Chapter 11
'He relies too heavily on his shield,' said Thjorn. 'He'll try to wear you down, tire you out, but he'll keep it to the fore, which you can use to avoid his line of sight.'
Aemere was perilously close to hitting someone, and couldn't be sure she'd reach the arena floor beforehand.
'Good luck,' said Augni. From the faint smile she wasn't sure which of them he was addressing.
'I have fought before,' she said to Thjorn.
'I'd hope so.'
'Without the benefit of your advice.'
'I've walked between cities before, doesn't mean I wouldn't take advantage of any available transportation.'
'Even if it slowed you down?'
'If you don't want my advice, you need only say so.'
'I don't want...' she began.
'But you need it,' said Thjorn. 'So what you...'
'You should be getting out there,' said Augni, all the opening she needed.
She strode into the arena. Her opponent, Garveig, emerged from the opposite side. His armour looked sturdy, and shiny. Both impressive and functional.
His shield would be the main problem. Its glyphs strengthened it and attracted metal. As long as it lay between them she'd have to compensate for the pull. Not impossible, but it complicated matters. She knew Thjorn was right in his strategy, which he'd stated repeatedly since his arrival. It was what she'd have done regardless. His presence set her on edge. If not for Augni she might have walked out on the deal, and reminded herself that was still an option.
Despite herself, she liked Augni. He seemed honest enough despite his apparent profession, and was pleasant company. Unlike many she'd sparred with, he didn't seem to have his dignity bruised being beaten by a woman. It was refreshing. Whether that would be enough when she had to do something for them was a different matter. As long as it was against the Society, she didn’t think she'd have a problem.
Was that wrong? Probably. What did that say about her? Was she as obsessed as Thjorn? Something to consider at a more suitable time.
Reaching the centre of the ring, she took her position opposite Garveig.
He adopted a prepared stance, glaring coldly over his shield.
The steward's horn sounded, followed by a mild roar from the meagre crowd. Garveig advanced immediately. His sword lay alongside his shield, but he’d wait for her to attack.
She obliged, directing a casual slash at his shield, letting his glyph direct her blow and add to the momentum even as she danced aside from any counter. His bulky frame didn't appear designed for speed, but she wouldn't take risks.
She knew he'd be in no rush to attack, preferring to keep her moving. How long he'd continue with that strategy was the question. The shield would be a weight, and even with training and his frame that would take its toll.
Not yet, though, and his next advance was as measured as the last. His sword was in a more prepared position, partially hidden by his shield. It wouldn't stray far from the shield's protection, so she pretended to retreat a couple of steps, darting to his right as the sword lanced out. Blocking it with her shield, she pushed both against his shield to keep them pinned.
Before she could use the momentary advantage, Garveig shoved her away, retreating as she stumbled back.
His sword was free of his shield as she recovered her balance, and he adopted a more defensive stance, taking her seriously. He advanced again, his eyes locked on hers.
She leapt, swinging wildly with her sword, focussing on power rather than aim. His shield would take care of that. The blade struck, and for all she felt the shudder up her arm, he should feel the same. And the shield would be heavier than her sword. Another couple of blows in rapid succession kept him in place.
She was ready for his counter, as his sword swept at her legs. Her shield dipped, shoving his blade to the ground, and she leapt away before his shield could slam her head. The weight of the blow would likely have stunned her even through her helmet, and that would have been the end of her ambitions for this summer.
Pacing around him she looked for signs of tiredness. The shield hid all but his eyes, which showed no hint of anything useful. His stance was firm, and probably would be for a while. He was trained, so any plan to wear him down would take time, which would also tire her.
Her main advantage at the moment was speed and manoeuvrability, although he was good enough that they would only go so far. If she took the long road of wearing him down she could lose those advantages. She needed to do something.
Strolling towards him, she settled into an easy pattern of probing strikes. Some clashed against his shield and others stopped short, but she always swayed out of reach before he could retaliate. He made the occasional attempt to break the cycle, which she evaded with ease.
His tendency to raise his shield after determining her angle of attack seemed the only flaw in his technique. The move didn't offer much of an opening, but it might be useful. He wouldn't see her changing her attack. Of course he left it late enough that doing so would be difficult. If he was any good – as she had to assume – he'd watch her feet to keep track of her movements.
She approached again, keeping her course straight as though launching another strike directly at his shield. The shield rose, and she maintained her course. Bringing her shield to bear and putting her weight behind it she slammed into his.
The collision jarred her but caught him off guard and sent him stumbling, his sword and shield going briefly wild. She pushed in, a stab of her sword passing his shield, albeit tugged slightly off course. She didn't strike – his sword hurriedly intercepting – but kept him on his back foot, retreating as he tried to regain his stance.
She launched another couple of strikes at his shield, keeping him on the retreat. His shield rose and she ducked, throwing her shield between his feet. It caught him moving, causing him to wobble, but he stayed up.
Recovering his balance, he hurriedly backed away, determined to take her advantage. She followed, ignoring her shield. Instead she set her sword for a lunge over his shield. With her spare hand she drew her dagger, keeping it concealed.
She closed in. His shield rose. She hurled the smaller blade at the shield and leapt. The shield rose as her feet left the ground, and the dagger hit high.
It took less than a second for Garveig to react to the lack of weight on his shield. Long enough for her to land in a crouch and set her blade under the base of his helmet. The move was precise enough that she didn't draw blood. Wounds – even death – weren't uncommon in the Tournament. The better fighters won without them.
He froze in place on feeling the blade. After a moment he lowered his sword and shield, tossing them down in surrender.
His eyes betrayed his frustration, while accepting her victory.