Dawn of Swords by Dalglish David & Duperre Robert J

Author:Dalglish, David & Duperre, Robert J. [Dalglish, David & Duperre, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action & Adventure, Genre Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, United States, Science Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Adult, Coming of Age, Horror, Epic, dark fantasy
ISBN: 9781477809792
Amazon: 1477809791
Goodreads: 18184308
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2014-01-14T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

20

The old man with the gray beard circled Patrick, one eye opened larger than the other, studying him as they practiced atop the grassy hill overlooking the fields where the others sparred. The grass was damp, and the air was filled with the sloshing sound of skittering feet. The Temple of the Flesh lurked in the distance like a sleeping giant.

“No, brace yourself. Weight on the back leg. Now turn at the waist. The waist. You know what your waist is, right? Keep your shoulders locked, but give yourself room for quick motions. Better. Now relax your wrists ever so slightly. You’re gripping with two hands, you can afford some slack. Lift it over your head, then hold it straight out. Good. Let go with your off hand. No, not your dominant hand, the other one. Excellent. Now hold that stance. Steady now. Amazing.”

The graybeard was Corton Ender, a tall man who was long in years but spry of spirit. He seemed genuinely impressed, and Patrick felt honored by his attention. Corton had taken leave of training from Deacon Coldmine’s militia just to oversee his progress. Ender had been an accomplished swordsman in his younger days, back when he had served as a mercenary for a rich man named Matthew Brennan, though this information meant very little to Patrick. He knew nothing of the east or of the doings of mercenaries. It sounded like an unsavory way to live, although he couldn’t deny that a certain part of him was indeed drawn to the notion, and even excited by it.

“Tilt that majestic thing to the side,” said Corton. “Flex your arm. Now that is impressive.”

The wizened old bastard had been truly awed upon his first sight of Winterbone, and he’d wondered openly how Patrick could carry such a large weapon with relative ease given his “condition.” Rather than being offended by the accusation, Patrick had appreciated the old coot’s bluntness. His family always treated him with caution. It felt liberating to be around someone who was honest with him for a change.

Corton pointed at a log that was propped up on a pair of stumps a few feet away.

“If you would, shift the weapon down slowly and place your off hand on its handle, beneath your other hand. Now swing from the legs up. Gather the strength in your calves, and send it up through your thighs. Let it flow through your trunk and expel out your arms, just like you would with a good punch. Bring the weapon down in a wide, sweeping motion, and split that log.”

Patrick followed the instructions, planting his right foot behind him, breathing deliberately in his effort to maintain the balance between his mismatched legs. He arched his back as far as he could. In a single, fluid motion, he cocked his elbows until Winterbone’s pommel was beside his ear, then reversed his momentum, stepping back with his left foot while bringing the sword up over his head in a long, winding arc. When the tip reached its apex, he felt himself lose control of the weapon.

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