A Story of Swords, Part 4

Currently in Earphones: Casino Royale soundtrack by David Arnold

(Note about the change in the title of my Blog: I knew for a while that I wasn't using good latin in it, and it needed changing. I finally went back to my dictionary and found the right vocab and put it in the right form, but I'm still fuzzy on whether or not I can make up a modified praenomen as I did or if that form is a no-no. I like it though, so foo on the rest.)

Phew, my papers are finally all over with. I've got a bit of a breather between now and finals, and I've taken full advantage of the fact by vegging out and putting a bit more time into my Story of Swords. Having a boatload of time on your hands that you don't need to devote schoolwork to is a neat thing.

I went back over Part 1 and realized its in bad need of a re-write. I was basically trying to write a prologue to set everything up and include any pertinent information, so I was writing to get to the beginning and not nessecarily to set up anything secondary. My first task is to make Keyes a bit more believable in his motives for simply handing a sword over, and although I'd rather not make our protagonist a Mary Sue, I might have to emphasize his good qualities a tad more to accomplish it. Secondly, to expand the amount of time in order to really show that these men spent 8-10 hours with each other and didn't just meet in passing. My sticking point for fantasy is that the material reality of such stories can be anything you'd like, but there still needs to exist a human reality for things to hold an element of believability.

I've also noticed that my chapters tend to be about 3 pages long (that is, in a Word document), and part 1 falls short by about half a page. If I'm ever worried about my writing, I feel better taking the long way around to set things up and illustrate aspects of the story in more detail, so it's good to know that I have some wiggle room if I want to keep this stuff uniform. As an example, I originally intended for this story to be only a few pages long, but then I realized that I wanted to make these characters to be more three-dimensional and to have the readers care about them. In order to do that, I needed to make my story longer, and thus do you see it as it is coming along now.

And now, without further ado, Part 4.

Chapter 4: Pastimes

The Sun beat down from its apex and Touchstone wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Feeling sufficiently limber, he sheathed Doomgiver, but kept it loose in the scabbard. Though the current situation weighed heavy on his heart, he began to recall the good times that had preceded the conflict.

During the middle of winter, both Touchstone and Helmrune were restless, and decided to sweep the snow from the practice yard in order to spar. Though they were chided by the arms master for attempting such a fruitless task, they would fence for a good part of the day. However, after a set of two or three bouts they had to continually clear away the newest layer of snow, for it was falling near constantly.

The yard would often have four occupants during the days that followed: The young Fool, the young Lord, Esther, usually wrapped in warm furs, and despite his grumpiness, the arms master himself. The only sounds that emanated from the yard, muffled by the falling snow, were the occasional clash of wood-on-wood, or the even more rare sound of steel-on-steel, encouragement or corrections from the master, and shouts of triumph or defeat from the young men.

During those times, Touchstone would lose himself in the dance of swords: The slow circling, the testing of defenses, the foiled attacks and the hasty defenses. Time was spent more in calm alertness and calculation, looking for the clear winning blow, than in actual action. Energy was still spent in maintaining an ever changing defense, feinting here and there, and constantly moving, though more than once the young Fool imagined that his sparring with Helmrune must have looked terribly boring. Regardless of his thoughts, Esther seemed constantly captivated by the two young men in their combat, and even learned a fair amount of swordplay herself. Touchstone enjoyed the atmosphere, the quiet of the snow like a soft cloth muffling his ears, and the cold weather that kept him alert and ready.

After a particularly fierce bout, which Touchstone had won (more by luck than anything else, he thought), Esther had run to meet the men from the small alcove in which she usually watched. Coming lightly toward him, she placed a small kiss on Touchstone’s cheek, and he smiled in spite of himself. As he turned back to congratulate his opponent on a well fought match, he saw jealousy in his eyes. It was an emotion familiar to the young Fool, and to see such green loathing caused pity to well in his heart for the young Lord. As he was thinking this, Helmrune said aloud, “Would that I had your luck.” He then closed his mouth quickly, looking somewhat ashamed of himself.

Touchstone smiled, approached the young Lord and clapped him on the shoulder. “I suspect if you had my luck, you’d feel differently.”

“And why would you?” said Esther, coming towards them, “You have an amazing skill with a sword, among other good qualities as well.”

Helmrune blushed slightly at Esther’s praise, and Touchstone noticed his face soften and warmth enter into his eyes as he chuckled, “I suppose I do.”

“Indeed,” Touchstone wryly quipped, “my 7 losing bouts out of 11 and a body full of bruises attest it. Let’s get something to eat, though, I’m starving.” The three, friends once again, left for the kitchens.

Warming themselves by the large fires, they helped themselves to a pile of warm breads that the cook had set aside for them, for the castle had grown used to the two visitor’s peculiar sparring habits. After they had eaten their fill, Esther pulled a sprig of round leaves from one of her pockets.

“It’s a new plant I’ve been working on,” she explained, “People are fond of the Quickleaf, which they either brew or chew on to recover themselves, as you two know.” She held up a leaf, which had the same shape as the plant she mentioned, but had a webbed pattern uncharacteristic of its usual smooth surface. “I’ve tried crossing one with Mint, to counteract the naturally bitter taste. I think it’s a moderate success.” She gave a few leaves to each young man, and each looked at them with equal parts wonder and skepticism.

Touchstone looked at Helmrune and gave him a mock-frightened gasp, “But what if this strange plant turns us into rabbits?”

The young Lord grinned, a fleeting appreciation of the young Fools odd humor that Touchstone found kinship in, and said, “Not that it would change much, anyway.” Touchstone shrugged and the two young men chewed on the leaves. The young Fool was pleasantly surprised to find the cool taste of the mint dulling the bitter tang of the Quickleaf, but he stifled a slight grimace at the potency of the latter.

Before he could prepare a fitting complement, Esther had caught their reactions and said “I know, I’m working on lessening the taste. I just need to find a milder form of Quickleaf…”

“It’s certainly effective,” said Helmrune, “I feel like I could spar with Touchstone for another day. It’s amazing what you’ve done with your plants, and to think about all you could do with your knowledge.”

Esther smiled shyly at his praise, looking up through her lashes at the young Lord, and said “Thanks, I’m glad you liked it.”

Touchstone, thankful for the ease that was settling into Helmrunes manner and replacing the stiff formality that had been there earlier, heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “If you two are finished, I have yet to finish telling you one of my stories. I believe there are a good fire and a good audience out in the great hall.”

“And will this be as good as your ‘Blind Mans Blade’?” teased Esther, “I’m not sure if anything else can measure up to the Swords of Power.” One of the first stories Touchstone had told by firelight was that of Keyes and the Swords, so popular had it been that only after a few days the whole keep could recite the verses of the Song by heart.

“All stories have merit,” responded the young Fool, “simply because some happen to be more fantastic then others shouldn’t lessen the value of the more mundane.” Helmrune nodded in agreement and offered Esther his arm. She took it, smiling, and they all began to make their way to the great hall.

At the threshold of the hall, a kitchen boy came running after the young Fool. “Touchstone!” he called out, familiarly, and the young man knelt to be at his eye level.

“Well, m’lad!” said the young Fool, “what have we here?” The boy’s eyes gleamed, as if holding a barely contained secret, a knowing grin on his face.

“It’s Coinspinner! It’s here! In the North country!”

The eyes of the young Lord and Esther widened, and Touchstone responded, “What? How?”

“There’ve been stories going around,” said the boy, breathlessly, “that a strange sword has been appearing and disappearing through the various Houses. Miraculous and strange things have been happening, but everyone says that, in some way, luck has been shifting around. It’s Coinspinner! How can’t it be?”

“You be careful with that story, lad,” said Touchstone, “Such things have an odd way of spreading to all sorts of ears, and not good ones like yours or mine.” The boy grinned mischievously, triumphant that he had drawn the same conclusion as the young Fool, but seeing Touchstone’ serious expression and unsmiling eyes, the expression fell from his face.

The young man’s face softened at the boy’s penitent expression and he ruffled the hair on his small head. “It’s not you I’m worried about, lad, it’s those Swords. Now run along.” The little one scampered off, leaving the three to ponder the situation.

“Coinspinner…” said Helmrune, his eyes unfocused, as if surveying the horizon for possibilities, “I wonder at what those stories have been like.”

“With the Sword of Chance as a force, they could be anything,” mused the young Fool.

“Well,” said Esther, with finality, “unless it arrives on our doorstep, there’s little good in worrying or thinking about it. Don’t you still owe us a tale yourself, good Sir Fool?”

Touchstone nodded, and, the dark mood dissipated, the three continued toward the great hall.

To Be Continued in Chapter 5

Enough, More Later.
- James