Memoirs of a Fallen God

Chapter 11

And that was the last time I went anywhere near the fencing master.

Briar was annoyed with me and for a short time afterwards our private lessons stopped. But, true to his nature, within a few days his temper cooled, and he even went so far as to admit it really hadn't been my fault after all. As I've noted, for a noble, he was a good sort.

We went back to our respective teacher and student roles every bit as enthusiastically as before.

A few months later saw us once more trading blows in his quarters, both breathing heavily. It was full summer by then, and spacious and open though the room was, it was proving much too hot and stuffy a place for full blown exercise.

Briar was in rare form that day. His parries were quick and his jabs and feints were flowing smooth as silk. I, on the other hand, was tired from a long night spent darning my master's socks, and the heat was wearing at me besides. I was sluggish and somewhat sullen, and our bouts were proving very nearly equal. Briar was well pleased; he had no fondness for losing, though he did handle it gracefully enough.

"I think," he said with a self-satisfied smile, after a particularly close round, "that turn was too close to call." He set down his practice sword and collapsed into a chair, breathing heavily but well pleased. "It occurs to me that we require some manner of judge." He pulled free a towel hanging on the back of the chair and wiped sweat from his forehead. "And a change of venue. It's absurdly hot in here."

I nodded agreement at that. "Who and where?" I asked.

Briar thought for a moment. "The clearing should be a good deal cooler than this, I should think. And Scratch should serve well enough as a judge, as long as we only expect him to call to first touch. Anything beyond that and his head might explode."

I laughed. Scratch did not share our enthusiasm for swordplay. He claimed to enjoy it about as much as he enjoyed being poked in the head with a stick. Appropriate, since that's generally what his attempts amounted to. But he was always eager enough to escape from whatever drudgery he'd been set to in the kitchens.

"That sounds like a fine plan."

"Good. See to it," he said, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the door.

And so I did.

An hour later the three of us gathered in the clearing, perhaps half a mile from the mansion. It was a wide swath of grass, a hundred yards or so across, set in the middle of a patch of trees. It was well out of sight of anyone in the mansion, and hopefully, out of mind as well. We were still wary of the Count's annoyance.

Though it was just as hot in the clearing as it had been in the lord's room, there was a tantalizing hint of breeze which made it much more tolerable, and we went back to our fencing refreshed.

After another few rounds, with Briar again getting the better of me, I found my enthusiasm for swordplay waning. It was just too hot today, and I just was too slow. With mild relief, I noted the sun beginning to lower in the sky.

“Sir. Your father asked you to be at dinner tonight.” I observed, as he began readying himself for another go. “It sounded like it might be important.” If I hadn’t been so tired and eager for a reprieve, it’s unlikely I would have remembered, either.

“Hang it,” he said, frustration in his voice. “You’re right.” He stopped for a minute, thinking. “This is going too well. I think all our extra training is really beginning to tell, and I don’t mean to call it an evening with so much daylight left.” He tapped his fingertips along his chin. “Stay here. I’ll make a quick appearance at dinner, then I’ll invent some excuse or another. I shouldn’t be more than half an hour. No sense havingyou two head back and risk being snatched up by someone else. No, I’m not done with either of you yet. So await me here. I’ll try to remember to bring you back a bite to eat. Spar if you like.” He smiled in Scratch’s direction. “Or not, as you prefer.”