Thornspell by Helen Lowe Read Free Book Online Page B

him that he was a prince and didn’t have to do this, even if it was part of knightly training in the Paladinates. But that would have meant giving in, and Sigismund was not prepared to give in.
    So he gritted his teeth, persevering, and occasionally, as the weeks passed into months and autumn into winter, there would be a moment when the cycle of his breath seemed one with the wind or the first light glimmering on stone. But it was only ever a flash, and then the moment would be gone.
    The best thing during this time was that Balisan took over Sigismund’s training in weapons—the lance, sword, and dagger, the long-and crossbows, and the harquebus. They spent most afternoons in the training hall or practicing archery at the castle butts with the other men from the castle, because the use of weapons, Balisan told him, must become second nature. If you had to think about your next move, then it was already too late. This at least Sigismund understood, because he had heard it from Sir Andreas and other teachers since he was old enough to pick up his first sword. So he didn’t complain when Balisan made him repeat every exercise until he felt his feet and hands could have moved on their own, without his eyes or mind to guide them.
    To underline this point, Balisan would make him train blindfold while guards attacked from different parts of the hall. Sigismund had to rely on his other senses to detect when an attack was coming and from which direction. At first he found this as frustrating as the meditation, but after a time he began to feel as though the air itself was coming alive around him: he could detect the shift and movement of its currents as much as hear an attacker move.
    Sigismund was good with all weapons, but Sir Andreas and the off-duty guards would often come to watch his training and agreed that he had a gift for the sword.
    “And although that is important for any knight,” Sir Andreas observed one afternoon, “it may be vital for a prince who has enemies.”
    It was late, and only he, Sigismund, and Balisan were left in the training hall. The day had been hard as iron and their breath smoked on the chill air.
    “Because they might try and mob me in battle?” Sigismund asked, placing his sword back on the weapons rack.
    Sir Andreas rubbed at the stubble along his jawline. “Yes, although that is why princes and generals have honor guards in battle—to protect them against that sort of thing. I was thinking more of a challenge to single combat, since no knight sworn to the code of chivalry, not even a crown prince, can refuse such a challenge.”
    “It is a time-honored way of disposing of an inconvenient enemy,” Balisan said softly. “To refuse is to be branded a coward, and no knight will follow a man with that reputation.”
    “But, of course,” Sir Andreas added, “murder disguised as single combat only works against an inferior swordsman.” He clapped Sigismund on the shoulder. “So that’s why it’s fortunate that you have a gift!”
    By the time Sigismund had been training with Balisan for a year, his natural ability had lifted to a higher level. The sword felt as much a part of him as his hand or arm, and he absorbed new cuts and moves as though he had been born knowing them. He found too that he could read an opponent’s body without conscious thought, knowing what they were going to do almost before they did it. This could have been simply repetition and unrelenting practice, but Sigismund did wonder if the meditation might also be having an effect. But gift or no gift, he could never best Balisan, no matter how hard he tried.
    “Not yet,” the master-at-arms said, when Sigismund finally expressed this frustration. “But the time we have spent together is nothing compared to the years I have spent training and fighting with swords.” The bronze eyes were calm as they met Sigismund’s. “But there is no room for such feelings when you face an opponent. Frustration, anger,