The Blade Itself

He let his gaze wander across some of the other faces in the park. His eye alighted on a handsome pair sitting on a bench by the lake. The young man was speaking quietly to the girl, a sad and earnest expression on his face. She got up quickly, moving away from him with her hands over her face. Ah, the pain of the jilted lover. The loss, the anger, the shame. It seems as though you’ll never recover. What poet was it who wrote there’s no pain worse than the pain of a broken heart? Sentimental shit. He should have spent more time in the Emperor’s prisons. He smiled, opening his mouth and licking the empty gums where his front teeth used to be. Broken hearts heal with time, but broken teeth never do.

Glokta looked at the young man. He had an expression of slight amusement on his face as he watched the weeping girl walk away. The young bastard. I wonder if he’s broken as many hearts as I did, in my youth? It hardly seems possible now. It takes me half an hour just to pluck up the courage to stand. The only women I’ve made cry lately have been the wives of those I’ve had exiled to Angland—

“Sand.”

Glokta turned around. “Lord Marshal Varuz, what an honour.”

“Oh no, no,” said the old soldier, sitting down on the bench with the swift, precise movements of the fencing master. “You look well,” he said, but without really looking. I look crippled, you mean. “How are you, my old friend?” I’m crippled, you pompous old ass. And friend, is it? All those years since I came back, and you have never sought me out, not once. Is that a friendship?

“Well enough, thank you, Lord Marshal.”

Varuz shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “My latest student, Captain Luthar… perhaps you know him?”

“We are acquainted.”

“You should see his forms.” Varuz shook his head sadly. “He has the talent, alright, though he will never be in your class, Sand.” I don’t know. I hope some day he’ll be just as crippled as I am. “But he has plenty of talent, enough to win. Only he’s wasting it. Throwing it away.” Oh, the tragedy of it. I am so upset I could be sick. Had I eaten anything this morning.

“He is lazy, Sand, and stubborn. He lacks courage. He lacks dedication. His heart is just not in it, and time is running out. I was wondering, if you have the time of course,” Varuz looked Glokta in the eye for just an instant, “whether you might be able to speak to him for me.”

I can hardly wait! Lecturing that whining ass would be the realisation of all my dreams. You arrogant old dolt, how dare you? You built your reputation on my successes, then when I needed your help you cut me off. And now you come to me, and seek my help, and call me friend?

“Of course, Marshal Varuz, I would be glad to speak to him. Anything for an old friend.”

“Excellent, excellent! I’m sure you’ll make all the difference! I train him every morning, in that courtyard near the House of the Maker, where I used to train you…” The old Marshal trailed off awkwardly.

“I will come as soon as my duties permit.”

“Of course, your duties…” Varuz was already getting up, evidently keen to be on his way. Glokta held out his hand, making the old soldier pause for a moment. You needn’t worry, Lord Marshal, I am not contagious. Varuz gave it a limp shake, as though worried it might snap off, then he mumbled his excuses and strode away, head held high. The dripping soldiers bowed and saluted as he walked past, somewhat embarrassed.

Glokta stretched out his leg, wondering whether to get up. And go where? The world will not end if I sit here a moment longer. There is no rush. No rush.

An Offer and a Gift