The second bout lasted
longer. He had the edge on me with strength, but I had it on footwork, speed,
and far-better training. Once again I tapped him, this time just above the
collarbones, and a whoop went up from the watchers.
“Pick me! Pick me!”
“Hoo, how would you like to die?”
Laughter and more catcalls surrounded me as Zathdar and his
two captains on the half-deck aft watched. A short, wiry man with waving dark
red hair leaped over someone and confronted me, his slanty eyes slitted with
laughter and his grin wicked. Like Zathdar, he wore a golden hoop in one ear.
“Try me, Prin—ah—”
I’d forgotten the princess business. Was that why some of
them stared at me so much? “Sasha will do.”
“Owl. First mate.” I saw a sort of family resemblance to
Robin, and later found out they were cousins, though almost a generation apart
in age.
“All right, Owl, bring it on!”
“Bring?” He looked around. “It? On?”
“Slang for have at it!”
As we squared up, whispers of bring it on went through the watchers. Owl attacked me and I closed
out everything else.
I won that first one, only because I whipped a hook kick up
and nailed his wrist after I dodged a lunge. The crew sent up an appreciative
cheer, Owl flashed a grin, and we went at it again, this time faster and
harder. I was soon drenched with sweat, several times nearly losing. I
recovered a heartbeat ahead of defeat, and then returning an attack which he
parried, almost too late.
But finally he launched a complicated strike that I couldn’t
deflect without straining my wrist. I was just enough off-balance to take the
brunt of the hit in my hand and arm. I dropped my blade, wringing my stinging
fingers. “Yi! Yi! Yi!”
“We’ll call that a draw.” Owl lowered his point to the deck.
“Do you usually fight with gloves?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “And that’s something I’ll have to see to
right away. But that was a win. It was as fair as my hook kick, right? All’s
fair in war, but not in dueling? Is that true here?”
A silence fell, at first I thought because of my question,
but I saw that Zathdar had joined the circle. “More or less. Depends where you
are.” Zathdar swung his sword experimentally.
Someone returned my blade. Others made room for me to sit on
the deck in the first row.
Zathdar and Owl squared up, and began a long bout that was
sheer pleasure to watch.
As they traded feints, Elva slid up next to me. “I think you
should thump him.” She jerked her chin toward Zathdar. “Do him some good.”
“Nope,” I said, after a flurry so fast I nearly couldn’t
follow it. Zathdar staggered back, Owl’s sword flew, and he rolled on the deck.
The sword was caught in midair by the tall, blond young woman I’d seen below.
She had a strong face, with a Kirk Douglas chin. She returned Owl’s blade as
she said to Zathdar in an oddly shy manner, “That trick. How do you do it?”
“On your feet, Owl. Move through it slowly.”
Owl scrambled to his feet and took his sword in hand. “I
pressed inside like this.” He made a slo-mo lunge.
“And I blocked here, using my shoulder to blind him.”
Zathdar whipped his sword in a tight circle, shifting his weight as he came out
of the turn with his blade low.
“I saw it almost too late, blocked—”
The two reenacted the exchange, their method recalling good
bouts from my dojo days. Most of the crew intently watched each pass.
When they were done, people shifted about, and again Elva
said, “Go on.”
I shook my head. “He’s better.”
Elva made a noise of disgust.
Zathdar said in a quiet voice with considerable amusement,
“She’s right, you know. Not by much, though. It’s those upward blocks.”
So he’d heard. While I shut out everything when I engage in
a bout, he was aware of everything around him. This is the difference between a
lifetime of just dojo-floor practice and a lifetime of using what you learned,
I thought. But aloud I only said to
longer. He had the edge on me with strength, but I had it on footwork, speed,
and far-better training. Once again I tapped him, this time just above the
collarbones, and a whoop went up from the watchers.
“Pick me! Pick me!”
“Hoo, how would you like to die?”
Laughter and more catcalls surrounded me as Zathdar and his
two captains on the half-deck aft watched. A short, wiry man with waving dark
red hair leaped over someone and confronted me, his slanty eyes slitted with
laughter and his grin wicked. Like Zathdar, he wore a golden hoop in one ear.
“Try me, Prin—ah—”
I’d forgotten the princess business. Was that why some of
them stared at me so much? “Sasha will do.”
“Owl. First mate.” I saw a sort of family resemblance to
Robin, and later found out they were cousins, though almost a generation apart
in age.
“All right, Owl, bring it on!”
“Bring?” He looked around. “It? On?”
“Slang for have at it!”
As we squared up, whispers of bring it on went through the watchers. Owl attacked me and I closed
out everything else.
I won that first one, only because I whipped a hook kick up
and nailed his wrist after I dodged a lunge. The crew sent up an appreciative
cheer, Owl flashed a grin, and we went at it again, this time faster and
harder. I was soon drenched with sweat, several times nearly losing. I
recovered a heartbeat ahead of defeat, and then returning an attack which he
parried, almost too late.
But finally he launched a complicated strike that I couldn’t
deflect without straining my wrist. I was just enough off-balance to take the
brunt of the hit in my hand and arm. I dropped my blade, wringing my stinging
fingers. “Yi! Yi! Yi!”
“We’ll call that a draw.” Owl lowered his point to the deck.
“Do you usually fight with gloves?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “And that’s something I’ll have to see to
right away. But that was a win. It was as fair as my hook kick, right? All’s
fair in war, but not in dueling? Is that true here?”
A silence fell, at first I thought because of my question,
but I saw that Zathdar had joined the circle. “More or less. Depends where you
are.” Zathdar swung his sword experimentally.
Someone returned my blade. Others made room for me to sit on
the deck in the first row.
Zathdar and Owl squared up, and began a long bout that was
sheer pleasure to watch.
As they traded feints, Elva slid up next to me. “I think you
should thump him.” She jerked her chin toward Zathdar. “Do him some good.”
“Nope,” I said, after a flurry so fast I nearly couldn’t
follow it. Zathdar staggered back, Owl’s sword flew, and he rolled on the deck.
The sword was caught in midair by the tall, blond young woman I’d seen below.
She had a strong face, with a Kirk Douglas chin. She returned Owl’s blade as
she said to Zathdar in an oddly shy manner, “That trick. How do you do it?”
“On your feet, Owl. Move through it slowly.”
Owl scrambled to his feet and took his sword in hand. “I
pressed inside like this.” He made a slo-mo lunge.
“And I blocked here, using my shoulder to blind him.”
Zathdar whipped his sword in a tight circle, shifting his weight as he came out
of the turn with his blade low.
“I saw it almost too late, blocked—”
The two reenacted the exchange, their method recalling good
bouts from my dojo days. Most of the crew intently watched each pass.
When they were done, people shifted about, and again Elva
said, “Go on.”
I shook my head. “He’s better.”
Elva made a noise of disgust.
Zathdar said in a quiet voice with considerable amusement,
“She’s right, you know. Not by much, though. It’s those upward blocks.”
So he’d heard. While I shut out everything when I engage in
a bout, he was aware of everything around him. This is the difference between a
lifetime of just dojo-floor practice and a lifetime of using what you learned,
I thought. But aloud I only said to
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