Prince of Hazel and Oak - John Lenahan

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her question.

      ‘No, no,’ I stammered, ‘by all means continue.’

      She seemed to smile at me but only from one side of her mouth. ‘We have been working all day on banta fighting. Excellent for helping improve footwork and winning competitions, but in battle you are most likely to be attacked with a sword. What happens if you only have a banta stick to defend yourself with?’

      I came very close to shouting out, ‘You’re screwed,’ but two things stopped me: one was that I had seen Essa fight sword with stick and she was damn good at it; secondly, I instinctively felt that undermining Essa in front of her students would be a bad idea.

      ‘Our new guest, Prince Conor,’ Essa continued, ‘fancies himself as quite the swordsman. Your Highness,’ she said with just enough sarcasm that only I heard it, ‘would you like to help me with this demonstration?’

      ‘How about we nip off and spend a little alone time,’ is what I really wanted to say. Instead I answered, ‘Sure.’

      I walked to the midst of about a hundred young eager eyes. Essa and I squared off in the centre and slowly circled each other. For the first time a proper smile crossed her face. Gods, she was stunning. I drew my sword and her smile vanished. She backed into the crowd and threw her banta stick to a soldier and took a training stick from another. She returned back to the centre.

      ‘Conor is wielding a very good sword indeed. Does anyone recognise it?’ A few hands went up. ‘It is the Sword of Duir.’

      A murmur shot through the group. Men and women strained to get a look at the Lawnmower as I held it aloft.

      ‘The difficulty with fighting a sword, especially one as good as this one, is that you must not make direct contact. When wood meets steel head on – it is usually wood that loses.’

      Essa was holding her stick straight out in a pre-duel position with her head turned to face her pupils. I swung the Lawnmower high and sliced about a foot off the top of her banta stick. It was like knife through butter. The crowd laughed. Essa turned and even though she had a smile on her face for the crowd, her eyes had a look I didn’t like. She inspected the stick and then threw it into the audience. A replacement sailed back immediately. Dahy stepped into the circle holding a dulled training sword. I reluctantly swapped the Lawnmower for it.

      ‘Thank you, Prince Conor, for that demonstration,’ she said as she refaced her class. It was probably a good thing Dahy changed my sword ’cause I’m sure I would have done the same thing again. I think stuff like that a second time is even funnier than the first but some people don’t agree and I knew Essa was definitely one of them. ‘A sword is obviously the stronger weapon,’ she continued, ‘but it is inferior in length. You must use your superior reach to set the rhythm and tempo of the fight – directing the battle to your terms.’

      She faced me directly and stood at attention, so I did too. We both bowed at the waist with our eyes locked. Our faces were inches away – I whispered, ‘Miss me?’

      She stood erect, assumed a fighting stance and said, ‘En garde.’

      I raised my sword, adjusted my footing and asked, ‘Is that a yes, or a no?’

      Chapter Eleven

      Essa

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      Essa and I circled to the right. This time, as she addressed her class, she never took her eyes off me.

      ‘You will probably have almost double the reach of anyone wielding a sword. If your opponent sets up too close …’ Essa nodded, inviting me closer, ‘then give him a reminder that you are carrying a long stick.’ With the quickest of clicks she tapped my blade out of its position and poked me hard in the chest with her stick.

      ‘Hey!’ I shouted, stepping back and rubbing my chest. ‘You told me to step in.’

      ‘And if your opponent is stupid enough to do what you tell him to do – make sure to take advantage of that.’

      The crowd laughed. I forced a smile onto my face and stopped rubbing the place she had hit me – even though it still really hurt.

      ‘Once you have set the proper fighting distance, your opponent will be forced to attack your stick, not you.’

      I could see her point but I wasn’t going to play her game and I certainly didn’t want to stand there and swipe at a stick. I decided to make my first attack a deep body swipe – the kind of advance that would be dangerous to ignore. I bounced backwards and forwards on my toes, made a short backhand fake that brought her stick out of position and then lunged with a full cut to the body. Without seeming to move her legs at all, Essa instantly backed out of reach. I had forgotten just how fast that girl moved. Her stick lightly engaged with the leading edge of my moving sword, circled around it and then pushed it away. By the time I got control my arm was way across my body and my weapon was nowhere near where it should have been. Essa slid one hand to the middle of her stick and swung the base of her banta into my kidney. It dropped me to one knee.

      ‘Usually I would not have counter-attacked so soon in a match. As you all should know, the golden rule is to parry and retreat until you can ascertain your opponent’s favourite attack. I have an advantage with the Prince – I already know his favourite attack.’ Essa came over to where I was still on one knee. As she helped me to my feet she whispered, ‘Miss me?’

      I was still wondering if I would ever be able again to pass water with that kidney when she flowed back into her en garde position and asked, ‘Ready?’

      I held up my hand for a time-out and stepped in close to her. ‘Do you think maybe I should have some protective clothing?’

      ‘Aw come on, Conor, it’s only a stick. You’ve got a great big sword.’

      ‘You … you could poke my eye out.’

      ‘I promise I won’t hit you in the head – even though it is such a large target.’

      I tried to remember some old saying about a woman scorned but I didn’t have time. She started circling again, this time to my left and she was doing that figure of eight spinning thing with her banta that I had seen Araf do – it made me feel a bit woozy. I decided that maybe Essa’s students shouldn’t be the only ones paying attention to her tutorial, so I attacked the stick. I just stuck my blade into the twirling thing and she flipped it into a counter-attack. Fortunately I was ready for it and brought my sword up into a high backhanded parry. When she saw the steel coming she checked her swing and bounced back in to her home position.

      ‘Well done, Princess,’ came a shout from one of the people in the crowd.

      I took a couple more swipes at the stick and every time pretty much the same thing happened. She would make light contact and attempt to counter but would then pull back at the last second, to avoid her wood being damaged by my steel. Essa’s bravado, the bruises on my chest and side, her cheering peanut gallery and the fact that she was the third best stick fighter I had ever seen had initially made me feel like I was the underdog but I was starting to remember that I had a sword. I had the better weapon.

      I took another swipe at her banta but this time when she attempted her counter-attack I stepped in and took a full power cut at her weapon. My sword made hard contact with the top of her stick. If I had been using the Lawnmower I would have sliced that bit clean off – this dulled thing stuck halfway into the wood. As Essa pulled back I felt the tug and quickly twisted my pommel. I heard the crack as about ten inches of her stick spun into the air.

      Essa backed and circled. The same voice from the crowd called out, ‘Not to worry, Princess.’ As Essa inspected her weapon I stole a quick glance to see who the cheerleader was. It was the Banshee she had been sparring with earlier.

      While she was readjusting to the new length of her stick, I moved in a step and began my trademarked low sword attack. That’s where I keep my blade low and then swipe upward using

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