Elenya watched carefully, but saw no sign of guile or boastfulness. Two out of five. No one had ever beaten Lonal that often. "Suppose I agree to teach you, does that mean you would not go back to the Eastern Deserts?"
"I will stay as long as necessary," he said firmly. "This is a strange land-more trees than I knew could grow on one world-but I will adjust. My sword is my life."
She tapped her toe into the dirt, testing the spring of her feet. The porridge lay lightly in her stomach, just enough there to give her energy without weighing her down. Her body was ready for some vigorous exercise.
"Well," she said. "First things first. Let's see how good you are."
The entire rebel camp turned out for the match, with the exception of Alemar, Wynneth, and the individuals on sentry duty. Elenya enlisted Tregay as judge. They had no practice blades, so they improvised. Both players tied a thin sack of corn around their midsections, outside of light mail shirts. The match would not be the best test of skill, since it was one thing to defend a small area from attack, and quite another to protect the entire body, but it would give Elenya an approximation of Dalih's ability. To make it more realistic, they agreed to allow pinking on the forearms, though such strikes would earn no points. She left off her gauntlet; defeating him while wearing it would prove nothing. They would spar until five total points had been scored.
They faced one another. Tregay gave the signal. Elenya plunged forward, thrusting, and sneaked the tip of her blade into the burlap just before Dalih could twist away.
"First point, Elenya," Tregay announced.
Dalih blinked. She nearly always used the tactic with an opponent who had never seen her fence before. Her lightness, speed, and the committedness of the movement nearly always caught them by surprise. It had failed only with Troy and Lonal.
Dalih bowed, and they assumed their starting positions. Elenya readied herself to repeat the maneuver, though she knew a masterful player would not give her a second chance.
Dalih did not. He changed his stance immediately, eliminating the opening, and danced in with a series of short jabs designed to draw her counter. She did not take the bait. Instead she backed away, leading him into a trap of her own. He abandoned his drive, and they stared at each other from a distance.
He had tried an attack known to Elenya as the Northern Opening. She doubted Dalih had studied classical fencing, but he had the moves. He used them naturally, instinctively, not as would a man who had been taught them by rote.
She tested him with the Southern Feint. He was not fooled, as the technique was intended to create an opening to the lower gut, which was off-limits in this contest. His counterthrust made her scamper backwards.
While she pondered what to try next, he charged. She side-stepped, leaned in, and scored. Damn, he'd been fast. Almost too fast. They backed away.
"Second point, Dalih," Tregay said, a hint of surprise in his tone.
Elenya hesitated, then looked down. A kernel of corn was jutting through a tiny rent in her sack.
He had been too fast. Her counter had come too late. He had used the same strategy that had given her the first point. Perhaps the lack of her gauntlet had caused her to misjudge, but she thought not. Dalih was simply quicker than she had given him credit for.
She acknowledged him with a nod. It would be interesting to see what happened now that they each had a measure of the other's speed.
Their next exchange was furious. They travelled all across the sward, forcing observers to back-pedal out of the way. They clashed until sweat broke out on their brows and they began to draw deep breaths. In a sport where points are typically determined with a single exchange, they continued a long time indeed. Part of it was the small target area, but mostly, Elenya knew, it was that they were closely matched.
Finally she pinked him near an elbow. Though he covered himself and prevented a follow-through, her success seemed to break his concentration. During her next charge she scored.
They rested for a few moments, while one of the camp women tied a strip of cloth around Dalih's cut.
The fourth round began as intensely as the third, but Elenya sensed a subtle difference. Dalih was pushing harder than before, and not being as careful. She stayed on the defensive, pacing herself, letting him tire.
He began to pant. His drives, though they made her retreat, did not score, though once Tregay stopped the round in order to see if there was a second hole in Elenya's sack. A crease appeared in the Surudainese's forehead.
Finally he slowed his pace, to gather his stamina. She chose that moment to press, and narrowly managed to score. Dalih stared down at the burlap as if he could not believe the new slice existed. His lips drew into a thin line as he bowed to Elenya.
The sight of his frustration nearly made Elenya smile. She had nurtured that reaction, in order to take advantage of the effect. She caught herself. She was doing as she had done in every match for the past ten years-making sure she won.
But that was not the point of this contest. How well did she know Dalih? What sort of good could come from humiliating him? As Tregay gave the word to begin the fifth and final round, she decided to change tactics.
Dalih came in aggressively, but cautiously, intent on avoiding his earlier mistake. He was a quick learner, she noted, able more than ever to evaluate him since she was no longer as intent on her own performance. Her concern over his feeling humiliated had been unfounded. They engaged five times to stalemate. Both came close.
The next time she pressed, Elenya deliberately left a small, momentary opening.
Dalih took it so fast that she could not have countered even if she had tried. His sword punctured the exact center of the sack, deep, almost to her mail shirt. Her eyes went wide.
"Point five, Dalih," Tregay said instantly, excited by the clarity of the technique.
The contestants sheathed their blades and reached out to clasp hands.
"Excellent swordplay," Elenya said.
"The last round was a little easier than the others," Dalih said meaningfully, though he did not seem displeased.
"To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure you would see that opening, much less take advantage of it. Lonal taught you well."
"You will accept me as a student, then?" he asked humbly.
"If you will accept me as a teacher."
"I would be honored."
She untied the burlap sack and dropped it on the sod. The audience waited with interested gazes, reminding her that she and Dalih had been speaking in a language that none of them could understand. She placed a hand on the southerner's shoulder and said, "Dalih is going to stay in Cilendrodel, and be a member of our company."
They cheered. She introduced the rebels to Dalih one by one. He, of course, had no words with which to respond to his welcome, but he rose to the occasion with a warm smile and a firm grip on the hands that were offered to him.
Elenya guessed he was perhaps twenty-more than five years her junior. Still coming into the prime of his physical abilities, while she was perched at the pinnacle. As good as he was now, he would get stronger and faster. She might not. Greater experience and a keen sense of strategy might keep her on top for many years, but sooner or later, the student might surpass the teacher.
The thought, much to her satisfaction, did not alarm her. In fact, it was like a saddle being lifted off her back. She was drawn back into the warm, soothing frame of mind she had felt at dawn, just after the healing. What better way to step down, than to shape one's own successor? She finally understood some of Troy's motives, saw why he had used her stubbornness and anger to make her a better fencer. Fortunately, Dalih, with his quiet confidence and genuine modesty, seemed the type who wouldn't need to be tricked into excellence.
The final person in the line to be introduced proved to be Wynneth. Elenya was startled. Her sister-in-law smiled and tilted her head toward a nearby tree. Alemar was leaning against the trunk.