“Well, what are you waiting for?” Oster Agress barked at Judd the following morning. “Get in here!”
Judd swallowed and climbed over the fence, treading gingerly along the rows the old sword master, turned farmer, had dug and planted with as next harvest. The poor scarecrow Judd had decapitated was still without its head, the bulbous straw stuffed adornment sitting in the weeds where the post met the earth.
“And you can stop glaring at me, missy,” Oster grunted at Aalis who stood behind the fence with her arms folded, “I’m not going to hurt him.”
“Anymore.” She said sternly then looked at Verne who nodded in an unspoken promise so that she could return to her hut where she could administer salves, potions and tinctures. Verne remained leaning on the fence post.
“I suppose you’re going to tattle on me if he gets even one bruise?” Oster rolled his eyes. Verne picked up a piece of straw, put it in his mouth and chewed it, his blue eyes doing all the talking. “Fine.” Oster gestured for Judd to come closer. “Oh stop being precious about the garden and come here and show me that sword.” Judd held it out for his inspection. “Well, I can see why you were able to withstand some of Dalain’s blows. This thing is little more than a metal club with a sharpened edge. It doesn’t break easily…except for the tip which has been reforged…how did that happen?”
“An ogre stepped on it.”
Oster handed it back. “That explains it. Not even Dalain could hope to match an ogre’s weight. Now, show me how you hold it.” Judd grasped the handle with both hands and settled into a solid stance. “Hold it properly.” Judd sighed and released one hand, the heaviness of his sword causing even his fisherman muscles to quiver after just a moment. “What are you doing?”
“Holding the sword properly, like Dalain said to.” He grunted through gritted teeth.
Oster whipped out his cane and smacked Judd’s hand, the sword torn from his grasp, striking the earth and falling over. They both stared at it for a while.
“I’ll work on my grip strength…” Judd promised as Oster rubbed his face, straightening some of the creases out.
“Pick it up.” He ordered and Judd did so, flinching as Oster came closer. “Dominant hand?” Judd held up his right. “Hold the pommel with that and your left cups the very base of the sword in front of the hilt.”
“Here?” Judd gestured to the base of the blade and Oster nodded. “I’ll cut myself.”
“What fool sharpened it all the way down there?” Oster shook his head. “Where’s your gauntlet?”
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“I don’t have one.”
“Mail glove?”
“A what?” Judd’s heart sank as the former sword master stormed off as fast as his hunched shape could go, stomping towards the hut. Judd turned to Verne and gave a helpless shrug. Verne shook his head, equally as baffled then nodded for Judd to turn back. Oster Agress was approaching, waving a small object in his hand.
“…out without proper equipment or training. It’s like Sir Rylan wants these lads to be killed. Foolish, stupid…idiotic…give me that.” Oster took the sword from Judd, exchanging it for the object. “Put that on your left hand.”
It was a glove of sturdy leather, oiled and cared for but on the palm side there was the finest chain mail, forged to mimic the hand’s shape and stitched securely into the leather. Judd wriggled his fingers and was surprised at how flexible the glove was.
“That’ll keep your hand from being cut off.”
Judd took the sword back and tested it. “That’s…it feels like I’ve got a lot more control.”
Oster heard the doubt in his voice. “But?”
“Dalain used his sword with just one hand and mocked me for using two.”
“That’s because he’s using a sword that is much lighter to use.” Oster explained. “He’s faster because of it.”
“Then maybe I need a new sword?”
“Nay lad, work with what you’ve got.” Oster argued. “Each weapon has its advantages and disadvantages. For instance, Dalain’s sword is lighter which makes him a faster opponent, but that sword won’t hold up against something as solidly built as yours.”
“It didn’t seem to have much trouble two days ago…” Judd paused. “Mind you, he would deflect my sword then use his weight to knock me down.”
“And when you’re holding your sword in a way that does not support the weight or the skill of the wielder, then you’re probably better off not having one.”
“Needless to say, he didn’t tell me any of that when I faced him.” Judd sighed.
“Well, let’s start working on some basic stances…because from what I saw the other day and the evidence of my poor scarecrow,” they glanced at the lopsided head on the ground, “we need to start at the very beginning.”
Aalis prepared multiple salves and bandages, concerned that Judd would return to her in a belittled, bedraggled state. Yet, despite bearing some bruises and a sore shoulder, Judd seemed to be in relatively good spirits. She made him sit on the log and looked over his injuries carefully.
“Good grief, he is not a baby.” Oster muttered.
“You do not have a say in my administrations.” She warned.
“Save your ire for the ass that beat him to a pulp in the first place lassie.” Oster sank onto a log, aching and creaking.
“Honestly, I don’t feel that bad.” Judd insisted. “Truly.” But he let Aalis fuss over him until she was satisfied. He knew he owed her that much after taking off without a word the day before. He must have really scared her.
“Well…you are not permanently injured…”
“See?”
Aalis muttered something unintelligible, indicating for Judd to remove his shirt so she could apply salve to his shoulder. He groaned as she kneaded the aching muscles.
“I learned more in one day of Agress’ instruction than two weeks in Astaril.” Judd flexed his shoulders, grunting. “I can’t believe I even thought of going out into the wilds knowing as little as I did…huh…I suppose Caste was right. Don’t tell him I said that.”
“He’s high in his castle, enjoy peace, serenity and comfort.” Verne muttered, sitting against the hut, folding his arms and getting comfortable. “Trust me, he’s already at the height of superiority.”