Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 by The Wizard Lord (v1.1) Read Free Book Online

practice with me."
    "But I don't
have a sword!" Breaker protested.
    "I have another
in my baggage, but no, I'm not going to trust you with it yet. You'll start
with a stick—something that isn't sharp. If you show promise after a few days
we'll get you a real blade."
    "Oh." This
sounded much more likely than transformation with a word and a wave, but also
worse than he might have hoped—days before he even picked up the tool he was
supposed to master? Just how long an apprenticeship was he beginning—assuming
he was beginning it, and the whole thing didn't fall
apart? Breaker eyed the bare steel of the sword, noticing how it shone dully in
the morning sun. "And you'll use that?"
    The
Swordsman shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe not; it depends what we're doing.
Right now, though, I want to teach you the very basics, beginning wit h what a sword
is." He held out the blade and pointed.
    "This is the
blade. The point, the edge, the back—much like a big knife. But see these
grooves?"
    Breaker looked.
    "They're called
blood gutters," the Swordsman said.
    Breaker swallowed
uncomfortably at this reminder of the weapon's nature. "Oh. To let the
blood flow more freely from the wound?"
    The
Swordsman snorted. "That's why they're called that,"
he said, "because people think that's what they're for. Actually, though,
they're just to save weight, ma king the blade thinner without weakening it.
That's important, much more important than any tricks with blood flow—a sword
doesn't weigh much, but move it around long enough and every ounce matters.
After an hour waving this about, you'll be glad of those gutters even if you
never draw a drop of blood."
    Breaker ventured an
uneasy smile.
    "Now, here's
the guard—and it's called that because it guards your hand, of course; no
tricks with the name there. The crosspiece here is the quillons. The base of
the blade that extends through the hilt is the tang, just as it is in a knife,
but it's narrow—I can't show you, but take my word for it. That goes through
the wooden hilt, with the leather grip bound to it with wire, and here at the
end is the pommel. Know what that's for?"
    Breaker blinked at
the little metal knob. "To keep your hand from slipping off?" he
guessed.
    "To keep the hilt from slipping off,
more nearly—but it wouldn't need to be so large for that. No, it's a counterweight,
to balance the sword."
    "A weight? But
I thought you just said ..."
    "I
did. I said you don't want any extra weight in the blade. This isn't in the blade." He held out the first two fingers of his
left hand and laid the sword across them; it balanced neatly an inch or so from
the quillons. "A good sword will balance just there. Too much weight in
the blade and you'll tire quickly, you'll have trouble controlling it, it will
turn in your hand; too much weight in the hilt and your blows will have no
force behind them. It needs to balance. H old out your hand."
    Reluctantly, Breaker
obeyed, and watched nervously as the Swordsman laid the blade across his palm.
"Feel how it balances?"
    Breaker almost
trembled at the touch of the cold metal; he had never seen or felt such fine
steel before, and he could sense the ler within
it—hard, fierce ler, kin to those he had felt in knives and
arrows, but more intense, more alien, far more powerful, and most especially colder. He had never before encountered anything that felt as coldhearted,
even though he knew the physical metal was no colder than any ordinary implement.
    Quite aside from the blade's spirit, though, it was immediately
obvious what the Swordsman had meant about balance; the sword did indeed
balance perfectly at the point he had indicated. I t took no effort at
all to hold it steady on his open hand.
    It
didn't seem quite natural—but of course, it wasn't natural. Swords were the product of
technology and magic working together.
    "Pick it
up."
    Breaker hesitated,
then closed his other hand on the worn black leather of the grip.
    It fit perfectly
into his