyway.”
    The grin faded as Gilan corrected him. “That’s one reason, of course,” said the Ranger. “But we also don’t have the time for you to be resharpening your sword every night.”
    He glanced meaningfully down at Horace’s blade. The apprentice followed his gaze and let out a low moan. There were two deep nicks in the edge of his blade, obviously from the overhand and underhand cuts that Gilan had blocked. One glance told Horace that he’d spend at least an hour honing and sharpening to get rid of them. He looked questioningly at the saxe knife, hoping to see the same result there. Gilan shook his head cheerfully and brought the heavy blade up for inspection.
    “Not a mark,” he said, grinning. “Remember, I told you that Ranger knives are specially made.”
    Ruefully, Horace rummaged in his pack for his sharpening steel and, sitting down on the hard-packed sand, began to draw it along the edge of his sword.
    “Gilan,” Will said.