“I’d like to see it,” Cazio said.
Malconio smiled. “Go on,” he said. “Azdei, until I see you next.” Cazio clasped his brother’s hand, then trudged back up from the strand to where the others waited.
There was only one road out of Duvre, and it was really no more than a narrow track. Cazio led the way, leading their newly purchased donkey, sparing one glance back at his brother’s ship before they entered the trees above the village. He saw Malconio, a tiny figure, working with his men.
Then he turned his eyes to the road ahead of him.
The forest soon gave way to rolling fields of wheat. They saw a few distant houses, but no village even the size of Duvre. Dusk found him building a campfire beneath an apple tree so ancient its lower limbs had drooped to the ground.
Anne hadn’t said much since she lost her hair. Cazio had never seen a woman without hair and he didn’t like the look. It was better when she wrapped the scarf on her head.
He tried to start a conversation with her once or twice, but her answers were terse and didn’t go anywhere.
Austra was quiet, too. He gathered the two girls had had some sort of fight on the ship, and both were still sulking about it. He wondered if the fight had been over him. Austra was taking very well to his attentions; if Anne was jealous, she wasn’t showing him, but she could be taking it out on Austra.
Which left z’Acatto, who had grumbled drunkenly at having been roused from his stupor, but who by the time they started setting up camp was getting pretty garrulous. When Cazio drew Caspator and began a few exercises, the old man grunted, came to his feet, and drew his own blade.
“I saw you attack with the z’ostato the other day,” he said.
“I did,” Cazio said.
“That’s a foolish attack,” z’Acatto said. “I never taught you that.”
“No,” Cazio agreed. “It was something one of Estenio’s students tried on me.”
“Uh-huh. Did it work?”
Cazio grinned. “No. I replied with the pero perfo and let him impale himself.”
“Of course. Once your feet leave the ground, you can no longer change direction. You sacrifice all your maneuverability.”
“Yes.”
Z’Acatto made a few passes in the air. “Then why did you do it?” he asked.
Cazio thought back, trying to remember. “The knight almost had Anne,” he said, after a moment. “I might have reached him with a lunge, but my point would not have pierced his armor and the force of the blow wouldn’t have been enough to stop him. But with the whole weight of my body behind my tip, I was able to topple him. I think I crushed his windpipe through his gorget, too, but since he was a devil of some sort, that didn’t matter.”
Z’Acatto nodded. “I never taught you the z’ostato, because it is a foolish move when fencing with rapiers. It is not so foolish when fighting an armored man with a heavy sword.”
Cazio tried to hide his astonishment. “Are you saying I was right to use it?”
“You were right to use it, but you did not use it correctly. Your form was poor.”
“It worked,” Cazio protested.
Z’Acatto wagged a finger at him. “What was the first thing I told you about the art of dessrata?”
Cazio sighed and leaned on his sword. “That dessrata isn’t about speed or strength, but about doing things correctly,” he said.
“Exactly!” z’Acatto cried, flourishing his weapon. “Sometimes speed and strength may allow you to succeed despite poor form, don’t get me wrong. But one day you will not have that speed and strength, either because you are wounded, or sick—or old, like me. Better to prepare for it.”
“Very well,” Cazio conceded. “What did I do wrong?”
Z’Acatto set his guard stance. “It begins thus, with the back foot,” he began. “It must explode forward, and your arm must already be rigid and in line. You should make the attack to the outside line, not the inside, because it’s closer. After you strike, you pass, perhaps to thrust again from behind, perhaps merely to run away. Try it.”
Under the old man’s guidance, Cazio practiced the motion a few times.
“Better,” z’Acatto said. “But the leap should be more forward—you shouldn’t leave the ground so far behind. The more you go up, the slower it is, and above all this must be quick.”
“What is my target, on an armored man?” Cazio inquired.
“The gorget was a fair choice. If the arm is lifted, that’s good, too, right in the pit of it. If you’re behind, up under the helm. The back of the knee. The eye-slits, if you can hit them.”
Cazio grinned. “Didn’t you once teach me that one doesn’t fight a knight?” Cazio asked.
“One doesn’t fence with them,” Cazio replied. “That doesn’t mean you can’t kill them.”
“Except, apparently, in the case of our present enemies,” Cazio reminded him.
“Most of them are flesh and blood,” z’Acatto scoffed. “The others we merely need to decapitate. We know it can be done.”
He raised his rapier and held it above his head, hilt up and the tip pointed more or less at Cazio’s face. “If the broadsword is held like this, and he thrusts, don’t parry. Counterattack along his blade and void to the side. Never meet a broadsword with a simple parry. Use your feet—wait for the cut, then thrust, watch for the backswing.”
For the next two hours, by firelight, they played at rapier and broadsword, and for the first time in a long time, Cazio felt a return of the sheer joy of dessrata, of learning and practicing with his mestro.
Finally, panting, the old man retired his weapon to its scabbard. “Enough,” he sighed. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“A few more?” Cazio begged. “What if the blow comes from beneath, but—?”
“No, no. Tomorrow.” z’Acatto sagged down onto a rock, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.
“When did you fight knights, z’Acatto?” Cazio asked.
Z’Acatto just grunted and looked at the fire.
“Ospero called you Emratur. What did he mean by that?”
“That was a long time ago,” z’Acatto murmured. “Times I don’t like thinking of when I don’t have to.”
“You’ve never said anything about being a commander.”
Z’Acatto shook his head. “I just said I don’t like to talk about it, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” He got up, stretched out on his blanket, and closed his eyes.
Cazio watched him for a long while. The girls were already asleep. It looked like he had the watch.
The next day was cool and clear. The fields continued, and after a bell of traveling, they saw a castle on a distant hill. Cazio could make out the white walls and yellow roofs of a small town that lay beneath it.
Presently they reached a fork in the road. One path led toward the castle; the other continued straight.
“Straight on is our direction,” Cazio said.
“You’re awfully cheerful this morning,” Austra noticed. The two of them and the ass were somewhat ahead of the others. Anne was lagging back a bit, and seemed deep in thought. Z’Acatto was limping. “I suppose I am,” Cazio replied. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m in the company of a beautiful casnara, the sun is shining, and we’ve escaped danger, at least for the moment. Best of all, we’re not on a ship.”
“There is that,” Austra said.
“And all of this,” Cazio said, waving his arm about. “It’s a change. It’s certainly not Vitellio. Is Crotheny like this?”
Austra shook her head. “This is more like Vitellio, really,” she said. “Crotheny is wetter. There are more trees and the fields are greener, even this time of year. It’s colder there, too.”