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

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 again.” Jezal winced. “Major West is an excellent hand at squares, so it should take me half an hour to beat him. I