Jordan Mitchell's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

The weapon worked, but Jordan still had no idea how the champion fought. Two days left, and every swing of that sword was a mystery. Jordan had watched the champion once, from the back of a crowd, and remembered only the size of him and the way people stepped aside. That was not enough. Walking into the trial field blind meant three strikes and a funeral. Jordan latched the box with the lizard inside, climbed out of the cellar, and went into town to find someone who had bled under the champion's blade and lived. The blacksmith remembered. He had sponsored Jordan and he owed nothing more, but he set down his hammer when Jordan asked. He said the champion led with the left foot and always cut high on the first pass to make you lift your guard. He said the second cut came low and fast at the front knee. He said the champion never threw a third strike from the same side. He had learned this with a scar that ran from his hip to his ribs. Jordan asked him to show it slow with a stick. The blacksmith did. They worked in the yard behind the forge until the sun dropped. High cut, low cut, switch. High cut, low cut, switch. Jordan learned the rhythm and learned the half beat between the low cut and the switch, when the champion's weight sat wrong and his off side opened. That was the window. That was where the lizard had to hit. Jordan walked home in the dark with the box under one arm and the pattern in their hands, and for the first time since registering they believed the trial could be won. Four day remained.