“You do not dress like the other instructors, friend northman. He wonders why we have brought in a common man instead of one of your north’s famous knights. Prince Ario’s tongue is yet sharper than his sword.”
Niel met the youth’s eyes levelly. He looked to be about fifteen.
“I am a knight,” he said. “And my name is Niel, not ‘northman.’”
“Truly, friend Niel?” the translator said, wide-eyed, before relaying the message.
Niel didn’t bother answering. If this was a test, he was wasting time. Niel gestured for the youths to form a horizontal line in front of him. From watching the children, he’d guessed they would be used to this; and they moved into place quickly, each spaced equally apart from the others.
Niel grabbed the largest practice sword off the rack and slid into plow, one of the basic sword stances. The youths were quick to mimic him, but their balance was off; they were used to their southern style, with the feet closer together. As far as Niel was concerned, it had more in common with dancing than it did with warfare. He walked slowly down the line, using his wooden sword blade to make adjustments like he’d seen the last teacher do.
The same youth, Ario, called something out again.
“He wish to know if you have fought a knight’s duel,” the translator said.
“Yes,” Niel said. Reaching Ario, he made the youth bring his hands lower to his hip, and widened his stance slightly. Niel moved on.
“He wish to know if you havewona knight’s duel,” the translator said, as the other youths snickered.
Niel sighed and strode back to the front of the line.
“Tell him the last knight I dueled demanded that he have a sword while I be unarmed, to make it a fair fight,” Niel said. He shifted smoothly from a natural stance into plow, then stepped forward, swinging the sword over his shoulder into ox. The students shifted as well. He went down the line again, correcting them, and wondered if he ought to be doing something flashier. But a good swordsman’s technique started with knowing how to stand and how to hold a sword, and these children, for all they may have mastered their own country’s sword, knew nothing of the fundamentalsNielwas schooled in.
Ario called something, and the other youths laughed again. Niel drew a deep breath. The translator snapped something at them in their own language, then sighed.
“He says you do not answer whether you won, friend Niel. He wonders if you do not say this because you cannot.”
Niel shook his head.
“Tell him it was a death match. I killed my opponent with my bare hands,” Niel said. “And then tell him to stop interrupting with stupid questions, or I will make him hold ox pose with the heaviest sword in this place for the entire rest of the class, prince or not.”
The translator repeated this, and Niel was met with the startled, wide eyes of the youths. He ignored their stares.
He moved them into high guard, then demonstrated how to move smoothly between the three positions while advancing, and then in reverse while retreating, each step bringing the sword into a different guard in sharp, clean swings. Next heshowed strikes that would pair with each guard, and set them in two lines, facing each other, to advance and retreat as they practiced the basic moves that Niel considered a knight’s bread and butter.
The youths were used to schooling, and used to holding a blade, but none of their instincts were of use here. He found no shortage of things to correct, walking up and down the line. Conscious that a constant need for translation might make him look incapable, he tried to correct without speaking, simply adjusting their bodies and demonstrating with his own stance, occasionally stepping into one of the student’s places so he could show exactly how the strikes should be landed or blocked himself.
For all their errors, they learned fast and stayed focused. The hour ended before Niel realized it. His translator clapped his hands and shouted something to the youths, who bowed quickly to Niel—even the young princeling—and trotted to the water table with their wooden swords tucked under their elbows.
“I’m sure I can do better,” Niel said.
The swordsman clapped him on the shoulder and went to speak toDoanPaolo. Niel, uncertain whether he should approach or give them space, even though he couldn’t understand more than one word in ten, found himself smoothing out the gravel training yard with his shoes. At last, the swordsman strode back towards him asDoanPaolo went inside. Niel took a deep breath. His heart hammered into his throat.
“You will need better clothes,” the man said.
“I have the job?” Niel asked, barely daring to believe.
“Three days a week. The better students only. Two classes, from the first afternoon bell to the third.”
His body was humming. All he could think about was telling Ayla.
“Alright. Good. When do I start?”
“Tomorrow. Are you not even to ask about money?” the man asked with a grin. He stretched out his hand, offering Niel two of the large gold-and-silver coins. He wasn’t certain of the currency yet, but he thought it was about half what he’d earned in the pit. A huge sum.
“For the week?” Niel asked, startled. They could live well on that. He could outfit the house, and feed them properly, and buy the things a baby might need.
The swordsman’s eyes widened.
