The prince took a deep breath, and began the first practice pattern, starting off slow as he always did and gradually working his speed up. Relam proceeded through all ten of the patterns then took a short break, watching the cadets at work. They had improved considerably over the last year. Their form and control were infinitely better, as well as their stamina. Blades no longer drooped towards the ground when Tar called a halt, and the boys no longer panted from their exertions. The exercises that would have once exhausted them were now warmups for far more difficult and exciting tasks.
“Remember those days?”
Relam turned and saw Cevet approaching, his sword at his hip, two practice blades in his hands. He tossed one to Relam, the prince catching it easily.
“All too well,” he replied. “You?”
“I still miss the easy stuff,” Cevet replied with a sigh, sitting on a bench nearby. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” Relam said. For once, it was a completely honest response to the question.
“Glad to hear it,” Cevet said kindly. “We were all hit pretty hard when we heard the news. My mother especially. How did your father handle it?”
“Fine,” Relam lied. “It’s hard on him, obviously,” he added quickly. “But he’ll come through.”
“Hmm,” Cevet said, leaning back against the wall. “I hope so.”
They sat in silence for a moment, Relam watching the younger fighters, Cevet relaxing. “Did you want to fight or just sit here?” Relam asked finally.
“Fight, obviously,” Cevet said, leaning forward and opening his eyes. “That’s what we usually do here, yes?”
“Every week,” Relam agreed. They stood as one and took up the ready stance, two meters apart.
“Begin,” Cevet called.
In an instant, the smaller boy was darting forward, lunging under Relam’s guard, trying for a thrust at his hip. Relam spun his practice sword and batted Cevet’s questing blade aside with a backhanded cut. Then, turning defense into attack, he continued the motion with a side cut at Cevet’s ribs, only to have Cevet block the blow at the last moment with an iron wrist.
“Not bad,” Cevet grunted as they locked blades and shoved against each other.
“I almost had you,” Relam growled, staring at Cevet’s eyes, waiting for any sign that the other boy was about to disengage.
“Almost,” Cevet agreed. “But almost doesn’t count.”
Cevet spun away, and Relam jumped back, putting space between them before the other cadet could follow up his brief advantage. Then, they closed again, running at each other and exchanging blows, separated by centimeters at times, spinning, twisting, and striking, and somehow dodging or blocking every attack. Relam scythed with his right leg and Cevet jumped nimbly, slashing at shoulder height as he did. Relam ducked and rolled under the airborne fighter, getting to his feet just in time to see Cevet turn and strike with a quick thrust, before Relam had any chance to strike at his unprotected back. The prince batted the thrust away easily, then backed off, breathing heavily.
The two fighters circled for a moment, recovering from the flurry of blows. “It seems we have an audience,” Cevet said mildly. “You can look, I won’t attack.”
Relam looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Tar Agath had stopped his class and the cadets were watching the fight with interest. Relam turned back to face Cevet, grinning.
“Well, it would be a shame to disappoint our eager young fans.”
“Shall we show them how it’s done?” Cevet asked, twirling his sword in his right hand.
“Why not?” Relam asked.
With wild yells, the two fighters sprang forward again, trading blows at the speed of thought, parrying, thrusting, cutting and slashing. All the time they were on the move, spinning around each other, dodging thrusts by stepping to the side, jumping over low blows and ducking high side cuts. Throughout the high energy fight, neither fighter lost his balance or timing, always in perfect rhythm, always perfectly tuned to the pace and feel of the battle. At one point, they stood nearly toe-to-toe and exchanged a dozen blows in as many seconds, swaying and bending as they blocked and slashed.
When the bout came to an end it was sudden and unexpected. The two fighters locked swords after a particularly vicious exchange, ramming the hilts of the practice swords against each other. As they did, Relam slipped his left hand from his own hilt and grabbed at Cevet’s wrist. The other boy released his own blade with one hand and grabbed Relam’s sword hand. They shoved against each other, arm’s locked, each gripping the other by both wrists.
Then, Relam fell backwards, letting go of Cevet as he did. The smaller boy was yanked off balance, stumbling forward, twisting to one side as a result of the uneven pull. Relam kicked Cevet’s sword hand, sending the practice blade flying, then rolled to his feet and laid the point of his own wooden sword on Cevet’s heaving chest.
A storm of applause burst from somewhere behind Relam, startling him. Then he realized it was the cadets, cheering wildly and babbling to each other, rehashing the battle already. Grinning, Relam raised a hand in acknowledgement and hauled Cevet to his feet, draping his free arm over the other boy’s shoulders.
“What a fight,” he managed, gasping. “How long was that?”
“Longest we’ve fought yet,” Cevet replied, dashing sweat from his eyes.
“What about the one when it was snowing-”
“Doesn’t count, we spent most of that one standing around, trying to catch our breath.”
“Fine, then it’s the longest ever,” Relam agreed, looking up as Tar approached.
“Sensational!” the sword master proclaimed. “Truly outstanding.”
“Thanks,” Cevet said, grinning.
“Yeah, thanks,” Relam agreed. “It’s not often we get such high praise from a sword master.”
“You
