He sat rigidly, impassively, upon the cold stone of the mountain plaza–ice wind in his hair, a naked blade in his lap. He wore white silks of spotless hue. He had seen a thousand battles, had killed at least as many men, and yet his skin bore no mark for no blade had ever touched him. In battle he was a devil, in peace a stone. He was Karn, the Perfect Swordsman, and racked behind him were the hundred hundred swords of men who had climbed his mountain looking for a duel and found instead death at his hand.
He stirred. Two men approached, one a short way behind the other. He closed his eyes and began to wake his numbed flesh, sending tendrils of will throughout his frozen body. Soon, his blood again pumped hot.
The first man stumbled up upon the plaza, his straw-stuffed peasant’s sandals catching on the flagstone. He paused to admire the view, looking out over a spread of glittering rice lands like bands of burnished gold. Collecting himself, he turned to Karn and bowed, clumsily.
Karn opened his eyes and looked the man over, noting his physique and the crude sword sticking halfway out of a goatskin sheath at his side. Karn closed his eyes and did not move. In a voice like revealed truth he said, “Go away.”
The portly man smiled. Rubbing his hands together and blowing on them for warmth, he took a seat upon the plaza. “I thought I would have lunch first, the way is long and not always easy to find.” He produced a crust of bread and a leather flagon of wine from a pouch at his side.
“You would throw your life away. You are no swordsman.” Karn spoke serenely above the wind.
“True,” the man said, pouring wine into an earthenware cup. “My name is Daog, Master Karn. And I am no swordsman, sure as you’re a perfect one.”
“The Perfect Swordsman. I have no equal, and none better has, or ever will, walk this earth. Take your fat body and cheap blade off my mountain.”
But at that moment the second man arrived, an armored giant bellowing in challenge. Hair the color of rust whipped around the iron mask that blanked his face, a lamellar hauberk of verdigrised bronze encased his muscled form, and a double strand of plucked eyeballs hung around his neck. He yipped and screeched like a hyena, raised high his serrated sword, and charged.
Karn stood, took two steps to the left as the giant stormed past, and flicked out his blade in one fluid, silver streak of steel. He sat back down, facing away from the teetering savage, and wiped blood from his sword.
“I again advise you to leave,” he said as the giant crashed dead to the ground behind him.
Daog gulped the wine from his cup, and poured another. “Would you like some?”
Karn fixed a stern look on the peasant and said nothing.
Shrugging, Daog drank. Belching lightly he flashed a cherubic grin and winked at Karn. “Notice anything about my cup?”
“Crude peasantware.” Karn sighed. “I may kill you in a moment.”
Daog nodded, and brandished his cup. It was of simple, course clay but flawlessly symmetrical save for one fold in the material, a deep cleft running up the side. “It’s imperfect. The man who made it was wise enough to include a flaw–he knew that there wasn’t such a thing as perfection. Knew it wasn’t a state for men to aspire to.” Daog winked again and drained the cup. “You’ve been perfect for too long, Master Karn.”
Karn could smell the man’s stinking breath over the wind. He stood, blade held casually at his side. Daog nodded, and got unsteadily to his feet. He drew his poorly balanced broadsword, the specks of rust along its length standing out like freckles.
“Why come here? You will die like a fool.”
Daog shrugged, “I will, as you say, die like a fool–someday. For I am a fool, I follow the Path, and like a fool I do nothing but achieve everything. I go wherever the Path leads. At dice I won this blade. For a week’s labor mending the roof of a widow’s cottage I received this flagon of good, strong wine. I heard a temple bell one day and followed the sound, and spoke to the monks who rang it. We spoke of you,” Daog, swaying with drink, pointed his sword eastward, “we spoke of the man who thinks himself perfect, and we gazed upon your mountain from the temple steps and laughed.”
Karn frowned. “You speak of what and of who, but I asked you why.”
Daog shrugged.
Karn shook his head sadly. “I will be swift,” he said, and like a raptor diving for its prey he thrust his fine blade at Daog’s throat.
Daog, eyes wide with surprise, fumbled his blade forward in a clumsy arc, and tripped over his own feet as he moved to meet the swordsman. Karn’s slender sword nicked his ear as Daog collapsed face-first upon the stones.
Sputtering, Daog lifted himself and saw the deep cut he had made. Karn lay dead, wreathed in crimson upon the flagstones, Daog’s blade buried in his belly.
A little later, sun setting red-gold at his back, Daog placed the last stone upon the cairn of the Perfect Swordsman. He added the slender sword to the racks of captured trophies, and placed a cup of wine as an offering to the spirits of that place upon the plaza. After a careful search he found the path he wanted–or, rather, the one that wanted him–and walked confidently down the mountain, sandals clapping on turf.
The last light of the sun found the flaw in the cup of wine that sat alone upon the plaza floor, casting it in sharp relief for a moment, before night finally came to the mountaintop.
Bill Ward has sold fiction to Flashing Swords e-zine and the forthcoming anthologies Desolate Places and The Return of the Sword. He is co-editor of the Magic & Mechanica anthology from Ricasso Press.
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25 Responses to “AN IMPERFECT SWORDSMAN • by Bill Ward”
Comments
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April 4th, 2008 at 3:10 am
I liked this one but I have a question. WHY did Daog kill Karn? He wouldn’t have goaded him if he wasn’t confident karn was going to die but I didn’t see his motivation.
April 4th, 2008 at 5:54 am
I enjoyed this one a lot. Very much like dao. Thanks!
April 4th, 2008 at 6:27 am
Pretty good story. Kind of a Yin vs. Yang thing going on.
April 4th, 2008 at 6:59 am
“…a lamellar hauberk of verdigrised bronze…” ?????
Is Bill Ward a nom de plume for Conrad Black?
April 4th, 2008 at 7:28 am
Ah, the Path. It is so tricky.
What a great tale of imperfection. Thanks, Bill.
April 4th, 2008 at 7:46 am
Great pulp! Enjoyable read.
April 4th, 2008 at 8:03 am
Daog seems surrounded by strong magic–or maybe it’s the path he’s compelled to travel. Good story.
April 4th, 2008 at 8:07 am
Sure, as soon as you obtain perfection, some bumbling putz comes around to muck it up!
I enjoyed this story, Bill. I especially liked this non sequitir: “Crude peasantware.†Karn sighed. “I may kill you in a moment.â€
April 4th, 2008 at 3:02 pm
“The world’s best swordsman doesn’t fear the second best swordsman. He fears the worst swordsman, because he can’t predict what the idiot will do.”
Read a quote to that effect in a book somewhere. Has always stuck with me. Great to see a short story sized version.
April 4th, 2008 at 3:44 pm
This was a great story. Just once I’d like to see the immortal guardian of Such And Such Temple stand there and guard the thing so long that somebody finally walks up and shoots him with a large calibre handgun.
April 4th, 2008 at 4:17 pm
Thanks for the kind words everyone.
Jeff, that sounds like an idea for a flash piece right there!
Ryan, great quote–if you should happen to remember where you heard it I’d be interested to know.
April 4th, 2008 at 11:12 pm
Bill:
Figures, it’s Twain:
“The best swordsman in the world doesn’t need to fear the second best swordsman in the world; no, the person for him to be afraid of is some ignorant antagonist who has never had a sword in his hand before; he doesn’t do the thing he ought to do, and so the expert isn’t prepared for him.”
-A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
April 5th, 2008 at 6:05 am
Having finally gotten around to reading this, I’d like to say that I would sort of like to see more stories with Daog in ‘em. Seems like he’d be a fun character to read about on a regular basis…
April 5th, 2008 at 7:30 am
Thanks for digging that up, Ryan; great quote. I’ve read that ages ago, may be time to read it again.
Another person mentioned to me that Daog would make a fun series character, Joshua, I’ll see if I can’t come up with anymore flash length ideas for him.
Thanks again everyone for making me feel welcome with my first piece at EDF.
April 5th, 2008 at 10:12 am
This is great. I like the last paragraph especially.
April 5th, 2008 at 7:20 pm
Nice crisp writing, sharp wit, descriptive imagery. Well done, Bill.
April 6th, 2008 at 3:03 pm
Thanks, James and Chaz.
April 12th, 2008 at 12:37 pm
Catching up on tales at EDF, nice read Bill. Terrific word usage yet again, you damn fine writer you, and, as has been said above, overall a great study of perfection/imperfection. But I find it imperfect.
I must admit to being somewhat dismayed by the blasé delivery of the pivitol paragraph though. Knowing the outcome of this story (the surprise would have been Karn victorious, but there would have been no purpose to the tale then) and following your successful descriptions, the reader can readily figure out how the outcome is arrived at. Yet this Sputtering, Daog lifted himself and saw the deep cut he had made. Karn lay dead, wreathed in crimson upon the flagstones, Daog’s blade buried in his belly. is so lacking in impact after your artful and careful buildup and so close to the lesson of your ending that it steals some of the tale’s profundity and forces me to spend time considering its implications.
And further consideration, I’m afraid, reveals its implausibility, again lessening all that came before. Sorry, buddy, your writing is usually spot-on for me, but this one could have used another once over.
April 14th, 2008 at 10:44 am
[...] An Imperfect Swordsman [...]
April 16th, 2008 at 8:13 am
Maybe you just found the deliberate flaw in my little earthenware cup of a story, Jason.
Actually, I understand your point; while I wanted that moment to be fast and almost seem like it was over before it began, I could have maybe done something a bit differently to create a bit more emphasis.
Good eye, you evil editor!
April 22nd, 2008 at 11:11 pm
[...] Berg, Bill Ward, Phil Emery, Jeff Draper, Nicholas Ian Hawkins, David Pitchford, Ty Johnston, Jeff Stewart, [...]
September 7th, 2008 at 10:41 pm
wonderful. i was actually trying to write a story like this, but i wanted to do research on the idea. i stumbled upon this and i think this does more justice than i could ever do.
September 8th, 2008 at 11:28 pm
Thank you Stephano — it’s good to know people are still reading this, and it’s great that you took the time to comment. I’m flattered.
You should go ahead and write your story anyway, though. I’ve found that even when I think I’m writing something that’s already been done better a hundred times already, something a little fresh or different creeps in anyway.
September 20th, 2008 at 11:17 pm
[...] An Imperfect Swordsmen — My EDF debut, from a story I had been turning around in my mind for a while, ultimate origin unknown. Inspired by a half-remembered idea in Japanese Zen aesthetics, the notion of leaving a deliberate flaw in a piece of art to reflect the principal of the imperfection of all things. Just filter that through the idea of a duel between swordsmen, and you have ‘An Imperfect Swordsmen.’ [...]
September 21st, 2008 at 8:17 am
[...] An Imperfect Swordsmen — My EDF debut, from a story I had been turning around in my mind for a while, ultimate origin unknown. Inspired by a half-remembered idea in Japanese Zen aesthetics, the notion of leaving a deliberate flaw in a piece of art to reflect the principal of the imperfection of all things. Just filter that through the idea of a duel between swordsmen, and you have ‘An Imperfect Swordsmen.’ Promo 2 Comments » [...]