Tarma looked both girls over, and decided that they'd had a good enough bout that she could legitimately give them a rest. Both of them were panting, and Jadrie's face was sweat-streaked. "Good question, and time for a demonstration," Tarma told them, then raised her voice. "Justin, as soon as you're ready to break, I can use you. Demonstration time."
Justin Twoblade, who was sparring with one of the older boys, waved his free hand in acknowledgment. Three moves later, and the boy was disarmed; as he shook his stinging hand, Justin strolled over to Tarma's ring, waving his hand to summon all of his pupils to come watch the demonstration.
"Jadrie wants to see how someone works against a much smaller opponent," Tarma told him. Justin nodded, and his craggy features showed none of the amusement Tarma knew he felt at the moment.
"As long as we're going at quarter-speed, Sword-sworn," he replied, his face as sober as a priest's. "I remember the time three seasons ago when you used Ikan in the same demonstration. You may be Sworn to chastity, but I've barely begun my family."
Tarma suppressed a grin. "All right, for Estrel's sake I'll spare you," she said, and went down on one knee, then on guard. This put her head just about at Justin's beltline, which should have been a handicap for her -- but as she then demonstrated, even at one-quarter speed, she still made Justin work to defend himself and score on her.
But what she wanted her students to watch was what Justin did, not her -- for even Kira might one day have to defend against someone smaller than herself. When she grounded her point, signaling the end of the bout, she saw with satisfaction that both girls had their eyes still locked on Justin's hand and wrist.
She wiped sweat from her forehead with her free hand, and Justin extended his to help her to her feet. "Jadrie and Kira, another bout, now that you've seen a demonstration," she directed. "Justin, if you'd supervise them, please, I'll take Larsh, Hesten, and Belton and work on those disarms and counters."
Since Hesten was the young man that Justin had just disarmed, the other instructor let a brief grin flicker over his face when the aforementioned students couldn't see it. That was a common tactic among the three instructors; when one had administered a rebuke in the form of a painful defeat, one of the others would take over that student and work with him, so that the student didn't have the incentive to try and get back at the instructor. She'd seen this one coming for the last few days; Hesten was good on offensive work, but seemed to think that the best defense was a good offense. She judged that he'd need a couple more lessons to get over that particular fault, and she and Justin would have to take turns in administering those lessons.
She'd hired both Justin Twoblade and his partner Ikan Dryvale the second year the school had been in operation. She and Kethry had known the pair for years, and had known that they were steady enough in temper to be trusted with young students. Ikan currently was out running the rest of the students around the obstacle course; he had all of the younger boys today, since he had a knack with the youngest pupils that was only matched by Tarma herself. To avoid creating the appearance of "favorites" and to keep their students on their toes, the three instructors switched pupils on a regular basis and an irregular schedule, just as young Shin'a'in children were taught.
So Tarma resolutely kept her attention on the three oldest boys and paid no heed to what Justin was doing with Jadrie and Kira. Hesten was still smarting from his defeat, both physically and mentally, and she worked to get him and the other two back to the business at hand.
But they were all distracted, and Hesten clearly resented the fact that "his" instructor had gone to help mere girls.
"Look," she finally said with exasperation, "Hesten, just what do you think you're here for?"
The boy looked at her with a touch of arrogance shaded with suspicion. "You're teaching me swordsmanship-" he began, but she cut him off.
"Wrong," she said with finality. "I'm teaching you how to stay alive. So is Justin. There's a difference."
"But-" the boy looked ready to start an argument, but once again Tarma cut him off.
Time for the annual Lecture, I think.
"No buts' about it," she said flatly. "I've spoken at length with your parents. I know what they want from me, and I know what I told them, the kind of training that I could give you." She moved in closer with every word. "As a boy, your father had the best training with highly-recommended instructors, and is a fine swordsman -- and a rotten fighter. And he knows it. He can perform every pretty move in the catalog, and can't defend himself against a common merc with a pike. That's why he limps now, and if he hadn't been lucky enough to get into the hands of a real Healer, he wouldn't have been around to sire you."
Hesten's eyes went wide with shock; evidently his father had not discussed that particular moment in his life with his son.
Tarma continued without pity. "I know what happened, because I was there and I saw it happen, when we all put King Stefanson on the throne. He wants you to have the advantage that he didn't -- training with real fighters, not sword-dancers -- so that if Rethwellan needs your sword, you stand a decent chance of coming home intact. Do you understand me?"
That last sentence was spoken from a distance of mere thumb-lengths as she stared down into the boy's eyes, and saw the first flickers of respect -- and yes, fear. She backed off a little, and looked at all three of the boys. "Just what do you know about me?"
Hesten looked at his two fellows, and took it upon himself to answer, putting on a bravado to cover his betrayal of fear. "You're a Shin'a'in barbarian, there's some songs and tales that might be about you, but you never said anything, and neither did my father, but if you really were with the rebellion-"
Tarma smiled crookedly, a smile with no trace of humor. "I was learning swordwork as early as Jadrie, and I'd killed my first man when I was just about your age, Larsh. That, by the way, is not a boast, and it was not in a fair fight. And someday, if you deserve to hear it, I'll tell you the whole story. I was a freelance mere from the age of seventeen and a good one, and believe me, the stories you have heard about me and Keth aren't but a quarter of the truth. Justin and Ikan have similar histories." Her smile turned feral. "The reason you weren't told is because both your parents and I know you boys would have had one of two reactions -- you'd either have disbelieved it, figured it was boasting, and ignored what we tried to hammer into you, or you would have believed it and decided to prove you were better than us. Neither reaction is conducive to learning anything, which is why you are here -- not to prove that at your tender age you already know better than your teachers."
The boys all had the grace to look ashamed. Larsh looked down at his feet.
"As to why your parents chose me -- and J agreed to take you as students -- it's because they wanted something very specific for their firstborn sons. If you are called on by your King to go to war, if you are forced to lead your own people against brigands or bandits, or if you are forced into a position where you might fight to preserve your own life, you will have the best possible training to meet those situations." She dropped her smile and looked stern. "And do you know why?"
Hesten shook his head.
"A mercenary knows only one trade -- killing -- and one goal -- to stay alive to collect his pay. No matter what you've heard, most mercs don't like killing, so they make a point of being very, very good at it, and very efficient, so as to get it over quickly. Most mercs do like being alive, so they make a point of learning everything they can to stay that way. That includes a great many things that are not considered 'fair play' by the standards of people lucky enough to have been bom in your rank and class." Hesten's mouth firmed in a stubborn line; she knew he was the leader of this group, and she would have to convince him before the other two would see sense. He had unfortunately been infected with that noble nonsense known as chivalry; hopefully not for so long that he couldn't be cured of it.