‘Excellent, you are eager for the day,’ Salus boomed. Brann didn’t feel it was worth disagreeing with the assessment, though it could not have been further from the truth. His guts were trying to force themselves up through his throat and he lurched slightly.
If Salus noticed, he chose not to acknowledge it. ‘Marlo, if you could be so good as to help our young friend dress?’
An under-tunic, open almost from armpit to waist, allowed him to dress without removing the shield, and the weight-laden padded tunic was laced onto him once more. Numbly, he followed Salus to the rope-wound post, stopping only to eat briefly the same food as had been his lunch the previous day, turning away from those around him to mask the sight of Marlo feeding him like a baby.
The movements against the post were fluid, much to his surprise and Salus’s delight. When he swung at fresh air, it seemed easier to drag the sword back than it had been just the evening before. Right, then left, than right again. As he started to bring the heavy wood back again, Salus flashed the rod forward. He flicked up the shield, knocking the rod skywards, then crashed the sword into it on the swing that followed. He wasn’t sure who of the pair of them was more astonished.
Salus waved away the clod-throwers who were about to start launching their missiles. ‘Thank you, but if he can do that with his shield, not necessary.’ He turned to Brann. ‘What made you think of that?’
Brann managed a small smile. ‘I thought of it yesterday, but my arm wouldn’t do it. To be honest, I had forgotten it again until my arms did it.’
‘Today is a good day to start doing it.’ Cassian’s voice behind him made him jump. There was a woman with him this time, tall and willowy, dark of skin and eyes and with hair that was a mass of thick tendrils, halfway between black and white. ‘Thank you, good Salus. Your work has been well done. The results have exceeded expectations.’
Salus nodded his head. ‘You are kind, boss, but the boy did it. I hope there is a chance I will see him again today.’
Brann felt his eyes filling up again. He suddenly felt very young. Too young to be facing this. But Salus could not have done more to help him. He turned to the large man. ‘I, er, I…’
Salus grinned. ‘I know. You love me, of course you do. Now come back and make me my dinner tonight.’ Before Brann could answer, he was walking away.
The woman cut in, turning the boy by the shoulders and looking him over. ‘Strong for his size. You have rowed?’ Her voice was cool and measured. Brann nodded. ‘That helps. Let us visit the pig.’
Brann wondered who warranted this name, but was almost disappointed to find it a literal description. He was taken to a side room in the building where he had eaten and found the carcass of a pig hanging from the ceiling.
Cassian nodded to Marlo. ‘Relieve our young friend of his practice weapons.’
Considering the ease with which the boy’s knife sliced through the leather straps, the knots having been tightened beyond unpicking by the bathwater the night before and the movement before and after, Brann was relieved that his speed of use was matched by a surety of movement. The wooden weapons fell to the ground and Brann looked at his hands in surprise as they rose towards the ceiling of their own accord, as if he were a puppet operated by an invisible giant.
Marlo laughed. ‘Fear not, they will settle in a moment. But wait till you feel this real sword.’
A broadsword of simple but functional quality was tucked under his arm, and he offered it to Brann.
‘Take it, and strike the pig,’ Cassian prompted.
He grasped the hilt and swung. His eyes widened as the blade, feeling as light as a switch and just as manoeuvrable, slammed into the side of the carcass, biting deep into the flesh.
‘Now you see the value of the heavy wood, but also the problem,’ the old soldier said.
‘The problem? What problem could there be in swinging a sword like that?’
‘Pull it out.’
Brann dragged it back the way it had swung, but it stuck hard and tried to pull the full weight of the pig with it. He wrenched it straight towards him and, eventually, as he grunted in triumph, it squelched free.
‘Now stab it.’
He thrust, the blade sinking deep. Again, when he tried to pull it free, the flesh sucked it close. He rolled his hand right and left as he hauled it and the pink meat reluctantly released its grip on the blade.
‘You see?’ Cassian’s look was earnest. ‘This is most important. Were this a man, not a pig, while you were fighting the grip of the body, all of your right side would be inviting him to hit you as many times as he liked. I have seen men killed after striking a killing blow. Not every fatal strike kills instantly, and a dying man will fixate on taking you with him as his last furious act.’ He took the sword. ‘Strike shallow and fast, like this.’ His blades flashed in and out, stabbing twice on the front of the pig. ‘And this.’ Surprisingly quick on his feet, he moved in and swung fast at the side of the carcass. The blade bit, he twisted his wrist and withdrew, and he was back at Brann’s side in an instant. ‘As you started to do, twisting releases it quicker. And causes more damage, which is helpful. Remember that blood vessels, ligaments, sinews and muscles are often near the surface, so damage is caused as soon as you strike. There is seldom a need to go deep.’
He picked up the practice shield. ‘Don’t forget, either, that you have two weapons. This has a face that can smash,’ he slammed it straight into the pig, ‘like so. With the shoulder and the hips. Drive from your legs.’ He angled it and swung it sideways into the solid meat. ‘And an edge that can bite. This is a fight where he will die or you will; there is no other outcome. You must fight any way that presents itself.’ He handed over the weapons. ‘Now you try, over and over.’
Cassian stopped him, however, as soon as he was satisfied the technique was right. ‘Good. Now we are done. Let us eat. Lightly, in your case.’
They stepped from the doorway, the light bright. ‘Cassian, sir,’ Brann said. The broad frame turned. ‘How did you learn…?’
A roar burst from Brann’s right. Steel flashed on high.
He pivoted, dropped into a crouch and brought up his shield, blocking a blow that jarred his arm to the shoulder. In the same movement, his sword thrust forward. The wooden practice sword swung down and Cassian knocked Brann’s blade aside before it reached his attacker. He looked up to see Salus’s grinning face.
‘Not bad, though your opponent will not hold back as Salus did.’
Brann flexed his shoulder. ‘He held back?’
Cassian ignored the comment, and patted him on the back encouragingly. ‘You will not die overly easily. Now, you were asking?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Brann cast around for other attacks as he spoke. ‘How did you learn all that? The things you showed me in there. Was it in the army?’
‘I learnt to swing a sword in the army. I learnt to fight on the battlefield. I learnt to survive from opponents and comrades who didn’t.’
‘And the stuff about sinews and tendons and blood… things?’
‘From my wife.’
Deep in the corridors of the Arena, the noise from the crowd above was muted but was all the more terrifying for it. When it loitered on the edge of your hearing, it caught your attention all the stronger. And reminded you what was coming.
Brann had spent the journey to the massive stone-built amphitheatre in a daze, carried with three other fighters in a small covered wagon pulled by a single