Chapter Ten: Swords

Reading time: 11 min

If you are a new subscriber, you may wish to start at the beginning.

He looked tentative, unconvinced, as he weighed the wooden sparring sword in his hand. I adopted a defensive stance and took up the ox guard, the hilt of my own sparring sword gripped in my right hand and raised to my right cheek, the point facing outward over my shield, toward his face, and waited. He didn’t move.  

Short swords like the akinaka were easy to carry on horseback, but they meant fighting in close. An unhorsed Skythai meant a desperate Skythai. His bow was his weapon of choice, and then his spear, then his sagaris—the small, light, spiked axe—all best wielded from a horse’s back or as projectiles. The moment he found himself on foot, with a sword in hand, he was likely in dire straits. 

I made a slight advance, which he mirrored, but still did not strike. So I attacked first with a test cut, which he deflected easily. We traded a few simple thrusts and parries. He struck weakly, allowing me to parry each blow with my shield. He was playing with me. I watched for an opening, but none came. His form was perfect and, for a big man, his movements had an effortless grace that made it seem almost like a dance. Round and round we went, trading blows, blocking one another, to the rhythm of clashing swords. 

“You don’t have to go easy on me, Bornon. Really, it’s all right.” 

“I just want to show what you’ve learned,” he answered. “Close your stance and remember to face front.” He made a circle with his fingers in front of his belly as he faced me. “Belt toward your opponent. Your feet and shoulders may move, but never your center. This is your balance. Your strength.” He resumed his side guard.

“Right.” I adjusted myself, eager to perfect my skills.

“Good work, Bornon,” Aric said. “You’ve put her through her paces.” 

He picked up a sparring sword from the box beside our makeshift arena and, without delay, lunged at me, stabbing down at my chest. I leapt aside just in time and came around with a strike toward his flank, but he turned aside and checked me with his shoulder, nearly toppling me. I stepped forward and around him instead of back and struck again, almost catching him across the hamstring. He leapt clear and put some distance between us. 

“Good!” Aric said. “You nearly had me.” He was beaming, a rare sight that caught me off guard. 

He came for me more quickly than I predicted and struck hard from above. I deflected the first strike with my shield, but he was quick to close any openings, and again he was moving… He left me a space, but it was too obvious. I knew well enough by now it was a trap. I didn’t take it. Nor did I let up but feigned a step to his right, only to strike on his left, catching him sharply across the cheekbone with the pommel of my sword. While he reeled, I pushed in with my point, ready to slip my blade behind his shield and stab down above his exposed collarbone. And withdrew my attack.  

“Excellent,” he said, massaging his jaw. My head swelled with his praise so that I nearly failed to block a swift blow from above. He rushed me and checked me hard with all his weight. My feet flew from under me; I spun and fell hard, face-first on the ground. Gasping for air, I lay prone, cursing myself for being so stupid.  

Struggling to my knees, Bornon ran to my side and offered his hand. Hunched, with my hands braced on my knees, I fought to catch my breath. Aric barked at me, but I didn’t need his reprimand to make me feel even more of a fool. I averted my gaze from him as he shouted in his restrained way, but I could feel my face burning with anger—at him for his scolding and at myself for my mistake. I already knew where I had gone wrong. Bornon warned me time and again about falling into the trap of perpetual defense. Stupid. I’d let one good stroke go to my head.

“You’re too hard on her, Aric! Back off.” Bornon showed none of Aric’s restraint when he shouted. He stood face to face with Aric, though a head shorter than him, and let his displeasure be known. His manner softened as he turned to me. “Are you all right?”

“The enemy will not be forgiving,” Aric said. “If they should capture her, it will be far worse than anything you or I could ever do.”

“It’s fine,” I gasped, still aching in my chest. “I’ll never progress if he doesn’t test me.” I wanted another chance to prove myself. This fight wasn’t yet over.

“Still, I don’t like it,” Bornon said. He was kind, and I respected him as a tutor and swordsman. But he never coddled the boys this way. It was clear: he thought me weak.

“Come for me again,” I said, struggling to my feet. I raised my eyes to Aric, breathing steadily in and out to calm the burning in my chest and focus my thoughts. I braced myself for another blow, determined to show him just how tough I could be. But before it landed, I saw Bornon in the corner of my eye turn and walk away. In my distraction, Aric knocked me to the ground again.

The day dissolved slowly into an indigo twilight. Only a pale, rosy glow lingered at the edge of the western plain. Already the moon and stars rose in the east. We’d only just moved to this new buna many miles south and made camp by late morning. With tents packed on the wagons, we drove herds down the valley just after sunup to a quiet place on a sweeping bend in the snaking river. Here, the pasture was fresh, and the climate was cooler. This buna stood midway between our last camp and what would eventually be our summer camp further west across the highlands above Lake Maeotis in the Lykus and Hygreis River valleys, where trade and raiding were sure to pick up toward the end of the season. Gohar and Olgas had gone hunting while the rest of the three hundred warriors and the young novices chocked the wagons and erected the felt-houses. It took only a few hours with so many hands. We spent the rest of the day in sport while we waited for the hunters to arrive so we could build the fire and start dinner. 

When Gohar and Olgas finally returned with their kill, they were greeted with much pomp. The stag they shot was carried to the site of the future hearth, where it was butchered. Its hide was stripped and placed in a cauldron, mixed with its brain for tanning. Its head, which was not permitted to touch the ground, was mounted upon a pole at the center of camp. Its heart was buried in a pit in the earth. Over this, Galati, who seemed versed in the ways of sacrifice and proper invocations, spoke words of thanksgiving, and a prayer was offered to the spirits of the place, asking permission for our stay. Then the site where the heart lay was heaped with dried grass, the stag’s bones were arrayed over this, and the whole thing was set to light. 

Soon a great fire roared at the center of our new camp where those not on watch gathered for their evening meal. Tonight, the venison Gohar and Olgas shot roasted in a cauldron over the fire. The liver went to the hunters, tender backstraps to the kara-daranaka and vazarka, and remaining cuts were dispensed according to honor. A stew was made from the rest. Being new and unproven, I ate stew with the other novices.

“Your training is progressing,” Aric said as we sat down to eat, much to my surprise after the disastrous showing earlier that day. His lip was split, and he had a shadow on his cheek where I struck him with the pommel of my sword. It would probably bruise. Good. I smiled secretly. I would have plenty of bruises from him. It made the soreness in my muscles a little sweeter.

“I’m trying.”

“And you’re getting on with Bornon? He’s not neglecting your education?”

“No—I mean he is not. He’s a good teacher. Very patient with me.”

“Good. He frightens a lot of the novices. And a lot of women,” he added with a little chuckle.

“Not me. Bornon has a kind eye.”

“Ha,” he laughed now in earnest, a deep, rich rumble from within his chest as his cheeks dimpled and his eye crinkled softly, “you speak of men the way others speak of horses.”

“Do I?” I asked, a little embarrassed. I had shunned most people most of my life; animals were all I really knew. “Everything you need to know about a horse is in the eyes. I reckon a person is no different; there is a beast inside every man.”

“And what do you see in my eye?” he asked, fixing me in a soft-eyed gaze. “What manner of beast dwells within me?”

The truth was, I had no luck in reading him. He confounded me, and that was rare. “You think me a fool?” I accused jokingly. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t dare say.”

He tilted his head back and let out a chuckle. “Fair enough! Though, one day I will get the answer.”

“Answer me this: what did you mean when you spoke of my capture?”

“Just that you must be especially careful here in the Fields. Counting all the beasts and men that walk the earth, the hamazon have more enemies than friends.” 

“When I was young, my father warned me nearly every time I left the hall about the slavers lurking in dark corners waiting to capture and sell me. I always thought he was just trying to frighten me into minding him.” I smirked, remembering his wild stories of scoundrels who snatched little girls and sold them to dirty old men in foreign lands—the irony of my present circumstance not lost on me. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“No, he was right. Being captured could get you sold along to a slaver rather than ransomed if the price is right. Maybe I am trying to frighten you; you should be afraid.”

“But the Skythai also sell prisoners captured in battle.”

“It is so. The Skythai may sell a man—or woman—but we never buy one. We often send our enemies far from our lands if anyone will pay to take them. But we have our honor. And we will not be served by any man but that he does so willingly. It ensures that both the work and the men are equally honorable—a wisdom won long ago through sore treachery and disgrace. The man who purchases a woman for sport is most pathetic of all; he is twice dishonored.”

“What’s wrong with men that they do these things?”

“If I knew that…” He raised his brows and smirked as he speared his venison with a tiny bronze trident and sliced off a small piece. The karik believed that meat provided by the gods and spirits of the wilderness should be treated with a certain reverence, and after being cooked in the sacred fire, it might be defiled by hands, so must be eaten from knives, spoons, or prongs. Aric set the slice between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully.

“You spoke of ransom?”

“Dangerous enemies are killed on the field. Less dangerous captives are sold. However, where peace may be bartered, valuable prisoners are usually ransomed.”

“You’d pay my price?”

He grinned with one side of his mouth like perhaps it was an unprofitable option. “We take care of our own,” he offered at last. 

“And the ones that don’t bother with ransom?” 

He stopped slicing and turned to fix me in his gaze. “I will not let that happen. Besides, our enemies know our wealth, and we keep our word. Any man who raises the cry of Zirin must be granted safe passage as a ransom-bearer. It is a law as old and sacred as the stars. But if I should fall in battle, seek out those twelve men you met that first night. The vazarka are sworn to protect me. They are bound also to protect you.”

I searched around the fire for their familiar faces. It seemed unlikely that any group of men, much less this feral pack, would feel compelled to protect me in the absence of their lord’s command. They couldn’t be expected to give up their treasure for me. “And if they should fall?”

“Then, you must decide a fate for yourself.”

“I know which I would choose.” I clutched my sword-hilt. Hardly a choice.

“It’s easy to make bold claims, but many—most even—choose otherwise. The slave markets are full of men and women who chose life. There’s no shame in it. There can even be honor—look at Antisthenes. No man bore his servitude with more dignity and fortitude than he.”

“Antisthenes was a slave?” I whispered as if it were a secret. I looked at him, seated across the firepit among some older novices, smiling and chatting. Though I was loath to admit such a thing of a Hellene, I’d met few men of such forbearance and grace. It was impossible to imagine. 

“He was.” He sliced off a juicy piece of his tenderloin and offered it to me. “But that’s his story to tell.” 

---

Chapter Eleven: Maneaters

---