Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
And then my face goes crimson at the thought.
“I’m going to be placing you based on your performance with weapons,” he continues. “You’ll all need some competency level, and whoever is the best at attacking—or defending—will take the front two positions. Understand?”
The slitherskin growls again.
I can already tell I’m going to be at the back, since he considers me “pillowy.”
“Enough. All of you get a weapon from the rack. Let’s practice for now and see what natural skills you’ve got.” Hawk moves aside, gesturing at the array of weapons.
Oh dear. I’m reasonably confident that I have zero weapons skills. The closest I’ve ever gotten to a weapon is choosing which knife and fork to use at society dinners. Delicately, I move forward and consider the selection. There are more knives, of course, and what looks like a rather short and skinny sword with a pointed tip. The shields at the end of the rack are excessively curved, as if cupping the body, and seem rather small for, well, shielding.
“You wear both at the same time,” Hawk says, answering my unspoken question. “There’s a bracer for each shield, and a good bulwark can utilize both at the same time and expand and combine them to provide the most shielding possible for his team.”
“Ah, I see.” I don’t, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me going toward shields just yet. I move past Mereden, who picks up a spiky-looking club, and take the sword gingerly in hand. It looks, well…stubby. At my side, Gwenna jostles me, picking up a pair of daggers. “How come everything is so short?”
“The same reason you’re in a narrow room,” Hawk replies. “You need to learn to fight in close quarters. You’re not going to have room to swing a massive sword in a narrow tunnel, so you have to learn to fight with smaller ones. It’s why you won’t see a full-on quarterstaff or training with a bow and arrow. These are tunnel tactics.”
Oh. It makes sense, I suppose. “What about a crossbow? Or a blow dart?”
He tilts his head, and his horns look surprisingly rakish when he does. Not that I’m noticing such things about my new husband. “Are you good with either?”
“Well, no—”
“Then it doesn’t mucking matter, does it?”
Grr. I bite my lip to keep from retorting something impolite.
He takes my hand and curls it around the hilt of the sword I’m holding. “You practice with this. Learn the basics. When you master them, then we can talk about other weaponry.”
I hold the delicate sword in front of me and wave it in the air, trying to emulate Kipp’s effortless swings from earlier.
“That,” Hawk says, putting a hand over mine to lower it and stop my movements, “is a stabbing blade, not a swinging one. And you’re going to put someone’s eye out. Let’s work on your grip first, all of you. Get a sword and stand in line, and we’ll work on the basics.”
TWELVE
ASPETH
The basics are surprisingly difficult. I’m supposed to hold a sword tightly, but not too tightly. I’m supposed to keep my wrist loose, but not too loose. I’m to stab with expertise, but not slash, and pull back quickly. I’m to avoid bones so my weapon doesn’t get caught in them. I’m not to twist, or jerk, because I can just as easily snap my own wrist as I can stab a ratling.
By the time we’re done, my arms are throbbing and I want to stab Kipp with my blade, because the slitherskin is a bit of a show-off. It’s clear he knows how to do everything already, and I’ve caught him looking at my grip as I do exercises, an expression of dismay and disgust on his face.
So I’m not good with a stabby little sword. I’m positive I have other skills that can be of use. It’s fine.
Gwenna’s good with weapons, though. “Just like stabbing a roast that keeps sliding across the pan,” she declared confidently as she jabbed a stuffed leather dummy. “Or a man who won’t shut up.”
Lark hooted at that. I didn’t find it quite so funny, mostly because I’m bollocks at stabbing. I don’t like being terrible at things. I prefer to do things I excel at, like reading books and studying ancient languages. The sheer physicality of being a fledgling is starting to intimidate me.
I wonder if I’ve gotten in over my head. If I’ve made a mistake. But what other options do I have?
None. So I need to stop whining and simply get better at everything.
Hawk forces us to lunge and jab, stabbing at the leather dummies until my shoulders and arms ache. My calves ache, too, from all the lunging and the hiking from earlier. By the time we put our weapons away, I’m ready to pass out again.
“Break for the evening,” Hawk finally says. “We’ll pick up with our hiking at dawn. Be ready.”