from nerveless fingers, but not before she flung her head backward and caught Piter full in the face. With a cry, he fell onto his back, his nose a spattered ruin.
Jesyn knew where Piter was and kicked backward like a mule. She both felt the impact and heard the satisfied “whuff,” as her heel caught him in the stomach.
As he fell backward, she fell with him and landed straddling Piter’s prostrate form, her numb shin under his throat, the other pinning his outstretched sword arm to the ground. Without using her arms, she leaned her weight forward onto her shin, closing Piter’s windpipe. One word hissed from her mouth, “Yield?”
Piter’s face turned purple, as his left hand tried to claw Jesyn’s knee off, but it was useless. Jesyn had positioned herself well and had her entire body’s weight on Piter’s chest. By leaning forward, she had brought that weight to bear on this throat. Only a few heartbeats passed before he realized the futility of trying to break free and croaked out, “Yield.”
She leaned back, letting him breathe, and smiled. “I figured you’d not want to be dragged to the infirmary unconscious.” Jesyn stood up and limped back, her arms dangling at her sides. The feeling had started to return in her leg, pins and needles prickling it back to life. Her arms, however, were still completely numb. She turned and took a bow.
Arek sighed and whispered to himself, “Finish him, Jes. I’ve told you a hundred times. You’re too nice.”
Piter slowly rose, growling, “The winner is the one who walks from the circle.”
“You yielded.” Jesyn spun, facing him.
“And you left me armed.” Before Jesyn could move, he swung his glowing blade, still in his right hand, in a tight arc. It caught her under her chin and Jesyn went down in a heap, unconscious.
Arek looked around, but there were no other senior Browns on the hill. Piter bowed once and walked out of the circle toward a small copse of trees, and Arek could imagine the smirk already growing on his face. A few of the watching Greens were at Jesyn’s side, helping her back to consciousness. She finally stood on unsteady legs and staggered out of the circle supported by a brace of Greens as they headed toward the nearest doors.
Damn him, Arek thought as a cold anger settled over his heart. It was one thing to be arrogant, but to cheat to win a stupid practice match! A part of Arek knew no adept would think what Piter did was wrong, instead they would chastise Jesyn for dropping her guard and not incapacitating her opponent.
The rules of rhan’dori were simple. You continue until your opponent is disabled, then you leave the circle. They were constantly reminding the apprentices there were no rules in the rhan’dori, just as there were no rules in war. Jesyn failed to disable her opponent, trusting his word instead.
Still, though nothing Piter did was technically wrong, Arek could not let him get away with it, he was ready to accept whatever punishment his master gave him. He raced toward his door, only to be brought up short by a chime sounding. He sighed, then turned to face his washbasin mirror. Slowly, on the mirrored surface appeared an image of his master, Silbane. Straightening his robe, Arek bowed once and stood still, only his eyes betraying the anger he felt.
“I have need of you, Apprentice. Please come to my quarters.”
Arek licked his lips and replied, “Of course, Master...” He tried to think of a way to meet Piter first. When no excuse came to mind he felt his master would accept, he inwardly cursed and bowed again. “Yes, Master.” It was not often he was called upon and once done, it was not his place to disobey, regardless of his current situation. Piter would have to wait. Arek watched the image fade and then left for the Hall of Adepts.
Between his quarters and the Hall of Adepts lay a square expanse of green, a courtyard of sorts with a nice open area that contained little to interrupt its serenity.
Jesyn knew where Piter was and kicked backward like a mule. She both felt the impact and heard the satisfied “whuff,” as her heel caught him in the stomach.
As he fell backward, she fell with him and landed straddling Piter’s prostrate form, her numb shin under his throat, the other pinning his outstretched sword arm to the ground. Without using her arms, she leaned her weight forward onto her shin, closing Piter’s windpipe. One word hissed from her mouth, “Yield?”
Piter’s face turned purple, as his left hand tried to claw Jesyn’s knee off, but it was useless. Jesyn had positioned herself well and had her entire body’s weight on Piter’s chest. By leaning forward, she had brought that weight to bear on this throat. Only a few heartbeats passed before he realized the futility of trying to break free and croaked out, “Yield.”
She leaned back, letting him breathe, and smiled. “I figured you’d not want to be dragged to the infirmary unconscious.” Jesyn stood up and limped back, her arms dangling at her sides. The feeling had started to return in her leg, pins and needles prickling it back to life. Her arms, however, were still completely numb. She turned and took a bow.
Arek sighed and whispered to himself, “Finish him, Jes. I’ve told you a hundred times. You’re too nice.”
Piter slowly rose, growling, “The winner is the one who walks from the circle.”
“You yielded.” Jesyn spun, facing him.
“And you left me armed.” Before Jesyn could move, he swung his glowing blade, still in his right hand, in a tight arc. It caught her under her chin and Jesyn went down in a heap, unconscious.
Arek looked around, but there were no other senior Browns on the hill. Piter bowed once and walked out of the circle toward a small copse of trees, and Arek could imagine the smirk already growing on his face. A few of the watching Greens were at Jesyn’s side, helping her back to consciousness. She finally stood on unsteady legs and staggered out of the circle supported by a brace of Greens as they headed toward the nearest doors.
Damn him, Arek thought as a cold anger settled over his heart. It was one thing to be arrogant, but to cheat to win a stupid practice match! A part of Arek knew no adept would think what Piter did was wrong, instead they would chastise Jesyn for dropping her guard and not incapacitating her opponent.
The rules of rhan’dori were simple. You continue until your opponent is disabled, then you leave the circle. They were constantly reminding the apprentices there were no rules in the rhan’dori, just as there were no rules in war. Jesyn failed to disable her opponent, trusting his word instead.
Still, though nothing Piter did was technically wrong, Arek could not let him get away with it, he was ready to accept whatever punishment his master gave him. He raced toward his door, only to be brought up short by a chime sounding. He sighed, then turned to face his washbasin mirror. Slowly, on the mirrored surface appeared an image of his master, Silbane. Straightening his robe, Arek bowed once and stood still, only his eyes betraying the anger he felt.
“I have need of you, Apprentice. Please come to my quarters.”
Arek licked his lips and replied, “Of course, Master...” He tried to think of a way to meet Piter first. When no excuse came to mind he felt his master would accept, he inwardly cursed and bowed again. “Yes, Master.” It was not often he was called upon and once done, it was not his place to disobey, regardless of his current situation. Piter would have to wait. Arek watched the image fade and then left for the Hall of Adepts.
Between his quarters and the Hall of Adepts lay a square expanse of green, a courtyard of sorts with a nice open area that contained little to interrupt its serenity.
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