Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 3 of 57

For three weeks Damian struck the straw dummy clean, again and again. His feet held. His mind stayed empty. But the master shook her head each time. "A dummy does not fight back," she said. "It cannot make you angry. A real match can. I gave you my word: hold your control through ten exchanges against a living blade, and the gemmed sword is yours." Damian looked around the empty temple. There was no one else. "Then find me someone to fight," he said. The master leaned on her cane. "There is no one. My students are gone. My teacher is dead. Only I remain, and my legs are too old to trade ten blows." She studied him. "But I can still test you another way." She crossed to the long chest and lifted out the sword with the runes and the blue gem. Damian's breath caught. She did not hand it to him. Instead she gripped it herself and stepped onto the training floor. "You wanted a real match," she said. "You will fight me. I move slow. But I do not miss. Land nothing careless. Lose your temper once, and we stop." Damian raised his father's sword. He breathed out and emptied his mind, the way she had drilled. She came at him slow but exact. Her blade tapped his guard. He turned it. One exchange. Two. Her cane hand steadied her, and still the runed edge found his openings. He blocked, stepped, answered. Three. Four. His arms burned. She pressed harder. On the seventh exchange she spoke. "Your father died on his knees," she said. "Did they tell you that?" Heat rushed up Damian's chest. His grip tightened. His raven clicked from the high rail. He heard it. He stopped his swing before it went wild. He breathed out and let the words fall away. He was not sure they were even true. He met her next strike clean. Eight. Nine. His feet held. His mind stayed flat and cold. On the tenth exchange he turned her blade and set the tip of his father's sword against her shoulder. Light. Controlled. He pulled it back at once. The master lowered the runed sword. She was breathing hard now too. For a long moment she said nothing. Then she reversed the blade and held the grip out to him. "Ten," she said. "You baited well, and you did not break." Damian took it. The wrapped grip filled his hand. The blue gem burned bright at the crossguard. It was lighter than he expected, and it felt made for him. He had earned it. The master watched his face. "Now hear me," she said. "A blade like that draws eyes. The masked man knows this sword. He tried to take it once and failed. Carry it, and you do not have to hunt him." She met his eyes. "He will come hunting you."