boredom, is there at least somewhere I can practice?” Her trainers would not come to her while she was within city boundaries, so it was up to her to stay in shape. If she neglected to—woe betide her the next time they did come to her!
“There’s a practice ground with pells set up behind the stable, if you don’t mind that it’s outside and a simple dirt ring.”
“I think I’ll survive,” she laughed, and went to fetch her blades.
The practice ground was easy enough to find; Tarma was pleased to find it deserted as well. There was a broom leaning against the fence to clear off the light snow; she used it to sweep the entire fenced enclosure clean. The air was crisp and still, the sun weak but bright, and close enough to the zenith that there would be no “bad” sides to face. She stood silently for a moment or two, eyes closed; shaking off the “now” and entering that timeless state that was both complete concentration and complete detachment. She began with the warmup exercises; a series of slow, deliberate movement patterns that blurred, each into the next. When she had finished with them, she did not stop, but proceeded to the next stage, drawing the sword at her back and executing another movement series, this time a little faster. With each subsequent stage her moves became more intricate, and a bit more speed was added, until her blade was a shining blur and an onlooker could almost see the invisible opponent she dueled with.
She ended exactly where she had begun, slowing her movements down again to end with the reshea thing of her blade, as smooth and graceful as a leaf falling. As it went home in the scabbard with a metallic click, the applause began.
Startled, Tarma glanced in the direction of the noise; she’d been so absorbed in her exercises that she hadn’t noticed her watchers. There were three of them—Hadell, and two fur-cloaked middle-aged men who had not been part of the Guard contingent last night.
She half-bowed (with a wry grin), and let them approach her.
“I’d heard Shin‘a’in were good—Swordlady, you’ve just proved to me that sometimes rumor speaks truth,” said the larger of the two, a weathered-looking blond with short hair and a gold clasp to his cloak. “Lady, I’m Justin Twoblade, this is my shieldbrother Ikan Dryvale.”
“Tarma shena Tale‘sedrin,” she supplied, “And my thanks. A compliment comes sweeter from a brother in the trade.”
“We’d like to offer you more than compliments, if you’re willing,” said the second, amber-haired, like Kethry, but with blue eyes; and homely, with a plowboy’s ingenuous expression.
“Well, since I doubt it’s a bid for bed-services, I’ll at least hear you out.”
“Lessons. We’ll pay your reckoning and your partner’s in return for lessons.”
Tarma leaned on the top bar of the practice-enclosure and gave the notion serious thought. “Hmm, I’ll admit I like the proposition,” she replied, squinting into the sunlight. “Question is, why, and for how long? I’d hate to miss a chance at the only short-term job for months and then have you two vanish on me.”
Hadell interceded for them. “They’ll not vanish, Swordlady,” he assured her. “Justin and Ikan are wintering here, waiting for the caravans to start up again in spring. They’re highly valued men to the Jewel Merchants’ Guild—valued enough that the merchants pay for ‘em to stay here idle during the lean season.”
“Aye, valued and bored!” Ikan exclaimed. “That’s one reason for you. Few enough are those willing to spare with either of us—fewer still with the leisure for it. And though I’ve seen your style before, I’ve never had a chance to learn it—or how to counter it. If you wouldn’t mind our learning how to counter it, that is.”
“Mind? Hardly. Honest guards like you won’t see Clan facing your blades, and anyone else who’s learned our style thinking he’ll have an easy time against hirelings
“There’s a practice ground with pells set up behind the stable, if you don’t mind that it’s outside and a simple dirt ring.”
“I think I’ll survive,” she laughed, and went to fetch her blades.
The practice ground was easy enough to find; Tarma was pleased to find it deserted as well. There was a broom leaning against the fence to clear off the light snow; she used it to sweep the entire fenced enclosure clean. The air was crisp and still, the sun weak but bright, and close enough to the zenith that there would be no “bad” sides to face. She stood silently for a moment or two, eyes closed; shaking off the “now” and entering that timeless state that was both complete concentration and complete detachment. She began with the warmup exercises; a series of slow, deliberate movement patterns that blurred, each into the next. When she had finished with them, she did not stop, but proceeded to the next stage, drawing the sword at her back and executing another movement series, this time a little faster. With each subsequent stage her moves became more intricate, and a bit more speed was added, until her blade was a shining blur and an onlooker could almost see the invisible opponent she dueled with.
She ended exactly where she had begun, slowing her movements down again to end with the reshea thing of her blade, as smooth and graceful as a leaf falling. As it went home in the scabbard with a metallic click, the applause began.
Startled, Tarma glanced in the direction of the noise; she’d been so absorbed in her exercises that she hadn’t noticed her watchers. There were three of them—Hadell, and two fur-cloaked middle-aged men who had not been part of the Guard contingent last night.
She half-bowed (with a wry grin), and let them approach her.
“I’d heard Shin‘a’in were good—Swordlady, you’ve just proved to me that sometimes rumor speaks truth,” said the larger of the two, a weathered-looking blond with short hair and a gold clasp to his cloak. “Lady, I’m Justin Twoblade, this is my shieldbrother Ikan Dryvale.”
“Tarma shena Tale‘sedrin,” she supplied, “And my thanks. A compliment comes sweeter from a brother in the trade.”
“We’d like to offer you more than compliments, if you’re willing,” said the second, amber-haired, like Kethry, but with blue eyes; and homely, with a plowboy’s ingenuous expression.
“Well, since I doubt it’s a bid for bed-services, I’ll at least hear you out.”
“Lessons. We’ll pay your reckoning and your partner’s in return for lessons.”
Tarma leaned on the top bar of the practice-enclosure and gave the notion serious thought. “Hmm, I’ll admit I like the proposition,” she replied, squinting into the sunlight. “Question is, why, and for how long? I’d hate to miss a chance at the only short-term job for months and then have you two vanish on me.”
Hadell interceded for them. “They’ll not vanish, Swordlady,” he assured her. “Justin and Ikan are wintering here, waiting for the caravans to start up again in spring. They’re highly valued men to the Jewel Merchants’ Guild—valued enough that the merchants pay for ‘em to stay here idle during the lean season.”
“Aye, valued and bored!” Ikan exclaimed. “That’s one reason for you. Few enough are those willing to spare with either of us—fewer still with the leisure for it. And though I’ve seen your style before, I’ve never had a chance to learn it—or how to counter it. If you wouldn’t mind our learning how to counter it, that is.”
“Mind? Hardly. Honest guards like you won’t see Clan facing your blades, and anyone else who’s learned our style thinking he’ll have an easy time against hirelings
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