Mirror Sight
Page 80
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Cade bristled and opened his eyes, plainly annoyed. “I’ll be using a gun on the battlefield.”
“Look,” Karigan said, “you wanted my help. I am trying to teach you as I’ve been taught, and I’ve been taught by a true swordmaster, the man who chooses who becomes the king’s Weapons. His way is common sense and practicality. We do not have guns. We use swords. These methods work for us.”
“Very well. I did agree to this.”
Agreed to it? He’d practically begged her to instruct him.
She ran him through some quick warm up exercises—much quicker than he would have done on his own—and she began to teach him how to use his breaths to maintain focus. She then had him go through the forms he’d worked on before. They were much improved.
“You’ve been practicing without me.” She wasn’t displeased he’d been practicing, just annoyed he hadn’t invited her along.
A blush colored Cade’s cheeks. “I did not wish to embarrass myself again.” That alleviated her annoyance some, until he added, “I learn fast and am getting quite good if I say so myself.” There was a certain amount of smugness in his voice that irritated her. She tapped the tip of the bonewood on the floor, thinking.
“Give me the Heron Stance,” she said.
He did, and she nudged his feet into better positions with the bonewood.
She then rattled off a series of forms that required intricate footwork, which was to conclude on Heron Stance. He stumbled over his own feet as he tried to make his way through the series.
She crossed her arms and shook her head.
“What?” Cade demanded.
“Your footwork,” she said.
“Yes?”
“You’re mincing about like you’re standing on hot coals. I’m guessing you are something of a clumsy dancer.”
“I am not!” he burst out.
“We need horse hobbles,” she murmured, recalling some memorable training sessions with Drent. Cade stared at her aghast. “I’m going to go through the same set of forms,” she announced. “Watch my feet.”
She was intentionally goading him so she could in turn humble him. Overconfidence was another path to an early demise when it came to swordfighting. She then started in surprise when she realized that was exactly what Drent had been doing to her all this time—mocking and criticizing her so she wouldn’t get too arrogant and be killed as a result. It was a good thing to keep in mind for herself: that by trying to prevent Cade from getting dangerously overconfident, she didn’t do so herself.
So, instead of going through the forms at full speed, as she had planned to do in order to impress him, she went very slowly. When she finished, she asked, “Did you watch my feet?”
He nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “Your feet moved, but they didn’t.”
“Yes,” Karigan said. “Swordmasters are spare in their movement, using their feet only as necessary to maintain balance, position, rhythm, and to aid the force of their bladework.”
“Dancing without dancing,” he said thoughtfully.
She guided him slowly through the same forms, helping him with his footing, which meant adjustments to the rest of his body.
When they’d gone through it twice, he said, “I think I understand how it’s supposed to feel, how the power, the force, is connected through my whole body, from my feet to my sword hand.”
Karigan nodded, gratified he understood, maybe comprehending better than she ever had herself.
“Can you show me what it looks like at normal speed?” he asked.
Karigan smiled. She thought he’d never ask.
SPARRING
When Karigan ended on the Heron Stance, she found Cade looking thoughtful. It was an improvement over the near worship he’d exhibited the first time she’d demonstrated what she could do, and in a way, it was not. At least some acknowledgment of her performance, with its speed and intricate footwork, wouldn’t be remiss.
Instead, Cade diligently paced himself through the forms again, trying to emulate her. He did well, much better than before, but he still stumbled.
“I suggest you keep practicing,” Karigan said. “Change up the order, as well, so your body doesn’t get too used to one particular flow. You want to be able to respond to change, according to whatever situation you’re in.”
He nodded. “What now?”
Karigan thought for a few moments, then asked, “Do you ever get to spar with the professor?”
“Rarely. Very rarely. He’s much too busy.”
That was unfortunate. In fact, it was downright unacceptable. Training by one’s self was in no way adequate. Learning the forms was important, but putting them into use by practicing with an opponent was imperative. Then she remembered he would not be depending on swords as his weapon. However, he’d asked for proper training, and he was going to get it.
“We’ll use practice swords,” she said, striding over to the weapons wall. The battered wooden swords were crudely made and piled on the floor, appearing rather neglected.
“You aren’t going to use a real sword?” Cade asked, surprised.
“Neither of us are. Only swordmasters train with steel, and you’re not a swordmaster. Nor am I.”
She searched through the wooden blades until she found one that felt adequately balanced. It was a poor substitute for a real sword, she admitted, but one could be more aggressive, truly work the forms, when there was no danger of killing one’s sparring partner. She leaned the bonewood against the wall and waited as Cade hung up his longsword and started sorting through wooden blades.
“Look,” Karigan said, “you wanted my help. I am trying to teach you as I’ve been taught, and I’ve been taught by a true swordmaster, the man who chooses who becomes the king’s Weapons. His way is common sense and practicality. We do not have guns. We use swords. These methods work for us.”
“Very well. I did agree to this.”
Agreed to it? He’d practically begged her to instruct him.
She ran him through some quick warm up exercises—much quicker than he would have done on his own—and she began to teach him how to use his breaths to maintain focus. She then had him go through the forms he’d worked on before. They were much improved.
“You’ve been practicing without me.” She wasn’t displeased he’d been practicing, just annoyed he hadn’t invited her along.
A blush colored Cade’s cheeks. “I did not wish to embarrass myself again.” That alleviated her annoyance some, until he added, “I learn fast and am getting quite good if I say so myself.” There was a certain amount of smugness in his voice that irritated her. She tapped the tip of the bonewood on the floor, thinking.
“Give me the Heron Stance,” she said.
He did, and she nudged his feet into better positions with the bonewood.
She then rattled off a series of forms that required intricate footwork, which was to conclude on Heron Stance. He stumbled over his own feet as he tried to make his way through the series.
She crossed her arms and shook her head.
“What?” Cade demanded.
“Your footwork,” she said.
“Yes?”
“You’re mincing about like you’re standing on hot coals. I’m guessing you are something of a clumsy dancer.”
“I am not!” he burst out.
“We need horse hobbles,” she murmured, recalling some memorable training sessions with Drent. Cade stared at her aghast. “I’m going to go through the same set of forms,” she announced. “Watch my feet.”
She was intentionally goading him so she could in turn humble him. Overconfidence was another path to an early demise when it came to swordfighting. She then started in surprise when she realized that was exactly what Drent had been doing to her all this time—mocking and criticizing her so she wouldn’t get too arrogant and be killed as a result. It was a good thing to keep in mind for herself: that by trying to prevent Cade from getting dangerously overconfident, she didn’t do so herself.
So, instead of going through the forms at full speed, as she had planned to do in order to impress him, she went very slowly. When she finished, she asked, “Did you watch my feet?”
He nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “Your feet moved, but they didn’t.”
“Yes,” Karigan said. “Swordmasters are spare in their movement, using their feet only as necessary to maintain balance, position, rhythm, and to aid the force of their bladework.”
“Dancing without dancing,” he said thoughtfully.
She guided him slowly through the same forms, helping him with his footing, which meant adjustments to the rest of his body.
When they’d gone through it twice, he said, “I think I understand how it’s supposed to feel, how the power, the force, is connected through my whole body, from my feet to my sword hand.”
Karigan nodded, gratified he understood, maybe comprehending better than she ever had herself.
“Can you show me what it looks like at normal speed?” he asked.
Karigan smiled. She thought he’d never ask.
SPARRING
When Karigan ended on the Heron Stance, she found Cade looking thoughtful. It was an improvement over the near worship he’d exhibited the first time she’d demonstrated what she could do, and in a way, it was not. At least some acknowledgment of her performance, with its speed and intricate footwork, wouldn’t be remiss.
Instead, Cade diligently paced himself through the forms again, trying to emulate her. He did well, much better than before, but he still stumbled.
“I suggest you keep practicing,” Karigan said. “Change up the order, as well, so your body doesn’t get too used to one particular flow. You want to be able to respond to change, according to whatever situation you’re in.”
He nodded. “What now?”
Karigan thought for a few moments, then asked, “Do you ever get to spar with the professor?”
“Rarely. Very rarely. He’s much too busy.”
That was unfortunate. In fact, it was downright unacceptable. Training by one’s self was in no way adequate. Learning the forms was important, but putting them into use by practicing with an opponent was imperative. Then she remembered he would not be depending on swords as his weapon. However, he’d asked for proper training, and he was going to get it.
“We’ll use practice swords,” she said, striding over to the weapons wall. The battered wooden swords were crudely made and piled on the floor, appearing rather neglected.
“You aren’t going to use a real sword?” Cade asked, surprised.
“Neither of us are. Only swordmasters train with steel, and you’re not a swordmaster. Nor am I.”
She searched through the wooden blades until she found one that felt adequately balanced. It was a poor substitute for a real sword, she admitted, but one could be more aggressive, truly work the forms, when there was no danger of killing one’s sparring partner. She leaned the bonewood against the wall and waited as Cade hung up his longsword and started sorting through wooden blades.
