L. E. Modesitt - The Order War

Justen hung the leather apron on one of the pegs and pulled on the ragged exercise shirt. Then he took the battered red-oak staff from where it leaned in the back corner of his narrow, open closet.

The armory all right? asked Warin.

Fine. It's old enough.

What does that have to do with anything? The older engineer pulled on a loose, padded tunic, then lifted a gleaming black staff, bound with recessed iron bands, from his closet.

Practicing with staffs is good exercise, but it's quaint, like the armory. What good is a staff when you're faced with rockets or shells-or with that fire the White Wizards throw? It's just a relic from the time when anyone who had a different thought was tossed into exile. Justen twirled the staff close enough to Warin that the older engineer stepped back. Then he thrust the battered red-oak length theatrically toward his closet, Take that, you White villain!

Warin laughed. Let's go.

With an exaggerated shrug, Justen followed him out of the engineering hall and onto the front porch.

Going to get some exercise? asked the tall, muscular woman. Must be that you don't work hard enough here. We'll let you two take the place of the rolling mill, if you need the work.

You need a different kind of workout, Altara honey, replied Warin.

I'm willing, Warin, but you'd be in two kinds of trouble. Even if you could walk home, Estil wouldn't leave enough of you to feed the crabs.

The two apprentices behind the senior engineer laughed.

You got me there, Altara. Even young Justen's kinder and easier on me. Warin took three dancing steps down the stone stairs to the stone walkway. A stiff breeze ruffled the wispy blond hair that remained on his head.

Don't let him fool you, Justen, called Altara as Justen followed Warin down the stone-paved walk that led to and across the High Road, the grand highway that connected both ends of the island nation.

Don't let her fool you, Warin said, then paused and looked up the long slope. The highway was clear in the spring twilight, no wagons, no horses, just stone blocks still close-fitted after centuries of use. She'll be over practicing with us before long.

Justen suppressed a grin. Almost every day after work, he and Warin sparred while Altara made wise remarks before joining the dozen or so regulars working out with staffs or wands. And almost every day, Warin said that Altara would be following them to exercise. Was all life a long series of repeated words and actions? Shaking his head, Justen twirled the staff, then dropped it against the stone and caught it on the rebound.

Hard on the staff, Warin commented.

But it's fun. After all, it's not as though I'll ever have to use a staff for anything serious. Justen paused before the open doors of the armory, glancing at the black stone that showed no apparent age for all of the centuries that had passed since Dorrin or one of the other original engineers had ordered and laid it-except that probably the great Dorrin hadn't done much of the stonework himself. He'd doubtless been too busy building the famous Black Hammer.

Warin continued into the armory, and Justen hurried his steps to catch up.

You never know. Warin stepped onto the open expanse of the practice floor, setting his staff against the wall and beginning a limbering routine.

Know what? asked Justen, following the older man's example and swinging his arms to loosen the tightness in his shoulders.

When you might need that staff, young fellow.

In the far comer, a group of ships' marines exercised, led by Firbek, a big blond giant with the build of a Feyn River farmer. Justen paused and checked his boot laces, then watched as the marines swarmed up the ropes hung from the high beams.

He snorted, thinking to himself: It's been years, maybe centuries, since we've had to board anyone's ships in real force. Then he frowned, recalling his adventure on the Llyse, before chuckling as he realized how grumpy and serious his thoughts were. And what are you doing, Justen, old man? Waving around an oak toothpick that's just as obsolete.

He continued stretching, grunting as the exercises pulled at muscles tightened by his work at the engineering forge.

Already you're showing how out of trim you are. You should be easy pickings, gloated Warin before walking toward the empty northeast corner, farthest from the marines.

Justen picked up his staff and followed. He wiped his hands dry, squared his feet and raised his battered staff, nearly a cubit shorter than the shimmering black wood lifted by Warin.

How you manage with that little twig, I don't know. The black staff whistled around.

Justen parried, then slid his staff and countered.

Warin stepped back, off balance, and Justen eased forward, feet balanced. For a time, the thrusts, blocks, and parries alternated.

Darkness ... good ... for a young fellow. Who... says it's... useless ...

Need ... the exercise ... Justen panted in return, barely managing a parry of Warin's thrust, sliding under the older man's guard and tapping his ribs.

Ooooo... that could have hurt. Warin straightened and took several deep breaths.

Justen bent forward and gasped for air. As he repositioned himself, his eyes flicked to the open armory door to see Altara enter, alone and carrying both a staff and the hilled wand used for blade practice. Ready? asked Warin. All right.

Warin's staff swept forward, and Justen danced backward, his eyes half on the other side of the armory.

The blond marine had detached himself from his troops and walked over to Altara. Altara? Firbek bowed deeply. Would you care to spar?

Not with staffs.

I'd be honored to use wands.

At the word wands, Justen glanced toward the center of the armory, then dropped his shoulder and barely managed to deflect Warin's staff. Justen? Are you all right?

Sorry... just wasn't paying attention.

We can stop.

For a moment... Justen let the end of his staff rest on the clay floor, packed hard by the feet of generations of practicing engineers.

Warin followed Justen's eyes toward the pair in the middle of the armory.

Wands? mused Altara. I suppose so ... if you're not out for blood.

Would I attempt that against a master engineer? Firbek smiled broadly.

Justen shook his head. Firbek's words felt wrong.

Warin looked from Justen to the center of the armory. They're just sparring.

I hope so. Justen lifted his staff and walked toward the marine and the engineer as their wands crossed, uncrossed, and crossed.

With a sudden thrust - and - slash motion, Firbek's wand brushed past Altara's and slammed into her right shoulder.

Altara dropped her wand, stepping sideways involuntarily.

Firbek's follow-through continued as if he had not been able to halt the motion, and the wand snapped toward Altara's leg.

Oooo... The engineer glared at Firbek. That's enough. I won't be able to lift the arm without hurting, and probably won't walk straight for weeks.

Justen turned and handed his staff to Warin. Hold this.

Warin opened his mouth, then shut it and nodded. Be careful.

Nonsense. I'm never careful. That would get me in trouble, Justen bent and picked up Altara's wand. He inclined his head toward her. Might I borrow this?

I'd prefer to fight my own battles.