Chapter 1

He held the pummel of the greatblade in his left hand his right hand forward just under the crossguard a thumb laying across the flat, pointing it right at Duren's face, it was the classic mid guard stance. Duren had mirrored the stance, they stood there for a moment before the old man rushed forward, intent on delivering what looked to be a thrust.

It came viper fast, moving so quickly that Duren didn't actually see it coming, but then again the old man had trained him to not simply rely on his eyes. He felt the blow, and before the old swordsman had even half struck Duren was forming a half-circle motion with his blade in front of his upper torso. The blades impacted, flat to flat and the momentum of the thrust was diverted harmlessly up and over his shoulder. The old man simply smiled and reversed the direction of the blade, pivoting it and striking at Duren's neck. Stepping back and to the side he gained enough distance and once again the swords met with a ring as clear as a bell.

The old man started circling right, blade held in front of him parallel to the ground the tip thrust aggressively at his opponent, in response Duren started circling left sword once again mirroring his mentors. Duren stepped forward testing his opponent's guard, he opened with a sideways slash, attempting to knock the old man's sword to the side, using the momentum of the blow and the redirection of force from his opponent's sword to pull the blade upwards and bring it back down in a circular motion.

The old man stepped forward, hitting the blade and bringing his own sword around in a slash that would have laid Duren open from shoulder to opposite hip if he had not let go of the sword with one hand spread his arms wide and half leaned half stepped back. He lowered his center of gravity, grabbed the hilt with both hands again and once more went into the mid guard stance with his blade at arm's length thrust forward. The old man settled into a shoulder rest stance, with his right hand under the crossguard and his left hand gripping the pommel with the blade angled back over his shoulder.

They came together, each striking at the same time, as their blades met they used the traded kinetic force and the strength of their arms and core to redirect the blades and bring them back together, once, twice, three times. It was on the fourth that the old man lashed out with a kick to Duren's midriff, throwing him back onto the hard-packed dirt. He rolled with the momentum and came to his knees holding the sword point out to ward off the rushing old man. The old man's overhead strike turned into an elongated side slash to push the tip of Duren's blade out of the way. Seeing this coming Duren rolled his sword, the small circular motion causing the old man's blade to deflect harmlessly.

Duren pressed forward and the old man stepped back, it gave him enough room to stand up. He switched from mid guard to low guard, holding the blade at waist height and pointing the tip towards the ground as he shuffled forward leading with his right foot. He rushed forward, using a rising slash across the body from low left hip to upper right shoulder. It was deflected and he followed it up with a thrust at gut height.This was where he made his first truly fatal mistake, he overextended, and as he did so the old man twisted to the side in a way that a man half his age would have found challenging.

Duren's blade passed right by his right side and as it did so the old man stepped forward, leaning his upper body over Duren's back he used Duren's own momentum and rolled him over his hip. This time when Duren went down it lacked all of the grace and economy of motion his previous fall had. He landed on his back, the wind driving from his lungs in a wounded oof and his mind going temporarily blank. He was barely able to blink his eyes clear of tears to see the old man grab the blade of his sword in one hand, the other on the hilt and drive it down towards his chest like a spear. He brought his sword up, and slammed it into the descending blade, causing it to bury itself point first into the ground. He brought his foot up over the old man's shoulder, and using all of his strength kicked him hard in the face. He went down with a rather solid-sounding thump and Duren, still dazed he used his elbows to push himself into some semblance of sitting.

The old man laid there, spread eagle panting and groaning on the ground. "I'm getting too damned old for this," he groaned, and also propped himself up on his elbows looking at Duren. His hand came up and gingerly probed the already bruising skin on his cheek, wincing slightly as his fingers brushed the tinder flesh. Duren looked at him and the old man looked back, a small smile forming on each of their lips. "Ha-" the strangled sound pushed its way out of his throat like a cough.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"Ha-" the old man coughed, and there was a pregnant moment of silence before they both fell backward, shaking with laughter. "Oh-" the old man sighed when the fit of laughter died down. Duren was getting to his feet, occasional chuckles racking his body like coughing fits. He walked over to the old man and offered him a hand, pulling him up to his feet. "You know, if I was thirty years younger-" he said with a groan as he dusted his red quilted gambeson off before straightening and stretching his back.

"If you were thirty years younger it still would have been a drawl," Duren said, shaking his head and sheathing the two-handed practice sword back in its battered brown leather scabbard before removing the sword belt from around his waist.

"Psh, as if, when I was your age I had alre-"

"Yeah yeah, when you were my age you had already fought the butcher of Kolen, the Dark Wizards at Lohoraas, and oh what was that other one? Oh yeah the Hidden masters of Jeltune," he said, counting the names off on his fingers and rolling his eyes. As he made his way over to the well and drew out a bucket of cool water. Stripping off his gambeson he stood there for a moment looking down at his reflection in the water. Fair skin, emerald green eyes, and long auburn hair that he held back in a cue at the nape of his neck.

"You look like your mother," The old man said, coming up behind Duren, Duren didn't say anything, simply overturned the bucket over his head, rinsing away the sweat that had accumulated during the fight. "It's a good face, one that will cause the women to swoon," the old man laughed, slapping him on the back, no doubt in an attempt to lighten the mood. "So, when do you leave?" he asked as Duren brushed damp locks of hair out of his eyes. Upon hearing those words he froze, muscles tensing up.

"Leave?" He asked in his best innocent voice.

"Pffff," the old man snorted, "what do you think I was born an old man?" he scoffed, "or perhaps you think I am stupid?" There was no anger in the question but Duren still felt guilty, like he had been caught doing something wrong.

"Listen I-"

"I agree," the old man said with a warm smile.

"What?"

"It's high time you got out of these godforsaken woods, got out and saw the world," he leaned in conspiratorially. "And the women, definitely the women," he laughed and pulled back. "Seventeen years," he said with a sigh as he looked up at the sky. "Seventeen years you have lived with me," he looked at Duren, "It's been a good seventeen years," he said, and to Duren's embarrassment he not only saw the old man's eyes misting over but felt the sting in his. As if by some pre-arranged agreement they both turned away, backs to each other.

When Duren turned back around the old man was holding a sword and sword belt out to him. "Wha-" Duren asked, taking the blade and pulling it free of the scabbard.

"That," the old man said as Duren looked at it, "Is one of the finest blades in my collection, forged by the Mastersmith Jhor of Tiberaas, It was my first real sword of any worth." The sword was about seven and a half hands long, from pummel to tip, the blade being a full five and a half hands in length. It had a long narrow diamond-shaped cross section with a narrow ricasso. The shape of the blade and the narrowing at the ricasso gave it a quite striking and aggressive look. When used in half swording, it would almost qualify as a kind of short polearm: the stiff blade and awl point would be devastating when a swordsman put the full momentum of his body behind a thrust. "This is the sword that started me on my path in this world."

"I-"

"Will take it," he said, cutting Duren off. "You are the son of Holviti of Yuutan, I will not have you bringing shame to my name because you are not properly armed, now, when were you thinking of leaving?" He asked again.

Duren slid the war sword back into its scabbard, and held it close to his still wet chest. "I was planning on leaving today, near mid-afternoon."

"Good, then we have time to make sure you are properly packed, make sure you pay attention to those Bel’vryu, they have been acting rather aggressive lately," The old man said, slapping Duren on the back before walking away from the training ground. "Seventeen years," he said quietly to himself as he walked towards the small cabin. "And it went by too goddess damned fast..."