The big man turned before the Prince could get in a hit, and the greatsword swung once more, upward from the floor; the Prince, unable to dodge, brought down the valerium sword, and met the blade, parried it, and spun away again.
The sword was solid. The weight of it felt good in his hands.
The big man turned, but before he could approach, the Prince closed the distance and sliced for Tomaz’s right shoulder. The greatsword parried it easily, but the Prince used the energy from the deflected hit to strike for Tomaz’s left side, then his head, and then his legs.
The white-metal sword feltverygood.
Tomaz counterattacked, bull-rushing the Prince and using his size to push him off balance. The Prince dashed away, using his greater agility to avoid the giant’s sword as it hissed through the air behind him.
He feinted left, then dodged right and came at Tomaz again.
Surprise crossed the big man’s face—he was used to the Prince keeping his distance. But the surprise was gone in an instant, and Tomaz adjusted to this new tactic, using smaller, defter movements to counter the Prince so that he couldn’t close distance and get inside the big man’s swing.
Clawing Eagle met Rushing River, and the Prince’s sword glanced off the greatsword yet again, forcing him back. Tomaz followed quickly, sweatglistening on his face, and the Prince quickly began to parry, only able to turn aside the greatsword’s weight, not stop it outright.
But the denser white metal, curved as it was, was a blade made for the dexterous fighter: graceful enough to maneuver well, yet heavy enough to defend against a larger opponent. And as time wore on, it became slowly but shockingly clear that the Prince was holding his own against the giant, strength met with finesse.
The fight continued, and soon they were both absolutely drenched in sweat. Neither made a mistake, neither gave ground without turning around and taking it back.
But then Tomaz slipped, just a fraction, as he came forward for another rush, and the Prince was on him in an instant.
For a moment, Tomaz continued to parry, turning aside the valerium blade, but the Prince knew he had the upper hand. He also knew that if he made a mistake as well, Tomaz would seize it and his advantage would be immediately lost.
He gripped the wire-wrapped hilt more firmly and began making cuts and slashes that were slightly too fast for Tomaz to parry. The big man grimaced, and the Prince pressed him again, not allowing him the chance to recover.
Finally, the valerium blade slipped under the greatsword’s guard and struck the big man on the thigh. It was a hit that would have won him a point in a bout but was not a winning blow. Tomaz grunted in acknowledgement and continued to strike back, to parry, to fight. The Prince pressed back just as hard, and then his body started to flag. He was exhausted, and the big man, with his enormous strength, could keep going for hours. He needed to end this fightnow.
He decided to gamble. He used the sword move aptly named Slicing Hands and locked his sword with Tomaz’s. For an instant, Tomaz looked confused, and then when he understood it was too late.
The Prince let go of his sword and used both hands to strike Tomaz’s wrists.
The strike numbed the giant’s hands, and his sword clattered to the ground. The Prince, hands also numb—the giant’s bones felt harder than rocks—dodged as the big man swung his arms around to grab him. The Prince reached down and grasped his sword, just before Tomaz managed to wrap a hand around his own, and with a final flourish, the Prince struck the pressure points in Tomaz’s forearm, shoulder, and bicep with the flat of the blade. The enormous greatsword fell once more from a hand now devoid of feeling, and the leather guard of the Prince’s white metal sword came to rest against the big man’s throat. For a moment the two of them remained stationary, and then the Prince lowered his sword.
Applause came from the area surrounding the practice arena, and the Prince turned to see that a crowd had gathered to watch them, many of the onlookers wearing green-and-gold or green-and-silver uniforms. The Prince assumed these were the colors of the Vale infantry.
“Very well done,” Tomaz said, respect coloring his voice. “That’s the first time I’ve been fully disarmed since I completed the Training.”
In spite of his wishes, the Prince felt a surge of pride at the praise.
“Must be getting old,” he taunted the big man with a reluctant smile. Tomaz let out a loud bark of laughter and picked up his greatsword.
“Again?” the Prince asked.
“How about a real fight?”
The Prince turned to see Leah standing just outside of the practice ring, fingering the hilt of one of her long daggers.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at home?” the Prince asked.
“Aren’t you not supposed to care?” she retorted, stepping into the ring. Tomaz took a step back, a small smile on his face and an excited light in his eyes.
“I don’t care,” the Prince said. “I was just asking.”
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she said. She unsheathed one of the daggers and began idly paring a nail with it.
“You’ve never let me spar with you before,” he said. “Why the change of heart?”
“I think you might finally be good enough for me,” she said.
