Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I by K. Panikian (top android ebook reader txt) 📕

not to take away from that tactic, which was great against a human,” he added, “but don’t forget these guys have sharp teeth, or fire magic, or claws. You probably don’t want to grapple with one.”

I brushed the snow off my coat “Yes,” I agreed. “We are all new to fighting with magical opponents, despite our theoretical training.” I gave Julian a pointed look. “But remember, in and out. Slash and stab, try to hit something vital, and then back away out of range.”

“Okay,” Owen agreed. “How do I make my range longer? Can I have a sword?”

DMITRI’S shop was on a tree-lined street across from a tram stop. The parking lot was small but there was a large, cement building behind it. I could hear hammering sounds from inside and the air smelled like burning metal. We walked into the store and although the carpet was a little shabby, there were beautiful knives and swords hanging on all of the walls and in the display cases.

An older man walked out of the back room and headed our way. I showed him Dmitri’s business card and he reached for the phone on the wall. We wandered around the shop and a few minutes later, Dmitri walked in from the back room.

He beamed at me and hurried over. “You came!” His accent was thick but understandable. “Did you bring your knife?”

I nodded and pulled the nightingale knife from my backpack. I handed it to him and he held it carefully, examining the bird motif and the gold, floral inlays. “This is very beautiful work,” he said. He pulled off the scabbard and held the tang on one finger. “Superb balance. Where did you get it?”

I told him it was a family heirloom and he agreed, “Yes, I think it is very old. It was made in Zlatoust though, did you know?” He showed me a tiny gold “Z” stamped in the petal of one of the flowers on the hilt. I’d never noticed it before.

He walked us over to one of his display cases and showed me similar-looking knives, with different animals in gold on their hilts. “These were all made by my family. Many years of work,” he said. I admired them and listened while he told me a little about how they were forged.

Finally, I asked him if we could look at the swords. I gestured to Owen, who’d been listening to everything we said avidly, and said, “He would like to buy one. I was thinking, perhaps a falchion.”

“Ah, yes,” Dmitri answered. “He is a beginner, yes? A very fun sword.” He waved Owen over to the wall and began showing him several of the swords hanging there.

I found Julian by the other wall, eyeing a spatha. It was straight and long and had a beautiful guard plate with a bronze inlay of a bear.

“I don’t need another sword, do I?” he murmured.

“Well,” I answered, “you didn’t bring any here with you.”

“Very true, Very,” he said and reached up to lift it off the wall. He balanced it for a moment and then stepped away from me to swing it gently. It made a swooshing sound and he grinned. He stepped into a pattern drill designed for narrow spaces. He cut and weaved around me while I stood still, waiting. When he finished with a slow-motion strike to my head, he beamed and said, “I want it.”

He went to go speak to the other man at the counter. I watched them compare a couple of different scabbards and sword belts for a moment before I turned back to Owen and Dmitri.

Dmitri was holding a sword in each hand, gesturing and talking with one and then the other. One was a falchion, its single edge had a slight curve on the blade toward the point, after which it dropped into a secondary bevel. It was a quick, slashing weapon with only one edge. Easy for a beginner to learn.

The other sword was a longsword with a crossguard and a straight double-edged blade. It had a long grip, meant for two-handed use. It was designed to fight knights in armor and it would thrust, cut, and slice. It was impressive, I admitted.

I walked over and Dmitri showed me the longsword. The pommel was silver in the shape of a snarling wolf head. Dmitri put the falchion back on the wall and demonstrated to Owen how to grip the longsword – the lead hand close to the crossguard, with the thumb just touching or overlapping the guard slightly, and the rear hand holding the grip just above the pommel. The wrists and hands should be supple when the sword is in motion and then held strong and secure at the strike.

Owen gave a few enthusiastic practice swings and said to me, “I feel like King Arthur.”

Dmitri took the sword back and demonstrated a handful different strikes. He told Owen seriously, “If you buy this sword, you come back here tomorrow and I show you more strikes. You come back the next day too. You should not buy a sword if you cannot use it. This is not a sword to hang on your wall to admire.”

That settled it for Owen, I could see it in his eyes. He loved this sword. I shook my head at him, “You and Julian both, kids in a candy store.” He smirked back at me.

“Come,” Dmitri said, “we will pick a scabbard and a sword belt. Also, I must give you a certificate that will let you carry it while you are in Russia. It will say it is a souvenir, yes?” He winked at us and led the way to the counter.

BACK at the house we found Theo and Zasha hovering over a boiling pot in the backyard. It was black and thick and stank of sulfur. They made three different batches and this was the last. The other two were cooling in copper pots in the backyard shed.

“The problem,” Zasha told us, “is