Читать книгу The Shadowmagic Trilogy - John Lenahan - Страница 17

I jumped to the left, just in time to stop myself from being pierced. ‘Hey! Let’s talk about this.’

‘I’m not here to talk,’ the old guy said. ‘If I were you, I would draw my sword, or duck.’

He came at me with a high backhanded cut to the head. Not only did I duck, I hit the floor and rolled to my left. I quickly got back on my feet in a crouch.

‘The roll was good,’ my attacker informed me, ‘but the position is not.’

I took a quick glance around me and saw what he meant. I had boxed myself into a corner.

‘Since you like to talk so much,’ the old man said, ‘I will tell you one more thing. I am going to come at you with a forehand mid-cut. It will be too low to duck and too high to jump. The only defence is to draw and parry, or run and bleed.’

I only took a microsecond to realise he was right. He cocked his sword way back and then came at me with both blade and body. I drew my sword, deflected the attack with a low parry and retreated to the middle of the room.

Our chatting phase was obviously over. He instantly attacked me with a series of sweeping and powerful cuts, alternating high and low. I blocked and back-pedalled. To be honest, I was terrified. For as long as I could remember my father trained me in sword fighting, and I had also won a few local fencing tournaments, but this was the real thing. The swords were steel and the points were sharp. One sloppy parry and I was dead! Then my father’s words came back to me – ‘In a real sword fight, son, all thoughts of winning and losing must be suppressed. Keep one eye on his eyes and the other on his blade. Be aware of your surroundings, block and counter until your opponent tires.’

I used to laugh at him when he said stuff like that. ‘When will I ever be in a real sword fight,’ I’d say, ‘and for that matter, when were you ever in a real fight?’ I take it all back now, Pop – if I live through this.

I forced my father’s advice into my head and the fight attained a rhythm. In fact it became familiar. This old guy’s forearm attack was very similar to my father’s favourite assault. My father would start a major attack with a flurry of forearm cuts, then change into a reverse grip, like he was holding an ice pick, then follow through with an elbow to the chin. He called the move a Dahy Special. Sure enough, that’s exactly what this guy did! I knew from experience that the sword in this manoeuvre was less dangerous than the elbow. I parried the sword hard, forcing his arm to straighten, and then ducked the elbow. I sent the old guy off balance and then started a counter-attack of my own. I came at him with a series of low cuts. I like swinging up – it’s unsettling for an opponent. It leaves my face exposed, but I’m pretty good at bobbing and weaving. The sword felt good in my hand, like an extension of my arm. The old guy parried the cuts with grace, but I could see that I had him working. He parried my last cut and countered with a high downward thrust that caught me by surprise. By the time I blocked it, I was down on one knee. We locked swords – pommel to pommel. I racked my brain for a means of escaping – I knew that as soon as our swords disengaged I was very vulnerable. The sweat was streaming into my eyes and my arm was starting to shake. I couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

‘That’s enough!’ came a shout from the door.

The old man pulled back and Gerard entered the room. I dropped my guard, sat on my feet, and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

‘How is he?’ Gerard said.

‘Not too bad,’ the old guy said, ‘his left side is weak but his footwork is good. Nothing that cannot be fixed.’

‘Wait a minute,’ I said, ‘this was a test?’

‘It was indeed,’ Gerard said. ‘I wanted to make sure if I was going to risk my best guide, that you could at least take care of yourself. Dahy here is my master-at-arms.’

‘Dahy! You taught my father.’

‘Yes, I did. And may I say, my student taught you well, but not well enough.’ He addressed Gerard. ‘In two days I can get him to a minimum preparedness.’

‘Conor, you are under Dahy’s tutelage now, so work hard. You shall leave for the Fililands in three days’ time,’ Gerard said, and left us alone.

‘Now, Conor,’ Dahy said, with a gleam in his eye that I wasn’t sure I liked, ‘we begin.’

The next two days were the hardest of my life. Dahy drilled me like an SAS sergeant gone berserk. We worked on swordplay, archery and banta stick fighting. My biggest difficulty was my left hand. I had always fought with my non-sword hand empty but Dahy taught me a method of using the sword in my right hand and a banta stick in my left. It made my head spin and my muscles scream. Luckily I found a supply of willow tea that helped me make it through the days, and some poteen to help me through the nights.

At mealtimes, I met a handful of people who had still not gone home from the party. Discussions of politics were outlawed in the castle, but when Gerard was out of earshot I learned that my Uncle Cialtie was universally hated. It seemed that Castle Duir sat on The Land’s only gold mine. My grandfather Finn used to allocate a stipend of gold to each of the lords. The gold was used to fuel necessary magic. As of late, Cialtie had refused gold to most of the families and cut back considerably to the rest. The question was – what was he was doing with all of that gold? No one seemed to know.

I only saw Essa twice. Once I caught her watching Dahy and me from the viewing box above the armoury. I looked up and smiled. Dahy hit me painfully in the shoulder with a stick, and by the time I looked back, she was gone. The second time was at lunch on my second day of training. I spotted her sitting at a table and sat down next to her. She immediately stood up to leave. I grabbed her wrist so I could talk to her – big mistake. The next thing I knew, I was face down in my lunch with my arm twisted painfully up my back and her forearm pushing my head into a bowl of salad.

‘Don’t ever grab me again,’ she hissed in my ear.

‘What is your major malfunction?’ I spluttered.

She pulled my head back by the hair. ‘What did you say?’

I wasn’t sure if she hadn’t understood the phrase, or if the face full of greens had screwed up my diction, so I rephrased. ‘What have I done to make you act like this?’

She put her mouth close to my ear and whispered, ‘I know who you are.’

‘Who told?’

‘My father.’

‘Man, he’s telling everybody.’

‘Just me and Dahy.’

‘So let me guess,’ I said, wincing from the pressure that was still on my arm, ‘unlike your father, you’re a prophecy fan and you want me dead?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Then go ahead.’

‘My father has forbidden it.’

‘Then let me go.’

She let go and walked away. I picked lettuce out of my nose with as much dignity as I could muster. ‘Oh yeah,’ I called after her, ‘well, that tunic makes your bum look big.’ It was a stupid thing to say. She didn’t look back, but it did make her stop for a second before she continued off.

The afternoon light was disappearing on my second day of training when I received a message to meet with Gerard in his library.

Before I left, Dahy said, ‘I have a gift for you.’ He handed me a banta stick with copper bark and a pale knob.

‘Do you recognise the wood?’ he asked.

‘I don’t, it’s too light for oak.’

‘It is hazelwood. Light enough to be used for walking, but strong enough for a fight. It was given to me by your grandfather Liam. I want you to have it.’

I looked at the lacquered finish. It almost looked like the skin of a snake.

‘Did you know him – my grandfather?’

‘Yes, he was a good and wise man.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘He was also stubborn and careless. For ages I tried to get him to set up a garrison in the Hazellands, but he would not hear of it. “The House of the Tree of Knowledge is a place of learning, not war,” he would say. Well, I was right but there is no comfort in that.’ He sighed. ‘I know he would have wanted you to have the stick. Now go, Conor, Gerard is waiting.’

‘Thank you, Master Dahy,’ I said, and I bowed my lowest ever bow.

I was surprised to find Fergal and Araf sitting with Gerard in the library. I had not seen Fergal since he had woken me up with a backhand. I had seen Araf around, but as usual we didn’t gossip much.

‘Sit down, Conor,’ Gerard said. I did and almost disappeared into an overstuffed chair. ‘It seems that the fates have thrown you and Fergal together. Not only did you meet by chance on the road, but your future paths also seem to be linked. Fergal here would like to meet Deirdre too.’

‘Why?’ I said, a little shocked.

Gerard replied for him. ‘Fergal’s motivations are his own, as are yours. I know why both of you seek an audience with Deirdre, and I can assure each of you that the other’s reasons are noble. If you wish to tell the other, that is up to you. For now, I need to ask you, Conor – will you accept Fergal as your travelling companion?’

It didn’t take long for me to decide. ‘As long as he promises not to stab me, or hit me with sticks, or steal my shoes, or sleep with me – then I’m fine.’

Fergal’s smile matched my own. He stood up and then, seeing me struggle, helped me out of my chair. We shook on it with both hands and then he slapped me on the back.

‘And you have to stop slapping me on the back.’

‘OK,’ he said, and then he did it again.

‘Araf has agreed to accompany you.’

‘As our guide?’

‘No, Araf does not know the Eastlands. I am having difficulty procuring you the proper guide – but I will. You will leave the day after tomorrow.’

‘How will we travel?’ I asked.

‘I will provide horses,’ Gerard said.

‘Oh – I can’t ride.’

‘What!’ Fergal and Gerard said in unison.

‘It’s not my fault. They didn’t have horses in … where I grew up.’

‘Right,’ Gerard said, ‘you have a day to learn to ride. Araf, will you teach him?’

Araf nodded.

I looked at Araf. ‘In order to teach me, you might actually have to speak, are you prepared for that?’

He gave me one of his hallmark blank stares.

‘This calls for a special toast.’ Gerard climbed the ladder to the top of his wine rack and found a bottle. He blew the dust off and placed it in a gold bucket. As he went to the cabinet to get glasses, the cork slowly rose out of the bottle by itself. He poured us each a glass of the blood-red wine.

‘This is a very special vintage. I pressed these grapes when Essa’s mother was pregnant with her. I have saved most of it for her wedding, but I steal a bottle now and again for special occasions.’ Gerard raised his glass. ‘To your success and a safe journey.’

We drank. Man, was it good. Even if Essa looked like Porky Pig I would have considered marrying her, just so I could have another glass of that wine. As things stood, she wouldn’t even talk to me – so I guessed that marriage was a long shot.

That night I dreamt that Sally and Essa had a banta fight. They both kept looking at me – wanting me to root for one or the other. The problem was I couldn’t decide who I wanted to win. It finally made both girls so mad, they stopped fighting each other and came at me …

I was shaken awake in the darkness. When my eyes adjusted I saw that it was Essa.

‘I was just dreaming about you.’

‘Get up,’ she said. ‘We have to go.’

‘We? Go? Where?’

‘We leave for the Fililands – now.’

‘You are coming with us?’

‘I’m your guide.’

‘Cool, but I thought we were leaving tomorrow.’

‘Change of plans,’ Essa said. ‘We leave now.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Cialtie and his Banshee witch are on the way. They will be here for breakfast.’

That popped me wide awake and out of bed. I threw on some clothes. ‘Does he know I’m here?’

‘I’ll go and ask him, shall I?’

‘Hey, unnecessary sarcasm. Are you going to be mean to me this entire trip?’

‘We’ll see.’

I grabbed my sword and hazel stick. ‘Seriously, do you have any idea what Cialtie is doing here?’

‘I think he is coming to see me,’ Essa said.

‘Why you?’

‘Rumour has it, he is going to ask me to be his bride.’

‘Yuck!’ I said. ‘We gotta get out of here.’