Chapter 21

His grandfather stalked a slow circle around him, his blade dangling loosely from his fist. Lion regards his prey, Knick’s mind interpreted the movement as he’d been taught. Knick crouched low almost sitting on his heels, his left forearm resting lightly across his knees, his right hand gripped his knife tightly where it sat still in its sheath strapped to his right thigh. Dangerous student, over the years it had become his favorite starting point for a knife fight. He felt a tight grin spread over his lips, baring his teeth, as he breathed evenly and deeply, ready at any moment to spring in any direction. His head alone swiveled, following his grandfather’s movements.

Grandfather’s circle began to spiral in, lion stalking. The next logical move in the style the desert folk prefer would be lion’s strike, Knick mentally prepared a response but made no move. Lion’s strike would be a sudden lunge at a perceived point of weakness, intent upon obtaining an instant kill to minimize the chance of retaliation and injury. Knick waited as Grandfather came closer and closer.

There.

Grandfather was very fast, but he no longer had the reflexes of a child. Knick noticed Grandfather’s slight weight shift as his foot hit the ground, and he adjusted his own position slightly, leaning forward just as Grandfather’s knife suddenly flashed forward at his throat. Lion’s strike, Knick’s grin widened a fraction. Knew it, he thought to himself. He flowed up past Grandfather’s extended blade arm, Ocean Breeze, he left his primary blade in its sheath and instead drew his apprentice blade from his left arm sheath. Quickly reversing his grip he attempted to punch a hole in Grandfather’s lung through his exposed armpit as he passed below his arm, but somehow Grandfather wasn’t quite where he was supposed to be and he merely scored a slice across Grandfather’s shirt, barely scratching the skin, and Grandfather’s arm had wrapped around his head and bent him forward at the waist, the old man’s back pressed him down from behind as he was bending over backwards, all but laying down on him back to back. Knick froze, looking very intently at the point of Grandfather’s blade where it had come to a stop right in front of his left eye.

Grandfather rolled off his back, the knife rotated but maintained its position. Then the blade moved away from his face as he took a step back, the point of Grandfather’s blade remained pointed exactly at the center of Knick’s eye, the fisherman releases his catch. The old man grinned at him.

Knick sheathed his apprentice blade back up his sleeve and crouched back down on his heels, this time putting both forearms across his knees, studenti. “How did you do that Grandfather? I thought for sure your blade was going to be mine today.”

The old man smiled. “Some lessons you have to learn yourself boy,” He held open the cut in his shirt, showing a thick white scar that Knick had nearly perfectly traced with a light cut that barely bled. “Pain is always the best teacher. If you’re smart you won’t take the same cut to your flesh twice. Which is why it’s actually fairly impressive you managed to cut me in the same place a second time.” The old man looked off into the distance, perhaps remembering the first time he was cut there.

The boy sat crouching and waited, and waited, and waited. This happened sometimes. Grandfather had lived a very very long life for a blademaster. Sometimes it took him a while to remember something, but interrupting his thoughts would lead to pain. Or worse yet, he wouldn’t finish the lesson, and Knick might miss something important. Besides, Knick could crouch here all day if he needed to. Grandfather had tested him many times on his ability to maintain dangerous student and studenti poses. At this point the muscles in his legs were like iron, not overly large, but toned to the fullest extent possible for his fourteen year old frame.

Knick was patient. He needed to learn as much as he possibly could as fast as he could. For on the day he finally killed Grandfather and took the family blade for his own, Grandfather would no longer have any further lessons to teach. Knick loved his Grandfather fiercely, but as studenti to a blademaster he had sworn to try absolutely to kill him in order to hone his skills against the old man as one hones a dull blade against an unyielding rock to grind a fine edge.

Grandfather came out of his reverie, he glanced around as if surprised to find himself in the farmhouse’s meadow, surrounded by trees, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. When he glanced down and saw Knick in studenti pose he relaxed, as if it was the most familiar thing in the world. “Yes, you did quite well though, boy. By the standards of the Ocean Blade School I’d rank you tu’mesh.” He seemed to look at Knick more closely. Knick stared back intently, trying to absorb every bit of information he could from the old man. The old man stared back just as intently. “On the day you first fight a man blade to blade and kill him you will be saw’mesh. I say on this day that you are an unblooded master of the knife, Grandson. I am proud of you. Soon I shall be too slow to keep up with you as you continue to grow even faster. The family blade shall indeed soon be yours, and you will honor it and your blademaster.” The old man sheathed his blade and turned away, clasping his hands behind his back, maestro terminus. He stared off into the woods ignoring Knick, the lesson was over.

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Knick sprang to his feet and bolted back to the farmhouse with a huge grin on his face as he reveled in the feel of the blood pumping through his legs after so long in a crouched position. Wait til he told Mother he’d managed to cut Grandfather. She’d no doubt have some choice words for the old man about the wear and tear of his clothing since she was the one who’d have to fix it later. First things first though, Mother had made some cookies yesterday with the last of the sugar and there were still some left. Knick banged through the door, startling Mother at her loom.

“Damnit all, Knicky! How many times have I told you not to bang the door? One would think I’d given birth to a rock horse with the racket you constantly produce.” The attractive middle aged woman with pure white hair sighed. “Now go pack up the cart, we’re leaving as soon as you get the blankets packed and your Grandfather decides which blades he’s taking to market.”

Knick froze with a hand midway into the cookie jar, his shoulders slumped, and he began shuffling his way forlornly out the door. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She laughed. “I’ll bring the cookies with us for a snack on the road, and you’ll be seeing your friends soon.” She had a point, but just to be obstinate he shuffled even more slowly on the way out the door, which he very slowly closed behind him sarcastically. He heard his mother snort, amused, as the door latched behind him.

Knick made his way to the barn to find the cart already loaded up with Mother’s blankets, and their horse, Daisy, was also ready to go, hitched to the front of the cart and munching contentedly at her feed bag. Grandfather was behind the cart looking at the wall covered with knives on their pegs, occasionally plucking one from the wall and tucking it into a long thin sheet of leather. The sheet was covered in pockets sized for one knife each. He finished filling it and rolled it into a large bundle, tossing it into the back of the cart with a heavy THUNK. He grabbed another roll of leather from under the table and unrolled it to fill with more knives. He glanced at Knick as he came in to watch him. He pulled out a small black roll of leather from behind his back, where it was tucked into his belt, and tossed it to Knick. “About time you had a proper master’s blade. This should hold you til you take mine off me, and once you do it’ll make a nice backup for the double knife styles.”

Knick unrolled the leather and found a pitch black sheath holding a blade, the hilt wrapped expertly in the same pitch black leather. Knick pulled it from the sheath to find it a near perfect match to the one his Grandfather carried, minus the rubies. “I had Erbert treat the death panther leather from that bag you got from Nameless and turned it into something worthy of the material. Still can’t believe that boy wasted it on something as pedestrian as a bag.” Cutter shook his head exasperatedly. “That boy is an odd one and no question. He’d actually rank as an expert with the blade, not a master mind you, but he’s at least an expert. Couldn’t place him above saw’tex, even blooded as he is, but I daresay he may be some stripe of deathmaster in his own right. Kid’s too ruthless for his own good though. He’ll make enemies that will fight just as unfairly as he does.” Cutter sighed. “Probably a good friend to have though. Definitely not someone you ever want as your enemy. You may never have tried to slit my throat in my sleep, but the first time I spoke to the boy I threatened his life, and he threatened me right back. I could all but see him planning to do just that if he had to.” Cutter snorted. “Smug little fucker was five years old, threatening to kill a blademaster like it was something he does every day.” He laughed. “And then he pumped me for more money to train with you than I was offering. Got some balls on him for sure, but Fucker’s kid would I suppose.”

Knick’s eyes widened. “Nameless threatened to kill YOU?! I always thought he was SMART.”

Cutter laughed. “Well, he was five. Who among us was truly smart at that age. He’s gotten a lot smarter as he got older. Take that noble he let live over the winter. He may have to learn the hard way sometimes, but the boy learns.” Cutter rolled up the leather sheet he’d filled with knives. The wall was getting pretty bare. He tossed it in the back of the cart. “Think that’ll do it for this year. With Anvil selling that new steel he figured out, he’s gonna be taking a good amount of our business. Go fetch your mother and we’ll head out, should make it into town by noon at the latest, we’ll have a couple days before Harvestfest to sell this all off and then we can relax on the holiday itself.” Cutter smiled as the boy darted back out the barn door excitedly. Anvil had never told him how he’d figured out blade steel, but Cutter had seen him glance at the blade steel axe on the wall when Cutter had asked, and it was similar to the one Nameless carried. Cutter had no idea how that boy had figured out how to make steel when he wasn’t even a smith. Too smart for his own good, that one.