Free 02 The Invaders by John Flanagan Page A

weapon in his hand was a different matter altogether from Thorn, the disheveled old derelict. The years seemed to fall away and he moved lightly and confidently as they circled each other. The shield was up and ready while the hickory stick described a small circle in the air. Except for Hal, Stig was the only member of the crew who was aware of Thorn’s past. He knew he was facing an expert warrior and he was in no hurry to rush in. Thorn’s easy, confident manner made him even more reluctant to do so.
    “Hyaaah!” Thorn shouted, leaping forward and raising the stick for an overhead blow. Stig leapt back with an involuntary shout of surprise. His foot caught on a tussock and he stumbled, barely managing to retain his feet.
    A ripple of laughter ran round the watching boys and Stig flushed as he realized Thorn’s move had been a feint. The old sea wolf was grinning at him now, and rolling his eyes. Throwing caution to the winds, Stig attacked.
    He hammered at Thorn’s shield with the wooden ax, raining blow after blow down on it, hitting with every ounce of his strength. The wooden practice weapon cracked against the shield, which always seemed to be in position just in time to prevent Stig’s weapon knocking Thorn’s head clean off his shoulders. The boys shouted encouragement as Thorn began to back away and Stig went after him, redoubling his efforts.
    Then, in the blink of an eye, it was over.
    Stig launched one last, massive blow at Thorn. This time, instead of blocking the attack, Thorn caught it on the slanting face of his shield and deflected it. Meeting no real resistance to his attack, Stig lurched forward, off balance, exposing his right side as he followed through.
    And as he did so, Thorn jabbed the baton painfully into his ribs, like a snake striking.
    “Owww!” Stig yelped, recoiling from the bruising impact.
    Instantly, Thorn leapt back a pace. “That’s it. It’s over!”
    As Stig, now thoroughly angry, gathered himself to launch another attack, Thorn brought the stick up to face level and pointed it warningly at him.
    “That’s it, Stig!” he said crisply. “Finished!” He kept his eyes fixed on Stig’s. Gradually, he saw the anger fading away and the boy let his shield and ax drop to the ground. There was a time when Stig’s temper would have flared beyond control, but brotherband training had helped him to manage it. He rubbed his ribs gingerly.
    “That hurt, Thorn,” he complained. Thorn nodded, loosening his clamped hook from the shield’s handle and letting it slip off his arm.
    “It would have hurt a lot more if this had been a sword,” hesaid, brandishing the hickory baton. He saw realization dawning in Stig’s eyes then and the boy managed an abashed grin.
    “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said.
    “Think of it now,” Thorn told him. Then he turned to include the other members of the brotherband, who were watching in silence. Thorn’s speed of hand, and the ease with which he had met and countered Stig’s attack, had overawed them.
    “All of you think about it,” he repeated, letting his gaze travel over the suddenly very serious faces before him. “Imagine that had been a sword driving into Stig’s ribs. We’d be busy telling tales of what a good fellow he’d been during his short and colorful life, and how much we all miss him.” He paused. “Or maybe not.”
    That drew a small ripple of amusement from them and he continued.
    “Stig is probably the best of all of you with an ax,” he said. He looked for any sign of disagreement, but all he saw were slight nods, confirming his statement. “But his training has been sadly lacking.”
    “His brotherband training, you mean?” Edvin asked.
    Thorn nodded. “Your instructors taught you the very basic strokes. And they encouraged you to whack and bash at the practice pads, and at each other, as hard as you could go. Am I right?”
    Again he paused and again he was greeted by nods.
    “The point is, most