Fencing Academy Pt. 01

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Where love and honor meet, blood is spilled.
10.7k words
4.63
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Part 1 of the 4 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 04/22/2014
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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you for reading this! This is the prologue of a new erotically-charged low-magic fantasy series, full of sex, violence, politics and intrigue: my favorite kind of story. I was going to make this into an AIF game, but it turned out to be too complicated, but the idea was too good to pass up. This particular tale takes place two years before the events of the next chapter. There isn't any sex right now, but I hope this whets your appetite for more.

Edited by Bert Fegg, something of an eccentric genius.

###

The peninsula of Zachon is a land of brooding forests, low, jagged mountains, ruined castles and a dour, serious folk. But from anywhere in this land a line of smoke was always visible, like a black tear in the sky. To follow it leads to Rotham, the city built on blood and iron and lead. Here, coal powers the city's machines in the day, filling the crooked streets with the metallic din of heavy machinery. At night, electric lamps buzz and cut islands through the gloom. Whores, murderers, rakes and thieves stalk in this artificial twilight. Blood cements itself between the stones of cobbled streets.

Lyza had returned home.

She had fled Rotham as a girl with one family name, and in amongst the mossy ruins of Arbalea she chose another. As she stepped down the plank, she wondered what her next would be.

"Dunwall," she said. That had been the last name of a kind old man she'd made friends with, his only possessions a carving knife and a sack of potatoes. He'd scrape the skin off the potatoes until they were like perfect little spirals on the ground. When he was done, he'd give her half while he had the other. They were hard and dry, but spiced by generosity; she had never had better, hungry and poor as she was.

It was a time like that the old man pointed at her rapier. "That's a fancy sword."

Lyza was sitting on the rough-hewn planking, beneath the decks, nursing the blade on her lap.

"His name is Brass Pig. My dad gave him to me," she replied.

He chuckled at the name, and spoke in a sing-song voice. "Ah, I see why you keep him, then," he said pulling a new potato from the sack and sinking his knife into it, "I was thinkin' you'd sell him, but you'd lose those memories, wouldn't you?"

The burlap sack was a large, lumpy thing, threadbare in parts, but it hadn't left his side the entire trip. The man had no sea legs and little strength to pull it top deck, so he had stayed in the hold. Lyza nodded at it."Your father give you those potatoes?" she asked.

The old man Dunwall laughed. "Her name is Sack of Potatoes. My father's farm did, but I couldn't keep a hold of that," he said sadly. He looked again the blade, his eyes tracing the intricate brass wiring around the guard. "Someone'll try to kill you for that sword."

"Let 'em try, I'm good for it," she grinned toothily, pulling Brass Pig just a tad from its scabbard.

The old man looked her up and down. His eyes were clouded with a gray film, but she could tell they must have once been a brilliant blue years ago. After that long and strange appraisal he closed his eyes and nodded, like he had come to some realization.

"Ah, I see, you're a virgin."

Lyza's eyes flared, and recoiled defensively. "Wot... wot... you sick old man, wot's that gotta do with anything?"

The man chuckled as he returned his attention to the potato. "You mistake me. There are two sorts of virginity in Rotham. The one sort when you're with someone you love y'see, but what I'm talking about is the second sort, the one you lose when you're with someone you hate. The innocence that flees you when you end your first life."

Lyza nodded slowly and with understanding. "Ah, I see..." she sniffed, "I'm a virgin both ways then."

That was their last conversation. The old man was dead the next morning, a smile on his face and his final potato clutched in his hand, white and skinless. They lowered him into the sea after that, potato and all. He left a last will and testament on his person, a barrister who happened to be on the ship read it declared all his earthly possessions were now Lyza's.

They gave Lyza his sack of potatoes.

Lyza could count her possessions on one hand: Brass Pig and his scabbard, rags, potatoes and counting beans. The beans were important, because if she encountered numbers past ten she ran out of fingers. She couldn't do letters, either, but that was normal for an orphan girl.

The sack of potatoes shifted ponderously on her shoulders as she walked onto the wharf. The passengers stood in loose lines, awaiting the attention of a customs officer with a pointy goatee that glared at her from his desk. They moved slowly, but soon she was face-to-face with the man. On his fancy blue tunic he wore a badge bearing a peacock. The peacock was a symbol of Rotham, she'd heard, and marked a person who worked for the government.

"What's your name?" he asked, a posh reservoir pen dancing in his fingers.

"Lyza Dunwall, if it pleases you."

The officer didn't say if it pleased him or not. He just bellowed, "Weapons?"

"I got one," she said.

The officer eyed the sword at her belt.

She opened her sack. "These potatoes are hard as rock. You throw these at someone's head it's bound to break a skull."

The officer did not seem amused. He gestured at the scabbard. "What's that you're wearing?"

"Oh that? Nothing but a toy sir. My daddy didn' let me have a real sword."

The officer frowned, his goatee retreating up his chin. "Could I take a look at it?"

There was no way that Lyza could refuse, and the officer reached to pull Brass Pig from her regardless. He held the blade to the light, and watched it ripple across the surface like water.

"Hand-forged, sturdy grip, beautiful artistry..." he remarked. He stroked the edge, and flinched when he cut skin. "Bloody sharp too. What was an urchin like you planning on doing with a weapon like this?"

Lyza smiled innocently. "Oh, it's just fer meself."

To Lyza's horror, the officer slipped Brass Pig into his own belt, with an ingratiating frown. "This should have been confiscated before you got on the boat."

It was as if another memory of her father had been snatched from her. Her legs tensed and fingers twitched, she was prepared to spring at him. "That was me father's blade, sir..." she said darkly.

The customs officer patted the hilt. "Your father's toy, you said it yourself. And you've grown too old for toys."

Lyza made a grab for it, but the officer drew back quickly and slapped her across the face hard, so hard she stumbled into some guards. They both gave cruel chuckles as they took her by the arms and dragged her from the harbor. "Gimmee my sword, gimmee my sword you sad cocksucker!" she shouted and cursed at the officer, but he merely stroked his goatee and moved onto the next immigrant.

The guards threw her onto the street, followed by her sack of potatoes, knocking the wind out of her. They really are as hard as rocks, she thought as she pushed them off her back. She wanted to sling one of them at the guards to see if they really could break a skull, but of course, they had swords and guns and she didn't.

###

The potatoes were so dry they crumbled in Lyza's mouth. It was like chewing through wall plaster, and each swallow was forced. The labor caused her jaw to ache afterward. She would sell her soul to the Darkness itself if she could get a mug of ale to wash it down with.

But in Lyza's experience neither the Darkness nor the Saints of Light answered any of her prayers. Which was odd, considering how the priests were always droning on about how the Darkness was around every corner, always hungry for souls to steal. Maybe only some sorts of darkness were special.

"Darkness, you wanna sack o' potatoes?" she tried half-heartedly. No answer.

Somewhere out there in the sea of murkiness, an idjit screamed in despair, a long one like an animal howl. Definitely got stabbed, prolly a murder, she thought idly as she forced another chunk of potato into her mouth. She imagined it being the customs officer, crying like a babe while the ghost of her father pulled Brass Pig from his fat chest.

She was hungry still, but full enough. She had to make sure there were enough potatoes. Tomorrow morning, she would need to find a flesh-and-blood buyer for them.

###

There were many streetside markets near the harbor. This was a fish district, and fish they sold by the hundreds, in varying degrees of freshness. It was the first time she felt like she was at home since she got here. Arbalea had a big fish market too, but the fish there were bigger and meatier and heartier. Rotham's fish were smelly and stunted. It was not surprising. Arbalea's waters were blue and clean. Rotham's Blackwater river was a sewer so thick and putrid it moved like molasses.

She chanced a bystander. "You want this sack of potatoes?" she hawked, "Two pounds!"

"Is that a joke?" remarked the bystander as he hurried past.

She spat at his shadow, then tried the next one. "Sack of potatoes! Two pounds! Two pounds!"

"I'll trade you that sack for this one," said a voice from behind.

She spun around.

The man had a rash of dark stubble around his square chin, a shock of hair as brown as it was lustrous. His white shirt was open at his neck, revealing a tuft of chest hair. His eyes and lips were full of mischief.

Most importantly, he had a sword at his belt.

"Wot's in yer sack?" she asked.

"I'm not telling you," he said.

The burlap sack at his feet certainly looked full of... something. And heavy.

"You tryin' to cheat me?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes."

She had to laugh. "Now I'm curious. Wot's worth less than a sack of potatoes?"

The man grinned. He had nice teeth, strange enough, like little pieces of white stone. They stood out well against his sunkissed skin. "You'll have to do the swap to find out."

"You cheeky bastard," she huffed, not able to stop herself from smiling, "What makes you think I'm so stupid as to take you up on your offer?"

He cocked his head at her. "Oh, maybe that you're trying to sell a sack of potatoes for two pounds."

The reason she chose that number was that, at the very least, she could count to two, and she

knew a pound was a lot, and so at the very least she wasn't going to get swindled. But she said:

"Two pounds is a fair price."

"Yeah... for a potato farm," he said chuckling, "Who taught you numbers?"

"Oh I'm just a natural methinks."

"What's six and five?"

"Go fuck yerself," said Lyza, folding her arms and growing red.

The man laughed hard, and it stung more because he was also handsome. Of all the orphans that thronged Arbalea's streets, she was the worst of all counters. "Hopeless," it was said of her. They thought her an idjit because of it, no matter how quick her tongue and how tough she was.

When he was done, he walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. His hands were heavy and warm.

"What you need is someone who's going to sell these for you," he said, "and we can split the profits in half. But first, you have to trade me that sack for my sack."

Her arms were still folded as she looked dubiously at heap of burlap. What's worth less than a sack of potatoes? Unless it's not about the sack...

"Alright, gimme that thing," she relented.

The man brightened and they took the other's sacks. Lyza found his surprisingly light, and when she opened it up, her heart sank.

"It's a sack, full o' sacks..." she said, pulling out a crumpled piece of burlap.

The man bowed deeply, too deeply to be serious. "Liam Waters at your service, heir to a sack empire. You might know my father. Jon Waters, famous sack merchant."

Lyza raised an eyebrow. "Y'sell sacks?"

Liam Waters shook his head. "No. My father sells sacks."

"My name is Lyza... Dunwall," she said, then added, "I'm not the heir of anything."

###

Liam Waters had a clever scheme going. He divided the big sack of potatoes into many, smaller ones. Then he began to sell them all individually. They managed to find a place to hawk their wares... just outside the brick wall of a foundry. There was plenty of traffic but the town guard didn't venture here, it being just between precincts.

Business was brisk. An old peasant woman with a moustache was molesting a sample of their wares aggressively, sucking at her own lip as if she couldn't decide what she felt about them.

"Do you mistake me for a general? Are you trying to sell me cannon balls?" she said finally, "Those are as hard as iron."

Liam laughed falsely. It was different from how he laughed with her. "Of course. They're supposed to be. These are special mashing potatoes from... a valley way north called... Northvalley."

The old lady's eyes flickered to life. "Mashing potatoes? Northvalley?"

Liam nodded. "Oh yes. Northvalley mashing potatoes. Very famous. You won't find Northvalley mashing potatoes any cheaper than here. Snows have closed off the valley for the winter, y'see, so there's no more for the season."

"Oh!" remarked the old lady, "Northvalley, you said? Very fancy. I'll take two sacks."

The old woman poured her payment into Liam's fingers like water. When the old lady was gone, he divided the coins into two piles, one for him, one for Lyza.

Lyza tried to compare the sizes of the two piles. They looked equal, but Lyza would need to get out her counting beans to know for sure. Such a count would take hours for her.

"How do I know yer not cheating me?" she said with a cocked eyebrow.

Liam rolled his eyes as he shoved the old woman's coins into a purse. "Please, Lyza. I'm trying to get away from the merchant business, not back into it."

"So wot are you tryin' to get into, then?" she asked.

Liam pulled out his sword and lifted it into the air. The sunlight shone blindingly off the blade. He seemed so proud, like he was looking at himself in ten years, somewhere in that blue sky.

"I want to be a professional duelist," he declared, "What sort, I don't know yet. Maybe a performer. Maybe some noble's champion."

Yer head's in the clouds, she wanted to say, but she ended up nodding, saying, "Sounds fascinating."

He slipped the sword back in with a clink. "I'm saving up to go to the right school. I don't want to start my career in some back alley..."

Lyza let him talk, and instead she watched the passersby... the dockworkers, the old women, the fishmongers and the beggars, all moving past each other in a noisy, chaotic procession. She regretted asking him about where he wanted to go, she hated it when people started talking about their dreams. She knew why too, she didn't have any of her own except dreams of blood and vengeance, of plunging her blade into the hearts of the filth that took her family away...

"...I've even picked out the school I want to go to. The Sunderland School of Fencing, to study under the famous Sara Sunderland..."

...But they had taken away Brass Pig from her, too. She'd defended and hid him for so long, from bandits and thieves and jealous children, even when she was too young to defend herself she'd make sure that blade was safe. It was almost as if the sword wasn't there to protect her, but she was there to protect it. But it wasn't a ruffian who ended up prying it from her, it was the law and pieces of paper.

"...and I've heard the Duchess goes there too..."

Her ears suddenly pricked up.

"I'm sorry, wot didja say?" asked Lyza, scarcely believing what she had just heard.

Liam blinked at her. "I said, the Duchess goes there too..."

Lyza suddenly stood up and shook Liam by the shoulders. "Which Duchess? Which!"

Liam spoke through the shaking. "Adriana Challette, Grand Duchess of Rotham..."

Thank you Light, or Darkness, whichever one of you did this...

Lyza burst out laughing. "That's great!" she said, grabbing Liam by his collar and kissing him straight on the lips. She would've done it longer, too, if he'd kissed her back. His eyes widened so much Lyza couldn't help but think it was cute. "Wonderful! I've always wanted to meet the Duchess. I've got to so much to share with her..."

...Like a knife in the ribs...

Liam scratched his head, his lips formed into a deep frown. "Yeah, but by the time we scrounge enough money to go, the Duchess will have long graduated..."

"No, no, no..." panicked Lyza, feeling the opportunity slipping, "we need to meet the Duchess. You're clever! Tell me wot I can do, and I know we can put together the money!"

Liam shrugged. "Well, what are your skills?"

I was trained by the greatest fencer that has ever lived, she thought.

"I'm pretty good at that," she said, pointing a crooked finger at Liam's sword.

Liam glanced down at his sword. He unbuckled it and allowed Lyza to pull it from its sheathe. When she put her fingers on the cold metal she immediately felt herself again. The sound of the metal sliding against leather was like her father's own voice. Holding a sword in her hands gave her feelings of power, like it was a lightning rod filling her muscles with thunder. She watched the light play across the surface. It did not ripple like Brass Pig did, being factory-forged with a steel was not of such exceeding quality, but still impressive.

She swung, slashing an eight into the air, the cut smooth and graceful.

"You certainly look comfortable with it..." he said, as though mesmerized by the tip of her sword.

"I've been fightin' since I was a wee age," she reported, grunting as she hacked through the air, "a sword is like me own arm."

Liam was staring now, bewildered. She shot him a warning look as she slipped the sword back into his scabbard.

"I hope you're not seeing me as some sorta sheathe, too," she lowered her voice, eyes narrow.

Liam shook himself out of the trance. "No... I'm just shocked that a girl who can't count has such a... such a... refined technique..."

Lyza sat cross-legged on the ground. "Yeah, you get to be refined real quick when you're alone on the streets."

That was half a lie. Her father taught her the blade, for just two years before they took his head off... enough time for Lyza to have mastered the basics. The rest of her education she received fending off bullies and predatory adults alike. I never killed nobody, though.

Liam looked out and pondered something. She noticed when he was pensive he'd start rubbing the hilt of blade like it was a knob... or his cock. Lyza wondered briefly what it looked like... she didn't want to touch it, just look at it a bit.

"I have a plan," he said finally, "but it's dangerous, risky, and illegal."

Lyza grinned. "Good. My favorite sort o' plan."

###

It had been a long time since Lyza had a mark. She had indulged in a bit of thievery in Arbalea, mostly a few coins from a pocket here and there. Liam's plan felt familiar to her in that way, but it was not pockets she was after.

Just as Liam had said, a lady nob with a towering bun of golden hairs and white dress, followed by a female bodyguard, emerged from the tailor's at the far end of the street. The nob's face was severe and narrow, her long nose crumpled up at the nostrils. The bodyguard was easier on the eyes, she had a broad cinnamon face with her long brown hair held back by a band, and curvy hips knotted by fitness...

Lyza turned her eyes. She waited for her pulse to slow and the thoughts to fade. There was a task at hand. The first part will be easy. No, a delight.

Lyza lifted herself from the barrel she sat on, summoned the phlegm from the back of her throat, strode up to the lady nob and propelled a yellow-green wad at her boots.