The Protectors war

Just under ten minutes later they stepped back by unspoken mutual agreement, both breathing deep and quick, sweat soaking their gambesons in huge fresh patches and making ru

"That's a lot longer than any of us has ever gone with Astrid without her getting a touch home," someone said. "Except Eilir, of course."

Remind me not to think bloody nonsense, Alleyne thought, bringing his blade up in salute with a wry grin.

Astrid's face had been inhumanly calm during the bout, except for a disconcerting small smile. Now she gri

That's a good sign, Alleyne thought. Except that it might not be:

"Hey, let me try," a brash youngster named Kevin said. "Let's see how you handle short sword and buckler."

After a more few bouts of his own Alleyne found himself watching Eilir working with Crystal, the newcomer, who was grimly determined as she hefted the practice blade of alderwood, double the weight of the real thing.

No, Eilir signed, stepping back after a brief slow-time passage and letting her practice blade swing on its wrist-thong for a moment. Remember, keep the buckler towards me, not swinging behind you, slightly ahead of your sword point.

"Whenever I try to think of what I'm doing with it, I lose track!" Crystal grumbled.

Everyone starts that way. That's why we do it slow to start with. You practice until you don't have to think about it. Once more. You attack.

Crystal did, bringing the short broad-bladed sword up in a stab towards Eilir's stomach. The deaf girl's buckler came down in a sweep that knocked it out of line. In the same motion she stepped forward and continued the arc, ending up with the bowl-shaped boss of the little shield in front of Crystal's nose. Then she stepped back again.

You can punch the buckler, or strike with the edge of it. It's a weapon too-believe me, when you've whacked someone hard in the face with a two-pound steel weight, they lose all interest in hitting you. And don't block the opposing sword directly-bat it away as if the buckler were an extension of your hand. It's not like a man-at-arm's shield, or even a Bearkiller targe, it's supposed to redirect force, not absorb it. Now back to the basic position-crouch a little, left foot forward and knee bent. Sword: buckler: sword. One-two-three! Let's go!

They engaged again; even in slow motion, Eilir's darting grace was impressive. So was the gentle patience she showed in the face of the girl's clumsiness. He guessed that that was why Astrid worked with the more advanced students.

Better! Eilir signed, stepping back again when Crystal had turned puffing and red and the weapons started to quiver in her hands.

A dozen yards behind her Astrid smiled as she took a dare and went to one knee, her eyes closed; then they flared open as she rose, twisting and drawing and striking in a blur of speed. Her long blade hissed in a horizontal streak and she was extended in an impeccable follow-through. The severed dragonfly dropped, spiraling towards the ground in neat halves.

Alleyne caught it out of the corner of his eye. She's not human, he thought, with a slight inward quiver.

"This is a lot harder work than I thought it would be!" Crystal said to Eilir. "I thought I was used to hard work since I was a little girl!"

There's nothing harder than sword work, Eilir signed sympathetically. It uses different muscles from almost anything else. Let's go try you on the pells again. You've got to go full-out to build speed, and get used to the shock of hitting something. Remember, most of the people you fight will be stronger than you are. You have to be quicker, and you build speed like you build muscle.

A rock-fringed natural swimming pool not far from the buildings had been reconditioned-diverted stream water in at one end and out the other replacing the chlorine cycle. Nobody minded a few floating leaves anymore. Alleyne ambled down a flagstone path towards it, with the clatter and bang of combat fading behind him, stripped and dove in; the other Englishman joined him. Alleyne rested against the steps and spoke low-voiced to Hordle: "Having a good time, Little John?"

"Well, I'm not the one with the two best-looking girls panting after him," the big man said, gri

"Luckily, women aren't as fixated on looks as we males," Alleyne pointed out.

Hordle's grin got wider. "No, but looking good doesn't hurt much, does it? Still, I reckon my charm and wit will win out in the end."

They both laughed; Hordle's voice was like a monstrous frog croaking. "That was quite a display you put on with little Astrid."

"Christ! But it's not that which makes me hesitate."

"Her relatives?"

"No: no. I like her brother-in-law and most of the others seem good sorts at heart, though Signe Havel is just a trifle too carnivorous for my taste; and that man Hutton is a magician with horses. Nor am I so noble and pure as to spurn the thought of being related to the local royalty. And she's good company, we've got a good many common interests, she's clever, and a stu

"She's not pretty, sir. Eilir is pretty, pretty as a man could want. Astrid is like something you'd see in a painting, the type you're not allowed to get close to because your breath might pollute it."

He ducked and came up blowing and rubbing at his thatch of dark red-brown hair. "Let me guess. It's the fact that she's bloody barking mad that's giving you the collywobbles?"

Alleyne made a gesture, and tried to keep the defensive tone out of his voice: "She's not mad. She couldn't have put this Ranger thing together if she was mad. She doesn't actually think she's living in the Third Age of Middle Earth, or that she's a warrior elf-maid fighting the Dark Lord, though when you think of what that man Arminger is like: But she is: obsessed. The problem is that I share her obsession: in a very, very much less intense fashion. And seeing how it might flower into full-blown form is rather frightening." He sighed. "I meet a beautiful American heiress, I like her, she likes me : and then she turns out to be a fundamentalist with a more literal interpretation of scripture than I feel comfortable with. Only our bible was written by an Oxford don about sixty years ago."

Hordle thought for a moment, his heavy brows knotted in thought. Alleyne waited; one of the advantages Little John Hordle had in life was the way people assumed his massive size and strength meant he was stupid. It wasn't so. "Well, I wouldn't be quite so frightened as all that, if I were you. I would if this were the old world, but it isn't."

Alleyne's fair eyebrows went up further. "What difference does that make?"

"Look at it this way, Mr. Loring. If this were the time before the Change, what use would it be to be obsessed with horses, and swords, and bows, and living in the woods like a poncing elf and fighting bandits and man-eating beasts and evil kings? As opposed to here and now, where she can actually do all those things- has to do most of them, in fact."

Alleyne opened his mouth, then closed it again; it was his turn to frown. "You know, Sergeant, that is a very acute observation. If it's madness, it's a very practical form of insanity. Now that I think of it, even if she's living a fantasy she's gone about it in a very practical way."

Hordle shrugged. "Think nothing of it. Sergeants are supposed to figure things out and let officers take the credit."

"Of course, the fact that if I were to make a play for Astrid, her friend might have time to think about someone else has no bearing on your advice."