Von

Master Cycle set out his choices in front of his disciple. “If we are going to switch what weapon you use, it has to be now,” he told him. “You are going to need time to adjust to a new sword, and the techniques I can drill into that thick head of yours change depending on what you want to use.”

There were six different blades before him, going from smallest to largest. All of them thrusting swords, except for the very last one—a longsword. His master only taught him the basics of longsword, it did not seem to be his preferred weapon. However, this was about Von’s weapon of choice, not Master Cycle's. This was a decision that would affect him beyond this single tournament. Time I spend learning a weapon is time wasted if I switch to another later on. Not entirely, as some skills were transferable, but it was not ideal anyhow.

“What weapon did I favor in the past, master?” Von asked.

His master shook his head. “Not telling you, brat.”

“This decision matters a great deal to me!” he protested. “If my skill is lacking, let that be the cause of my loss. Not that the wrong steel was in my hands.”

Master Cycle nodded. “Damn straight it matters a great deal. That’s why I am not telling you. Think back! I told you that your condition the day of a tournament affects how you fence, remember? Well, it goes beyond that. Your body is different now than it was when you first picked up a sword, and that goes double for your mindset. Executing the techniques you want is far more effective than executing the ones you think are good. Not to say you should spend your time learning dumb bullshit that doesn’t work, but let’s be honest here, all those weapons are good. Just depends on what you want.

“I suppose,” Von said slowly, “you will not tell me which weapons you are most skilled at teaching either?”

“That is a more fair question,” his master conceded. “I have picked up a lot about most of those over the years, but I do have my specialty, yes. My skill as an instructor will not be a limiting factor in any of those, except maybe for the longsword.”

“The longsword,” Von considered, “is out of the question anyhow, even without considering that point.”

Master Cycle smiled at this. “Why is that?”

“Strength is more of a factor there. Not the very heaviest steel to wield, but the techniques and binds you get from it feel like they benefit from raw strength more than any of the other blades you have shown me so far. Many moves feel like they end up in a position where grappling or striking is ideal, and against someone like Lobo…” He thought of that monster of a man before. “There are opponents these eyes of mine cannot see myself winning against if I am to be armed with a longsword, master.”

This answer appeared to satisfy his master. “Good, good! Then the others?”

Von approached the next heaviest weapon—the traditional tournament rapier. It was only vaguely lighter than the longsword, and this didn’t do much to make it feel it so. It was a one-handed weapon, and having to carry it with a single hand was very punishing on your arm, even if it was slightly lighter than a longsword. Still, the way that weight was spread across the blade was very different, focused more on the hilt than the tip of the blade—this meant he could deliver quicker, more accurate thrusting attacks than with a longsword. It’s still heavy enough I can parry a longsword if need be, though.

The traditional tournament rapier had been Von’s sword up until now. Lengthy—by the far the biggest reach of them all—and sturdy, it could parry pretty much any attack with good enough technique. That was just the issue though. “I don’t think my technique is at the point where I can really parry many attacks from a stronger sword like a longsword,” he muttered. “The weight is there, and I can get the leverage…I think. But—”

“You can definitely get the leverage,” Master Cycle cut in. “Because parries aren’t about smashing your sword against the other. If that was the case, then yes, rapiers would be useless against blade-heavy swords. But that’s not how it works.”

“Master, I am aware—”

“Get both your hands together,” his master began, lecturing him once more, “now imagine they are both swords and clash them one against the other. Good?” He did not continue until he saw Von repeat the demonstration in front of him. “Very good! Now, try the same thing…but make one hand dodge the clash, and then go behind the other finger, and instead of trying to push back against the other finger just push it in the direction it was going anyway. Much easier, eh? Your opponent does the work for you there, the parry is just redirecting the strength somewhere else.”

This was a lecture he repeated constantly, and Von was very aware of it by now. Sometimes he doubted Master Cycle's selective attention. Parrying came down to the fact that it’s easier to push something down than it is to push it up so you always want to lock your opponent’s blade beneath yours. Well, Master says that, but he also says to get the tip of my blade underneath my opponent’s to attempt to bait attacks, so he’s hard to understand at times. “Leverage is not an overwhelming advantage however,” Von said thoughtfully.

Master Cycle’s next words were said in a careful, prepared tone. “Think of leverage as a multiplier. You multiply your strength while dividing your opponent’s. Better technique yields better multipliers for that equation, but the base strength is still to be considered. It is possible to completely lock someone’s sword perfectly and for them to still overpower you, especially when magic is amplifying their abilities.” His master frowned and tapped at his own knee for a moment, thoughtful. Then, he glanced at his left hand for a moment and shook his head. “Do you understand what I am saying or do you need more specifics?”

Von hesitated. “Just one more example, if possible,” he pleaded. He did not want to get this wrong. “About how that might influence my choice of sword.”

“Just this—that base strength I mentioned before? It is also affected by how heavy your sword is. But weight is also something to consider in that it makes your thrusts slower.” He shook his head at the end. “Well, the thrusts should technically be about the same since you extend your arm first and then your legs do the work, but realistically speaking the weight of the sword is going to affect how long it takes to raise the sword. Plus, there’s probably some mythical creature who actually always points his sword first before lunging, but I bet even they get parried all the time. You end up sort of doing them at the same time despite your teacher’s best warnings once you get good enough, and the weight affects things there. Not to mention blade movements like binds and disengages.”

“And the longer swords,” Von said, slowly, “are also heavier.”

There was a lot to consider there. Regardless of his decision, he would have to give up on reach, strength, or speed. And I have to consider my Heartbeat too. Strength was perhaps the least important of them, but the game of reach versus speed was not something he could easily ignore. A longer sword is more likely to keep my opponent away with less effort, but it slows me down, and it also means that once my opponent gets past it—Von’s mind was rushed with memories of getting punched in the stomach by Lobo in their last duel—there is not much I can really do with a long, hilt-heavy thrusting sword. It was a tough decision, and he thought about it for a long time.

“Do you know which one your heart wants?” Master Cycle asked.

Yes, but not if my heart is correct. “This one,” he told his master, picking up one of the rapiers. “It is my decision.”

It was not the same weapon he had been using until now.

Rapiers, his master had told him, came in all shapes and sizes. Some as heavy as longswords, like the traditional tournament rapier in the Stormlands, but some much shorter, almost to the size of a smallsword, another one of his options. There was hardly a uniformity to their size. The one Von had picked was shorter and lighter than his old weapon by a decent amount, but still longer than both a smallsword and the other thrusting sword with a name he could not recall. “You gave me the longer rapier,” Von said, eyes narrowing and voice confident, “because lacking in skill, I stood more to gain than to lose. My footwork was lacking, thus the limiting factor of the weight was hardly an issue…the reach was more beneficial. But I have been training for a few months now, and I think my footwork got better. At first, the longer rapier seemed like a good fit for my style. Now I realize that is not the case…against certain opponents.”

More than a month later, he still remembered his match against Lobo. Strength, reach…what I needed there was speed. “So this is my decision,” Von reaffirmed.

His master nodded. “Good. So it is.” He appeared proud, but his face was not easy to read under the best of conditions, which this was not. Still, Von dared to ask, “Now that my decision is made—may you tell me which blade I picked in the past?”

There was no hesitation. “The smallsword,” Master Cycle shot back. “You used your superior speed to poke like an annoying bastard, and made up for the lack of reach with timing…as well as using your free hand to grab your opponent’s longer blade when you needed to. Shithead style, that one, but it worked really well.” He smiled. “Now, I am curious to see what your new style develops into, kid.”

This isn’t a mistake, he thought, his eyes on his new blade as he tied it around his waist. I need not be Von of the Past. I need to be the Von of Now. “Me too, Master.” He had nearly ended the discussion when something else came to mind. “Master…what about your style? I don’t think I have ever seen you fence. Really fence, instead of teach.”

Master Cycle laughed. “Hardly something for you to copy. My style is a bad idea that I’m married to, at this point. Where I’m from things like punches and wrestling are not allowed in duels and my preferred style reflects that. You shouldn't copy me.”

A sudden curiosity sprung up. “Master…am I allowed to pry?”

“You’re allowed to pry, you are not promised an answer.”

Von looked him in the eye. “Where…where are you from?” There was a silence. “You are human, yes, but you do not look like Stormener, but neither do you look like an Ironlander. At first, with those glowing silver eyes, I assumed you were a dragonrider from across the blood sea, but reading up on them reveals them to be mostly red of hair.”

The silence stretched, but Master Cycle did not appear displeased. He regarded his disciple calmly and allowed himself a warm smile. “I will tell you now, Von, the same thing I told you the last time you asked me this.”

“What is it?”

“I will answer it when you can defeat me.”

Talla

Talla watched as Von unsheathed his blade, turning it sideways so she could admire the craftsmanship. The Stormener steel glistened beneath the moonlight filtering through the hallway window, dignified and mighty. “It suits you,” she told him.

“You need not flatter, my lady.”

“And I will not. I have seen what endless flattery does to you.” She supposed perhaps the Von of the Past was not as bad as her impression of him was, but she did not care to test the theory. I much rather have this version of you. “When I say it suits you, I mean it as an insult as well as a compliment—that is what makes it a descriptor. Straight and true, brilliant beneath the moon, but inflexible to a fault.” She grabbed the blade by the side and tried twisting it. “There is very little give to it. It would sooner break than bend.”

Von pulled up his blade and pressed it against the stone wall at a careful angle. “There is some give,” he noted. “It just needs to be pressed the right way.”

“Would you look at that,” she admitted, eyebrows raised in surprise, “it does.”

The two shared a concerned glance at what the sword represented. Dragon Tower was coming closer. The tournament Von promised to fight in to prove he could defeat Vandyr. Until now the two had avoided talking about it. Talla had tried not to think about it, but it had been pointless in the end. If Von lost, would he give up on fighting Vandyr? If so, there would be no connection between the two of them anymore. Nothing to justify her extended stay at Stormkeep.

“I have been looking at other elven cities,” she found herself muttering, as the two walked down the quiet hallways. “Museu seems like a livable city, as far as it goes for my kind. Worse off than Bosque, but they have enough people there to make the place functional enough.” As functional as an elven city would be these days.

They both stopped walking here.

Von hesitated. “Even if I am incapable of slaying Vandyr…that is no reason for you to leave, my lady. Stormkeep will have you for as long as you wish.”

“Von—“

“Master Cycle’s training would help you become stronger,” he said, quickly. “And it would benefit the Stormlands to provide a form of aid to erasing the Deathless Curse, anyhow, it would be mutually beneficial, and—“

She held up her palm and he stopped. “Von,” Talla began gently, “your friendship has been the most unexpected treasure I found in the Stormlands.”

“Then why—“

“Because I value it.” Talla had given this matter more thought than she wished. “Do not take this as a criticism of your behavior,” she warned him, before going on, “but as long as I am your guest, I cannot be your equal.”

“That is not—“

Again she held up her palm and again he stopped. “I would like to talk to you and address you as my friend,” Talla said quietly. “And if I stay here without a reason, my thankfulness would prevent me from doing so. You would not be ‘my kind friend.’ You would be ‘my honorable lord.’”

Von opened his mouth as if to shoot back a quick reply but stopped himself. He turned his gaze to the floor and nodded twice before looking back at her. “Aye, my lady. I understand. Truly.” The intensity behind those grey eyes of his left no doubt as to his sincerity. “Nonetheless, I…” He hesitated. “What good is this power of mine if I cannot even use it to help those I care about? What good is a lord if he cannot even provide bread and fire for those he cares for?” He shook his head. “I do not want you to be my guest, Talla. You are…the first true friend I have memory of making. I would like Stormhelm, if not Stormkeep, to be your home.”

So would I. Stormhelm was a grey, bleak city. There was hardly much to do and the people were stoic and cold when they weren’t drunk and rowdy. But there was no hunger and children walked down the streets smiling. There are even some houses made of wood past the Catapult Line, she thought, allowing herself to dream for a moment. Elves were not loved there but she escaped most if not all glares. Her duel with Ardente and Von’s protection amounted to much. She felt more comfortable there than in Bosque, surrounded by so much misery and Elders who did not care to fix it. “I would create much trouble for you, my lord,” Talla said quietly. “Even if you do not marry the demon woman, one day you will marry some noble lady. Would a Stormener woman take kindly to you keeping an elven woman in the castle?”

“If she did not, I would not marry—“

“My presence would dishonor her,” Talla said simply. Von looked at her in shock. “Already loose tongues spread rumors, my lord. They think you bed me every night and have taken a taste for elven beauty. I would not have blamed you for having such a justifiable preference, of course,” she said through a smirk, knowing Von would blush, “but we know that is not the case. Rumors spread, however. It would be honorable to demand your wife does not object to a friend, yes…but would it be honorable to ask her to suffer the brunt of it? Would you be able, Von of Redgrave, to ask of your wife to withstand the mockery? To know that many tongues across the Six Princedoms speak of her as the spurned woman whose charms her husband ignores for elven touch?” She stepped forward and gently cupped his face with her hand, rubbing it gently with her thumb. “Would you be able to ask her not to mind when I do this?”

He would not and they both knew it. She let go of his face.

The Second Lord of Stormkeep gaped at her open-mouthed. Much he had considered, and often he thought, but this was not one of those times. It had taken him by surprise as she knew it would. He wanted to be a just lord and a just friend at once. But those two were often in conflict. “I am a landless elf. We do not have titles in the Woodlands and there is little to my name. If you are to slay Vandyr, my presence here can be ignored.” Even then it had been getting difficult, but it was enough reason for her to force it. I don’t want to leave if I can avoid it. “But if I have no reason for being here my presence would be troublesome. And I would not do that to you.”

“My lady, I…” Von trailed off and then stood straighter, more confident. He was speaking to her as Von no longer, but as the Lord of Stormkeep. “Your position is fair.” The words hung in the air for a moment. “But there are two matters we must address.”

“And they are?”

“First, that this conversation will not matter should I win at Dragon Tower.” There was a blaze of confidence in his eyes. “And I do not intend to lose.”

She nodded and smiled. “That would be fantastic, my lord.”

“Second, that to declare yourself without purpose because I failed at winning at Dragon Tower is premature. What if my loss happens, but shows enough growth that I might yet fight Vandyr after some more training?”

“I may have lost to the human, but I learned a lot from that fight,” Kai told her, grinning. “I know it will be harder without a Royal Heartbeat, but I am still convinced I have a shot at Vandy.

The memory flashed in her mind, followed by the memory of the beaten, bloodied body that crawled back to Bosque, forever changed.

“No,” she said firmly. “No. I…not without a Royal Heartbeat.” This did bring up a separate question that was not fit for the occasion: what had happened to Von’s Royal Heartbeat? He lost at Blade Valley, true, but the top eight gained their prize regardless. Another time. “Please. You surely understand why.”

He nodded. “Still, there would be other uses—Stormkeep could help you in securing another swordsman to defeat Vandyr. You could be a swordsmanship instructor here, Master Cycle barely accepts students, we could use a second one. We have other resources that could help as well.” He took a step closer. “All I say, my lady, is that we must not rush down our least preferred path and call it maturity. If that is the only option, yes, we shall—but it is too early to say so and pessimism does not show our thoughtfulness. May we speak more of this?”

You can be quite the convincing lord when you want to. “Of course, my lord.” That didn’t sound right. “Of course, Von.” They both smiled. “But this might be a long conversation and I would rather it is not overheard—may we—?”

He nodded. “My chambers.” It was more spacious than hers and had access to enough ink and parchment in case they needed to write down some details of their planning. “Let us.”

It did not take long before they reached Von’s quarters. “You have grown, Von,” Talla said before they went in. “It just occurred to me that you should hear it. Despite your best attempts at claiming not to be a proper lord, you act like one often enough.”

His smile showed more of an embarrassed pride than she had seen him display before. “Thank you, my lady,” he said quietly. This meant more to him than she had expected. “And soon we will find out how much I have grown as a swordsman.” He used his key to unlock the door and turned doorknob. “You never know, we might end up fighting against each other,” he said with a chuckle as he went through the doorway.

“If that is the case, I do not intend on holding back,” she laughed along with him.

“I would expect nothing—“ Von looked in front of him and froze in horror.

Talla followed after him inside the room and asked, “What’s wrong—“ before also freezing.

Alayne of Milvidas was lying on her stomach on Von’s bed, her right knee slightly bent to point her foot to the ceiling, her stupefied eyes staring at the two of them in horrified shock, and perhaps slightly underdressed for the occasion. That is one way to try to secure a marriage alliance, Talla thought, almost impressed. How did she even get into his room?