The Deed of Paksenarrion Read Online Free PDF Page A

and the sword flew out of his hand. Effa caught it in midair.
    “Now,” said Siger, the point of his sword at Korryn’s waist. “Is it quite as funny when it happens to you? Let’s hear you laugh.”
    Korryn was white with rage, breathless and sweaty.
    “Sir,” he said finally. Siger gave him a slight smile and nodded.
    “Novices, that have never handled a sword, them I expect to get drunk on the excitement and do something stupid—and I thump them well for it. But those who claim to know something . . . Go wait for your turn again, recruit.”
    Each of them went a round with Siger without protection, and each received a complement of bruises. Then he showed them how to fasten the bandas, the quilted canvas surcoat worn for weapons practice.
    “Your turn again,” Siger said to Paks. “Ready? Are you sore enough?”
    Paks grinned. “I’m sore, sir, but I’m ready. I hope.”
    “You’d better be. Now start with the drill.”
    This time Paks handled the sword with more assurance, and kept the cadence as even as she could. “Better,” admitted Siger. “Painfully slow, but better. Speed it up, now, just a little. Keep the rhythm.” The blades clacked together. Again, again, again. “Now a bit harder—not too much at once.” The shock of contact was making Paks’s hand tingle; her arm began to tire. Siger shifted around her, and she had to turn and strike at the same time. The ache spread up her arm. Whack. Whack. Sweat trickled down her face, stinging in her eyes. Siger moved the other way, and Paks turned with him, but she lost the rhythm. Quick as a snake’s tongue his blade tapped her ribs. “Enough,” he said. “You’re slowing down again. Give the blade to someone else, and go work with the hauks awhile.”
    Once they began drilling with wooden blades, they also began to learn other weapons. By the time they marched south, Siger said, they would have a certain minimum proficiency with short-sword, dagger, bow, and spear.
    The spear offered the most difficulty. As usual, it had seemed simple, just thinking about it. A long pole with a sharp end, to be poked at the enemy. No fancy strokes—simple. Effective. Surely it was easier than a sword; if nothing else you could hang onto the thing with both hands.
    * * *
    “We don’t use polearms often,” said Stammel. “We’re a fast-moving, flexible infantry, and swords are better for that. But we do train with ‘em and we use them sometimes. So. First you’ll learn to carry something that long without getting all tangled up in it. Remember those reeds we gathered last week you were so curious about? Well, they’ve been drying in the storelofts, and you’ll each take one.”
    Soon they were back in formation, each with a twelve-foot reed in hand. Stammel had shown them how to hold the mock spears upright; now he gave the command to move forward. Five of the reeds tipped backwards. The butt on one tripped the recruit in front of the careless carrier. When he stumbled, his reed swung out of control and hit the file leader on the head.
    “Pick ‘em up—don’t stop, come on! You’ve got to hold them firmly—don’t let ‘em waver. Keep in formation, there. Stay in step or you’ll trip each other.”
    The reeds dipped and wavered as if in a windstorm as Stammel led the unit to the far side of the parade grounds. By the time he called a halt, most faces were red.
    “Now you see what I meant. The only easy thing about spear work is how easy it is to mess up the whole formation. If you ever see one of the heavy polearm companies, like Count Vladi’s, you’ll see how it should be done. Now—you’ve got to learn how to shift those things about. Together, or you’ll all be tangled together. So just holding them upright, we’ll practice turning in place.” He called for a right face. Two recruits let their reeds lag behind the turn, and the tips bumped neighboring reeds. “No! Hold them absolutely steady when you turn. Keep ‘em