by Guy Antibes
“Point Smith,” Grott said.
They separated and assumed their ready position again. Sam looked into his opponent’s eyes. The boy might never have fought against an opponent with Level One speed, and if Sam had anything, he possessed the speed of his classmates. The next pass involved a thrust by Sam’s opponent, which Sam easily parried, and a slash, again with two hands, again parried. Sam now had the measure of his opponent. The Level Two had no mental game.
Sam glared at the boy as they separated momentarily and finally went on the offensive. He thrust and thrust again. His opponent’s strength was able to deflect Sam’s attempts to score, but Sam was waiting for the deflection where his opponent would let his guard down. Sam gave a cross-body slash that the boy deflected too soon, leaving his torso wide open. Sam cut his opponent’s shirt, scoring his skin just a bit.
“Point Smith,” the other judge said.
Sam let his opponent score on the next pass and suffered a cut on his shoulder, a little deeper than the Level Two needed to score. He had expected the Level Two to be called for the cut, but he wasn’t, so Sam thought it time to end things. He scored with less than five exchanges in each of the next three passes.
“Match Smith,” Grott said. Sam bowed to his opponent, now noticing a trickle of blood running down his arm. “Get to the healers,” the professor said. “Good match.”
Sam looked into his eyes to see Grott’s amused expression. The professor knew Sam had been playing with the Level Two. For his size, his opponent was still at Level Two speed, and defeating him was easier than Sam had thought. Had he improved all that much? He would only find out when he fought a fellow Level One.
The healer looked at Sam’s shoulder. “I can put some pollen stitches in,” she said. “But they won’t stand up to a match.”
“Non-pollen stitches work the best with me, anyway,” Sam said.
She slathered pain salve on his shoulder and put in about eight stitches. “You didn’t bleed as much as I would have thought. It even looks like the bleeding is about to stop.”
Sam nodded. “I’m a good healer, Healer,” he said with a smile. “Wash it off, and I’ll get back out there.”
He returned in time to see the last of the second group of Level Ones. Norna fought against an older opponent. He was a Fourth Year and one of the professor’s most accomplished students. Norna had impressive speed, but the young man wasn’t that much slower, and he had more years of training on the girl and won five touches to three, with Sam seeing only the last touch of the match.
Norna’s head hung low. “I drew one of Grott’s best.”
“The professor already has a good idea who will win and who won’t. This practice tournament is as much a learning experience as a competition,” Sam said. He wondered if he would draw one of the best fencers for his second match.
The third group fought. Sam watched two more Level Twos eaten up by Level Ones. He wondered if any of the next class down would make it past the first match. Three more Level One matches took place, and the first round was finished. The duelists set up serving tables, and lunch was served, catered by the commissary.
Sam didn’t eat much, but he did make sure he drank enough water not to get dehydrated in his next match. The next bracket was posted. Sam would fight a Level One with whom he had had plenty of experience in the last two pairs of the day. It would be a tough match, but not as tough as Norna’s.
The Level Three matches didn’t last as long, now that the better swordsmen were on the floor. The Level Two matches were also more interesting, but still, Sam could see that Norna and he had advanced past them in ability.
The Level One matches continued to draw Sam’s attention. He had fought with each Level One and knew their strong and weak points. If he made it past this round, Sam knew he wouldn’t last through the next.
His time finally came, and he faced Hint Balkal, a Trakatan student two years ahead of Norna and three ahead of Sam. His weakness was a stutter-step that he thought gave him more power, but actually was an invitation for a quick point, now that Sam was thinking of ways to score. However, his strength was a very quick wrist. Sam had a hard time keeping up with the speed of his blade, and the direction could change easily for Hint.
This time, Sam used his Lashak blade that was lighter than the practice swords he had used so far. He wondered if he was up to the task, but he closed his eyes during warm-ups and used an intense version of his personal Lashak form that he had never shown anyone before. He took a deep, deep breath to calm his body and his mind. He would use his own Lashak style with Hint.
Hint looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye when they faced the judges and bowed. The judges raised their arms. Professor Drak judged this match along with Professor Grott.
Hint and Sam faced each other and stepped back. Sam took a large step and pointed his blade down. The judges lowered their arms, and the match began. Hint didn’t waste any time showing Sam why he was so deadly with his sword. His wrist whipped in and out at the end of an arm that did the same. Sam had to react, and he ended up fighting a defensive match.
Sam had sparred with Hint plenty of times, and the display had never changed. The difference was Sam used a lighter blade. The pair of them fought for nearly a minute until Hint’s blade scraped Sam’s knuckle splitting it open.
“Point Balkal,” Drak said.
Sam sighed. He had been quickly drawn out of his style by Hint’s aggressive play. Sam would have to be aggressive, too.
They faced each other again, points dropped. Arms raised, and Sam took a half-step back. When the arms dropped, Sam lunged forward and struck Hint’s knee before meeting his opponent’s blade.
“Point Smith.”
On the next encounter, Hint tried to do exactly what Sam had done, but he ended up raising his blade into thin air. Sam closed with him. They looked each other in the eye as their blades locked. Sam forced himself to release and use his Lashak style. He stepped past Hint’s sword arm, dragging his edge along Hint’s upper arm before Hint had a chance to react.
Sam learned that he needed to push his opponent away. That was a cheap point, but a point, nevertheless. He wouldn’t be able to use that in a real match, he thought. Hint was lulled by his superior skill.
The match went on, and they locked again. Sam expected Hint to push him away, but not as hard as his opponent did. On the last point of the match, tied four to four, Sam stumbled as Hint put everything into knocking him over and tapped Sam on the head as he went down. Sam’s match was terrible. He was barely able to use the Lashak style and ended up fighting for his life.
“Match Balkal.” Grott said.
The opponents bowed to each other.
“Good fight,” Hint said, and Sam knew he meant it.
“You, too,” Sam said, stung a bit by his defeat.
Sam sat down next to Norna. “You still didn’t try hard,” she said.
“What? I did, too. The problem was I was going to use one of my other styles, and Hint kept me from using it.”
“Then why try? Use what you can be confident in.”
That was good advice, Sam thought. He hadn’t practiced the Lashak style enough. In a match with a lesser opponent, such a thing might work, but not against a peer. He considered Hint a peer, even though he lost.
“So, it is practice it more or set it aside?”
Norna gave him a curt nod. “That is how I see it. Balkal is better than both of us, but you gave a good accounting. He beat you by luck as much as anything else.”
Sam shook his head. “He generally wins. Today is no different.”
“Then you have to do something to make it different. A lot of good your magic sword does you.”
“It isn’t magic,” Sam said, but then he smiled. “But it is unusually sharp, which doesn’t help in a duel.”
Norna shrugged. “Then don’t use it.”
If Sam followed Norna’s advice, he doubted he’d be using anything for long.
&nb
sp; ~
The matches were over mid-morning of the second day. Drak and Grott conferred while the team ate at the South Commissary.
“What happens now?” Sam said to Hint Balkal, who sat with Norna and him.
“They confer and write up their critiques. Most of what they saw will go into your personal training plan for the mid-season tournament. Second and Third levels will be urged to work on their speed. The classes shrink a bit after the first tournament, especially the Third Levels. Our plans will be much more detailed.”
“This afternoon, we will have an open critiquing session. I’ll whine about your unorthodox moves,” Hint said.
“Which you tried to copy.” Sam smiled. “I will suggest that you change up your style. You fight just like you do when we spar.”
Hint looked indignant. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do,” Norna said. “Your arm-waving changes, but it is still arm-waving. Your footwork is identical.” She looked at Sam. “And your footwork was erratic, to say the least. You didn’t know what style you were using and ended up reacting most of the time.”
Sam thought about what to say about Norna’s match since he hadn’t seen most of it. “You lost, but your feet were fast,” Sam said with a smile.
“A girl should always have fast feet,” she said.
Hint broke up with laughter, but Sam didn’t get it. Perhaps it was a Trakatan thing.
“Time to be cut to shreds by Professor Grott’s tongue,” Sam said.
They arrived in the hall with the chairs arranged into three corners of the room.
“Level Ones over here,” Professor Grott said. “Level Twos with Professor Drak and the other judges will document the comments by the lower level teammates.”
Sam sat in the back row. Hint moved to the front, but Norna sat with Sam and patted him on his knee. “I’ve heard of these sessions. Don’t worry about what is said. Grott will work out the best plan for you, regardless of what the others say.”
Her words were somewhat reassuring. Sam knew he hadn’t performed poorly enough to merit general condemnation. Norna was right about the breaking down of the Lashak style in the heat of a match.
Professor Grott looked over the Level Ones. “Tomorrow at 9 in the morning, we meet here again. Make sure you have eaten a good breakfast and bring at least two changes of clothing, sharpening supplies to knock off the nicks to your swords, and grab water bottles from the commissary. We will take carriages to the competition.” He sighed and smiled. “Not bad performances, but I am not anticipating the start of the tournament tomorrow. Now, we let the real bloodletting begin.” He smiled grimly as he sat on the table, looking at his students.
Grott didn’t have to wait very long before the criticisms began. He tempered some of the comments with his observations of good points for most of his students. Sam just sat, hoping he was inconspicuous and would avoid notice.
One of the best students in the group looked back. Sam’s heart fell. Now it was his turn. “Sam Smith performed adequately well for a First Year student, but it seemed he tried too hard to use his unusual sword, a Lashak, unless I am mistaken. Perhaps the weapon has a life of its own, and Sam was fighting it as much as he did Hint.”
There was laughter in the group, but if that was the worse comment he received, he would be happy.
Another older Level One spoke up. “It was Hint’s fault the match was as close as it was. He hasn’t changed anything since last year. He could freshen things up a bit, and I don’t mean he could take more baths, although that isn’t a bad idea.”
Hint’s smiling face looked back at Sam amidst the laughter and nodded as the comments moved on to other matches. Norna’s close match earned her a couple of compliments with no real criticisms, other than the constant that she needed more strength. For some match-ups that would always be a challenge for her, and that was currently a problem for Sam, although he had a better chance of growing out of it.
“Sam,” Professor Grott said, as the critiquing session broke up. “About your sword. I suggest you work on using that between now and the next tournament. The first major tournament is much larger, and the competition is more varied. ”
“If there will be a next tournament,” Sam said. His bright idea about using Lashakan style swordplay definitely hadn’t worked the way he had anticipated.
Grott grinned. “You’ll be competing in the first season tournament and with the Lashak sword. Your problem was you didn’t know how to get into or out of the style. I could see you thinking through the problem, even if you didn’t notice. Hint took advantage of your indecision. He may not fight with a different style, but he knows how to use it to his advantage.”
“So what do I do against my opponent?”
“Use what is comfortable. Don’t force yourself into a style; let things flow naturally.”
Sam had to admit that was pretty much the same thing Mito Nakara had told him about assimilating the Lashak style into his swordsmanship. He had been forcing himself to change styles when fighting a tougher opponent. When he fought the Level Two, Sam realized he was much more natural in his reactions. “I can work on that in class, too?”
Grott nodded. “It is also about time you went to work on your body. You are going through a growth spurt. It is a little later for you than for others, but we will work on more exercises to build some speed and a more formal diet to build some bulk.”
Sam thought of Norna’s weight. “Can Norna put on some bulk?” he asked.
Grott shook his head. “Her advantage is speed. We can put a bit more weight on her, but not so she loses her quickness. I have other ideas for her, but that isn’t for this conversation.”
Sam nodded.
Grott put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Hint is competing at the top of the second bracket, and you performed well enough to make it an interesting match. Just get some experience dueling this time.”
Chapter Eight
~
T he line of carriages from the university clattered over Tolloy’s streets in a misty drizzle. Sam had decided to use his favorite practice sword and left the Lashakan weapon in his room. He fought to keep his mind focused on the match to come rather than the dreary weather outside.
They turned into a gate, and the competitors huddled for a moment and then went in a side door, while the spectators had to trudge around the building to enter the arena from the front. Sam followed the duelists into the side of a building he had never entered. For most of them, they grinned and joked. It wasn’t going to be their first match. Only Sam had never competed before, and that included the Level Two who had earned one of the two open slots.
He was glad that Grott had conducted a preliminary set of matches. At least Sam had an inkling about how the judges worked the matches and where to stand and how to address their opponent. He certainly didn’t feel the same confidence in himself that Grott had expressed.
Norna headed to the women’s locker room, and Sam ended up changing into his dueling outfit by himself in the men’s area. The large room was barely filled with the two teams.
The other competitors didn’t shun Sam, but he felt himself building a wall to isolate himself while he dealt with his nerves. Sam wouldn’t only be facing an opponent from the Writer’s Guild, but after the first round, he could be facing one of his teammates. He cast those thoughts aside and moved to the large warm-up room. He concentrated on warming up using Lashak forms. He was determined to make them second nature, so he wouldn’t feel the need to switch styles to defend, but rather move to other styles to confuse his opponents.
He sat in the warm-up room waiting for his call. Norna sat next to him. She was competing at the bottom of the second bracket, ranked higher than Sam.
The tournament had just begun when Professor Drak called out the names of the bottom of the third bracket, including the Level Two that made it in. That meant Sam’s name would come up very soon.
In what seemed like an instant, Sam entered the cavernous duel
ing hall. Four dueling circles had been set up, but only three were used for this set of matches. Sam looked around at the sparsely-attended tournament. The non-competing students from the university sat as one clump. Everyone else was scattered throughout the seats.
Next to a set of doors at the top sat a couple that Sam recognized. He paused to see Banna Plunk and Mito Nakara looking down at the match. Mito gave Sam a little wave, and Sam nodded his head in their direction. He didn’t need the distraction since his much-older opponent was at least a head taller than Sam. It wasn’t the height that bothered Sam, but the man’s reach.
They both warmed up for a bit, along with the other two pairs. A whistle blew, and two judges stepped to the edge of each circle. Sam knew what do and was in position when they lowered their arms.
Despite the longer reach, his opponent was incredibly slow. However, he was also incredibly strong, and Sam had to make sure he stayed away from the power of the man’s swings. Sam had to work quickly to get his touches in. The man scored two points in a row, giving Sam a lesson that he needed to practice evading more when so physically outmatched. No other Level One at the university displayed so much raw power. The man began to flag a little, so Sam was able to escape the match with five points and with some pretty severe bruises, but otherwise intact and ready to go in the next round.
He was tempted to go up to Banna and Mito, but it wasn’t allowed, and Sam was still uncertain how Banna would react to another meeting. He didn’t feel like a son to Banna, although she looked upon him as a son, so he relished the refuge of the waiting room.
The second round put Sam up against a teammate he had beaten on a regular basis, and this was no exception. He looked up to see Banna and Mito still looking on.
The third round pitted Sam against the winner of the top two pairs. He looked into the eyes of another young swordsman like himself, but from the Writer’s Guild. His opponent sneered at Sam, who just smiled. The match ended 5 to 1 in Sam’s favor. Sam had to wonder how the youth made it as far as he had.
