Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(80)

‘But wouldn’t you just rather have the sword? Many men carry swords in the streets of Lamara.’

Tomarys’s eyes lit up. ‘Another lesson. With two swords in play there is twice the danger you will be killed. Reality is not like the stories. Many fights end with both men taking blows.’

Chloe hadn’t thought about it, but it made sense. A sword or knife was designed to slice. Wounds would often be deep. Even a victor might suffer a bleeding artery, or leave the battlefield with a deep cut that could become infected. Even if he suffered only minor wounds, his strength would be sapped, making him less able to achieve victory against a second opponent.

Tomarys picked up his wooden stick, holding it out to demonstrate, his left side toward Chloe. ‘A man comes at me with a sword.’ He made a thrust. ‘There is one sword in play.’ He turned around. ‘I take that sword off him.’ He reached out and pretended to be seizing a man’s wrist, rolling his body until he had taken the sword from the first man. ‘There is still one sword in play. Mine.’

Chloe finally understood. She nodded in appreciation.

‘If I spend my time learning how to take a sword off a man, while my enemy spends his time training to be the perfect swordsman, I will win every time, for I will be the one with the sword. Understood?’

‘I understand. So why the knives?’

‘Throwing knives.’ He bent to retrieve his two knives from their hidden sheaths inside the vest and handed one to her. It was almost entirely blade, with a rounded hilt displaying a hole in the middle. ‘Be careful. It is sharp enough to shave with.’

Chloe touched her finger to the edge, almost cutting herself.

‘I can get them out quickly. They are silent. I can strike from a distance. And still I appear unarmed.’

He looked around and rested his eyes on a thick vertical supporting stump holding the rail.

‘Perhaps we will start here. Come.’

They moved until they were facing the stump, about ten paces away.

‘Hold it like this,’ he instructed, holding his knife between thumb and forefinger. ‘The hilt is thin and rounded so that it glides out of your hand. Try to strike that post.’

Chloe took a deep breath and, holding the knife in her right hand, brought it over her shoulder, then swept her arm down. She released as her arm was extended in front of her. The knife shot through the air but went wide, missing the post.

She climbed over the rail to fetch it and returned a moment later.

‘Not bad,’ Tomarys said. ‘Next time stand like this, facing front, with your left foot in front, and about an arm’s length between your left and right.’ Chloe moved to copy him. ‘Your heels should be lined up, but your feet are angled.’ She shifted. ‘Both knees are bent, especially your front. Aim at the height of your chest, so that you are making a clean throw in line with the release. Move like you are holding an axe, and you want to chop off a branch between you and the target. As you swing, release when the point of the knife is exactly on the target. Snap your fingers together. After releasing, do not stop your swing – go on with the movement. Follow-through is important. Now try again.’

Copying Tomarys’s stance, following his instructions, Chloe drew her arm back and down.

The knife plunged into the stump, quivering with the impact. She turned a surprised gaze at Tomarys.

‘Well done.’ He grinned. ‘But keep control of your breathing next time. Take shallow breaths. At this stage, hold your breath if you must. Let’s try again. When you are striking every time, we will increase the distance.’

Chloe made one more strike and then two misses before she began to get a feel for it. Tomarys walked over to her and adjusted her position, his strong arms surprisingly gentle. When she made three strikes in a row, he nodded.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘You have a natural talent.’ She looked to see if he was jesting, but his expression was sincere. ‘Before we increase the distance, I have one more lesson.’

Chloe let her arm fall to her side as she turned to watch, ears open to every word.

‘Our fourth lesson. As well as proper preparation, setting our enemy’s false expectations, and being the man – or woman – with the weapon, winning means choosing the right moment. You want your enemies to be distracted. Then, when you take action, be bold. Be strong. Be confident. Nothing is more powerful than the warrior who will achieve his objective or die trying.’

Chloe wondered if, when the time came, she would be up to the challenge. She vowed to herself that she would be strong.

‘Let us increase the distance. Come, Chloe, show me what you can do.’




Fifty miles away, on the shores of the isle of Amphi, Dion lay sleeping off his exhaustion after yet another harrowing battle against a wildran.

He rolled and mumbled in a restless slumber. His nightmares were filled with roaring giants and shrieking furies, thrashing serpents and savage dragons.

In his dreams he was in Xanthos, but all the people were various forms of wildren. Ogres roamed the agora and merfolk swam in the harbor. He was standing on the Orange Terrace outside the Royal Palace talking to his father, but Markos was a giant, a crown on his lank silver hair. Peithon was a coiled serpent, incredibly long, wrapped around the palace. Two furies that looked like Nikolas and Helena flew overhead, hand in hand. Everywhere he looked there were wildren.