Page 20 of Company of Thieves
“That’s because I took a pair of her leggings and stuffed it there to fill it out. And provide padding,” I said, wiggling to adjust myself to the tightness of the leather. Like Alan’s, this one was ornately made, with a long inverted-triangular piece that ran from the breastbone to the bottom of the armor, but unlike his, which had three rings of leather that cascaded down his pectorals, this one had one ring, which ended at the under-breast mark. The rest of the armor, going down to the waist, was made up of leather scales, reminding me of dragon armor I’d seen at the local science fiction conventions. The gauntlets also had scales, and ran from wrist to elbow. “It’s very pretty. I hope your sister won’t mind me wearing it.”
He said nothing, just moved over to pull out the scabbard I’d seen him with earlier, handing it to me. I buckled it around my waist, beneath the bottom of the armor. “This is a falchion. Have you seen one before?”
“Yes, Mr. Ho, the assistant steward on my brother’s airship, has one. I asked her to teach me to use it, but she was always too busy. Hers was much plainer than this, though.”
He held out a short sword that was straight until the very point, where it had a curve to the tip. Birds were inscribed down the length of the blade, and it bore the same birds on a black-and-gold crosspiece. It looked deadly as hell, and my hands positively itched to hold it.
“This is the cross guard,” he said, pointing to the crosspiece. “Also known as a quillon. The blade only has one edge to it. That’s so that you can use the dulled side in order to block attacks. This sword is particularly good for hacking, less so for stabbing.”
“It’s pretty,” I said, doing a little anticipatory dance. “Can I hold it?”
“Not just yet. I’m going to show you a few basic attacks. These bales of hay will serve as your target.”
“Come on, Alan, let me hold the pretty sword,” I said, following him to the hay bales. “I promise I won’t gut you with it. Or geld you.”
He shot me a startled look.
My smile included a whole lot of teeth.
“A sword is not a toy. This is a weapon, a weapon that can take a life easily. You need to respect the power it can wield,” he said in a lecturing tone that Jack so frequently used with me. He went on like that for a few more minutes, showing me a few basic moves on the hay before handing it over to me.
“Right,” I said, saluting him with the sword in the best Errol Flynn fashion.
“No, not right! Hallie—” He looked exasperated, taking it from me. “I just finished telling you that it was not a toy. Do not raise it to your head unless you are parrying a blow. You could have injured yourself by treating it in such a frivolous manner.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to appear contrite. “Can I have my pretty sword back, please?”
He made mean eyes at me. “Do you promise to treat it with the respect due a weapon that could easily maim or kill you?”
I made an X over my heart. “Cross my heart. Please, Alan. I swear I will be absolutely serious and careful.”
“Very well.” Grudgingly, he handed it back to me. I eyed the hay bale, and tried to duplicate the slashing motions he had shown me, using my body to add power to the swings.
“If you attacked me like that, I’d have your arm off in five seconds,” Alan told me. “You’re not slashing at a tree branch—you’re trying to disable someone intent on harming you. Try it again, and remember to remain balanced. If you lunge forward, you leave yourself open to disemboweling.”
“Urgh. OK. No disemboweling lunge, keep non-sword-arm out of the range of attacker, and slash and twist, not twist and drag down,” I said, trying to remember just how Alan had showed me to use the sword to sever a muscle in the attacker’s upper arm.
Two hours later, Zand returned to find me flat out on the floor, my arm over my head as I struggled to breathe. I was a blob of sweat, exhaustion, and aching muscles, while above me, Alan paced, his voice going on and on. “—and if you ever try that spinning move again, I will not only take the falchion away from you for good; I will also tie you to a horse and deliver you to your brother with a sign pinned to your back warning that you are a danger to yourself. What is it?”
I moved my arm to see whom he was talking to, lifting a wan hand to wave at Zand. “Alan is pissed,” I explained to Zand when he looked from me to Alan.
“So I see,” he said, studying his friend. I could swear his lips started to make a smile, but evidently Zand had excellent self-control. “We’re about to arrive,” he told Alan.
“Good.” The two men exchanged glances that looked to me to be pretty fraught with meaning, but as I painfully got myself to my feet, I couldn’t interpret just what that meaning was.
I followed when they climbed the spiral metal staircase that all airships used to get between floors, sheathing my sword and hoping Alan wouldn’t demand I give it back because I was fairly inept with it. I had a horrible suspicion he was about to do just that when he turned toward me. I forestalled him by saying brightly, “Are we landing? I’ll go watch on the observation deck,” and then scurrying off to do so.
I breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t object, and remained on the deck, watching as the airship descended toward a medium-sized town. The moon was high enough to glow dimly on the white stone buildings that were scattered around crooked streets in what seemed to be a haphazard manner. There was one large central square that I barely caught a glimpse of before the airship descended too low to see into it.
“And that’s my cue,” I told myself, straightening my borrowed clothing, shifting my leather breastplate so that it was a bit more comfortable, and putting one hand on the hilt of my sword.
