They touched swords and initially went easy, each gauging the other. Then they worked through basic moves, the clack-clack-clack of their wooden blades the only sound on the field.
As Rendle got a feel for her ability, he increased the speed and difficulty of his technique. Karigan met him blow for blow, enjoying the effort, both physical and mental. The work cleared the presence of the students from her mind, her world now only Rendle and the rhythm of their blades.
Rendle accelerated again and Karigan whirled to block his blow, responding with an undercut that would have disemboweled a lesser opponent. He attempted to hook her sword out of her hands, but anticipating this, she pushed him away. They circled the ring, breathing hard, evaluating, waiting for the other to make the next move.
“You’ve been training,” Rendle said. “Good.”
Karigan responded with an advanced sequence that took Rendle by surprise and nearly caused him to stumble out of the ring, but he was a swordmaster and not only saved himself, but reversed Karigan’s momentum and put her on the defensive. He scored a touch on her shoulder.
Karigan tightened her defenses. To her it was a dance, movement flowing naturally from repeated practice. They settled into a level of swordsmanship bordering on mastery in which more was achieved with less—more power, more finesse, more sustained action. It was the stealth and stillness of hunting cats that placed swordmasters above all others.
Karigan was unaware of how far she stretched her ability, for there were only the swords, and they brought to her a sense of peace. Until, quite suddenly, Rendle’s sword pressed into her gut.
“Kill point,” he said, his voice soft.
Karigan could only stare at his sword as though it had really passed through her belly. Where did it come from? What move had he used?
“I see you haven’t learned everything yet.” Rendle grinned and withdrew the wooden blade. “Who’ve you been training with? Has Gresia been teaching you this advanced stuff?”
“I…” Karigan was still trying to sort out what he had done. “Drent,” she said in a distracted way.
“Drent?”
Karigan remembered where she was and looked around. Rendle’s class had been joined by dozens of other students of various ages, all watching her and Rendle.
Rendle cleared his throat and turned to the students. “Now this was swordplay. Swordplay of a very high order.”
The onlookers applauded, a much different reaction than what Karigan normally received when she trained with Drent on castle grounds. Drent and his other trainees greeted her efforts with derision, though she believed her skills superior to at least a few of theirs.
Rendle dismissed the students and when some of them lingered to ask questions, he shooed them away. “There will be time for questions tomorrow,” he told them. “Go on now.” To Karigan he said, “Would you like to see where you went wrong with that last move?”
Karigan did, and they worked it out till dusk, with only Fergal watching. It reminded Karigan of many such sessions when she was Rendle’s pupil, his method of teaching supporting her abilities rather than tearing them to pieces as Drent’s did. His teaching inspired her to pay attention to her studies as well, and she thought it interesting how far a little encouragement from one whom she respected could go.
When Rendle taught Karigan the intricacies of the technique to his satisfaction, he said, “Try that one on Drent.”
Karigan grinned. “I will.”
Rendle then became very still. “Has he made an initiate of you yet?”
“A what?”
“A swordmaster initiate?”
“Uh, no,” Karigan replied, surprised by the question.
Rendle drew his dark eyebrows together. “If you were still my student, I would.”
“Really?”
Rendle nodded. “Your level of swordplay today was borderline swordmastery.”
“It was?” Karigan knew her skills had improved dramatically with Drent’s tutelage, but she never dreamed of being on that level.
Rendle grinned. “I’ve been softened by working with beginners all the time, but I know skill when I’m up against it. You’ve had a natural talent all along, and now you’ve built upon it.”
“I did? I have?”
Still grinning, he patted her on the shoulder. “Felt good to work at such a level. Now why don’t you help me clear up this equipment and we’ll catch up over some supper.”
Fergal, apparently hungry, helped them carry armloads of practice swords to the field house.
“Would you teach me, sir?” he asked.
Rendle halted in the doorway. “Pardon my manners, Rider, but we’ve not even been properly introduced!”
Karigan remedied the matter and added, “He’s trained some with Arms Master Gresia, and I’ve been working with him during our travels. It seems we’ll be on campus for a little while, and if it’s no burden, well, we’d both benefit from some training, and be honored by it.”
Rendle stepped inside and dumped the practice swords into their storage chest. “I will do so, and schedule you for my advanced class time. You will inspire the students to work harder.”
Karigan was pleased, not only for herself, but for Fergal. Maybe Rendle’s mild manner would prove an encouraging influence on Fergal, as he had on her.
GREETING FRIENDS
When Karigan stepped outside the field house, she was almost knocked over by someone hurtling out of the dusk and into her arms. She laughed when she realized who it was, and gave her young friend a fierce hug in return.