“I was wondering,” he said, as he removed his suit coat, “if your looking at the guns here would afflict you the same way as the Cobalt did at the Big Mounds.”
“I don’t think this sort of thing just goes away,” she replied, but she walked over to the cabinet displaying several of the weapons, including some that were as long as a sword. It was these Cade must have been referring to when he spoke of “longarms.”
She suffered no ill effects when looking from a distance, but then again, she couldn’t see the details. When she approached more closely, the glare of the weapons made her avert her gaze and step back from the cabinet as though physically repulsed.
Cade’s head was tilted as he watched her. “Curious,” he said. “I guess we’ll have to stick with swords.” He removed a longsword from its wall mount. He took up a relaxed stance and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply. It was as Karigan had seen him do the last time.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Centering myself,” he replied, without opening his eyes.
Karigan watched the rise and fall of his chest. There was something to that, she knew, and Arms Master Drent made sure his trainees learned how to use their breath while exerting themselves in a fight. It not only steadied their hearts and conserved energy, but allowed them to focus, or as Cade put it, center themselves. However, centering happened while doing in Drent’s world.
“So in a real combat situation you expect the enemy to politely wait around while you center yourself?” Karigan asked.
“I would not meditate when in combat.” Cade’s voice held an edge of irritation.
“Then why do you do so now? Combat can happen unexpectedly, with no time for . . . meditating. Practicing this centering thing could make you reliant on it and throw you when you don’t have time for it in an unexpected fight.”
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.
“Does the professor spar with steel?” Karigan asked.
“No, no. I just thought you probably did, being as well trained as you are.”
“I only use steel when necessary to—” She faltered.
Cade nodded. “When necessary to kill. That’s how it is with guns. Although there is no substitute for target practice with anything but an actual gun.”
When finally Cade chose a wooden sword t
o his satisfaction, they touched blades and began. Karigan kept the pace slow and steady, offering commentary as she went and pointing out his mistakes, as well as what he did correctly. Steadily, she increased speed and spoke less, enjoying the work and how her puffy sleeves billowed with each stroke and thrust.
Cade grew in confidence, turning on the offensive. Karigan let him, parrying and blocking in a steady rhythm as the clack of wooden swords echoed through the cavernous room. She let the rhythm lull him and gave him no reason to doubt his confidence. She even let him score a touch on her arm that normally, she’d deflect. When she saw the slight smile on his lips, felt the aggression increase in his attack, and saw he was about to go for kill point, she simply allowed him to put all his force into a single scything swing. Before his blow landed, she lithely pivoted out of the way. The momentum of his effort unbalanced him, and he stumbled forward. She jabbed the blunt tip of her blade into his back.
“You are dead,” she said, and explained where he had gone wrong. “Now again.”
She lulled and goaded him enough times like this that she could tell he was growing both frustrated and mistrustful. Being wary of an opponent was good. Not being able to trust oneself, not so good. When he fell for yet another trap, and she sent his sword flying across the floor, she could tell by his sharp movements and glower that he’d become angry. He stomped away to pick up his sword.
When he returned, she said, “A couple of important things—there must be balance between instinct and technique. Your technique is getting better. However, I’ve been tricking you, and it’s making you question yourself. I think you should assume that a genuine opponent will do whatever it takes to defeat you, including deception. Your instincts will grow with practice. You’ll be able to sniff out trickery. Also, if you’re angry, you are prone to make more mistakes.”
Her words did not appear to mollify him much. He still glowered. Karigan needed to be extra aware in their next bout, as fighting angry opponents could be dangerous. They became unpredictable, and trainees were apt to make painful errors in judgment.
In Cade, the anger worked to his advantage, sharpened his reactions and made him more calculating in his offensive moves. She thought she was goading him into another trap, but he pulled a reversal, and to her surprise he passed through her defenses and got kill point with a hard smack to her ribs.
“Bloody hell!” She doubled over in pain. When she caught her breath, she tentatively probed her rib cage to see if he’d broken or cracked something, but it didn’t seem like it. She’d have a good bruise, though.
Cade’s sword clattered to the floor, and he rushed to her side. “Did I—did I injure you?”
“I’m fine,” Karigan said breathlessly, gratified by his concern. “Just smarts.”
“Let me see—”
She pushed his hand away.
“I just want to see if I broke your ribs,” he said.
“With that technique? Not even close.”
“I do not trust your bold words,” he replied.
When he reached for her again, she slapped his hand away. He grabbed her wrist. She hooked her leg around his and swept him off his feet. He fell on his back, and his head thunked on the floor. He lay there unmoving.
“Hells!” Karigan knelt down beside him. “Cade? Are you all right?”
His eyes fluttered open. “What are all these stars I see?”
“Let me check the back of your head for—”
As she reached for him, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “Not till I check your ribs.”
They were nearly nose to nose. The end of Karigan’s braid brushed his cheek. They glared at one another. Warmth rushed through Karigan’s body. Driven by some impulse she did not know she’d been harboring, she closed the gap between them and kissed him. He jerked beneath her. If he’d been standing and not on the floor he would have pulled back. But he couldn’t, and after the initial shock of the kiss, he relaxed and gave into it, and gave back.
What was she doing? Karigan’s blood rushed, and she shivered. His grip on her wrist had loosened, and his hand was traveling up her arm. She broke off the kiss and hopped to her feet.
“Ha!” she cried as if it had all been some grand joke. She was all at once giddy and triumphant for both kissing and besting him, and embarrassed she’d let her guard down, for revealing herself that way. And the sudden move had pulled painfully at her sore ribs. She embraced the pain, which edged out certain other sensations but not the regret for having broken off the kiss. Cade still lay down there looking bewildered. Perhaps . . . perhaps she should kiss him again?
He sat up, rubbing the back of his head and wincing. She knelt again beside him, concerned. His gaze was steady and clear, not unfocused the way it would be if he had a bad head injury. Definitely not unfocused. As he reached for her, she suddenly felt shy and looked away, only to glimpse the professor standing just a few paces away, watching them. They’d been so preoccupied with one another they hadn’t heard his entrance.
“Am I interrupting anything interesting?” the professor asked.
Cade staggered to his feet and swayed. Karigan leaped up to steady him, a small cry of pain escaping her lips before she could prevent it. The professor looked from one to the other.
“I’d rather the two of you be circumspect in the injuring of one another,” he said at last. “Makes it hard to explain away such things.” Giving Karigan a long, appraising look, he added, “You look stunning in black, my dear, and you have some very good moves.”
How long had he been watching? Karigan wondered. And he was referring to her sword work, right?
He strode off toward the library, and Cade and Karigan nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to follow.
“Don’t stop doing whatever it was you were doing on my account,” the professor said.
“Miss Goodgrave—I hurt her ribs,” Cade said.
“Cade banged his head,” Karigan said.
The professor turned on his heel to face them once more. “Are these life-threatening injuries?”
“Miss Goodgrave won’t allow me to see her ribs.”
The professor crooked a bushy eyebrow.
Cade blushed and started to stammer.
“I’m fine,” Karigan interrupted. “We both are. Really. I think . . .”
“Hmm.” With that, the professor continued on his way to the library.
Cade glanced at her, but Karigan could not meet his gaze.
AT TWO HOUR
Karigan and Cade hovered just a little too anxiously over the professor’s desk as he searched through various drawers. He paused to give them an all-too-knowing look before reaching into a drawer with an, “Ah ha!” He withdrew a gold sphere with a delicate chain dangling from it. It was etched with decorative whorls and ornate script. Initials, perhaps? It fit neatly into the palm of his hand.
“What is that?” Karigan asked.
“This, my dear, is a very rare item. A chronosphere.”
“A what?”
“A timepiece,” Cade supplied. “Shows time down to the minute. The finest can show time to the second with great accuracy.”
“To the second?” she asked “In that little thing?” She thought of her world’s few huge water clocks, used to synchronize the bells in the chapels of the moon. There were other modes of time telling, of course: candles, sundials, hour glasses, and on the coast, posts that marked time with the rise and fall of the tides. But the general population listened for the bells if they needed to know the hour, just as they did here.
The professor thumbed open a clasp and the sphere sprang open on hinges, revealing two halves. Karigan peered closely. In the center of one half, a tiny mechanical figure of a man with a tall hat and cane straightened up from a bowed position. He was deftly detailed and colored with enamel paint, his elbow chipped. He pivoted on a rotating
disk and extended his cane to the other half of the sphere, which contained two rings of numerical glyphs carved in yellowed ivory. The numbers of the outer ring were larger, and the mechanical man bowed so that the tip of his cane clicked on the glyph for the number one. Then he straightened and pivoted again with a distinct whirring noise and tapped on a glyph of the inner ring.
“It is ten till two hour in the morning,” the professor announced. When the mechanical man returned to his starting position, the professor snapped the chronosphere shut.
To Karigan, the device was almost as impressive as the plumbing, and the gods had permitted her to see it, which meant she probably couldn’t hope to understand how it worked. When the professor placed it back in his drawer, she asked, “Why do you leave it in your desk? If I had something like that to tell me the time, I’d carry it everywhere.”
“I’d like to do so,” he replied, “but only the emperor’s elite, his most favored, are allowed to have one. It’s one more thing that elevates them over everyone else. Having such immediate access to the time is a form of power. And of course, it is they who control when the bells ring.”
Karigan saw the advantage immediately. If someone wanted the mills to be more productive, they could stretch the hours by changing the time the bells rang. Ordinary people might feel something was off, but they’d have no other way of verifying it, and must rely on the bells—controlled by the empire’s leadership—for the time, correct or not.
“Fortunately the empire rarely manipulates the bells,” the professor said, “though it has happened. Another reason I don’t use the chronosphere regularly is that winding the mechanisms is not enough to make it function forever. They rely on etherea, and I fear this one is running very low, so I must be conservative in its use.”
“If only the most favored receive these timepieces,” Karigan said, “how did you get this one? Did you acquire it like you did the Cobalt gun?”
The professor chuckled. “No, my dear. This was different. It was my grandfather’s.”