Shira’s luminous eyes flashed with caution as she wrapped her fingers around the grip of a wooden training sword. She watched my every movement with the wariness of a frightened cat. Despite that, however, I again saw the spark in her eyes.

I leaned my own wooden sword against the side of my neck, a much more casual version of a basic guard from the shoulder. “Vex has taught you something about movement. Show me the warrior’s star.”

Even at the mention of Vex, the spark burned hotter. Shira hesitated a moment, but then let her feet carry her: in angles, in spirals, in direct lines and less predictable paths. It was better than I had expected, but slow. Fortunately, practice and development of reflexes would help that. She clearly didn’t really know what to do with the sword, so she held it out in front of her as if warding me off.

I flicked my wrists, tapping her sword with my own once she had demonstrated every movement. “Enough.”

Shira eyed me with that same caution, clearly awaiting my judgment.

I prowled around her, tapping her ankle sharply with the training sword to correct her stance. “Workable. Clearly you were paying attention.” I tapped her hands with the tip of the blade. “Spread these apart. One on the pommel, one near the crossguard. You would do well to remember too that you hold a sword, not a hammer.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked over at me with an unspoken question.

I stopped and stood beside her, showing her how I held the blade: with a firm but sensitive grip. “A cut is not the bashing of a stick. Everything must be in alignment: the edge, the hilt, your hands, your body, your mind.” With that said, I showed her a simple cut and the delicate wringing motion of my hands on the hilt. It was almost a flick of the blade, barely showing the power I knew how to generate with the rest of my body. “Do you see?”

Shira adjusted her grip and tried the motion. It was sloppy, but on the right track, so I inclined my head in a slight nod. The motion would tighten with repetition…and when she was corrected by the blades themselves. In my experience, a messy grip could easily end in a broken finger, which was a mistake one only made once.

“Today, we are going over different positions of defense. Each has a strength and a weakness, opposed by another. Every strike you make should begin in a guard and end in a guard.” I stepped back away from her, taking a stance directly opposite to her. “I am your mirror. First, Yanen: the fool’s guard.” I settled into position, weight balanced evenly between my feet with my knees slightly bent, the blade angled with its point at the floor. “Most who do not know the sword start here, but it can be deceptive. There are many options for strikes, if you are quick and clever.”

Shira let go of her sword with one hand, fingers flicking with a question. I watched the delicate movements with hawkish intensity, trying to pair them to the signs that Melody and Vex had been teaching me. Off to the side sat La’an, the rune-bound barbarian warrior there to translate. He watched with interest, a faint smile on his scarred face. He chuckled a little and gave a voice to the silent signing. “She says that is not how Rusan knights fight.”

“Which is why they die. Understand that the tradition I teach you is about power, control, and precision.” I advanced towards her much faster than she anticipated. She jerked her sword up in response, but I was already inside her reach, trapping her hands against the grip and wrenching the sword away. The moment she started to retreat, I hooked a foot behind her heel and pulled, using her own disturbed balance to slam her against the floor. She landed hard on her back, gasping for breath, and I stood over her with my wooden practice sword pointed at her face. “You should always either have the initiative or be seeking to reclaim it with the mahann, the master-strikes. If your foe can think of nothing but defense, he has no option to plan an attack.”

She fumbled to get up and I stepped back to give her space, tossing the sword I had taken from her onto the floor beside her. The mats were thick enough on the floor that a collision wouldn’t hurt as badly as when I had learned on cold stone. It was a gentler introduction to the ground than she would have gotten from a proper Luth’alen warrior, but I considered myself more refined in technique.

“Guards are not static. You do not stay in them, not for more than you must. Think of them as checkpoints between strikes.”

Shira nodded, gripping the sword again as I had shown her.

I assumed the fool’s guard, blade lowered. “From here we begin. I am your mirror. There are four basic guards, and many secondary ones that you will find yourself striking from. We will focus on the four first, until you have mastered them. When I tell you to freeze, you will hold your position so I can check it.”

For being a priestess with no martial training, Shira had a quick eye and a sharp mind. She followed my movements, changing the position of the blade as smoothly as she could to mirror me. I stopped her at each one, adjusting her position with rapid taps when an elbow was out of place or her feet didn’t match the rest of her body. She was doing better than anticipated, no doubt partly due to Vex’s enthusiastic cruelty. Scratches from claws decorated her cheek and neck, along with a fair amount of bruising.

“There is Yanen, the Fool. Jagga, the Ox. Nalhr, the Plow. Haast, the Sun.” Each in turn were simple enough: the fool held his sword to the floor, the ox kept the blade horizontal beside the face with the point toward the enemy, the plow from the hip horizontal and angled slightly up, and the sun held the blade above the head or at the shoulder, point angled back. “Do you see how moving between guards, there is already the beginning of cuts or thrusts?”

Shira nodded, watching me with a growing fascination as she struggled to copy the fluidity of my movements. I walked her through each guard on both sides, demonstrating that each was a mirror of the other. As our blades moved in a shadow-boxing dance, I could almost see her starting to grasp at the pieces of philosophy that guided Luth’alen swordwork.

She was quick enough a study that I found myself smiling faintly…a problem if ever there was one. Every time I caught the expression, I wiped it from my face. This was a time for focus and gravity. A blade was not a light matter.

“When you draw your sword, Shira, it is a commitment,” I said, slowly increasing the speed of the changes as her confidence grew. “To bare steel is to promise blood.”

La’an sat with his chin on his fist, watching our movements and offering suggestions to Shira. For such a large man and ferocious man, he kept his tone as gentle as a church mouse’s squeak. “Even,” he advised, watching her feet. “You should be ready to move in any direction at any time, which means even weight. And relax your shoulders.”

Shira flicked a finger at him and he laughed. That was a word I knew: how?

“Watch Lady Frostborn. Does she seem tense?”

I let my blade rest against my shoulder so she could observe me better in stillness. My torso angled away, my feet spaced evenly and lead foot two lengths ahead. I kept my whole body loose and relaxed, shoulders at their natural positions and my spine straight. “You should be comfortable and confident.” I flicked my blade out, batting at her sword when her grip turned more towards a hammer’s. “Remember, there are no accidents. Everything is done with intention and control. You are a storm held by an iron will.”

It was a philosophy I had long ago tried to apply to my life: to move with purpose at all times, to keep my mind and body perfectly aligned, to move in unexpected ways that forced others onto the defensive when it was advantageous for me, to be relaxed and ready rather than tense with anxiety. If I could keep my focus, my strikes never faltered.

Shira shifted her grip obediently back to where it should have been, keeping her middle knuckles aligned with the true edge of the blade.

“It is an extension of you, another limb,” I coached as we began our movements again. “Do not think of it as alien. You are the sword, the sword is you.”

The priestess nodded and again let me walk her through the guards. Creases appeared in her brow as she tried to focus on technique, trying to coordinate her body so that everything was in the right place at the right time. It was a look I recognized, one I had once worn and so had many of those I trained.

Shira let go of the sword, fingers dancing in the air again. I’m slow.

“Yes, you are slow,” I said without waiting for a translation. I wasn’t gifted with a knack for languages, but I surmounted that with sheer effort. “Once you are correct every time, smooth in your movements every time, then you will find you are faster. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”

She nodded, but I could tell her right shoulder was hurting her. I made a mental note to chastise Vex about going for joints. La’an must have spotted it too, because he looked at me. “Perhaps a demonstration?”

I rolled my shoulders and flashed him a smile. “If you are brave enough.” I gestured for Shira to sit. “I taught La’an everything he knows.”

“But not everything she knows,” he said with a chuckle, unfolding from the bench. He stood well taller than me and certainly bulkier. La’an gently took the practice blade from Shira with a bow of thanks and then approached me.

“You may learn my secrets by watching. That is as close as you will get to a lesson.” I looked him up and down, calculating his reach as naturally as I could judge the distance for my own strikes. I was at something of a disadvantage just by virtue of his strength and height. “Shall we try half speed, so she can see the movements?”

“Only if you promise to use half force, Lady Frostborn.”

I grinned at him. “Very well.”

La’an gave the wooden training sword a few test swings, getting the weight of it into his own calculus, before focusing on me and moving out into the center of the training room. “I expected you to attack while I was getting ready.”

As soon as he started to speak, I was in motion across the mat. He was quick enough to throw out a strike in an attempt to force me to hesitate, a simple cut from the shoulder. I met it with absence, stepping around the cut and snapping my blade down at an angle, wrists crossing as I cracked the true edge against his hilt. Had we been in battle, I would have cut through his hands. Instead, I made certain to hit the crossguard instead of his fingers. It was ilahr, the Crooked Strike. La’an tried to dance backwards and recapture the blade that I had almost knocked from his hands, but I hounded him ruthlessly.

I was used to fighting faster and stronger. In some ways, La’an was almost too easy after sparring with Vex and other undead. He had raw power just as they did, but I had footwork and he didn’t have the stamina to keep up. I wove nimble patterns around him, avoiding or deflecting his cuts and thrusts instead of meeting them head on. My movements were conservative, focused. I didn’t have to move far to get out of his way: it just had to be enough for the strike to miss, sometimes by less than an inch. Poor La’an was still something of a bear, relying on his strength to carry him. It was more than enough to deal with most foes. His blows struck at my legs to hinder my movements. It was a valiant effort, but I spiraled around him, deceiving his sense of distance to creep within his reach.

La’an realized how close we were and smashed out with his hilt, but I slipped low and hit him in the solar plexus with my shoulder, using a lower center of gravity to send him sprawling. He tried to turn it into a roll, but I pursued, thrusting straight into his face when he tried to come up onto his feet. I pulled back with flawless control, tapping him in the center of the throat with the tip of the sword just enough for him to feel it. “Dead.”

“You said half speed.”

I stepped back, allowing him space to get to his feet, blade still at the ready with a wolfish smile. “Do you want full speed?”

The burly barbarian laughed and lowered his training sword. “Does it take undeath to put a scratch on you, Lady Frostborn?”

“It helps.” I had experimented with many different fighting styles over the years, but Luth’alen bladework was my center, the core of what I knew. It was not seen often outside the halls of the thanes, particularly these days. The tradition was uncommon, as most of the people who originated it now preferred spears and shields or axes. Which made sense: those were easier to learn, if less elegant.

Shira’s fingers wove complicated patterns in the air when we looked over at her. It was too much for me to understand, but La’an grinned in answer. “Luth’alen truthfully is more than just a style of swordplay. It teaches grappling, fighting in armor, dagger work, shield work, even spears,” he explained. “The only gap was in mounted combat, but I assure you that Lady Frostborn is quite dangerous there.”

I rolled my shoulders to keep them loose, then stretched out my arms. “I merely added what fit. Rusan chivalry has its uses, particularly with the lance.” Wood rested against my temple almost as an afterthought, the training blade still in a loose guard. “And I much prefer their armor. It hinders less.”

Shira blinked in surprise and signed her next question.

La’an turned his gaze to my armor, the suit of plate displayed on a simple rack. “She says she thought the plate was more of a problem.”

“It gains its strength not from thickness, but shape.” I motioned for La’an to set aside the training blade as I set mine down and then beckoned for Shira to come see my armor. “Mail all hangs from the shoulders, but plate is fitted to every part of the body to distribute force of impact and weight both.”

The priestess cautiously approached, stopping in front of the set of smoked steel covered in scars. It stood in a locked case. I checked it before every battle for signs of tampering, but the lock reduced the risk. Courtesy of Brydris, the display case could engulf in flame any who failed to open it correctly.

“It has its disadvantages,” I admitted freely. “Mostly that it takes expertise to repair and it can be hot on the road, though the weather magic makes that less of an issue. Ember usually tends to replacing pieces and mending what needs mending. You will meet her when you are ready to be fitted for your armor.”

Shira looked over at me with wide eyes.

I glanced over, eyes tracing over her form. “When you have more muscle and have learned how to move properly. For now, I think that is enough. Study the guards and the cuts or thrusts that are the transitions between them. This training room is always open to you.”

It was not an offer I gave everyone nor took lightly. Shira nodded, looking back at the armor. She seemed particularly focused on the visor, the empty eye-slits that showed only shadow.

Very briefly, I wondered what she saw.