Blackveil
Page 73
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
She did so and the shaft retracted so smoothly she felt only a subtle change of balance with the moving weights and heard a snick as it locked into place.
She pressed the trigger and shook the shaft out to staff length again. She was so delighted with it she continued to play with it almost forgetting her stern audience and Colin’s words of just moments ago.
“It’s like magic,” she said.
She perceived a stiffening in the attitude of the Weapons surrounding her. Oops, she thought. They were very uncomfortable with the topic of magic.
“Not magic,” Donal said, “but craftsmanship. It was made by one of our own who has a knack for figuring out how things work. He studies constantly all our library and archives have to offer on the making of everything from buildings to ships, as well as smaller objects like your staff. However, it is not just the mechanism within it that makes it special, but also the wood. It is bonewood.”
“Bone ... ?” Karigan almost dropped it.
“Bonewood,” Donal said. “Not bone.”
“It is rare,” Colin explained. “A member of the oak family, and very strong. It is called bonewood by us because the only place we know that it grows is in our cemetery at the Forge.”
“The Forge?”
“Our academy on Breaker Island, or as the locals call it, Black Shield Island. The academy has become known as the Forge because it is where we forge Weapons out of mere warriors, if you take my meaning.”
Karigan did, and it was just the grim sort of wordplay she’d expect from Weapons.
“Many among us choose to retire to the island and teach, or to be of use in other capacities, such as Geron, who made your staff. When they pass on, they are buried there. Even those of us who do not end our days at the Forge may choose to be interred there.”
Karigan knew she was hearing details few outside of the Weapons were privy to.
“May I?” Colin asked, holding his hands out for the staff. Karigan did not hesitate to pass it to him. Colin ran his fingers over the shaft and gazed at it with a discerning eye. “The oaks grow straight and strong right out of the graves. Some believe that the bones of our dead are cradled in the roots, hence the name bonewood. The trees grow from strength into strength.
“No one knows where the first seedling came from or who among the earliest of Weapons brought it to the island, but legend holds the wood deflects evil intent. Dark magic.”
There was an almost collective shudder that ran through the circle of Weapons.
Colin shook the staff so it snapped back into the cane. “Recently, with the breach in the D’Yer Wall, we’ve taken to collecting deadfall from the bonewood trees. This staff is made from a limb struck down two winters ago in a storm, and it is the first of its kind. We may have others made in due course. In the meantime, we keep a bit of bonewood close to our hearts, as our predecessors did hundreds of years ago.”
Donal peeled back his leather jerkin to reveal a badge in the shape of a plain black shield pinned onto his shirt just above his heart.
“Whether or not the efficacy of the bonewood is true,” Colin continued, “we honor tradition.” He handed the staff back to Karigan. “Use it well, and may it protect you.”
“Thank you,” she said, now overwhelmed. It was as much the immensity of the Weapons revealing so much to her as the gift itself that awed her.
Colin nodded and turned as though to leave.
“There’s just one problem,” she said.
He paused. “Yes?”
“I’ve had very little training in staff fighting.”
“Oh, Donal will take care of that.”
THREE LETTERS
Donal immediately set about taking care of “that,” much to Karigan’s chagrin, and with marked enthusiasm. He instructed his fellow Weapons to move tables out of the way so he could begin work with Karigan right then in their dining hall. Someone fetched Donal’s staff, and when he had it in hand he said to her, “We do not have much time before you leave. Therefore we begin now.”
Several Weapons remained to watch while others, including Colin, excused themselves and returned to duty. The solemn, quiet presence of the watchers unnerved Karigan. Better the heckling she received on the practice field when at sword practice than this sepulchral attention.
Donal led her through several exercises, demonstrating with his own staff so she could get a feel for handling hers.
“The staff is a discipline unto itself,” Donal said, “though you will find like the sword, true masters make an art of it using many forms and movements. Unfortunately we do not have time to make you a master, so we shall settle for competency.”
That evening he showed her many defensive techniques. He played attacker, at first moving slowly so she could learn each move, then increasing his speed and power. Time after time, his staff blurred through the air and his feet glided over the flagstones, he pushed her back and back into the wall or a table. Time after time he knocked her staff out of her hands and sent it clattering to the floor.
Once when he got past her defenses and jabbed her in the stomach with the butt of his staff, she went staggering away, doubled over and retching. It was a good thing, she thought in retrospect, she’d not yet had supper.
“I will not do that to you again,” Donal said, “but I want you to remember what happens when you do not pay attention.”
Karigan could have sworn she was paying attention, but when she could stand straight and breathe again, he showed her in detail where she’d gone wrong. It turned out she’d been paying attention to his staff when she should have been watching his hands.
She pressed the trigger and shook the shaft out to staff length again. She was so delighted with it she continued to play with it almost forgetting her stern audience and Colin’s words of just moments ago.
“It’s like magic,” she said.
She perceived a stiffening in the attitude of the Weapons surrounding her. Oops, she thought. They were very uncomfortable with the topic of magic.
“Not magic,” Donal said, “but craftsmanship. It was made by one of our own who has a knack for figuring out how things work. He studies constantly all our library and archives have to offer on the making of everything from buildings to ships, as well as smaller objects like your staff. However, it is not just the mechanism within it that makes it special, but also the wood. It is bonewood.”
“Bone ... ?” Karigan almost dropped it.
“Bonewood,” Donal said. “Not bone.”
“It is rare,” Colin explained. “A member of the oak family, and very strong. It is called bonewood by us because the only place we know that it grows is in our cemetery at the Forge.”
“The Forge?”
“Our academy on Breaker Island, or as the locals call it, Black Shield Island. The academy has become known as the Forge because it is where we forge Weapons out of mere warriors, if you take my meaning.”
Karigan did, and it was just the grim sort of wordplay she’d expect from Weapons.
“Many among us choose to retire to the island and teach, or to be of use in other capacities, such as Geron, who made your staff. When they pass on, they are buried there. Even those of us who do not end our days at the Forge may choose to be interred there.”
Karigan knew she was hearing details few outside of the Weapons were privy to.
“May I?” Colin asked, holding his hands out for the staff. Karigan did not hesitate to pass it to him. Colin ran his fingers over the shaft and gazed at it with a discerning eye. “The oaks grow straight and strong right out of the graves. Some believe that the bones of our dead are cradled in the roots, hence the name bonewood. The trees grow from strength into strength.
“No one knows where the first seedling came from or who among the earliest of Weapons brought it to the island, but legend holds the wood deflects evil intent. Dark magic.”
There was an almost collective shudder that ran through the circle of Weapons.
Colin shook the staff so it snapped back into the cane. “Recently, with the breach in the D’Yer Wall, we’ve taken to collecting deadfall from the bonewood trees. This staff is made from a limb struck down two winters ago in a storm, and it is the first of its kind. We may have others made in due course. In the meantime, we keep a bit of bonewood close to our hearts, as our predecessors did hundreds of years ago.”
Donal peeled back his leather jerkin to reveal a badge in the shape of a plain black shield pinned onto his shirt just above his heart.
“Whether or not the efficacy of the bonewood is true,” Colin continued, “we honor tradition.” He handed the staff back to Karigan. “Use it well, and may it protect you.”
“Thank you,” she said, now overwhelmed. It was as much the immensity of the Weapons revealing so much to her as the gift itself that awed her.
Colin nodded and turned as though to leave.
“There’s just one problem,” she said.
He paused. “Yes?”
“I’ve had very little training in staff fighting.”
“Oh, Donal will take care of that.”
THREE LETTERS
Donal immediately set about taking care of “that,” much to Karigan’s chagrin, and with marked enthusiasm. He instructed his fellow Weapons to move tables out of the way so he could begin work with Karigan right then in their dining hall. Someone fetched Donal’s staff, and when he had it in hand he said to her, “We do not have much time before you leave. Therefore we begin now.”
Several Weapons remained to watch while others, including Colin, excused themselves and returned to duty. The solemn, quiet presence of the watchers unnerved Karigan. Better the heckling she received on the practice field when at sword practice than this sepulchral attention.
Donal led her through several exercises, demonstrating with his own staff so she could get a feel for handling hers.
“The staff is a discipline unto itself,” Donal said, “though you will find like the sword, true masters make an art of it using many forms and movements. Unfortunately we do not have time to make you a master, so we shall settle for competency.”
That evening he showed her many defensive techniques. He played attacker, at first moving slowly so she could learn each move, then increasing his speed and power. Time after time, his staff blurred through the air and his feet glided over the flagstones, he pushed her back and back into the wall or a table. Time after time he knocked her staff out of her hands and sent it clattering to the floor.
Once when he got past her defenses and jabbed her in the stomach with the butt of his staff, she went staggering away, doubled over and retching. It was a good thing, she thought in retrospect, she’d not yet had supper.
“I will not do that to you again,” Donal said, “but I want you to remember what happens when you do not pay attention.”
Karigan could have sworn she was paying attention, but when she could stand straight and breathe again, he showed her in detail where she’d gone wrong. It turned out she’d been paying attention to his staff when she should have been watching his hands.
