Gresia had them go through more basic exercises, first slowly, then picking up momentum, the clack of wood sounding dull compared to the ring of steel Karigan recalled from her swordmaster training session.
As she and Mara worked, she caught movement in the corner of her eye. Three others had entered the training chamber. A quick glance told her one was Drent, and one a Weapon, and . . .
She focused on parrying a swift blow from Mara.
“Not bad,” Karigan said, pushing her back with a quick exchange.
Mara grinned. “I practiced staff fighting with Donal while you were gone. Some of the moves and principles are similar.”
It showed. Mara was quick and Karigan needed to pay attention, but now a bout had begun in one of the other practice rings with Drent overseeing the Weapon and the third person. She squinted and saw, with some surprise, that it was King Zachary. She supposed she shouldn’t be too surprised because he was, after all, a swordmaster himself and must keep up on his training, and it certainly was not the first time she had encountered him working with Drent.
As he faced off with Fastion, Karigan tried to return her attention to her own bout, but as she thrust and parried, her gaze kept slipping away to the king. He was even more adroit with the sword than a poker, and his exchange of blows with Fastion was lightning quick. Their steel sang, counterpoint to the dull clatter of the wooden practice swords the Riders used. She could not help but admire how the king—
Whack! Mara swatted the side of Karigan’s thigh.
“Ow!” She hopped about the ring while Mara looked on with her hand on her hip.
“Someone wasn’t paying attention,” Gresia said.
Karigan was about to protest when she hopped too far and tripped over one of the planks that bounded the practice ring. She spilled unceremoniously onto the floor. As she looked upward, she decided she was getting much too familiar with this view of the ceiling. She raised herself on her elbows to find Gresia, the captain, Connly, and Mara gazing down at her. Mara looked particularly smug. Then to Karigan’s dismay, Drent stomped over to join them.
“What is this?” he demanded. “I thought I trained you to be a swordmaster. Pitiful.” He glanced appraisingly at Mara. “Perhaps we chose the wrong Rider.”
The captain, her arms folded with her practice sword tucked beneath her elbow, cast Drent a sour look.
As Mara gave Karigan a hand up, she murmured, “A little distracted, were we?”
Karigan glared at her and set to patting sawdust off herself, something else with which she was becoming too familiar. She thanked the gods when she saw that the king and Fastion had not broken off their bout to witness her folly. Yes, she’d been gawking, and had to tear her gaze away again.
“I am disappointed in you,” Drent said.
“Arms Master,” Gresia said, “shouldn’t you be working with your own trainee? I think I can handle this.”
Drent glanced at her and, with a nod, murmured, “Arms Master.” He then stomped back to where the king and Fastion practiced.
“Now, Sir Karigan,” Gresia said, “I don’t know where your attention went, but that was a beginner’s mistake. Perhaps these exercises are too basic to hold your attention?”
“I apologize, Arms Master. It won’t happen again.”
“It is,” Gresia told the other Riders, “a good example of what not to do, and the consequences of not paying attention on the field of battle are far more lethal.”
“Well, then,” the captain said, “if this lesson is done—”
“Not even close,” Gresia said.
The captain and the arms master stared at one another as though engaged in a battle of wills. It ended when both seemed to look away at the same time.
“Now,” Gresia said, “Sir Karigan and I will demonstrate the next exercise for you. Watch carefully.”
Karigan faced the arms master in the ring. She made sure to pay attention this time with three sets of Rider eyes watching, including that of her captain. She would not humiliate herself again in front of them.
Gresia started slowly with basic moves, then sped up in increments, introducing some simple forms. Karigan was surprised, because though the forms were simple, the techniques were for more advanced training.
Gresia moved faster, and Karigan was truly paying attention now. This was no longer just a demonstration. Gresia’s sword cut relentlessly at her as she moved into more difficult forms, all the while striking faster and faster. Once Karigan was over her initial surprise, she allowed her training to take over. She had never engaged in advanced swordplay with Gresia before, and the arms master was a hawk with talons spread, capitalizing on any weakness she perceived in Karigan’s technique, a fierce joy on her face.
Karigan spun, leaped, swiveled side to side, as the blows rained down. She lost track of time, forgot the watchers, and took pleasure in pure movement, of attacking and defending.
Gresia chopped down with a hard blow and Karigan raised her sword to block it, but when the wooden blades met, there was an enormous c-r-r-rack and half of Karigan’s blade broke off. She shimmied out of the path of Gresia’s sword just in time.
Gresia swiftly collected herself and stepped back. She wasn’t even breathing hard. She grinned. “That was pleasant.”
Pleasant? Karigan supposed it was as apt a description as any.
“Do we have to do that?” Connly asked with trepidation.
Gresia laughed. “Not today. That was swordmaster level work, and I wanted to give Karigan a chance to redeem herself.”