[piosenniel]

4 Cermië

‘It would probably be more advantageous if you did not sigh quite so much Cami.’ Pio, her eyes glinting with mischief, looked critically at the Hobbit as Cami strapped on the extra vambraces given her. ‘Unless, of course, you mean for your foe to find some measure of concern for you and pitying you, throw down his weapons and surrender.’

Cami glared at the Elf, and pulled the straps tighter round her forearms. Pio gave her a wooden stave, the same length as the blade she had picked out for her. And pointing her own stave to a position several feet in front of her, she bade Cami take the same stance she had dropped into and raise her stave just so.

‘I will show you the proper ways to meet my advances on you and turn them. And after that, the proper ways for you to advance on me with an attack.’ Pio dipped her head slightly to Cami and the exercise began.

They worked slowly, back and forth across the Inn yard for the better part of an hour. Cami’s reflexes were good and she followed the instructions well. A short break, Cook had sent out cold drinks a plate of fruit for the two combatants, allowed Cami to regain some of her energy and Pio time to nurse to babies into a drowsy, happy state.

Snuggling the babies into their basket carrier, Pio placed them in the shade and pulled a light blanket over them. Tapping Cami on the back as she sat on the steps chewing on apple slices, she urged her friend to her feet, and threw her stave to her. ‘Let’s pick up the pace a little now.’

The back and forth sallies quickened, and the sharp crack of wood on wood could be heard beating out a rapid rhythm. Both combatants landed a fair number of blows on each other’s arms, though Cami wondered if these ‘lucky’ blows on her part were simply a ploy on the part of Pio to keep her going.

A number of patrons from the Inn had come out to lean on the porch railing, drinking their half-pints and commenting favorably on Cami’s ‘bladework’. As usual, a friendly round of wagering began, with the odds on favorite being the Elf to strike the most blows.

There was a general gasp from the crowd and then silence, when Pio announced to Cami it was time to get the feel of her steel. Again they took positions and went slowly through the paces, allowing Cami to get the heft and balance of her blade. The Hobbit soon realized that the weight of the blade was tiring her far more quickly than the lighter wood, and called a halt when her shoulders and arms burned from the strain of it.

Pio dropped the point of her blade to the ground and watched as Cami sat wearily on the steps, her sword neglected on the step below her. ‘It was a good workout, Cami. We’ll do another tomorrow.’ Cami groaned and rubbed her tired arms.

A snicker came from the crowd gathered at the end of the verandah. ‘Told ya she’d never last. Unnatural anyway. No female ought to be handling a sword. Pay up, Odo. I knew the Elf would best her.’

Willem Boffin held out his grimy hand to his cronies expecting to hear the clink of several silver pennies drop into it. Instead he watched as they backed away from him. ‘Well now, you welshing on our bet? Pay up, you . . .’ The rest of his words were cut off as the hilt of Cami’s blade met his outstretched hand.

‘Oh, they will pay up, sir. Right after you show them how good you are with a blade. You are a man, are you not?’ The tip of Pio’s blade nudged him low in the stomach. ‘And better than poor, weak, female Cami.’

Now the snickers were turned his way. And there were catcalls calling his bravery into question. Sweat broke out along his brow and his cheeks burned a dull red. Nothing to do but face the Elf in the Yard or run like some craven coward.

Cami was alarmed. She had seen that feral look in Pio’s eyes before and it did not bode well for the other Hobbit. She stood to make a protest, but Pio had already drawn him into the yard, and they were now ringed with spectators.

Pio held her sword lightly, its tip pointed toward his left shoulder. She circled, light on her feet, keeping her eyes on him as he swung his sword two handed at her. She parried his hamfisted thrusts and slashes easily, keeping a running commentary on his form, and every so often, dipping the tip of her blade in quickly, leaving a small bleeding scratch or rent in his clothing.

He grew angrier, his bladework choppier, driven more by his indignation than what small skill and brawn he possessed. Cami had pushed her way into the ring of spectators, and caught Pio’s eye. She shook her head ‘no’ hoping the Elf would relent and call the match off.

Willem took advantage of Pio’d lapse in attention and rushed in quickly toward her, blade swinging madly in a low arc. He managed to get past her inattentive defenses and cut a long gash on her thigh.

A sharp intake of breath was her only reaction to the injury. Ignoring the blood running down her leg, she dropped into a crouch and refocused her attention full on him.

‘Cami,’ she said quietly, circling round him with him once more, ‘we practiced the proper forms for blade work. But this was to be your next lesson – the expedient way of using your blade to disable your opponent.’

She stepped in quickly and blocked a blow from his weapon, then slapped him hard on his side with a quick blow from the flat of her blade, knocking the wind from him. Drawing even closer, she lashed out a leg, and hooking him behind the knee, sent him sprawling on his back, his blade clattering away as he fell. The flat of her own blade slapped down smartly across his throat as he lay there. She brought her face close to him, her hot breath in his ear.

‘Perhaps next time there will be some female to defend you, sir!’

Pio looked up at his cronies. ‘Get him up! And pay him his winnings. Take him into Prim, she’ll get him patched up.’ She clapped him hard on the shoulder, once he was standing, and smiled at him. ‘You’re not half bad, you know! Go in and have a pint on me.’ She nodded to his friends. ‘You, too.’

‘Well, ‘ she said, turning to Cami as she leaned heavily on the pommel of her sword, its tip secured in the bloodied dirt at her feet, ‘that was a pleasant diversion . . .’

[ May 18, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]