By Darkness Hid by Jill Williamson Read Free Book Online

snapped Achan out of his lament. He quickly looked over his work and turned the wood to work a new spot. He clenched his teeth and returned to his thoughts. Never mind Gren—unless Achan could succeed as a knight and get out of Sitna, the best he could hope for was to end up like Poril. He shivered at the thought of a life serving Lord Nathak’s meals and having to watch Gren and Riga’s children chase the chickens around the outer bailey.
    It took three days to finish the new waster. It wasn’t as smooth as the last one, but Achan liked it better. It was his craftsmanship, after all. He set about his squire training with renewed vigor. The rest of the time he did his regular work for Poril, steering clear of Gren. He couldn’t bear to face her just yet. Tired of walking around barefoot, he’d begged Noam to go and fetch the boots from her.
    After one late-night practice, Achan asked, “Sir Gavin, can’t I try a blunted blade? I’d like to at least hold one.” The old knight had mentioned that blunts were used prior to real blades, and Achan was eager to get to the real thing.
    Sir Gavin sniffed in a deep breath. “Aye, then. Tomorrow morning you can try it, but I think you’ll see right away that you’re not ready.”
    The next day, Achan met Sir Gavin in the wheat field before dawn, eager to prove himself worthy of knighthood and impress Master Fenny. As quickly as possible. Maybe a long engagement was planned. Maybe there was still a chance.
    “Before we start,” Sir Gavin said, stabbing one of the steel blades into the grassy soil, “we need to go over the basics.”
    Achan hid an impatient sigh. He recited: “Stay focused. Breathe deep. Mind your footwork. Look your attacker in the eye.”
    Sir Gavin cocked his head to the side. “Look him in the eye, but not just to stare him down. You want to watch all of him at once, see if you can anticipate his next move. Right?”
    Achan nodded.
    Sir Gavin handed him the blunt hilt first, then drew his own blade from the ground. “Now we’ll see how you hold up against some real cuts. But I warn you, blunts are much more painful than wasters.”
    The fun was over. Sir Gavin knocked the blunt from Achan’s hands six times before Achan could grip it tightly enough to hold on to it through a strike. Every hit rattled the bones in his arms all the way to his teeth.
    He had trouble remembering everything at once. If he focused on following through with his arms so the strikes didn’t sting, he forgot about his breathing. If he focused on his breathing, he forgot his footwork and stumbled. If he focused on his footwork, he forgot his arms and took a bruising blow or dropped his blade. And when he did get hit, the strikes hurt deeper than with the waster. He never once managed to look Sir Gavin in the eyes.
    Sir Gavin paused for Achan to retrieve his blade from the ground yet again. “This is why we start with wasters. Tomorrow we go back to my way, but for today…” Sir Gavin grew ruthless. He nagged with each blunder and whacked Achan on the forehead with the flat of the sword.
    Thwack! “Ow!”
    “Pick it up! If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”
    Thwack! “Ow!”
    “Never parry with the edge. Always use the flat.”
    Thwack! “Raise your sword. Middle guard. Else I can run you through.”
    Thwack! “Don’t attack from low guard. You’re not good enough yet.”
    Thwack! “Stop whining and keep your grip tight…but not too tight.”
    That night, Achan slept like he’d been drugged.
    He woke to tremendous aches. They were back to using the wooden wasters that morning, and Sir Gavin guided him through slow motion role-play lessons. This was a much easier way to learn.
    By the time Sir Gavin brought back the blunts, Achan could actually keep up. Still, he went to bed each night with fresh bruises on his hands, forearms, and shins.
    Little by little, with each passing day, Achan improved.

3
    One morning, as Achan choked down his tonic under