“First, that meat isgivento me, and second, he’s becoming a great hunter. He caught a mouse yesterday. One day, when he’s bigger, he’ll eat my enemies for me.” Clía grinned at the dobhar-chú. “Right, Murph?”
Another chirp sounded back at them. The rabbit slid under agap near the eastern stands, leaving Murphy pawing helplessly at the wood.
“I’m sure your enemies are quaking in their boots. Now, let’s give up on the axe and go back to swords,” he said, back in training mode. Since he’d begun helping her, she had not only learned how to use a broadsword, but had dabbled in axes, daggers, bows, and longswords. “And later, we can work on maces; it’ll help you be well-rounded.”
She groaned at the dumb joke, glaring at his smug face. “The urge to hit you has never been stronger.”
He threw her a sword as Sárait returned to the stands, trying to pretend like she wasn’t looking at Kían. “Then try.”
As they got into ready positions, Sárait shouted at them, “Be safe and quit tempting the gods.”
Clía smiled back at her. “We’ll be fine.”
The wind carried Sárait’s mutters back to them, something about “a fool putting her life in the hands of an overworked student.”
She knew her friend was not a fan of fighting, and less so of Ronan’s training methods. The first time Sárait came to watch their morning lessons, she flinched at each swipe of Ronan’s sword. But her cheers filled the air every time Clía managed to disarm him or strike a would-be death blow.
Metal clanged on the other side of the arena where Kían trained with Niall and Teafa. They had wasted no time in joining the morning sessions, the two groups practicing in parallel. Outside of the occasional nod of acknowledgment, or passing comment, Clía and Ronan’s lessons continued as if nothing were different.
Ronan gave the signal, and they lunged at each other. After a few moments, both of them had lost their swords and flowed into hand-to-hand combat. Clía was thrilled when she managed to land a well-placed kick and found herself standing over a kneeling Ronan.
Holding out his palms, he stopped her. “We’re both disarmed. What’s your plan to finish the fight?”
“Keep punching?” she offered. While Ronan had helped her learn how to hold her own without a sword, she did rely on weapons to finish the fight.
He nodded, expecting that answer. “You may be without a blade, but you can still take your opponent out.”
After Ronan guided her through a few techniques, it wasn’t long before Clía had him on the ground beneath her once more. She reached down, holding out a hand to help him back to his feet. He took it without hesitation.
“We’ve been working for over two hours. Maybe we should call it a day,” Ronan offered once they were both standing. Usually, they tried to end their morning sessions with some time to rest and prepare for the day’s classes. But today, energy coursed through Clía.
“Let’s keep going.”
If Ronan disagreed with her choice, he didn’t say anything. He grabbed his sword and gave it a light test swing, adjusting it in his hands.
Clía reached for her own and stretched, loosening her muscles. The leather armor weighed on her, rubbing against her skin and restricting her movements. The sensation was frustratingly unbearable. When Ronan suggested she start training with it on, she had agreed, but now she itched to remove it.
“Ready?” Ronan pulled her from her thoughts.
“Are you ready to lose?” she retorted, and he rolled his eyes.
Their dance began once more.
Ronan bounced on his feet, waiting for her to strike first. She watched his posture, looking for any weak spot. Of course, she saw none. She could never notice a flaw in his stance unless he was purposely demonstrating how one might look.Show-off.
She waited for a beat, then lunged to his left side. He deflected the attack as easily as she expected, but she didn’t stop. Twisting, she swung her blade at him again. This attack he fended off with less confidence. With his focus on defense, she kicked out at his knee, knocking him off-balance. She didn’t pause but moved with him, shoving her shoulder into his chest, sending him stumbling back onto his knees.
Her breath was coming fast, but she pushed through and swung her sword toward his neck. It would have been a killing blow, had the restriction of her armor not slowed her down enough for him to roll out of the way.
He stood out of her reach. “Nice try.” His confidence was undercut by the ragged breaths between his words.
This time, she waited for him to lunge at her. When he did—aiming for her shoulder—she dodged. What she didn’t expect was his elbow slamming into her chest. The back of her head crashed into the dirt below her, sending a bright flare of pain through her skull.
She curled her foot around his ankle and tugged hard, smilingat the thud he made as he fell to the earth. If only she could have seen the look on his face.
His legs were entangled with hers, with the majority of his body landing beside her. She reached for her sword. He turned toward her with a groan, and just as a smile began to cross his lips—no doubt to make some sort of quip about the situation—she pointed her blade at his neck.
“Do you yield?” she asked, trying not to call attention to the fact that if he moved an inch, he would be able to knock the blade out of her hand.
