Sword Bearer (Return of the Dragons 1)

I took a deep breath, let it out. Three times. Three, that’s a magic number.

I looked at the blades the way I did earlier, when I had picked mine up.

I had to concentrate really hard. My vision blurred and I almost gave up. I’d always been good at giving up. But I saw in the background Giancarlo waiting patiently. I squinted some more and everything swam out of focus. Then I saw a glimmer. It was elusive, fading and then brightening. I focused on it, my eyes squinting madly. My eyes burned, and there was a prickling in my forehead. I tried to relax and concentrate at the same time, to forget all the pain in my arms and side.

I closed my eyes, took one last deep breath, let it out nice and slow.

When I opened my eyes again, everything came into focus. And when I say everything, I mean everything. Not only could I see Giancarlo clearly, but our blades as well. My blade was a shimmering emerald green line that continued up my arm.

Giancarlo’s blade was a pale blue line of fire, but it stopped at his hand.

For the first time, I realized I had an advantage, being magical. Even though Giancarlo was three times as old, three times as strong and three times as experienced as I am.

So I didn’t blink. I didn’t feel bad about my abilities. I just spoke a word: kraft, and felt my arms and legs grow stronger. I stood up straight and smiled at Giancarlo, and bowed. We began again.

I squinted and concentrated on where the blue and green lines met. My arm moved quicker than before. Thanks to magic, I felt almost as fast as my blademaster.

But the magic didn’t make the bruises hurt any less, and didn’t slow down Giancarlo any either.

He rained blows down upon me and I parried desperately.

I still needed the sword’s knowledge. But how could I learn from it?

My arms were tiring again. Soon I was slowing down.

I was about ready to throw the sword down and give up. How could I get the silly thing to work its magic?

Maybe that was what did it, me focusing my anger and impatience on the blade.

All I know is one moment I was squeezing the pommel, angry at my sword for not telling me its secrets, and the next moment, the blade spoke.

Not with words, but with blows.

I parried, parried, struck.

The blows were like music, and the sword was teaching me a new song. As I struck and parried I heard real music then — the sword hummed in my hands.

The pommel grew warmer, and the music louder and quicker. I heard words, and at first I couldn’t understand them. Maybe they were some old northern tongue, but they were definitely instructions, instructions my body understood even if my mind didn’t.

Somehow I think the song the sword was singing was the song of my blood. My body moved with the song. My sword arm danced. It felt like I was swept up in something much bigger than myself, like I was just an instrument in a huge orchestra playing a symphony of movement.

Suddenly I stopped.

My blade had cut the blademaster’s forehead, above his right eyebrow. Blood was pouring into Giancarlo’s eyes, down his face. I felt sick in my stomach, felt my sword arm start trembling. I wanted to turn away, but Giancarlo was smiling. Smiling at me, Anders Tomason. And holding out his hand.

We shook, and I felt my trembling hand calm as he squeezed it with his vise-like grip.

“So you heard it, did you?” Giancarlo said. “I remember your father doing the same crazy dance. How I would love to hear such strange music, make such wondrous steps and fanciful bladework.”

I shook my head. “It was the magic, Giancarlo. I’ll never be half-way as good as you.”

Giancarlo put his arm against his forehead to slow the blood. “The music came quick to you,” he said. “If I remember right, it took your father several weeks, and he had clear instructions on how to go about it from your grandfather.”

He let his arm down from his forehead and blood flowed again down his face.

“I’m a right mess,” he said, moving his arm up again. “I better get this blood cleaned up and have Ana stitch me up. She has a witch’s gift for healing, and knows a few spells, although her parents could never afford to get her tutored.”

He picked up the rest of the swords and put them in the bag, slung the bag across his shoulder and started to walk off.