Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [87]
Frowning, Corin tried a simple parry and thrust combination. The wrist failed to turn properly, and the sword sliced the air at a completely ineffective angle.
"Don't think about it so much," the gnome advised. "Just relax. Don't try to steer it-let the limb think for itself"
Think for itself? Corin began to wonder how powerful Fendel's magic really was. Could the metal appendage actually be sentient?
While he was considering the ramifications of his new limb's potential intelligence, Corin's mind had ceased to focus on the mechanics of his stroke. The sword sliced through the air with a sharp swish. The wrist pivoted and the arm reversed its momentum, carving a path back against the original stroke. A difficult move, executed with near flawless precision.
Corin continued his exercises, running through the traditional positions and movements of his warrior training. Instead of trying to control the sword, he watched it, allowing the limb to move on its own, free from the fetters of his conscious mind.
"Gods," he muttered in awe as the weapon became a flickering, flashing reflection of light whirling through the air, battling a horde of imaginary foes. "It's a better soldier than I am!"
"I highly doubt that," Fendel replied. "It's just chawing on your own talent. If I tried to use it, I'd likely slice off the tip of my nose. It may not seem like it, but you do control the hand. The trick is to control it at a subliminal level."
With a simple, casual thought Corin caused the arm to cease its display of swordsmanship. The warrior built up a picture of an opponent in front of him-an amalgamation of all the nameless, anonymous foes he had fought and defeated countless times in his years as a White Shield. He engaged his imaginary opponent with a series of standard attack and defense combinations. A sweep at the knees, a reverse cut at the belt, a simple cross block, and a quick counter.
The arm responded, but its movements were sluggish. Corin tried to disengage his mind and attacked again. The sword became a blur of movement, a savage, overpowering attack, but not the moves Corin intended, or expected. He grimaced. If the arm insisted on executing moves he wasn't anticipating, he'd eventually leave himself vulnerable.
He tried again and again. Searching for the balance between conscious action and instinctive reaction. For a brief second, it was there. The sword flowed with the grace and lethal beauty of a true White Shield, executing an array of strikes, blocks, and counter-strikes that would render most opponents defenseless for the final blow.
When Corin drove home the final thrust to impale his phantom foe, the blow went awry. Lethal, probably, but not a clean kill. He swore in frustration and hurled his sword to the ground.
"What good is an arm if it wields a sword like an undisciplined rookie recruit? I'd be better off using my left hand!"
The gnome scowled at Corin as he bent to pick up the blade. "Keep practicing," he spat, jamming the hilt back into the cold fingers of the metal arm. Then, in a softer voice he added, "Just trust your instincts."
Corin bowed his head in embarrassment at his outburst. Only a fool thought he could use a weapon without many, many hours of practice.
"Fendel," he said intently, "your creation is truly amazing. Eventually, I'm sure it will be of great use to me, but I don't have the time to master it right now. We have to go after Lhasha."
"Keep at it," the gnome said, reaching up to give Corin a pat on the shoulder. "I don't want to leave until dark, anyway. Xiliath probably has eyes on every street corner, and we can't risk him seeing us go into the tunnels. You've still got a few hours."
Nodding, Corin resumed his drills, though he expected it to be an exercise