Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 34 of 57

Damian's class held their stances now, but that meant nothing. He had seen what real killers did to slow hands. His students trained against each other, gentle and careful. The marked men who wanted his face would not be gentle. So Damian made a choice. If they were to survive, they had to fight someone who fought back. At dawn he gathered them in the stone hall. Gothic arches climbed above their heads. Light fell through the tall windows onto the worn floor. "No more drills against each other," Damian said. "Today you fight me. I will not hold back the way you do." The small girl gripped her wooden blade. The tall boy swallowed. Rolo perched on a windowsill, one boot swinging. "He means it," she called down. "Better bruises from him than a real edge from them." Damian took the runed sword from its wrap. Its gems caught the light, blue and gold across the guard. He did not use its edge. He turned the blade flat and stepped into the tall boy first. The boy raised a clumsy block. Damian slid past it and tapped his ribs hard enough to fold him. The boy dropped. "You copied the last thing you saw," Damian said. "I showed you nothing. Watch my shoulders, not my sword." He pulled the boy up and came again, slower. This time the boy read the shoulder and turned the strike aside. He moved through them one by one. He crowded the small girl until her feet tangled, then showed her how to give ground without falling. He pressed the others until sweat ran and stances broke. When a stance broke, he struck the flat against them so they felt the cost. No one laughed now. They learned that a real fight took everything. By noon the girl parried three of his strikes in a row. The tall boy landed a clean tap on Damian's arm and froze, shocked. "Good," Damian said. "Do it again." The boy did. The whole class watched him win a point against their teacher, and something changed in the room. They stopped fearing the fight. They wanted it. Rolo dropped from the sill and clapped the small girl on the shoulder. "You made him work," she said. The girl grinned through her bruises. Damian wrapped the runed sword and looked at his students. Their hands were faster. Their eyes were harder. They could take a hit and answer it. He had built fighters from soft clay. But testing them had shown him the truth. They were ready for one attacker, maybe two. The marked men would come in numbers, and soon. He had sharpened his students. Now he had to decide whether to wait for the enemy at the temple doors or meet them on the road first.