Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

While she pondered what to try next, he charged. She side-stepped, leaned in, and scored. Damn, he'd been fast. Almost too fast. They backed away.

"Second point, Dalih," Tregay said, a hint of surprise in his tone.

Elenya hesitated, then looked down. A kernel of corn was jutting through a tiny rent in her sack.

He had been too fast. Her counter had come too late. He had used the same strategy that had given her the first point. Perhaps the lack of her gauntlet had caused her to misjudge, but she thought not. Dalih was simply quicker than she had given him credit for.

She acknowledged him with a nod. It would be interesting to see what happened now that they each had a measure of the other's speed.

Their next exchange was furious. They travelled all across the sward, forcing observers to back-pedal out of the way. They clashed until sweat broke out on their brows and they began to draw deep breaths. In a sport where points are typically determined with a single exchange, they continued a long time indeed. Part of it was the small target area, but mostly, Elenya knew, it was that they were closely matched.

Finally she pinked him near an elbow. Though he covered himself and prevented a follow-through, her success seemed to break his concentration. During her next charge she scored.

They rested for a few moments, while one of the camp women tied a strip of cloth around Dalih's cut.

The fourth round began as intensely as the third, but Elenya sensed a subtle difference. Dalih was pushing harder than before, and not being as careful. She stayed on the defensive, pacing herself, letting him tire.

He began to pant. His drives, though they made her retreat, did not score, though once Tregay stopped the round in order to see if there was a second hole in Elenya's sack. A crease appeared in the Surudainese's forehead.

Finally he slowed his pace, to gather his stamina. She chose that moment to press, and narrowly managed to score. Dalih stared down at the burlap as if he could not believe the new slice existed. His lips drew into a thin line as he bowed to Elenya.

The sight of his frustration nearly made Elenya smile. She had nurtured that reaction, in order to take advantage of the effect. She caught herself. She was doing as she had done in every match for the past ten years-making sure she won.

But that was not the point of this contest. How well did she know Dalih? What sort of good could come from humiliating him? As Tregay gave the word to begin the fifth and final round, she decided to change tactics.

Dalih came in aggressively, but cautiously, intent on avoiding his earlier mistake. He was a quick learner, she noted, able more than ever to evaluate him since she was no longer as intent on her own performance. Her concern over his feeling humiliated had been unfounded. They engaged five times to stalemate. Both came close.

The next time she pressed, Elenya deliberately left a small, momentary opening.

Dalih took it so fast that she could not have countered even if she had tried. His sword punctured the exact center of the sack, deep, almost to her mail shirt. Her eyes went wide.

"Point five, Dalih," Tregay said instantly, excited by the clarity of the technique.

The contestants sheathed their blades and reached out to clasp hands.

"Excellent swordplay," Elenya said.

"The last round was a little easier than the others," Dalih said meaningfully, though he did not seem displeased.

"To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure you would see that opening, much less take advantage of it. Lonal taught you well."

"You will accept me as a student, then?" he asked humbly.

"If you will accept me as a teacher."

"I would be honored."

She untied the burlap sack and dropped it on the sod. The audience waited with interested gazes, reminding her that she and Dalih had been speaking in a language that none of them could understand. She placed a hand on the southerner's shoulder and said, "Dalih is going to stay in Cilendrodel, and be a member of our company."

They cheered. She introduced the rebels to Dalih one by one. He, of course, had no words with which to respond to his welcome, but he rose to the occasion with a warm smile and a firm grip on the hands that were offered to him.

Elenya guessed he was perhaps twenty-more than five years her junior. Still coming into the prime of his physical abilities, while she was perched at the pinnacle. As good as he was now, he would get stronger and faster. She might not. Greater experience and a keen sense of strategy might keep her on top for many years, but sooner or later, the student might surpass the teacher.

The thought, much to her satisfaction, did not alarm her. In fact, it was like a saddle being lifted off her back. She was drawn back into the warm, soothing frame of mind she had felt at dawn, just after the healing. What better way to step down, than to shape one's own successor? She finally understood some of Troy's motives, saw why he had used her stubbornness and anger to make her a better fencer. Fortunately, Dalih, with his quiet confidence and genuine modesty, seemed the type who wouldn't need to be tricked into excellence.

The final person in the line to be introduced proved to be Wynneth. Elenya was startled. Her sister-in-law smiled and tilted her head toward a nearby tree. Alemar was leaning against the trunk.

"He's ready to see you now," Wynneth said. Elenya could not help but notice the satisfied glow on her face.

The princess excused herself, letting Dalih get to know his new friends as best as he could manage. Even before she stepped into the shade, she knew that Alemar had seen the end of the match.

"You walk with a lighter step, sister," he bespoke, grinning.

"I have you to thank."

"Thank Gast. Tell me, does this mean you will let me win if we spar?"

"If it will help your technique. But you don't practice much these days."

"I will now."

Her shock threw her back into mindspeech. "What? Why?"

"It has to do with my power," he replied calmly. "It was never gone, though it was temporarily drained healing the wounds Enns gave you. It's as Gast once told me-I have more of it than any man since Umar, the legendary Zyraii healer. It's long since been reaccumulated, but now it's blocked, except for certain specific channels such as the one I used with you yesterday. You could say that I am hoarding it."

"I don't understand. Why didn't you know?"

"I could ask why you didn't know the things you learned about yourself yesterday. I am not consciously blocking it. It is being held back by an inner reflex, something I suppose must be called self-preservation. That reservoir of energy can be used for other purposes. My inner guide knows that, and it is forcing me to save it. It knows I may need it."

Suddenly Elenya understood. "For the fight against Gloroc."

"Yes. Until that is resolved, I will not be able to heal others, except in mundane ways. Gast was right. No amount of Retreat would have restored me, because the fundamental conflict would have still been there. I will get my power back when the threat of the Dragon no longer hangs over me and my family."

She pinched a bit of bark off the tree. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you."

He shrugged. "It's not so bad. I'm disappointed, yes, but now, for the first time in many months, or maybe years, I have no doubt of which direction my life will go. I was wrong to have taken us all into hiding for so many weeks. We need to consolidate our gains before the Dragon sends serious reinforcements. As soon as I meet our new ally, I'll give the order to break camp. We're heading south."

The announcement was met with grateful sighs, animated murmurs, and the particular glint in the eyes of warriors who have been held in check for too long. That night they held a celebration-a carefully inconspicuous one-and at sunrise the next morning every man and woman stood ready to ride and march.