The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie Read Free Book Online Page B

and
turned his face up to the sun. ‘Hot. Winter is truly over. Must be getting past
midday.’
    ‘Shit!’ shouted Jezal, starting up and gathering his
things. The gardener paused in his trimming of the lawn and looked over at
them. ‘Why didn’t you say something, West?’
    ‘What am I, your father?’ asked the Major. Kaspa sniggered.
    ‘Late again,’ said Jalenhorm, blowing out his cheeks.
‘The Lord Marshal will not be happy!’
    Jezal snatched up his fencing steels and ran for the
far side of the lawn. Major West ambled after him. ‘Come on!’ shouted Jezal.
    ‘I’m right behind you, Captain,’ he said. ‘Right
behind you.’
     
    ‘Jab, jab, Jezal, jab, jab!’ barked Lord Marshal
Varuz, whacking him on the arm with his stick.
    ‘Ow,’ yelped Jezal, and hefted the metal bar again.
    ‘I want to see that right arm moving, Captain, darting
like a snake! I want to be blinded by the speed of those hands!’
    Jezal made a couple more clumsy lunges with the
unwieldy lump of iron. It was utter torture. His fingers, his wrist, his forearm,
his shoulder, were burning with the effort. He was soaked to the skin with
sweat; it flew from his face in big drops. Marshal Varuz flicked his feeble efforts
away. ‘Now, cut! Cut with the left!’
    Jezal swung the big smith’s hammer at the old man’s
head with all the strength in his left arm. He could barely lift the damn thing
on a good day. Marshal Varuz stepped effortlessly aside and whacked him in the
face with the stick.
    ‘Yow!’ wailed Jezal, as he stumbled back. He fumbled
the hammer and it dropped on his foot. ‘Aaargh!’ The iron bar clanged to the
floor as he bent down to grab his screaming toes. He felt a stinging pain as
Varuz whacked him across the arse, the sharp smack echoing across the
courtyard, and he sprawled onto his face.
    ‘That’s pitiful!’ shouted the old man. ‘You are
embarrassing me in front of Major West!’ The Major had rocked his chair back
and was shaking with muffled laughter. Jezal stared at the Marshal’s
immaculately polished boots, seeing no pressing need to get up.
    ‘Up, Captain Luthar!’ shouted Varuz. ‘My time at least
is valuable!’
    ‘Alright! Alright!’ Jezal clambered wearily to his
feet and stood there swaying in the hot sun, panting for air, running with
sweat.
    Varuz stepped close to him and sniffed at his breath.
‘Have you been drinking today already?’ he demanded, his grey moustaches
bristling. ‘And last night too, no doubt!’ Jezal had no reply. ‘Well damn you,
then! We have work to do, Captain Luthar, and I cannot do it alone! Four months
until the Contest, four months to make a master swordsman of you!’
    Varuz waited for a reply, but Jezal could not think of
one. He was only really doing this to make his father happy, but somehow he
didn’t think that was what the old soldier wanted to hear, and he could do
without being hit again. ‘Bah!’ Varuz barked in Jezal’s face, and turned away,
stick clenched tight behind him in both hands.
    ‘Marshal Var—’ Jezal began, but before he could finish
the old soldier span around and jabbed him right in the stomach.
    ‘Gargh,’ said Jezal as he sank to his knees. Varuz
stood over him.
    ‘You are going to go on a little run for me, Captain.’
    ‘Aaaargh.’
    ‘You are going to run from here to the Tower of
Chains. You are going to run up the tower to the parapet. We will know when you
have arrived, as the Major and I will be enjoying a relaxing game of squares on
the roof,’ he indicated the six-storey building behind him, ‘in plain view of
the top of the tower. I will be able to see you with my eye-glass, so there
will be no cheating this time!’ and he whacked Jezal on the top of the head.
    ‘Ow,’ said Jezal, rubbing his scalp.
    ‘Having shown yourself on the roof, you will run back.
You will run as fast as you can, and I know this to be true, because if you
have not returned by the time we have finished our game, you will go