“They will?”
“Yes, they will, I’m making them up in my head as we speak.”
“They’re not standard?”
“Of course not!” Oreius said, frowning. “Well, I suppose D’Arnlo and Yavvis probably use the same set with their students, but I believe that the second set of patterns should be designed to help students with their greatest failing. Take their weakness and eventually make it a strength as it were.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t, not yet. But you will,” the warrior promised, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The other aspects of your ability to fight will improve too, but footwork is going to be key. Now, you said you’re exhausted, so I think we’ll stick to demonstrations for the next hour or so, let you get your strength back.”
Relam sighed with relief. “I appreciate that,” he said with a grin, stretching his tired muscles.
“It’s not to avoid causing you pain, it’s to avoid you forming bad habits and shortcuts due to your exhaustion,” Oreius growled, moving back to the center of the glade. “Come on, boy!”
The prince sighed and trotted after Oreius, sheathing his sword as he did, reflecting that he should have known that the unexpected break wasn’t so much a reward as it was a necessity.
“Focus,” Oreius said briskly, drawing his own sword. “This will be pattern eleven for you. Watch closely now. I’ll start out slow so that you can see what I’m doing.” He assumed the ready position, then frowned. “Actually, I think I’ve just thought of a better way of doing this. Get up.”
Relam stood and joined Oreius hesitantly, wondering if the old warrior was about to rescind his break. “Draw your sword,” Oreius grunted.
The prince drew his blade again, wincing, its familiar weight burning at the end of his arm.
“Are you strong enough for this?” Oreius asked, sounding concerned for once. “I don’t want you to pull or tear any muscles, and I did say I would give you a break.”
Relam considered this. A break would be wonderful, but he suspected that he would learn better if he participated. “I’ll be fine, as long as we take it slow,” he decided.
“Then we’ll take it slow,” Oreius replied, chewing his lip. “Now, I am going to attack, slowly, and as I attack I will instruct you how to defend, slowly. Then, I will instruct you on how to attack and we’ll mix it up from there. The combination of attack moves and defensive moves will become pattern eleven. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Now, I lead with a thrust to your left side,” Oreius said, demonstrating with exaggerated care. “You turn side on to counter and deflect away from your body . . . good form! Now, left foot forward and side cut from your right-”
“My right?” Relam asked, already halfway through a left side cut.
“Yes, your right,” Oreius confirmed. “Bring the blade up and around behind you, builds more power that way. And your opponent would expect a left side cut.”
“Makes sense,” Relam agreed, performing the right side cut. “What next?”
“I parry,” Oreius said, demonstrating. “Now you thrust, left side cut, right side cut, always moving forward,” Oreius said, stepping backwards as Relam advanced. “Good! Now I deflect and cut overhand, you block overhead, left foot back for support. And now I side cut, thrust, thrust and you back, back, back, deflect all of them.” They ran through the series of three moves in slow motion, placing their feet carefully. “And . . . we’re right back where we started, perfect,” Oreius observed, looking around the glade cheerfully. “That went better than I expected.”
“That’s it?” Relam asked.
“Yes. That is pattern eleven. Do it again, slowly, to try and get the feel of it.”
Relam frowned in concentration, then took up the ready stance. Oreius lunged forward and Relam turned side on, dropping his left foot back and deflecting the thrust. Then, he followed with the right side cut, feeling the momentum his sword gained as he spun and slashed. Oreius parried and Relam moved into the next series of three moves: thrust, left side cut, right side cut. Oreius deflected each, then came on the attack and Relam backed away, deflecting each blow until he was back at his starting position.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he said grinning.
“It shouldn’t have been,” Oreius said sternly. “There are grandmothers in this city who could perform those moves at such a speed.”
Relam’s grin faded and he shrugged. “Point taken.”
“Faster now,” Oreius said. And without further warning, he attacked. Relam nearly botched the first move, surprised as he was, but he quickly recovered. Their blades screeched as they connected then separated. Then, Relam was on the attack again, only to have Oreius turn the tables and drive him back.
“That was a little harder,” Relam agreed.
“How are you holding up?”
“All right,” Relam said stiffly. In truth, his shoulders were burning and his arms were wondering what had happened to the break they were supposed to be taking.
“Good, then we can go again, faster this time,” Oreius growled.
The sword master struck like chain lightning, Relam barely keeping up. Each impact shook Relam to the core and jarred his right hand alarmingly. When he parried the final blow in the sequence he nearly dropped his sword, gasping in pain as he tried to loosen his clenched hand around the hilt.
“Something the matter?” Oreius asked mildly. “Not holding up as well as we thought?”
“No,” Relam replied, setting down his sword and shaking his right hand out.
“Don’t be afraid to admit weakness, boy. It’s better than lying to me.”
“I wasn’t-” Relam started to say. Then he noticed the skeptical look Oreius gave him. “Well . . . maybe I wasn’t quite as recovered as I implied,”
