The Boy with the Porcelain Blade Read Online Free PDF Page A

Giancarlo’s own blade. The superiore ’s slight did not go unnoticed.
    ‘What did he do?’ said Lucien, ignoring his opponent. Giancarlo frowned.
    ‘That is not important. Only the fight is important.’
    ‘What was the crime?’
    Giancarlo sneered and said nothing.
    With his opponent on his right side Lucien crossed his left foot behind, turning and drawing his sword, striking in one fluid motion. There was no need to look directly at the target. His peripheral vision was more than adequate for such a blow. The man ducked under the sword’s reach, then backed away breathing heavily, visibly shocked with the speed of the attack. Lucien followed up, feinting high. His opponent’s eyes went wide with fear, throwing an awkward parry in front of his face, lurching back from the waist. Lucien winced as his own ceramic blade hit the steel of Giancarlo’s sword, the superiore had stacked the odds steeply. The ceramic stayed true and Lucien realised his opponent had forgotten his feet. Lucien’s next strike came low at the exposed front leg, then pulled his blow at the last moment to avoid contact with the kneecap. The farmer attempted a clumsy counter, and Lucien ducked beneath it, then withdrew three steps.
    ‘I could have immobilised him. The fight is mine. There’s no need for this charade to continue.’ Lucien struck Giancarlo with a wintry look. ‘Release him.’
    The superiore scowled back but said nothing.
    The farmer sneaked forward while Lucien was distracted with Giancarlo. The blade clattered from Lucien’s hastily prepared parry and bounced up, opening a small cut on his shoulder. Lucien snarled and swore. Stepping back he let forth an angry bark and unleashed an overhead blow, a hammer strike, knocking his opponent’s blade downwards. Lucien knew first hand how demoralising this manoeuvre was. Golia was all too fond of exactly that style of combat. He remembered numb fingers and an arm too sluggish to respond. Lucien had not wanted to hurt the man, but was struggling to contain his pique.
    Too bad.
    Lucien struck again, made contact with the farmer’s right arm. He spun back on himself, lashing out again to connect with the farmer’s left arm. Lucien feinted low, striking high with the bone-coloured blade before the man could mount a defence. There was a wet smacking sound and the farmer crumpled to his knees. A choked sob reverberated through the training room. Lucien stood over his opponent breathing lightly. No blood had spattered the tiles. The farmer checked himself in shock and wonder. Lucien had used the flat of his blade to batter his opponent into submission. He was bruised, certainly, but unbloodied.
    ‘Finish him,’ grunted Giancarlo.
    Lucien resheathed his sword with a flourish, then folded his arms.
    ‘Finish him yourself,’ he replied.
    The superiore was behind the farmer before he’d regained his feet. Lucien stared at him, unable to believe what was happening. A knife appeared like a conjuration in Giancarlo’s hand, a twist, a jerk, and then the farmer was face down on the floor, clutching at his throat. Deep red fluid grew in a pool around him. Lucien stared aghast, barely able to breathe. The farmer made a last pitiful wet cry and expired. Lucien stared up to the balcony, where Ruggeri was carefully inspecting his fingernails. D’arzenta looked away with a creased brow.
    ‘ Figlio di putana ,’ whispered Lucien, knowing he could be failed for insulting the maestro superiore di spada .
    The Allatamento novice ran over and dragged the corpse to the side of the room, struggling with the weight. Lucien scowled at the lack of dignity, then concentrated on making his hands stop shaking. The novice mopped up the blood and none could ignore the taint of voided bowels on the air. The clatter and clang of the mop and bucket was a crude and unpleasant din in the silence following the farmer’s death. Finally the chamber was ready for the second test.
    ‘Knife fight,’ was all