good.”
He glanced at Wencit’s impassive face, but the wizard seemed not to notice, and Bahzell returned his critical gaze to Kenhodan.
Steel flickered as the red-haired man flashed through a dazzling series of mock cuts, thrusts, parries, and feints. The blade hissed, and his movements flowed so quickly and deftly that only a highly trained eye could follow the glittering blade or the supple smoothness, speed, and perfect balance of his footwork.
“Excellent,” Bahzell murmured. “Clean and sharp…and controlled. He’s one as could lunge against a grape without breaking the skin, by the Sword! And I’m thinking—” he shot another glance at the wizard “—that it’s somewhere else I’ve seen a similar style before this.”
Wencit showed him a raised eyebrow, and Bahzell hid a smile as Kenhodan finished with a whirring parry and blinding backhand cut to the side. Then the blade whipped up, sketched a salute, and snicked into the scabbard in a single, flowing motion, and he returned to the table, breathing slightly faster.
“It’s no more I know of your past than you do,” Bahzell said quietly “but it’s in my mind you’ve handled steel before.”
“Yes.” Kenhodan’s voice was distant, as if he found it difficult to recover a focus on the present. “It came alive in my hand.…”
“Aye,” Bahzell said. “It’s a master you were taught by, and I’m thinking such as that could lead to your past. Find the hand as trained you, remember whose it was, and it’s not so very far from him you’ll find your past, as well.”
“I don’t remember,” Kenhodan said hesitantly. “Maybe no one taught me. It felt so…so much like a part of me.…”
“And so it should,” Bahzell rumbled, “but I’m thinking someone taught you, and taught you well. The fingers remember, whatever it is the mind may do, and sword skill runs in the muscles and the bone. A master swordsman’s arm—” he eyed Kenhodan with that same measuring gaze “—is one as knows an art no other can imitate.”
“High praise from a champion of Tomanāk,” Wencit said quietly.
“That’s as may be.” Bahzell shrugged. “I’ve yet to see him in action, you understand, but I’d make no wagers against him.”
“In so little you see so much?” Wencit teased, and Bahzell snorted.
“Laugh if you’ve a mind to, but I’m thinking you, of all people, know how much swordplay I’ve seen, both in practice and in earnest.” Bahzell’s voice hinted at more than his words said, but this time Kenhodan was too bemused to notice.
“I do.” Wencit’s nod seemed to respond to Bahzell’s tone as much as to his words. “But I told you he was a warrior, didn’t I?”
“So you did, and it’s not a term you’re in the way of using lightly.” Bahzell leaned back, cradling his sleeping daughter, and regarded the wizard. “I’ve a mind to see the man in action, Wencit. So could you be so very kind as to be telling me your plans?”
“Actually, that sounds like an excellent idea to me, as well,” Kenhodan said pointedly, laying the sheathed sword gently on the table. “How does this puzzle piece—” he smiled mockingly “—fit into your plans, O Wizard?”
“I need you close to me,” Wencit replied. “Most pressingly, at the moment, to fend off attacks directed at you through the art. But the time will come when I need your aid every bit as much as you need mine. In a sense, you and I are part of the same puzzle piece. Neither can succeed without the other, and I’ll soon need a strong swordarm. I hope you’ll provide it.”
“What choice do I have? You seem to know who I am—I’d be a fool to let you out of my sight. But why does a wizard need a swordsman?”
“I have an errand to the south,” Wencit said easily. “Another puzzle piece to recover, so to speak. I know where it is, but laying hold of it may be a little…difficult.”
“‘Difficult’ is it?” Bahzell’s ears pricked at the
He glanced at Wencit’s impassive face, but the wizard seemed not to notice, and Bahzell returned his critical gaze to Kenhodan.
Steel flickered as the red-haired man flashed through a dazzling series of mock cuts, thrusts, parries, and feints. The blade hissed, and his movements flowed so quickly and deftly that only a highly trained eye could follow the glittering blade or the supple smoothness, speed, and perfect balance of his footwork.
“Excellent,” Bahzell murmured. “Clean and sharp…and controlled. He’s one as could lunge against a grape without breaking the skin, by the Sword! And I’m thinking—” he shot another glance at the wizard “—that it’s somewhere else I’ve seen a similar style before this.”
Wencit showed him a raised eyebrow, and Bahzell hid a smile as Kenhodan finished with a whirring parry and blinding backhand cut to the side. Then the blade whipped up, sketched a salute, and snicked into the scabbard in a single, flowing motion, and he returned to the table, breathing slightly faster.
“It’s no more I know of your past than you do,” Bahzell said quietly “but it’s in my mind you’ve handled steel before.”
“Yes.” Kenhodan’s voice was distant, as if he found it difficult to recover a focus on the present. “It came alive in my hand.…”
“Aye,” Bahzell said. “It’s a master you were taught by, and I’m thinking such as that could lead to your past. Find the hand as trained you, remember whose it was, and it’s not so very far from him you’ll find your past, as well.”
“I don’t remember,” Kenhodan said hesitantly. “Maybe no one taught me. It felt so…so much like a part of me.…”
“And so it should,” Bahzell rumbled, “but I’m thinking someone taught you, and taught you well. The fingers remember, whatever it is the mind may do, and sword skill runs in the muscles and the bone. A master swordsman’s arm—” he eyed Kenhodan with that same measuring gaze “—is one as knows an art no other can imitate.”
“High praise from a champion of Tomanāk,” Wencit said quietly.
“That’s as may be.” Bahzell shrugged. “I’ve yet to see him in action, you understand, but I’d make no wagers against him.”
“In so little you see so much?” Wencit teased, and Bahzell snorted.
“Laugh if you’ve a mind to, but I’m thinking you, of all people, know how much swordplay I’ve seen, both in practice and in earnest.” Bahzell’s voice hinted at more than his words said, but this time Kenhodan was too bemused to notice.
“I do.” Wencit’s nod seemed to respond to Bahzell’s tone as much as to his words. “But I told you he was a warrior, didn’t I?”
“So you did, and it’s not a term you’re in the way of using lightly.” Bahzell leaned back, cradling his sleeping daughter, and regarded the wizard. “I’ve a mind to see the man in action, Wencit. So could you be so very kind as to be telling me your plans?”
“Actually, that sounds like an excellent idea to me, as well,” Kenhodan said pointedly, laying the sheathed sword gently on the table. “How does this puzzle piece—” he smiled mockingly “—fit into your plans, O Wizard?”
“I need you close to me,” Wencit replied. “Most pressingly, at the moment, to fend off attacks directed at you through the art. But the time will come when I need your aid every bit as much as you need mine. In a sense, you and I are part of the same puzzle piece. Neither can succeed without the other, and I’ll soon need a strong swordarm. I hope you’ll provide it.”
“What choice do I have? You seem to know who I am—I’d be a fool to let you out of my sight. But why does a wizard need a swordsman?”
“I have an errand to the south,” Wencit said easily. “Another puzzle piece to recover, so to speak. I know where it is, but laying hold of it may be a little…difficult.”
“‘Difficult’ is it?” Bahzell’s ears pricked at the
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