Thinblade (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book One) by David A. Wells
Chapter 31
He didn’t have to wait long for the galloping horses to reach them. It was Hanlon, Emily, Anatoly, Abigail, and Erik, followed by a dozen or so Rangers. Alexander didn’t know how he was going to tell them that he’d lost Isabel’s trail. When they charged up, Hanlon spoke first.
“Lord Alexander, Isabel has been taken by Truss. He’s offering her safe return in exchange for you.” He reined in his horse beside Alexander, fished around inside his cloak and produced a letter, which he handed to Alexander.
Alexander looked hard at the Warden for a moment before unfolding the parchment. “You will meet my challenge by dusk three days hence on Flat Top Rock or Isabel dies. You will come alone or Isabel dies. Rexius Truss.”
Alexander felt a flash of hot anger wash through him. The greasy little bastard had taken Isabel by force. She rejected him so he abducted her. A new unthinkable thought tried to invade his sanity but he shoved it away. He needed to think.
“Who delivered this letter?” he demanded.
Hanlon looked to Erik, whose face contorted in misery. “It was on her pillow. I didn’t look because her bed was still made.” He hung his head. “I thought she was with you, so I rushed out without seeing it.”
Alexander nudged his horse up alongside Erik’s and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. Erik looked up with desolation in his eyes. Alexander leaned in so no one else could hear him. “I have a little sister too, Erik. I understand.”
Erik nodded his thanks but the haunted look didn’t leave his eyes.
Alexander turned to Hanlon. The Forest Warden’s eyes were fraught with worry but also bottled rage. “It’s about two days’ ride to Flat Top Rock from the palace, right?”
“It is, but,” Hanlon took a deep breath before speaking again, “you can’t go.”
Emily sobbed. She was dressed in Ranger’s riding gear and wore tear streaks down her face in stripes through the travel dust.
Alexander felt his anger rise a notch in his belly. “What do you mean?” There was a hard edge to his voice.
Hanlon took another deep breath and sighed with anguish. When he spoke in his low, rumbling voice, Alexander could hear the sorrow of loss. “You cannot be risked, not even for my only daughter.”
Emily fought, unsuccessfully, to hold back another sob.
Alexander looked at him hard. His words were deadly calm. “Warden Alaric, I’m going and the only way you will stop me is by killing me yourself.”
The Rangers all stiffened. Hanlon looked like a man on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
Anatoly sidled up gently on his big chestnut mare. “You know this is a trap, right?” he asked Alexander.
Alexander looked at the big man-at-arms. Anatoly’s eyes conveyed more sympathy than Alexander had expected.
He nodded slowly. “I can’t just do nothing and let Isabel die. Her best chance, her only chance, is if I go and face Truss.”
Erik shook his head, “You won’t be facing just Truss. His master-at-arms is a very dangerous swordsman. I’ve seen him fight. He’ll kill you, Alexander.”
Alexander felt trapped. He had to do something but he had no way of knowing what he would be riding into. But to do nothing was to surrender to the unthinkable. He wasn’t about to do that.
“We’ll see about that.” His gold-flecked eyes glittered with anger and determination. If he was going to face Truss and his henchmen, he needed an edge. He seized on the only edge he could get. “I have to get back to the palace.” Alexander spurred his horse into a gallop. He didn’t concern himself with the others. He knew what he had to do and he didn’t have much time.
He raced back to the palace and didn’t let up for a moment. He pushed his horse to its limits, but not past. He coaxed every bit of speed he could get without risking injury to the animal. He left everyone else strung out in a trail behind him. Anatoly and Abigail kept pace with him, but the rest fell behind a little more with every passing minute.
He thundered into the main courtyard past a platoon of Rangers drilling with wooden practice swords, rode right up to the palace entrance and leapt off his horse. Several Rangers raced up as he hit the ground.
“Lord Alexander, any word of Isabel?”
“She’s been abducted by Truss,” was all he offered before racing into the palace. Abigail and Anatoly were maybe twenty feet behind him.
“Alexander,” Abigail called out, “Where are you going?”
He slowed to a fast walk and Abigail and Anatoly came up on either side of him. “I’m going to get the skillbook.” He stopped and tried to orient himself, looking back and forth down the broad marble hall, saw the door he wanted and headed for it.
Anatoly and Abigail looked at each other and followed. He navigated down into the basement of the palace and then to the door leading to the catacombs. He found a lamp and headed down into the dark without hesitation.
He remembered the way for the most part and where he was confused he followed the footprints in the heavy dust that covered everything. Anatoly and Abigail were right behind him, each with a lamp of their own. Alexander felt a sense of urgency driving him forward through the dark. Fine dust rose in little puffs with each step, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake that looked almost like fog in the dim light. Anatoly and Abigail started to take on the hue of ghosts trailing silently behind him. Finally, he reached the correct hallway. He slowed, lifted his lamp higher, and started examining the sconces on the wall, one by one. He would have missed it except that the one he wanted was missing the coating of thick dust worn by all the others.
Once inside the domed room he wasted no time. He slipped his long knife free and sliced the edge of his hand. Anatoly watched with resignation, Abigail with wonder as Alexander placed his bloody hand on the door. Again, bright points of light began at the base of the door’s outline and raced up the doorframe to meet at the top of the arched door. Abigail gasped when Alexander pushed through the door and into the little room beyond. The skillbook and the Wizard’s Dust were right where he’d left them. He lifted the skillbook carefully to prevent any blood from coming in contact with the lock on the cover and tucked it under his arm before pushing back through the magical door.
He didn’t even stop once he stepped out of the Bloodvault. He snatched up his lamp and headed for the exit, locking the door and securing the secret door behind him as he went. The dark corridors of the catacombs still held clouds of stirred-up dust that gave the place an eerie look as it swirled around them in the dim light of their lamps. When they emerged into the public halls of the palace, there were Rangers standing sentry at every intersection.
The first to see him called out, “Lord Alexander, Warden Alaric would speak with you.”
Alexander didn’t even stop for the man but brushed past him on his way to his quarters. “He’ll have to wait.”
In the light of the well-lit hallways, they looked pale and ashen from the coating of dust. At each intersection another Ranger informed him that Warden Alaric wished to speak to him, but Alexander ignored them all. When he reached his room and threw open the door, Renwold was standing right in the middle of the room in his customary place.
“Your Majesty, I have a plate of food and a pot of tea for you. May I lay out a set of clean clothes?” Renwold seemed totally unfazed by Alexander’s appearance.
“Thank you, Renwold, but that won’t be necessary,” Alexander said. “I will be busy reading for the rest of the day. Please ensure that I am not disturbed for any reason. Also, I will be riding out tomorrow at dawn. Inform the stables that I will require two fast horses saddled and ready at first light. Have the kitchen prepare travel food for a week and see to it that a set of Lady Isabel’s riding clothes and boots are packed in the saddlebags of one of my horses. Finally, wake me at first light and bring me a plate of food when you do. That will be all for now, and, Renwold, thank you.”
“Of course, Your Majesty, I will see to it at once.” Renwold bowed deeply and withdrew from the room cl
osing the door behind himself.
Anatoly and Abigail stood looking at Alexander. He carefully placed the skillbook on one of the end tables next to a large chair in his sitting room and sat down in front of the covered platter of food. It was just as big as the last serving tray Renwold had brought him and was piled with meats, cheeses, fruit, and an assortment of breads. Alexander wasn’t really hungry but he hadn’t eaten all day and knew he should eat before he started studying or he would be distracted by hunger later. He motioned to Anatoly and Abigail to sit while he took a piece of bread and started piling meat and cheese on it for a quick sandwich.
Anatoly was silent but Abigail couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “Alexander, are you sure this is wise? They’ve set a trap for you and you’re walking right into it.”
He nodded while he chewed. “I know it’s a trap but what are my choices?” he asked around a mouthful of food.
“Send me,” Anatoly said calmly with a slight undercurrent of menace.
Alexander swallowed before responding. “The thought crossed my mind, but I can’t risk it. The moment they realize it’s not me, they’ll kill her.”
Anatoly replied quietly, “She may already be dead.”
Alexander could see that the big man-at-arms didn’t want to be pointing out the possibility but he clearly felt it must be said.
“I can’t let myself believe that. Besides, Truss wants her for himself. I doubt he’ll kill her without a good reason.”
Alexander took another oversized bite of his hastily made sandwich when he heard voices arguing outside the door. A moment later Hanlon came striding in, trailed by his three sons and Chase. The Ranger at the door tried to apologize for the interruption but Alexander waved him away.
“Alexander, Chase and my sons have just returned. They passed Truss at the fortress gate. He was traveling with two men and a large wagon loaded with crates and boxes. I suspect Isabel was in one of them. I can order the gatekeeper to send a platoon after them and bring her back. You don’t have to risk yourself.”
Alexander could see that Hanlon didn’t really believe such a plan would work but he was torn between his duty as Keeper of the Bloodline and his love for his daughter.
“No. He’s demanded me and he will have his wish. That’s Isabel’s best chance. He’ll no doubt have an ambush in place and his champion will be there to ensure I don’t survive the encounter. I understand the risks and I accept them.” Alexander pointed to the skillbook and then looked back at Hanlon. “I don’t intend to go unprepared.” He punctuated his statement by stuffing the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.
“Do you believe the magic in that book will be enough?” Hanlon asked.
Alexander shrugged as he chewed, swallowed hard, and then stood. “It’s the only edge I can get on such short notice. Mage Cedric wouldn’t have put it in the Bloodvault if it didn’t contain powerful magic, so I can only hope it’ll be enough. Either way, I ride for Flat Top Rock at daybreak tomorrow. Right now I need time to study the book undisturbed, so everyone out.” He was past the point of being polite. He’d made up his mind. Now he just needed to execute his plan.
Hanlon nodded and motioned for his sons and Chase to file out of the room. “I’d like for Erik and his squad to ride out with you tomorrow. They’ll hold a good distance from Flat Top Rock so you can make your approach alone but I want you to have some protection along the way there and back. Phane may have a surprise waiting for you on the other side of the fortress gate.”
Alexander nodded with a small smile. “We’ll bring Isabel back, Hanlon,” he said as he put his hand on the Forest Warden’s shoulder.
Hanlon couldn’t muster any words. He looked at once grateful, distraught, and helpless to do anything but allow others to decide the fate of his daughter.
Once the room was empty, the bar placed on the door, a guard posted outside to prevent any disturbances, and his fire stoked, Alexander sat down with the skillbook in his lap and squeezed a drop or two of blood from the gash in his hand. He rubbed the blood around on his thumb and forefinger, then pressed his thumb against the lock plate of the skillbook. There was a slight humming for a moment and then the lock strap popped open with a loud click. Alexander cleaned his hand and rewrapped his bandage before carefully opening the book.
The first page was written in fine calligraphy and was in a language that Alexander couldn’t read. He felt a little flutter of panic as he stared in disbelief at the unintelligible words on the page. Then, rather suddenly, the words shifted and Alexander could read them. He wasn’t sure what language they were in but he could understand the writing as if it were written in the common tongue he’d learned to read and write as a child.
The first page told him what he most wanted to know. He had feared that this might be a fool’s errand and that he was just wasting time, but the introduction to the skillbook told him otherwise.
“This skillbook of the blade is intended for the one marked by the curse I cast on the Ruathan bloodline. I regret having placed such a terrible burden on your shoulders but I was called to take action in defense of future generations. If you are reading these words, then Phane walks the world again and all are in peril. This book is one of several items of great power that I have preserved within the Bloodvaults to aid you in your duty to defend the Old Law and the people of the Seven Isles from the evil of Phane Reishi. Use the power within wisely. Signed in my own hand, Mage Barnabas Cedric.”
Alexander sat stunned for a moment before reading the passage again. The words had been written two thousand years ago, yet they were written expressly for him. He felt a little chill as he turned the page.
What followed was a treatise on fighting with bladed weapons. Alexander found that once he started reading, the words seemed to flow off the page and into his very soul. He saw vivid images within his mind of different bladed weapons and their best uses. He was caught up in visions of having practiced every thrust, stroke, parry, riposte, feint, stance, combination, and series of attacks and defenses he’d ever learned from Anatoly and many more that he’d never even heard of.
It was much more than reading about the techniques though. He felt like the wisdom, muscle memory, and skill of having practiced each movement for countless hours transferred into him as he read each passage. His understanding of combat with a blade broadened and deepened until he began to see the art with a sense of completeness.
He could remember practicing drills with every bladed weapon to the point of mastery and learning every blade-fighting technique ever proven on the battlefield. He came to understand the nature of a blade at a near spiritual level. A blade was an instrument of both life and death. It could preserve and protect and it could kill. The mastery of the blade that flowed from the pages of the skillbook into Alexander included a deep reverence for the value of a blade and the power it represented.
Then he came to a place in the book that described a series of actual battles that had taken place between two skilled blade masters. Each step was described and analyzed. The techniques, tactics, cadence and rhythm of each fight were examined. Alexander saw himself in each fight within his mind’s eye with vivid detail. Each fight was as real as a memory. He could see the splatter of blood when his blade struck true. He could feel the rush of air when he spun to avoid his opponent’s thrust. He could hear the sickening thud when his enemies fell to the ground and breathed their last.
He lived each fight and came to know the strengths and limits of his weapon in each one. He fought with a spear, a long sword, a short sword, a long knife, a pair of knives, two short swords at once, a long sword and a long knife at once, and finally throwing knives. Each weapon presented different opportunities and vulnerabilities. He came to know them all with the practiced ease of one who had lived a lifetime wielding his chosen blade.
Alexander was starting to feel his head ache as the new ideas swirled through his mind and took root in his heart and soul, sinew and bone. Then he came to the end
of the section recounting each case study. What came next filled him with both hope and dread.
The last section of the skillbook dealt with the fighting style one should use when wielding the Thinblade. Alexander learned that the reason for the name of the sword was its physical dimensions. The Thinblade was so thin along its edge that it could cut nearly anything except another Thinblade. Alexander discovered that the techniques of fighting with a normal steel blade depended on the simple fact that steel could be stopped with steel. To claim victory with a normal blade you needed to circumvent the defenses of your opponent.
The Thinblade had no such limitations. If you faced an opponent with a steel shield, the most effective tactic was to slash down through the shield and your enemy’s arm or more simply to thrust through the shield and into your enemy’s heart. The Thinblade could cut through steel with ease. Alexander came to see the nearly unstoppable power of such a simple thing.
When he reached the section examining various actual fights between an Island Lord armed with a Thinblade and others armed with steel, he saw in his mind such carnage and devastation he was left feeling slightly ill. He watched himself wield the Thinblade against a dozen other men and cleave them into pieces with quick, deadly strokes. He saw in his mind’s eye the raw power of the Thinblade and how unstoppable it was.
When Alexander reached the end of the skillbook, the sky outside his balcony doors was dark and his head was reeling. It felt full and throbbed with pain. He made his way to the washroom and filled the basin. He washed his face and went straight to his bed. He pulled off his boots but nothing else, fell into bed and wrapped a blanket around himself before slipping off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
He didn’t have to wait long for the galloping horses to reach them. It was Hanlon, Emily, Anatoly, Abigail, and Erik, followed by a dozen or so Rangers. Alexander didn’t know how he was going to tell them that he’d lost Isabel’s trail. When they charged up, Hanlon spoke first.
“Lord Alexander, Isabel has been taken by Truss. He’s offering her safe return in exchange for you.” He reined in his horse beside Alexander, fished around inside his cloak and produced a letter, which he handed to Alexander.
Alexander looked hard at the Warden for a moment before unfolding the parchment. “You will meet my challenge by dusk three days hence on Flat Top Rock or Isabel dies. You will come alone or Isabel dies. Rexius Truss.”
Alexander felt a flash of hot anger wash through him. The greasy little bastard had taken Isabel by force. She rejected him so he abducted her. A new unthinkable thought tried to invade his sanity but he shoved it away. He needed to think.
“Who delivered this letter?” he demanded.
Hanlon looked to Erik, whose face contorted in misery. “It was on her pillow. I didn’t look because her bed was still made.” He hung his head. “I thought she was with you, so I rushed out without seeing it.”
Alexander nudged his horse up alongside Erik’s and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. Erik looked up with desolation in his eyes. Alexander leaned in so no one else could hear him. “I have a little sister too, Erik. I understand.”
Erik nodded his thanks but the haunted look didn’t leave his eyes.
Alexander turned to Hanlon. The Forest Warden’s eyes were fraught with worry but also bottled rage. “It’s about two days’ ride to Flat Top Rock from the palace, right?”
“It is, but,” Hanlon took a deep breath before speaking again, “you can’t go.”
Emily sobbed. She was dressed in Ranger’s riding gear and wore tear streaks down her face in stripes through the travel dust.
Alexander felt his anger rise a notch in his belly. “What do you mean?” There was a hard edge to his voice.
Hanlon took another deep breath and sighed with anguish. When he spoke in his low, rumbling voice, Alexander could hear the sorrow of loss. “You cannot be risked, not even for my only daughter.”
Emily fought, unsuccessfully, to hold back another sob.
Alexander looked at him hard. His words were deadly calm. “Warden Alaric, I’m going and the only way you will stop me is by killing me yourself.”
The Rangers all stiffened. Hanlon looked like a man on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
Anatoly sidled up gently on his big chestnut mare. “You know this is a trap, right?” he asked Alexander.
Alexander looked at the big man-at-arms. Anatoly’s eyes conveyed more sympathy than Alexander had expected.
He nodded slowly. “I can’t just do nothing and let Isabel die. Her best chance, her only chance, is if I go and face Truss.”
Erik shook his head, “You won’t be facing just Truss. His master-at-arms is a very dangerous swordsman. I’ve seen him fight. He’ll kill you, Alexander.”
Alexander felt trapped. He had to do something but he had no way of knowing what he would be riding into. But to do nothing was to surrender to the unthinkable. He wasn’t about to do that.
“We’ll see about that.” His gold-flecked eyes glittered with anger and determination. If he was going to face Truss and his henchmen, he needed an edge. He seized on the only edge he could get. “I have to get back to the palace.” Alexander spurred his horse into a gallop. He didn’t concern himself with the others. He knew what he had to do and he didn’t have much time.
He raced back to the palace and didn’t let up for a moment. He pushed his horse to its limits, but not past. He coaxed every bit of speed he could get without risking injury to the animal. He left everyone else strung out in a trail behind him. Anatoly and Abigail kept pace with him, but the rest fell behind a little more with every passing minute.
He thundered into the main courtyard past a platoon of Rangers drilling with wooden practice swords, rode right up to the palace entrance and leapt off his horse. Several Rangers raced up as he hit the ground.
“Lord Alexander, any word of Isabel?”
“She’s been abducted by Truss,” was all he offered before racing into the palace. Abigail and Anatoly were maybe twenty feet behind him.
“Alexander,” Abigail called out, “Where are you going?”
He slowed to a fast walk and Abigail and Anatoly came up on either side of him. “I’m going to get the skillbook.” He stopped and tried to orient himself, looking back and forth down the broad marble hall, saw the door he wanted and headed for it.
Anatoly and Abigail looked at each other and followed. He navigated down into the basement of the palace and then to the door leading to the catacombs. He found a lamp and headed down into the dark without hesitation.
He remembered the way for the most part and where he was confused he followed the footprints in the heavy dust that covered everything. Anatoly and Abigail were right behind him, each with a lamp of their own. Alexander felt a sense of urgency driving him forward through the dark. Fine dust rose in little puffs with each step, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake that looked almost like fog in the dim light. Anatoly and Abigail started to take on the hue of ghosts trailing silently behind him. Finally, he reached the correct hallway. He slowed, lifted his lamp higher, and started examining the sconces on the wall, one by one. He would have missed it except that the one he wanted was missing the coating of thick dust worn by all the others.
Once inside the domed room he wasted no time. He slipped his long knife free and sliced the edge of his hand. Anatoly watched with resignation, Abigail with wonder as Alexander placed his bloody hand on the door. Again, bright points of light began at the base of the door’s outline and raced up the doorframe to meet at the top of the arched door. Abigail gasped when Alexander pushed through the door and into the little room beyond. The skillbook and the Wizard’s Dust were right where he’d left them. He lifted the skillbook carefully to prevent any blood from coming in contact with the lock on the cover and tucked it under his arm before pushing back through the magical door.
He didn’t even stop once he stepped out of the Bloodvault. He snatched up his lamp and headed for the exit, locking the door and securing the secret door behind him as he went. The dark corridors of the catacombs still held clouds of stirred-up dust that gave the place an eerie look as it swirled around them in the dim light of their lamps. When they emerged into the public halls of the palace, there were Rangers standing sentry at every intersection.
The first to see him called out, “Lord Alexander, Warden Alaric would speak with you.”
Alexander didn’t even stop for the man but brushed past him on his way to his quarters. “He’ll have to wait.”
In the light of the well-lit hallways, they looked pale and ashen from the coating of dust. At each intersection another Ranger informed him that Warden Alaric wished to speak to him, but Alexander ignored them all. When he reached his room and threw open the door, Renwold was standing right in the middle of the room in his customary place.
“Your Majesty, I have a plate of food and a pot of tea for you. May I lay out a set of clean clothes?” Renwold seemed totally unfazed by Alexander’s appearance.
“Thank you, Renwold, but that won’t be necessary,” Alexander said. “I will be busy reading for the rest of the day. Please ensure that I am not disturbed for any reason. Also, I will be riding out tomorrow at dawn. Inform the stables that I will require two fast horses saddled and ready at first light. Have the kitchen prepare travel food for a week and see to it that a set of Lady Isabel’s riding clothes and boots are packed in the saddlebags of one of my horses. Finally, wake me at first light and bring me a plate of food when you do. That will be all for now, and, Renwold, thank you.”
“Of course, Your Majesty, I will see to it at once.” Renwold bowed deeply and withdrew from the room cl
Anatoly and Abigail stood looking at Alexander. He carefully placed the skillbook on one of the end tables next to a large chair in his sitting room and sat down in front of the covered platter of food. It was just as big as the last serving tray Renwold had brought him and was piled with meats, cheeses, fruit, and an assortment of breads. Alexander wasn’t really hungry but he hadn’t eaten all day and knew he should eat before he started studying or he would be distracted by hunger later. He motioned to Anatoly and Abigail to sit while he took a piece of bread and started piling meat and cheese on it for a quick sandwich.
Anatoly was silent but Abigail couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “Alexander, are you sure this is wise? They’ve set a trap for you and you’re walking right into it.”
He nodded while he chewed. “I know it’s a trap but what are my choices?” he asked around a mouthful of food.
“Send me,” Anatoly said calmly with a slight undercurrent of menace.
Alexander swallowed before responding. “The thought crossed my mind, but I can’t risk it. The moment they realize it’s not me, they’ll kill her.”
Anatoly replied quietly, “She may already be dead.”
Alexander could see that the big man-at-arms didn’t want to be pointing out the possibility but he clearly felt it must be said.
“I can’t let myself believe that. Besides, Truss wants her for himself. I doubt he’ll kill her without a good reason.”
Alexander took another oversized bite of his hastily made sandwich when he heard voices arguing outside the door. A moment later Hanlon came striding in, trailed by his three sons and Chase. The Ranger at the door tried to apologize for the interruption but Alexander waved him away.
“Alexander, Chase and my sons have just returned. They passed Truss at the fortress gate. He was traveling with two men and a large wagon loaded with crates and boxes. I suspect Isabel was in one of them. I can order the gatekeeper to send a platoon after them and bring her back. You don’t have to risk yourself.”
Alexander could see that Hanlon didn’t really believe such a plan would work but he was torn between his duty as Keeper of the Bloodline and his love for his daughter.
“No. He’s demanded me and he will have his wish. That’s Isabel’s best chance. He’ll no doubt have an ambush in place and his champion will be there to ensure I don’t survive the encounter. I understand the risks and I accept them.” Alexander pointed to the skillbook and then looked back at Hanlon. “I don’t intend to go unprepared.” He punctuated his statement by stuffing the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.
“Do you believe the magic in that book will be enough?” Hanlon asked.
Alexander shrugged as he chewed, swallowed hard, and then stood. “It’s the only edge I can get on such short notice. Mage Cedric wouldn’t have put it in the Bloodvault if it didn’t contain powerful magic, so I can only hope it’ll be enough. Either way, I ride for Flat Top Rock at daybreak tomorrow. Right now I need time to study the book undisturbed, so everyone out.” He was past the point of being polite. He’d made up his mind. Now he just needed to execute his plan.
Hanlon nodded and motioned for his sons and Chase to file out of the room. “I’d like for Erik and his squad to ride out with you tomorrow. They’ll hold a good distance from Flat Top Rock so you can make your approach alone but I want you to have some protection along the way there and back. Phane may have a surprise waiting for you on the other side of the fortress gate.”
Alexander nodded with a small smile. “We’ll bring Isabel back, Hanlon,” he said as he put his hand on the Forest Warden’s shoulder.
Hanlon couldn’t muster any words. He looked at once grateful, distraught, and helpless to do anything but allow others to decide the fate of his daughter.
Once the room was empty, the bar placed on the door, a guard posted outside to prevent any disturbances, and his fire stoked, Alexander sat down with the skillbook in his lap and squeezed a drop or two of blood from the gash in his hand. He rubbed the blood around on his thumb and forefinger, then pressed his thumb against the lock plate of the skillbook. There was a slight humming for a moment and then the lock strap popped open with a loud click. Alexander cleaned his hand and rewrapped his bandage before carefully opening the book.
The first page was written in fine calligraphy and was in a language that Alexander couldn’t read. He felt a little flutter of panic as he stared in disbelief at the unintelligible words on the page. Then, rather suddenly, the words shifted and Alexander could read them. He wasn’t sure what language they were in but he could understand the writing as if it were written in the common tongue he’d learned to read and write as a child.
The first page told him what he most wanted to know. He had feared that this might be a fool’s errand and that he was just wasting time, but the introduction to the skillbook told him otherwise.
“This skillbook of the blade is intended for the one marked by the curse I cast on the Ruathan bloodline. I regret having placed such a terrible burden on your shoulders but I was called to take action in defense of future generations. If you are reading these words, then Phane walks the world again and all are in peril. This book is one of several items of great power that I have preserved within the Bloodvaults to aid you in your duty to defend the Old Law and the people of the Seven Isles from the evil of Phane Reishi. Use the power within wisely. Signed in my own hand, Mage Barnabas Cedric.”
Alexander sat stunned for a moment before reading the passage again. The words had been written two thousand years ago, yet they were written expressly for him. He felt a little chill as he turned the page.
What followed was a treatise on fighting with bladed weapons. Alexander found that once he started reading, the words seemed to flow off the page and into his very soul. He saw vivid images within his mind of different bladed weapons and their best uses. He was caught up in visions of having practiced every thrust, stroke, parry, riposte, feint, stance, combination, and series of attacks and defenses he’d ever learned from Anatoly and many more that he’d never even heard of.
It was much more than reading about the techniques though. He felt like the wisdom, muscle memory, and skill of having practiced each movement for countless hours transferred into him as he read each passage. His understanding of combat with a blade broadened and deepened until he began to see the art with a sense of completeness.
He could remember practicing drills with every bladed weapon to the point of mastery and learning every blade-fighting technique ever proven on the battlefield. He came to understand the nature of a blade at a near spiritual level. A blade was an instrument of both life and death. It could preserve and protect and it could kill. The mastery of the blade that flowed from the pages of the skillbook into Alexander included a deep reverence for the value of a blade and the power it represented.
Then he came to a place in the book that described a series of actual battles that had taken place between two skilled blade masters. Each step was described and analyzed. The techniques, tactics, cadence and rhythm of each fight were examined. Alexander saw himself in each fight within his mind’s eye with vivid detail. Each fight was as real as a memory. He could see the splatter of blood when his blade struck true. He could feel the rush of air when he spun to avoid his opponent’s thrust. He could hear the sickening thud when his enemies fell to the ground and breathed their last.
He lived each fight and came to know the strengths and limits of his weapon in each one. He fought with a spear, a long sword, a short sword, a long knife, a pair of knives, two short swords at once, a long sword and a long knife at once, and finally throwing knives. Each weapon presented different opportunities and vulnerabilities. He came to know them all with the practiced ease of one who had lived a lifetime wielding his chosen blade.
Alexander was starting to feel his head ache as the new ideas swirled through his mind and took root in his heart and soul, sinew and bone. Then he came to the end
The last section of the skillbook dealt with the fighting style one should use when wielding the Thinblade. Alexander learned that the reason for the name of the sword was its physical dimensions. The Thinblade was so thin along its edge that it could cut nearly anything except another Thinblade. Alexander discovered that the techniques of fighting with a normal steel blade depended on the simple fact that steel could be stopped with steel. To claim victory with a normal blade you needed to circumvent the defenses of your opponent.
The Thinblade had no such limitations. If you faced an opponent with a steel shield, the most effective tactic was to slash down through the shield and your enemy’s arm or more simply to thrust through the shield and into your enemy’s heart. The Thinblade could cut through steel with ease. Alexander came to see the nearly unstoppable power of such a simple thing.
When he reached the section examining various actual fights between an Island Lord armed with a Thinblade and others armed with steel, he saw in his mind such carnage and devastation he was left feeling slightly ill. He watched himself wield the Thinblade against a dozen other men and cleave them into pieces with quick, deadly strokes. He saw in his mind’s eye the raw power of the Thinblade and how unstoppable it was.
When Alexander reached the end of the skillbook, the sky outside his balcony doors was dark and his head was reeling. It felt full and throbbed with pain. He made his way to the washroom and filled the basin. He washed his face and went straight to his bed. He pulled off his boots but nothing else, fell into bed and wrapped a blanket around himself before slipping off into a deep and dreamless sleep.