THE sun beat down mercilessly. Miro blinked sweat out of his eyes, and then ducked instantly as one of his opponents took advantage of his lapse. The sword was close. Too close. He felt the nick as the razor sharp steel sliced into his temple. A small amount of blood burst out, but the flow was small.
"Fight on," said Blademaster Rogan.
If Miro had a cendeen for every time he had heard those words he would be a rich man, he thought sardonically.
"Concentrate!" his teacher called, though whether to him or to his opponents he wasn’t sure.
Saporo and Rimor gathered themselves. Saporo looked proud for scoring a hit. Still, Miro knew he was the less dangerous of the two, and kept an eye on Rimor. His two opponents spread apart, forcing Miro to take two steps back lest they outflank him.
Ringed around them, fifty novice swordsmen watched closely.
"Notice how Miro watches the eyes and the legs, not the hands or the arms. The eyes tell you what your enemy intends, the legs tell you how he will do it," said Rogan.
Rimor’s eyes flickered but Miro didn’t take the bait. Saporo waited, following his ally’s lead.
Miro didn’t know how, but he suddenly knew Rimor was about to step to the right. He waited for the first signs of Rimor’s movement. Then with reflexes like an adder, Miro was there to meet him. Saporo was behind Rimor for a split second and Miro seized his opportunity, ramming the hilt of his sword savagely into Rimor’s face, breaking his nose. Blood sprayed over the young man’s face, blinding him.
"Always use every part of your body, every part of your weapon. Miro is an adept at this; he uses his blade like an extension of his body."
Faster than the eye, Miro’s sword flashed at Rimor’s neck.
"Hold!" shouted Rogan Jarvish.
The sword touched the young man’s neck with the lightest of kisses, the razor sharp steel leaving a faint line on Rimor’s neck. What did Rogan think — that Miro was going to kill him? No. But Rimor’s mocking words hadn’t been forgotten, and this was Miro’s chance to strike on a level playing field.
"Come on, what if Miro was holding a zenblade? Rimor, you’re out," said the instructor. "Saporo, let’s see you get another hit."
With a grimace and his hands clutched to his face, Rimor left the field, throwing Miro a hateful glare. Miro knew he would pay for that later. He didn’t regret it. Away from supervision, with his friends to back him up, Rimor had left worse scars on Miro’s own tender flesh.
With the better opponent out, Miro grew more confident. He lunged, forcing Saporo back. He feinted right, but instead spun to the left. Saporo caught himself and tried to lift his sword in warding. The steel tip of Miro’s blade lanced at Saporo’s face; the youth fell away from Miro’s onslaught. Miro kicked out with his leg, landing a painful blow to his opponent’s ankle. Saporo stumbled and lost his balance, falling backward onto the dust. Rather than pushing further, Miro waited, allowing his opponent to rise.
"Did you see that coming? Saporo should have. If he’d been watching Miro’s eyes it was clear. Well done, Miro, now finish him."
Miro could have done without the praise. From the sidelines he caught several resentful glances from the watching young men.
Saporo threw himself at Miro, his sword twisting and thrusting. It came straight at the centre of Miro’s chest. Miro went to turn, too late! The steel was going to skewer him. At the last moment he arched himself backward. Confident of a hit, Saporo overextended. Miro pirouetted, resting the point of his sword over Saporo’s collar.
"Excellent, Miro," Blademaster Rogan called. "Now bow." The two standing fighters did so; Rimor had been taken to the infirmary. "All gather."
Saporo joined his fellows. Blademaster Rogan came to stand beside Miro. Slightly taller than the lanky youth, he casually placed his hand on Miro’s shoulder. The gesture wasn’t lost on many. Miro heard snickers and groaned inwardly. Why did he have to get so much attention?
"You use steel swords. You hone them until they are sharp enough to cut a falling leaf. You wear no armour. You fight daily, in deadly combat. Someone, tell me why this is so?"
A student answered, "To make us better fighters."
"Correct, but there is more to it. Miro?"
Miro knew the answer Rogan was looking for. "Because combat without real fear teaches nothing."
"That’s right. There is more to being a bladesinger than carrying a zenblade, just as there is more to being an enchanter than possessing a vial of essence. A zenblade is to a normal sword what an ocean is to a gentle stream. The lightest touch from a zenblade will cut through anything. Anything!" he growled. "It will cut through armoursilk, and armoursilk is among the strongest armour our enchanters know how to make. And if we can’t make it — then who can?"