She flicked a look at the two boys that made them turn their attention studiously to the food bowls in their lap. The brothers were well aware of the freedoms their mother’s busy schedule afforded them and of the chance that the arrival of their unknown uncle would curb the more excessive of their activities.
“I thank you, my sister” Faraj beamed. “You are generous as ever.”
He reached forward to pour the wine and, as he did so, caught and held the eyes of the twins while continuing to address their mother.
“The boys must miss their father terribly. I will do my best to fill that gap.”
Ghassan’s heart almost burst as he saw the wicked little secret smile their uncle flashed at them as he winked before straightening his face and turning away with the wine.
Samir and Ghassan listened half-heartedly to the rest of the conversation while sharing looks and unspoken thoughts. The meal progressed in quiet and polite tranquillity while their mother and uncle passed on every snippet of news they could think of and relived tales and events that pre-dated the boys. They waited patiently once they had finished until their mother noticed them and waved them casually away without interrupting her flow.
Samir and Ghassan rushed up the narrow stair case and into the small room that they shared, with its single rickety cupboard and two sleeping pallets covered with blankets. As soon as they closed the door, Samir turned to his brother and spoke excitedly under his breath.
“He’s a swordsman, Ghassan; a soldier. He can teach us to use a blade!”
He grinned at his brother, but realised that Ghassan had hardly heard him and was staring over his shoulder. Turning, he saw Asima sitting in the darkness of their room, wrapped in a blanket against the night chill that blew in through the window from the wide desert. Samir rolled his eyes as his brother walked over to the bed, sat against the wall and wrapped his arms around their guest.
Samir, his own mind racing through the days to come, imagining lessons in swordplay and uncle Faraj taking them to exciting places and buying them treats, sat across from the pair and pulled up his own blanket against the breeze.
He must have nodded off, for he woke with a start, shivering as he tightened his blanket. Outside, the town had gone quiet, just the distant ring of a bell or shout of a drunken reveller breaking the silence. The only other noise was the sound of quiet conversation floating up the stairs from the room below. Squinting into the darkness, he glanced across at the other bed. Ghassan was fast asleep, still slumped against the wall and with his arms protectively around Asima who hunched beneath a blanket, gripping his wrist lightly.
But her eyes were open.
And they were fixed on Samir.
He blinked in surprise. The smaller brother always lauded his twin’s intelligence, but he knew with unashamed certainty deep in his soul that, while Ghassan had a logical and retentive brain and would learn fast and easily, Samir was brighter. He would never remember a poem parrot-fashion like Ghassan, but his mind bridged gaps, solved puzzles and connected dots with lightning speed.
And he suddenly knew, just from one quick glance at Asima, that the girl may be seeking comfort from the strong brother, but her heart was already racing toward him.
A problem to be solved another day.
He closed his eyes and within moments he was dreaming once more of swinging a curved sword and standing on the ramparts of M’Dahz, defying the Pelasian warlords as they swarmed below him.
Some say that dreams can hold portents; glimpses of the world to come. Samir dreamed of many things that night; the last night the three would sit easily together.
In which things are learned, for better or for worse
The spring morning was glorious. It held that perfect blend. The sun shone bright in a deep blue sky and, though that was far from unusual in M’Dahz, the wind had turned north-easterly and was carrying a slightly salty but fresh and cooling breeze across the town and into the heartland of the desert. The meeting of scorching sun and cooling breeze was a welcome relief to the people and a note of positivity hung over the population as they went about their daily tasks.
The breeze was particularly strong up here on the tower of iron eagles, one of the more intact of the derelict turrets on the disused defensive walls of the town. The timber roof of the tower groaned under the load, but Faraj had assured the boys it was strong enough to take their combined weight several times over.
Samir squinted into the sun as he glanced along the line of the defences. He had dreamed more than once now of standing on these walls and fighting a heroic defence of M’Dahz. Fanciful, of course. From where he stood, the walls disappeared among the buildings of the city after the next two towers, where they had been used as the supporting walls of shops and houses. In the other direction the defences had entirely vanished after this point, leaving a long stretch of open land.
The clearing of a throat brought him back from his reveries. He turned to see uncle Faraj watching him with a raised eyebrow while Ghassan swept his wooden sword back and forth in practice swings.
Over the late winter and early spring, Faraj had quickly become an integral part of family life. The boys had almost forgotten what it had been like to have a father around, but everything had come flooding back with a welcome familiarity. The brothers had been as well behaved as possible for their uncle, reining in their more excessive habits. In return, Faraj had been thoughtful and kind and had begun taking the boys with him to interesting places and, when the occasion presented itself, buying them sherbet treats and fresh dates. But this was new and heart-stoppingly exciting. It was what Samir had been hoping for since that winter night when their uncle had first arrived.
It had taken only a few days after his arrival for Faraj to secure a position as a mercantile bodyguard, with reasonable pay and good working hours and, as the boys had watched him over the months, they had realised why Faraj had experienced no difficulty in finding worthy employment. One evening, as they had been returning from the late market, a slightly inebriated cutpurse had dashed out from an alley and attempted to rob them at knifepoint. By the time the boys had realised what was happening it was already over. Faraj had the man pinned to the wall by the neck with the flat of his sword, still in its sheath and attached to his belt. He had been that quick. Samir believed that it was this incident, when the boys would have been in grave danger without their uncle present, that had led eventually to the ex-soldier’s decision to teach them the rudiments of sword fighting.
Samir threw out his arm and shook it, freeing his muscles as much as possible. The wooden sword felt exceedingly heavy to him, but was excellently made. Had Faraj had a carpenter produce them or had he carved them himself?
Noting the glint of excitement in Ghassan’s otherwise sombre face, he stepped forward and hefted the sword.
“This is so heavy, if I swing it, I shall fall over, uncle.”
Faraj laughed.
“Then you will have to learn balance quickly. The sword is heavy, yes. Heavier than a real blade that size. What you have there is a replica Imperial short sword at one-and-one-third weight. Bear in mind that the curved desert sword on my back weighs more than twice that. But you’re right: you will find that the real Imperial blade is much lighter and easier to handle.”
Ghassan frowned.
“Then why practise with these?”
Their uncle smiled.
“Because you are lithe but not strong, either of you. Quick and supple, but without bulk. To hold your own in a real fight, you will also need power, and using this heavy sword will build your muscles. More than that; when I finally deem you ready for a real blade, you will find them so easy to use after the training sword that you will already have an extra edge.