Chapter Eighteen Decision #2
Tomaz was looking at the sword curiously too.
“It is. The store of valerium metal is well guarded, but then again, if you’re going to use one in real life, then you need to use one in practice, so there’s always one or two floating around.
Most of the time it’s only for Ranger or Rogue training, but it looks like they found a spare since I‘ve been gone. If it’s here, you might as well use it.
I’ve never much liked it—the weight feels wrong to me.
I’m like the girl. Steel’s always been good enough for me, and I suspect it always will be. ”
The Prince peered closely at it and saw that the blade was sharp—not a practice sword at all. He pointed this out to Tomaz and said as much, and the big man just smiled.
“You can’t dull valerium once it’s been sharpened, at least not down to the point where it’s safe to hit someone with in the sparring ring.
It’ll get less sharp, but it will never be dull.
No matter how much you use it. Maybe not always sharp enough to kill, but certainly sharp enough to leave a nasty cut.
Throw an edge guard on it and let’s get going. ”
“Will it work?” the Prince asked dubiously, eyeing the razor-sharp edge and remembering what Leah had told him about the metal.
“The guard’s lined with a thin bit of metal,” Tomaz said, tossing him one made for single-edged swords.
“It’s light enough so you don’t truly feel it, and it’s good to train with a bit of extra weight anyway.
The leather’s just on the outside, so when I smack you upside the head you get a bit of cushioning from the blow. ”
Tomaz grinned evilly and settled himself into a ready stance. The Prince slid the guard onto the blade and hefted the sword in one hand.
Strange. Now that he was in a ready stance, it didn’t feel all that heavy. Heavier than a normal sword perhaps, but in the Prince’s opinion most swords were too light anyway.
A few people who had also come to the arena first thing in the morning were gathering around the slightly raised platform, some of them squatting down to watch while they waited their turn.
The Prince settled into the opening stance of Tiger Stalks the Deer, the sword held loosely by his side, his right leg forward, but his weight back on his left.
Tomaz, seeing this, shifted to Bear Defends the Hill, and began to circle to the right.
The Prince felt a momentary glow of satisfaction knowing that they were both using Imperial sword forms: if one had to fight, it might as well be in a civilized manner.
The Prince began to move as well, circling away from the big man, trying to keep an even distance between them. His mind was blank and controlled. There was no anger, no emotion at all. He was simply reacting.
Tomaz changed directions and rushed forward, sword swinging in from the side in a brutal move known only as The Reaping. The Prince saw it and, instead of countering, took a single step back, felt the blade pass in front of his chest, and then spun around and moved past Tomaz.
The big man turned before the Prince could get in a hit, and the greatsword swung once more, upward from the floor; the Prince, unable to dodge, brought down the valerium sword, and met the blade, parried it, and spun away again.
The sword was solid. The weight of it felt good in his hands.
The big man turned, but before he could approach, the Prince closed the distance and sliced for Tomaz’s right shoulder. The greatsword parried it easily, but the Prince used the energy from the deflected hit to strike for Tomaz’s left side, then his head, and then his legs.
The white-metal sword felt very good.
Tomaz counterattacked, bull-rushing the Prince and using his size to push him off balance. The Prince dashed away, using his greater agility to avoid the giant’s sword as it hissed through the air behind him.
He feinted left, then dodged right and came at Tomaz again.
Surprise crossed the big man’s face—he was used to the Prince keeping his distance. But the surprise was gone in an instant, and Tomaz adjusted to this new tactic, using smaller, defter movements to counter the Prince so that he couldn’t close distance and get inside the big man’s swing.
Clawing Eagle met Rushing River, and the Prince’s sword glanced off the greatsword yet again, forcing him back. Tomaz followed quickly, sweat glistening on his face, and the Prince quickly began to parry, only able to turn aside the greatsword’s weight, not stop it outright.
But the denser white metal, curved as it was, was a blade made for the dexterous fighter: graceful enough to maneuver well, yet heavy enough to defend against a larger opponent.
And as time wore on, it became slowly but shockingly clear that the Prince was holding his own against the giant, strength met with finesse.
The fight continued, and soon they were both absolutely drenched in sweat. Neither made a mistake, neither gave ground without turning around and taking it back.
But then Tomaz slipped, just a fraction, as he came forward for another rush, and the Prince was on him in an instant.
For a moment, Tomaz continued to parry, turning aside the valerium blade, but the Prince knew he had the upper hand. He also knew that if he made a mistake as well, Tomaz would seize it and his advantage would be immediately lost.
He gripped the wire-wrapped hilt more firmly and began making cuts and slashes that were slightly too fast for Tomaz to parry. The big man grimaced, and the Prince pressed him again, not allowing him the chance to recover.
Finally, the valerium blade slipped under the greatsword’s guard and struck the big man on the thigh.
It was a hit that would have won him a point in a bout but was not a winning blow.
Tomaz grunted in acknowledgement and continued to strike back, to parry, to fight.
The Prince pressed back just as hard, and then his body started to flag.
He was exhausted, and the big man, with his enormous strength, could keep going for hours. He needed to end this fight now.
He decided to gamble. He used the sword move aptly named Slicing Hands and locked his sword with Tomaz’s. For an instant, Tomaz looked confused, and then when he understood it was too late.
The Prince let go of his sword and used both hands to strike Tomaz’s wrists.
The strike numbed the giant’s hands, and his sword clattered to the ground.
The Prince, hands also numb—the giant’s bones felt harder than rocks—dodged as the big man swung his arms around to grab him.
The Prince reached down and grasped his sword, just before Tomaz managed to wrap a hand around his own, and with a final flourish, the Prince struck the pressure points in Tomaz’s forearm, shoulder, and bicep with the flat of the blade.
The enormous greatsword fell once more from a hand now devoid of feeling, and the leather guard of the Prince’s white metal sword came to rest against the big man’s throat.
For a moment the two of them remained stationary, and then the Prince lowered his sword.
Applause came from the area surrounding the practice arena, and the Prince turned to see that a crowd had gathered to watch them, many of the onlookers wearing green-and-gold or green-and-silver uniforms. The Prince assumed these were the colors of the Vale infantry.
“Very well done,” Tomaz said, respect coloring his voice. “That’s the first time I’ve been fully disarmed since I completed the Training.”
In spite of his wishes, the Prince felt a surge of pride at the praise.
“Must be getting old,” he taunted the big man with a reluctant smile. Tomaz let out a loud bark of laughter and picked up his greatsword.
“Again?” the Prince asked.
“How about a real fight?”
The Prince turned to see Leah standing just outside of the practice ring, fingering the hilt of one of her long daggers.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at home?” the Prince asked.
“Aren’t you not supposed to care?” she retorted, stepping into the ring. Tomaz took a step back, a small smile on his face and an excited light in his eyes.
“I don’t care,” the Prince said. “I was just asking.”
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she said. She unsheathed one of the daggers and began idly paring a nail with it.
“You’ve never let me spar with you before,” he said. “Why the change of heart?”
“I think you might finally be good enough for me,” she said.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. He turned and began to walk away, when a snort as loud as an avalanche issued from Tomaz. The big man was openly smirking at him.
“How’s the arm?” the Prince said angrily. “You have any feeling back yet?”
“What’s the matter?” Leah asked. “Scared of a girl?”
“Girl? I don’t see any girls here, just you.”
There was a collective “ooo” from the gathered fighters around the ring, and several laughs. Leah rolled her eyes and made a rude gesture to them that made them laugh harder. She was smiling when she turned to face him again.
A thrill went through the Prince. She was excited. She wanted to fight him.
The Prince didn’t remember raising his sword, but suddenly he was holding it ready in both hands. Leah’s eyes flashed, and her sauntering step faltered. She was watching him carefully now. Her look of interest had not faded.
She drew both of her daggers, which gleamed cruelly in the bright light of the training arena skylight. She casually slipped two small blade guards into place.
“You really think you’re ready?” she asked. “Should I take it slowly for you?”
Another round of jeers came from the group around the ring, but the Prince ignored it.
“Call it, Tomaz,” he said.
“Go!” Tomaz cried immediately.
The Prince launched himself across the floor, sword flashing. She met him halfway, and in a slightly muffled ring of metal, daggers met sword.