Swept Away - A Narnian Swashbuckler

Chapter Eight: IN THE KOSHAM

Trundle and Joseph were still arrayed as Paravellers, and while neither of them was fit to enter the King’s court they still looked prosperous.
​

Legions of hawkers brought out their wares, buskers played instruments and danced looking for a handout, and those with nothing to sell tried to look pitiable.

“We need to buy some good clothes,” Joseph lamented.

“What’s wrong with them?” Trundle asked, looking at his vest and cap.

“They aren’t dusty and worn, and they don’t look Calormene.”

Just then, as if to make a point, a gaunt man with his raven hair in a long braid came forward.

“Fine merchandise for our honored travelers? Souvenirs to show the children? Trinkets for your good ladies?”

“No thank you,” Joseph said quickly. “Do you have local fashions?”

“Silk scarves, cedar sandals, coral beads? I have a wide selection of…”

“No. We’re not tourists and this is no holiday. Spare me your trifles.”

The seller noticed the hare’s purse of coins and said, “Ah yes, I see you are a noble creature of discerning taste. Forget these trinkets and buy your lady something fine?”

After glancing about cautiously, the merchant opened a silk bag and shook out a few precious items. There were rings, ear pendants and a couple of brooches.

Sir Joseph gasped and pointed at one pin. “That’s the one I want.”

“A good selection, sir. As for price, I’m sure you’ll agree this elegant example of the master’s art is…”

“Stow the bilge!” the hare sternly hissed. “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. But that pin once graced the stole of Lady Fiona. Tell me where you got it and I’ll pay four times its weight in gold.”

The merchant swallowed hard and tugged at his beard. “That’s very generous, sir, but my clients prize my discretion. What you ask…”

“All I am asking you where you got it. Six golden lions with no questions asked if you meet my demand.”

“But sir, I…”

“Going once!”

“If he ever found out I was the one…”

“Going twice!”

“You wouldn’t tell him it was me?”

“Sold!” Joseph hissed, putting the shiny gold coins into the man’s trembling hand one by one. “Rest easy, I shan’t breathe a word.”

“It was on a slave sold at the Kosham. Just head for that tower with the blue tile roof. His auction block is behind it. You can’t miss it. Ask to speak with the Kes.”

“The Kes…behind that tower. You have done me a great service, and…”
Before the hare could finish thanking the merchant, he had gathered his wares and disappeared into the crowd.


***​

[CONTINUED]
 
Joseph stared at the pin incredulously. “This proves it! Look at this, Stripey Dog! Look, Son of Telmar! Proof that Aslan smiles on our undertaking! He wrote a prophesy in the sky in letters a mile high as surely as I live and breathe!”

“Are you sure it’s the same pin?” Trundle asked. “I mean I sure hope it is…”

“It is one-of-a-kind,” Joseph rhapsodized, running his paw gently over its lovely contours and kissing it with frustrated affection. “This was on her person when I last saw her. It is a sign, I tell you! The sign I’ve been praying for! I shall see her again!”


***​


The Kosham was a place carefully segregated from the happy face Calormen showed its visitors. There were only three sorts of people there, those who sold, those who bought and those who were purchased.
It was a brutal place that smelled like fear and greed and the Narnians saw the traffic of people as commodities thinly veiled outrage and fear.

Those being sold had various looks. A few were outright defiant. Most were somber and resigned to their fate. A few, at this lowest point in their lives, openly wept though they were abused for doing so and looking weak—it brought down their price. Orlando trembled and Joseph knotted his fists. “Barbarian tooks!”

Trundle shivered. “Isn’t it against the law to buy and sell people in a market?”

“Not here,” Orlando said. “Slaves are people who were captured in war, working off a debt, lawbreakers or just kidnapped.”

“Like my wife,” Joseph hissed under his breath.

“Take heart, Sir Joseph,” Orlando said. “It’s against the law to kill a slave without cause. They fine you a hundred darims.”

“And how much money is that?”

“You can buy a really good shirt for a hundred darims.”

Joseph sighed deeply, then tapped one of the customers. “Good sir, where can I find the Kes?”

“The Kes?” He laughed. “Right there on the stage.” (It seemed that “Kes” was a title, not a name.)

The smiling bloke on the stage, whatever his name, bought out a timid woman and began to hawk his wares with a well-practiced warble… “Behold Cassandra! She has all her teeth, fair skin, and is quite a looker and yet capable of hard work and—get this—she can read and write!”

“Two hundred darims!” someone exclaimed.

“Two hundred darims for this fine lass? Perhaps I can sell you a sparrow?” The Kes acknowledged the laugher of the crowd with a half bow. “The next bid I get under five hundred darims will win you a black eye! Now come on, people! Look at this lovely flower with both your eyes!”

“Six hundred darims!”


***​


The oppressive heat of midday, more than the need to eat lunch, called a halt to the proceedings.

Mopping his sweaty brow on his sleeve, the Kes exited the platform to go on break. His approach frightened Orlando who recognized him as the man that sold him.

“Iced cacco?” asked Sir Joseph.

The Kes took it, sniffed it, sipped it, and then downed it quickly. “Ah, just what I needed. Now what will it cost me?”

“No charge.”

“There is no such thing as a free cacco in Tashbaan, especially if it’s iced.”

“Good advice may have its price, but that’s no reason to skip common courtesy.”

The Kes smiled. “You have a civil tongue for a beast. Come, long ears, and we’ll talk in the shade.”


***​

[CONTINUED]
 
Trundle could hardly pay attention to what was said. His eyes kept wandering to the large fan over their heads that was swung by a servant tugging on a long cord. Between the shade and the cooling breeze he was fairly comfortable, and that was a good thing since panting—a perfectly natural thing to do—was offensive to some Calormenes.

The Kes bit into a date. “Hmm,” he said at last, “I see an ocean of faces every day, yet this Fiona of yours seems familiar. Yes, I’m pretty sure I remember selling her to a caravan of traders. They can always use good domestic help, you know. Perhaps I can remember which one. Now who was it?”

“Will a little gold help your memory?” Joseph clinked a few coins about in his paw.

“A little more might.”

“Here’s three hundred darims. One farthing more and I’ll give you something else to remember.”

It was an empty threat and the Kes knew it. There were people about armed with scimitars and daggers and no one in their right mind would dare to draw upon the Kes. Still, he laughed. “I like your attitude rabbit!”

“Hare.”

“Whatever…hare. Three hundred darims and I tell you all.”

After handing him the money in a purse, Joseph said, “You may count it if you wish.”

“No need. No one ever cheats me.” He clapped his hands twice and servants brought spiced wine for all. Trundle looked at the gold cup entrusted to his paw and realized there was money to be made in the slave trade.

“I remember selling her to Agra Rashaam. I’ve sold enough folk to fill a small city, but she stood out, not only because she was a talking beast and a doe at that. Ah yes, she was the unhappiest of wenches. Not afraid for herself but she bribed me with the bauble you possess to let a child escape. Not worth the full price but I was touched by her gesture. I’m a hard man, as anyone can tell you, but I’m not a thief and I do admire loyalty. I kept my bargain with her as I kept it with you.” He slipped the coins in his pocket. “Now if you’ll pardon me, it’s time for my back rub.”


***​


Sir Joseph was unusually quiet. Trundle, who was a bit of a chatterbox, had often wished the hare had been more talkative. But even for Joseph, his demeanor was reserved and distant.

“You know something?” the badger said in an upbeat voice, bravely carrying on a one-sided conversation, “There were times when I thought we’d never find your Fiona, but it seems the Lion is on our side after all. This has been a very productive day so far.” He looked up at the stone-faced hare. “Don’t you agree?”

Joseph nodded mutely.

“Yes sir, we’re hot on her trail, and all we have to do is find this Agra Whats-his-name and before you know it we’ll be on the way home. We’ll be…” The badger stopped. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Joseph collapsed against a wall, his paws rising to his face. “I could see her on that stage! I could see her!”

The badger put his paw on the hare’s shoulder and gave it a little pat. “Time’s a wasting, lad. Let’s stow the tears and be off.”

Orlando said, “I thought a knight never cried.”

Trundle looked down. “Sometimes Aslan cries.”

[CONTINUED TOMORROW]
 
Chapter Nine: BEHIND THE SILKEN CURTAIN

Tashbaan was a cosmopolitan city that coveted money from abroad so long as it came without too many questions attached.

One could buy so-called homemade Narnian faire, though it wasn’t clear which Narnia they meant.

There were gambling casinos where high stakes bets were put on bouts of kesbet and cheerless stone faces sat about the harom tables moving tiles as if their whole futures depended upon the outcome. Trundle was about to risk a single silver crescent on the Wheel of Fortune, but Joseph scowled and shook his head.

Orlando whispered in the badger’s ear, “It’s no loss, Mr. Trundle. Those wheels are rigged.”


***​


Once they got beyond the festive atmosphere of Tashbaan’s wharf where most of the visitors stayed they found a very different city. That was the land behind the silken curtain, a place that did not wear a painted smile to separate a fool from his money.

In the narrow twisting avenues and back alleys of the Calormene slums beggars relentlessly plied their trade. Some of them were blind and lame from birth, but many of them were cruelly chewed up and spit out by the Tisroc’s reckless military campaigns.

From the shadows suspicious eyes peered at them. The words they never heard, always unspoken but loud as a shout, were “What is their kind doing here?”

After several minutes of that, by chance or in response to some anxious report, a watchman stepped out of a side street right into their path.
“Well, my Narnian friends, how do you like the Peacock Kingdom?”

“Well enough,” Trundle said.

Joseph took a step forward. “What my badger friend means is everything was going well but we got turned about.”

“Yes, I thought you were lost,” the watchman said, crossing his arms. There is nothing to see here, and much to fear.”

“Actually we’re looking for Shamar Khan. Would you kindly take us there?”

The man’s arms went back to his sides and his dark face went very pale.
“I know nothing of this man. You’re on your own.” He quickly slipped away, casually at first then running when he got out of sight.

“That was excellent advice,” the hare said, patting Orlando on the shoulder. “And how resourceful of you.”

“Resourceful?” Trundle asked. “What did he do?”

“He whispered so low that only these long ears of mine could catch the words.”

“Oh! Very nice!” The badger smiled. “So who is Shamar Khan?”

Orlando drew close and said in a low voice, “He owns half of the gambling parlors you saw on the wharf. They used to belong to Omri Karidian until his headless body was found washed up on the beach. Seems he had a dreadful accident while shaving.”

“Oh…that Shamar Khan.” The badger touched his throat with a paw, as if to make sure his head was still attached.


***​


Trundle cringed as Joseph approached a prosperous looking businessman. He both pitied the hare and worried for their skins.

“I’m looking for Agra Rashasm the trader. Do you know anything about him?”

“I live here in the city. Why would I know a trader?”

“He comes here to buy slaves. I think he has my wife. I need to locate him.”

“I said I didn’t know him. And sir, in this country what you don’t know might save your neck.”

“I have gold. Look, see? Money means nothing to me with my wife in chains! Do you have a family, sir? Do you know how it feels to lose one?”

“I’m sure it’s quite tragic,” said the man, pulling the hare’s paw off his arm. “And after all you’ve lost, it would be sad if you ended up in prison, sir.”

“But I…”

“Good afternoon.”

“I appeal to your sense of decency!”

“I appeal to your common sense! Good afternoon!”


***​

[CONTINUED]
 
“Someone has to know of him!” the hare sighed in frustration.

“Perhaps,” the badger answered, “but keep asking folk like that and you’ll have us in the Old Bailey for certain.”

Sir Joseph turned sharply. “It was for that reason I came here! Do you think I braved the seas on that rattle-trap bit of shark bait hoping to pass her on the street?”

“Calm down, my friend. People are looking at us…”

“I’ll calm down if you know a better way to find my family!”

“I might,” Trundle said. “I can’t think in a hurly burly, so calm down and give me a moment…” He scratched his head and sighed. “What sort of person would know Agra Rashaam?”

“His customers,” Sir Joseph said impatiently. “What does that prove?”

“His suppliers would know him too.”

“Well, yes, but what are our chances of meeting them?”

Orlando shook his head slightly. “I think Mr. Trundle is on to something, sir. Don’t traders make money by buying things where they are cheap and plentiful and carrying them off where they are rare and fetch a higher price?”

“Yes,” Trundle said. “I used to make trade goods myself. But wooden things aren’t as good for trade as metal. They have blacksmiths everywhere, and carpenters too, but the things you need a big city craftsman to make…tin and brass…I think Mr. Rashaam would buy them here to sell out there, don’t you?”

Joseph was dumbstruck. “Oh, I was such a fool!” He put an arm about Trundle and Orlando. “You splendid chaps, you clear heads saved the day! Oh, I was such a fool!”

“No,” Trundle said, “you were in love. It does that to a fellow.”


***​


The three friends walked on in silence as the sky turned purple and the moon cast its pallid glow on the honeycomb of houses and courtyards. A few folk lit torches to put on the street corners and cast a shimmering golden light on the passers-by.

Someone was coming. Armed with what he thought was just the right question, Joseph said, “Excuse me sir, might I have a word?”

Trundle quickly stepped in front of him. “You may think me a little daft, but even in Narnia we have heard how excellent the tin pots and pans of Calormen are. They are way overpriced by the time they get to Cair Paravel, and we were hoping to find something we could buy here more cheaply.”

The stranger thought a moment, stroking his beard. “I always get mine at Jubeth’s. You’re practically there now. Just head three blocks straight ahead, turn left at the lamp post and walk till you see the open shed on your right.”

“You are most kind,” the badger replied, motioning his friends on. After a while he tugged Joseph’s arm. “The difference between us is you beg people to talk. With a little flattery they beg me to listen.”

“I underestimated you,” the hare said. “Where did you learn that?”

“My Uncle Burley, the smart one that went to sea.”


***​

[CONTINUED]
 
Jubeth was a rotund fellow with the bushiest eyebrows they had ever seen, and a long curled moustache. He also had a large leather apron which was pockmarked by the meteoric flight of hot coals from his hearth.

“Yes, my furry friends, I do sell things to Agra Rashaam. But why not buy from me and cut out the surcharge?”

Sir Joseph, taking Trundle’s excellent advice, was more subtle than usual. “We sold him something by mistake and need to buy it back. A necklace with a gold owl that has ruby eyes.”

“Seller’s regret?”

“Worse. There is a powerful spell placed upon it and we need it back or my poor Mum will never rest easy.”

“So you pinched your Mum’s treasure and she sent you all the way to Tashbaan to fetch it! Haw haw, but doesn’t it always happen that way?”

“I have a map. Any help you could offer us would be appreciated.”

“I was about to turn in for the night. I work hard for my money and…”

“Oh, I’ll make it worth your while.” Joseph put a couple of silver crescents on the table. “We really need your help.”

Jubeth nodded. “Let’s see that map. Ah yes, here is Tashbaan. This in the middle is the Great Central Desert. No one goes there if they can help it. Every trader I know starts here with a full load of merchandise and goes about the rim of the kingdom. Gurbruck, Gajjin, then to Kambra, Dokoor and Shimbeck. He’s probably here by now. You’ll have trouble catching up with him.”

“Yes, but if we cut straight through here, wouldn’t that give us an advantage?”

Like Trundle, the tinsmith looked at Sir Joseph askance. “Oh you don’t want to do that. First off it is very forbidding country. And second, there are places where your kind have not set foot since the war. I cannot guarantee what will happen if you disturb the bones of the dead.”

“I understand. Thank you for your help and for your advice. You don’t know what good you have just done.”

“I have sent you to an early grave. Do not thank me, strangers. I can see you are determined to let your folly lead you to your doom.” He fished out a small silver charm on a necklace. “This will give you some small hope of surviving the journey.”

“How much do you want for it?”

“A night’s peaceful rest. You are either very brave or very foolish. Now go, and may your name be written in the book.”

[CONTINUED TOMORROW]
 
Suddenly Eomer of Rohan stepped up and said to Sir Joseph, "None who go that way ever return. That mountain is--Oh, excuse me, wrong story! Don't mind me, keep going, I happen to know that your treatment of the theme of remembering the dead from the past will be more deeply thought out than our movie. Your readers will be edified by it, not merely creeped out."
 
A very engaging website is under development for SWEPT AWAY. It goes without saying that I can't reveal it without massive spoilers.

If anything, this project gives me a chance to gradually wean off writing for these characters I love so dearly. That, and of course, I get to go back to Byron on Wells, sit in the treehouse and read the whole adventure to Buck, Bramble and Mountie! Huzzah! :D

LOOK, EVERYBODY!!!! I'M SIR JOSEPH!!!

bramble.jpg
 
Chapter 10: A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH

The trees of the coast gave way to the irrigated fields further in. But as the last of the arable land gave way to brush and scrub, Sir Joseph knew it was time to prepare his friends for what lay ahead.

The hare sat under one of the last palm trees and in its fitful shade gave Trundle and Orlando the talk that soldiers heard when going out into the desert.

“Supplies must be the bare essentials, something we took care of in the army by restricting soldiers to the equipment they were assigned. You will have to be shaken down and put in good order.”

Orlando owned practically nothing but the clothes on his back, but Trundle, who had purchased some ill-advised souvenirs, had to pare down. Methodically—or as some might think ruthlessly—the hare rummaged through the badger’s rucksack, putting aside item after item with a shake of the head. Trundle was dismayed.

“Oh Sir Joseph, not my favorite rock!”

“You’ve never seen a green rock with crystals before, I know. You’ll remember it longer if you don’t die of exhaustion.”


***​


Once they were all “shaken down” Joseph went over the survival rules. “These are, quite literally, a matter of life and death.

“Here the heat is oppressive by day and the cold is numbing by night. That leaves two times when it is safe and comfortable to travel…dawn and dusk. You only move about when your shadow is at least as long as you are tall.

“Understanding the local customs can save you from prison or, worse, the sword. Watch exactly what I do and try to imitate me. I’ve been here before and survived. I’ll survive again, and I’ll make sure you do too.

“Recognize and avoid poisonous and dangerous plants and snakes. At night serpents may come in with you to keep warm. Every morning without exception you will open your rucksack and remove every last item, turn it upside down and shake it. Then inspect each item as you repack it. Scorpions can either kill you or make you wish you were dead.

“Lack of water is serious business. The wind dries you out as does breathing the dry air so you must drink enough. You never waste water but you should drink frequently. If you don’t have to step off the trail from time to time you are drying out, and that can leave you retching on the ground. Trust me, that is no fun.

“Every morning we will eat some jerky and bread. Every night we’ll have dried fruit. This promotes endurance by day and restful sleep at night. Don’t eat anything you cannot identify unless you are a dinner guest. If you visit someone’s house, you will eat what they serve you and enjoy it, whether you like it or not.

“Lastly I have several herbs, but the most important one is Willow Bark. It’s a thoughtful gift from Mage Aramis. Chew a bit of it to ward off body aches, fever and chills.”

“I suppose the fun part is over now,” Trundle said, a bit somber.

“It depends on your spirit of adventure, Stripey Dog. When you have faced the desert and lived to tell of it, you’ll be glad you came.”


***​


Jubeth the tinsmith was busy at his table, hammering a sheet of metal into the shape of a pan. Like most craftsmen he did not like to be disturbed while he was concentrating, but he was the only one in the shop at the time. So when a couple of potential customers came in he set aside his work and came over.

“May I help you gentlemen?”

One of the two sailors said, “Oh yes. Three of our friends were by this way. A badger, a hare and a young boy. Do you happen to know where they went?” He opened his hand and five shiny new silver crescents sparkled…

[CONTINUED]
 
Chapter 11: STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND

The relative lushness of the coast was forgotten as the three friends traversed the dry and scrubby inland dominated by short squat trees, sage brush and malicious thorn bushes whose whole purpose in life seemed to be bringing misery.

The wind, when it blew, came with a vengeance and stirred up choking dust devils without really cooling the brow one bit.

“It isn’t very pretty here, is it?” Trundle asked.

“It depends on your point of view,” Joseph replied. “If you’re a vulture, it’s the perfect place to wait for a hare or a badger to drop dead.”

Trundle laughed nervously, then said, “You are joking, aren’t you?”

“Well, I might be,” the hare said with a wan smile. “All I know is I want to find shelter before those storm clouds catch us.”

Orlando looked about. “Sir Joseph, those aren’t clouds!” He looked from side to side. “Over there! Quickly!”

The boy led his friends to a dry ravine. He crouched down in the bottom and pulled a cloth over his head. Joseph and Trundle followed suit without knowing why.

They soon found out…


***​


The sky became tan, brown, then such a profound black the friends could not tell if it was day or night. The wind roared like a giant waterfall.

The dust storm was a type the local people called a raksolla. They blamed them on the wrath of the storm god, though they have been known to be wrong about such things before.

“How long do these dust storms last?” Trundle asked.

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Orlando hissed, coughing at the effort. “The wind dies down at night.”

“I wonder how much farther it is to Agra Rashaam?” the badger asked.

“I don’t know,” Sir Joseph replied, putting a paw on Trundle’s shoulder. “Are you sorry you came?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it sorry,” the badger answered. “Still, I was just thinking about the cherry trees in bloom. Out here the memory of such things fades away, and it’s almost like they never really existed except in dreams. I’d like to see the pink blossoms again in Cair Paravel before I die. That doesn’t make me a coward, does it?”

“No, not at all,” Joseph said, putting his paw over Joseph’s and giving it a little squeeze. “You’ll see them again if I have to move the earth, sea and sky.”

“I believe you.” Trundle cracked a shy smile. “I miss my home, but I think I’d miss you even more. And that goes for Orlando too. I don’t want to see the flowers all alone.”

“We’ll be there soon enough,” the boy said, drawing near to Trundle and putting an arm about him. “Oh look! Up there! I can make out the sun! It’s still daytime!”

“Hurrah!” the badger shouted, shaking off a cloud of dust, then coughing spasmodically.

[CONTINUED TOMORROW]
 
THERE IS A WEBSITE IN THE WORKS

I would love to know what you want to see on it. So far I have the complete story (Nyah nyah, I already read the end so I know how it turns out! ;)) and the collection of banner graphics. I also plan to do a tour similar to the book tour on the Byron on Wells site. But what else would you like to see? This is your chance to do what the beavers call "sticking in an oar".

CAMEO ALERT

There is one Byron on Wells character who does not appear in SWEPT AWAY but is mentioned by name. This character has not yet made an appearance, but I hope you'll keep an eye peeled. When you see who and when you see where, you'll know why. And that's all I'm saying about THAT. ;)
 
John, I didn't think to ask you about this while the story was in development, but could your invented Calormene term "raksolla" have been suggested to your mind by the word "rakshasa," meaning a demon in Hindu mythology?
 
Yes. A term that also appears in the Hindi "Raksha" and was the name of a she-wolf, Mowgli's adopted mother.
 
Chapter 12: THRUST AND PARRY

It rarely rained in the central part of Calormen, but when it did, it came down with a vengeance. The suffocating red dust became clinging red mud that made walking through the pounding drops even more miserable.

“Look!” Joseph shouted, “A barn!”

“I wonder if they’d let us stay,” Trundle said.

“I’m sure they will. We’ll ask them on the way out.”


***​


There was no sign of the owners, and only a few horses in the barn reacted to their presence. Trundle tried to start up a conversation but these were not talking beasts and wanted nothing more from him than extra oats and a rub on the nose.

In the meanwhile Sir Joseph was showing Orlando how he sharpened his sword with a stone.

“When you are on dangerous ground, your blade is your most important tool. Even a full suit of armor will only delay the inevitable if you are cowering on the ground rather than advancing, ever advancing. That’s why you always keep it clean and well manicured.”

The badger stepped away from the horses, walking over quietly to watch Joseph and Orlando inspect the bright blade. All of the talk of pommels, fullers and grips made him feel worthless as a companion.

“Sir Joseph, why did you choose me?”

“Beg pardon? Choose you for what?”

Trundle made a sweeping gesture. “This. Everything. I’m a carpenter, and you’re a knight on a great quest. I feel so helpless. You could have chosen a soldier but you picked me instead. I don’t know why. I only know I must be a real disappointment.”

The hare put his blade back into its scabbard. “Bosh! That’s a lot of nonsense. I need you. Not what you do but you. Aslan chose you because of your character and generous spirit and I have never regretted his good judgment.”

“Well and good of you to feel that way, but I want to know how to defend myself. More importantly, I want to know how to defend you and that innocent child. If I watched someone kill you while I stood here helpless, I’d never forgive myself.”

Sir Joseph reached up and took Trundle’s paw in his own, giving it a little squeeze. “And you wondered why you were chosen?”


***​


Trundle raised his stick. At least he had a weapon as splendid as Joseph’s, and it did not need to be sharpened.

The hare said, “First we face off. Then go on guard.”

“Like this?”

“No, hold your blade higher.”

“Alright, I’m on guard. Now when do I move around?”

“You have to learn a few terms first. Watch me advance. My foot moves forward, the body follows, advance! I go back like this…retreat!”

“Advance…retreat. That’s not so hard. Is using a sword one of those things like sailing a ship where everything has a name?”

“Oh yes. But here’s where the fun begins. You’re your opponent…thrust!!”
The stick stopped a mere fraction of an inch in front of the badger’s belly.

“Oh my…”

“Blade cuts from the side…slash!!”

The blade whistled right in front of Trundle’s throat. He swallowed heavily.

“Now hack, hammer and strike!!”

Trundle’s ears went back. “Do I just stand here and let you make mincemeat out of me?”

“No. Remember how to thrust?”

“Yes…thrust!!”

“Parry!!”

With a nimble tap, the hare sent the badger’s blade off course.

“So when I thrust, you parry?”

“Yes. Now try a slash.”

“Alright…slash!!”

“Block!!”

The hare stopped the badger’s blade cold and with a strong push sent Trundle tumbling backward.

Orlando came and offered his hand. “Need help, Mr. Trundle?”

“No, thank you.” He got up and brushed himself off. “So every time I try to skewer you, you block me, and every time you try to run me through I knock your sword away. What’s the point?”

The hare laughed and lowered his weapon. “The point is to trick the other fellow into letting his guard down. To be quicker, harder, deadlier. No matter what you see in play acting, in real sword fights it only takes a moment of carelessness to lose your head…literally.”


[CONTINUED]
 
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