The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [36]
Faster and faster the master swordsman drilled, until a single bead of sweat began to make its appearance on his forehead.
"Halt!" he ordered, as he brought both blades to a simultaneous standstill, his shoulder muscles almost spasming at the added exertion that was required to stop their rapid motion.
As was typical of this daily ritual, Fullstaff had stopped their movement in mid-twirl, and had finished with the two broadswords crossed, barely one inch apart, elbows at his sides, arms crossed back at the wrists, and the blades resting a fraction of inch from the master swordsman's vein-mottled nose.
Without a word from their master, the two well-trained servants quickly stepped forward, and each accepted a broadsword. They then reverentially placed them in their scabbards, and fetched the next two weapons the master needed.
Poins handed Fullstaff a saber, as Hal placed a dagger in his master's palm.
Brandishing the saber he made a series of practice slashes from side to side as he tossed the dagger hilt-over-blade several times, his head never moving from its eyes-forward placement as the blades flew through the air like well-practiced falcons.
"Now!" he instructed, and the two servants threw a melon and an apple at the master.
The melon was slashed in two, while the dagger claimed the apple, catching it fast to the point. Fullstaff paused for a fraction of a second while the two servants once again stepped forward, this time to retrieve the two melon halves.
They were no sooner back in their place than the master swordsman tossed the dagger-bisected apple into the air and quickly slashed it in mid-flight, chopping the apple in two, and freeing the dagger blade from its fructose prison. As the two halves of the apple fell to the ground, he plucked the simultaneously falling dagger out of the air, catching it twixt two fingers on its blade point.
This was followed by similar drills with rapiers, epees, axes, and scimitars. As the pile of sliced fruit grew, so did the beads of sweat on the master swordsman's brow.
The final drill involved a complicated sword maneuver where Fullstaff caught ten daggers thrown one at a time by the two servants twixt the blades of two sabers, being careful to nick nary a blade, nor allowing any of them to make contact with the ground.
When the drill was over, Fullstaff had five daggers in each hand, as well as the saber securely brandished therein.
"Enough!" the master swordsman announced, and Hal and Poins quickly accepted the many bladed weapons from their master. As Poins gathered up the lethal practice weapons, Hal fetched a towel, and wiped his master's brow.
"That felt wonderful!" the former gladiator exclaimed. He loved the feeling of sweat on his brow and his chest, and revelled in the scent of his own manly perspiration. "Well done fellows! Well done!"
The two servants bowed as was their routine. They were as practiced at Fullstaff's mid-morning workout as the master swordsman was himself. Neither said a word throughout all the maneuvers, realizing that a single distraction, mistake or slip could cause either their own injury or death or that of the master they loved dearly.
Fullstaff slipped out of his robe, and toweled off his bare and glistening chest. Poins was in place with a heavier robe, while Hal set a pair of sandals at his feet.
Robe-clad and belted, feet shod in sandals, the master swordsman stretched again.
"I think I'll sit outside while Hotspur finishes his breakfast preparations," he bellowed in a friendly tone.
"As you wish,