CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After their second day of travel, Brea took Evylin and Ethenn a short distance from camp to train.
Their exercise that morning had thoroughly worn Evylin out, Ethenn not far behind her.
Somehow, Brea had managed to make Hewitt’s workout regimen seem light.
The lieutenant had started them with a short jog before pushing them to their limits with calisthenics.
Evylin wasn’t so sure she looked forward to the combat training.
Walking through the trees, Brea quizzed them on their training history. “What weapons do you have the most experience with?” she asked.
Ethenn deferred to Evylin. “Most of my training was in swordplay,” she said. “Though I’m also good with a dagger and basic hand-to-hand for self-defense.”
Brea looked at Ethenn expectantly.
“I grew up as a hunter,” he said. “So I’m trained in archery and skilled with a hatchet and dagger, but it wasn’t until I joined the army that I had any training with a sword.” He paused, then added, “I’m also good in a fistfight.”
A dry grin pulled at Brea’s lips. “So I’ve heard.” She surveyed him. “You have a well-rounded background, even if it isn’t highly trained for combat. How long were you in the Ephrian Army?”
Ethenn considered it. “I joined somewhere around four months ago, I think.”
“So short a time?” Brea asked with evident surprise.
Evylin’s thoughts went in the entirely opposite direction.
Four months. Had she and Deckard really been married for half a year? That didn’t seem possible. Though she supposed it was the end of Chronos, so it hadn’t quite been four months since they’d left Whickam Village.
“And how long have you been training?” Brea asked her.
Evylin blinked away her thoughts, trying to mentally calculate.
“Well, Hewitt started training Ry—” Her voice caught over the name, then she forced herself to regroup.
This was what caused her so many problems with Deckard.
If she’d opened up about Ryen from the start, she might have been able to let go of her fear.
Clearing her throat, Evylin started again. “Hewitt started training Ryen and me when we were seven,” she explained. “Though it was the basics, and only when he was on leave. My true training didn’t start until I was thirteen. So I suppose it’s been almost fourteen years.”
Brea nodded while Ethenn watched Evylin with interest.
“That’s a good long time,” Brea noted. “And if your uncle’s interrogation of me last night was any indication, he was an impressive trainer as well.”
“He was exceptional,” Evylin said, and Ethenn agreed.
Finding a small clearing in the woods, Brea brought them to a halt.
She bore a formidable figure with her staff hanging from her back, a hunting knife strapped to her thigh, and her short sword hanging on her hip.
Despite her lack of height, she was not diminutive, and her fierce stare made her all the more intimidating.
Unhooking the staff, Brea let it drop to the forest floor. “Though I’m not much of a swordsman, I’d like to get the measure of each of your skills.” She held her hand out toward Ethenn, who carried the training swords. “We’ll start with Evylin, shall we?”
“You can call me Evie if you’d like,” she said, taking the second blunted sword from Ethenn.
Brea backed away. “I think Evylin is pretty. I shouldn’t care to shorten it.”
Stepping onto the sparring ground, Evylin smiled. It had been so long since she’d held a weapon in her hands. Her fingers wrapped affectionately around the hilt. “Do you prefer to be called Breata?” she asked.
“No,” the woman said with a dry grin. “It is not nearly so elegant.”
“I think it’s lovely.”
Brea let out an amused hum, then settled into a strange fighting stance. She held the hilt angled forward, the blade’s tip pointing over her shoulder, and her feet staggered in a wider fashion than Evylin was used to seeing. “Shall we begin?” she asked.
Excited to test her skills against another Warrior, Evylin’s heartbeat rose. She took her own stance, feet just outside the hips with knees bent to balance her weight and sword primed before her. “With pleasure,” she said.
At first, they took it slow, moving with measured steps.
Evylin’s instinct was to leap forward, attacking quickly in anticipation of action.
But she knew that was the wrong approach.
Hewitt had taught her to fight with proficiency.
While she enjoyed flair and tactical risks, he preached a level head and technical adherence.
She couldn’t let herself show off—not if she wanted to win.
The moment Brea lunged, Evylin moved too. Their blades met with a sharp snap. Though Brea was almost a head shorter than Evylin, she struck with equal power, alerting Evylin of the need to increase the strength of her blows.
After three more hits, they both pushed away, readjusting to their new understanding of each other.
Evylin didn’t give Brea much time to recover.
She corrected her posture and lunged back into the fray.
A strike up, then a feint down, before striking upward again.
Brea blocked seamlessly, rolling with the hits.
Despite her smaller frame and claim of inferior swordsmanship, Brea managed all of Evylin’s attacks with ease. They ranged across the clearing, attempting to break the other’s defense. Evylin was surprised to find they were more easily matched than she expected.
That is, until Brea drove in with greater strength than before, her sword scraping against Evylin’s as she angled it upward.
Seeing her loss close at hand, Evylin took a risk.
With their swords locked in a battle of strength, Evylin chose to lose that battle, releasing the blade altogether and spinning away from the Warrior.
Surprised by the abandonment of her weapon, Brea hesitated, giving Evylin the time to complete her turn, brandishing the long-bladed dagger she carried on the back of her belt.
She’d intended to simply press the tip of the blade at the base of Brea’s spine, winning the bout, but Brea moved with unprecedented speed, kicking out and catching Evylin’s ankle.
Evylin hit the ground with a thump, and the air burst out of her lungs. When she caught her breath, Brea was standing over her, the tip of her sword grazing Evylin’s chest.
“I concede,” Evylin said self-mockingly.
Brea smiled and reached out to give her a hand. “That was good,” she said with a pleased tone in her voice. “You’re fast. And cunning.”
“She’s a show-off too,” Ethenn said from the sidelines.
“I didn’t show off that time,” Evylin said, brushing the dirt from her pants.
“That’s what you think.”
Evylin tossed the practice sword to him. “I’ve warmed her up for you,” she teased.
“Great,” Ethenn returned. “Now, I’ll look like an even bigger failure.”
“Stop being modest.” Evylin punched his shoulder as he approached, then turned to Brea. “He’s beaten me many times.”
“Has he?” Brea gave the young man an appraising glance. “That’s surprising.”
Ethenn huffed. “The only reason I’ve ever won is because I’m stronger than her, and she can’t bear up under that forever. Especially not when she shows off.”
Evylin shoved his head as she walked to his vacated observation spot. She took a seat on the grass as he and Brea prepared to spar. The woman took in his stance and noted how Ethenn absentmindedly favored his left hand. “You’re left-handed?” she asked.
“I can use both,” Ethenn said, adjusting his grip. “But yes, I prefer the left.”
The idea seemed to please Brea. “That’s a handy trick if you can learn to compensate for the openings it invites.”
“Hewitt told me the same thing.”
“And did he teach you how to change your footing and to adjust the binds to ensure your opponent can’t get through your guard?”
“He did.”
Brea tipped her chin up with approval. “Then, by all means, fight me left-handed,” she invited.
Though Ethenn hesitated, he reset his grip.
He adopted the steady expression he usually wore during combat, a flat, almost-bored look that Evylin had learned meant he was concentrating.
Though it seemed laughable that Ethenn’s four months of training could hold up against Brea’s untold years as a soldier, Evylin couldn’t help wondering if he could beat her.
The hunter’s strength and natural skill gave him enough of an edge that he just might outfight the lieutenant.
Ethenn moved first. He swung his sword to arc under Brea’s blade, but he’d been too slow to bring up the strike, showing his hand early.
The swords clanged together, and Brea adjusted appropriately to bear the brunt of its force.
Another four connections rang through the air.
Brea was fast and controlled, even more so than Evylin, and the young man struggled to keep up with her steady ripostes.
Her feet shuffled lightly, her small stature keeping her agile as she moved around Ethenn’s attacks.
And in the end, it took only thirty seconds for Brea to find the opening in his defense.
With lightning speed, she slapped the inside of his wrist with her blade, lunged forward, and drove one of her triceps up into his right forearm to knock it back, leaving his chest wide open to the tip of her sword.
Staggering to a stop, Ethenn grunted as the blunted tip dug into his stomach.
Evylin slapped a hand over her mouth, unable to hold in her amazed laughter. Ethenn sent her a sour stare. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just over so quickly.”
Letting down her defense, Brea pointed the sword into the dirt, leaning on the hilt.
“Four months of training in swordplay seems about right,” she remarked.
“You’re good, but it’s clear that you’re a hunter and not a true soldier.
You’ll need several more years of practice to truly become a master. ”
A beleaguered expression came to Ethenn’s face. “I know.”
Brea noticed the shift in his demeanor too. “And yet, the truth troubles you?” she noted.