Читать книгу Prince of Hazel and Oak - John Lenahan - Страница 15

Essa and I circled to the right. This time, as she addressed her class, she never took her eyes off me.

‘You will probably have almost double the reach of anyone wielding a sword. If your opponent sets up too close …’ Essa nodded, inviting me closer, ‘then give him a reminder that you are carrying a long stick.’ With the quickest of clicks she tapped my blade out of its position and poked me hard in the chest with her stick.

‘Hey!’ I shouted, stepping back and rubbing my chest. ‘You told me to step in.’

‘And if your opponent is stupid enough to do what you tell him to do – make sure to take advantage of that.’

The crowd laughed. I forced a smile onto my face and stopped rubbing the place she had hit me – even though it still really hurt.

‘Once you have set the proper fighting distance, your opponent will be forced to attack your stick, not you.’

I could see her point but I wasn’t going to play her game and I certainly didn’t want to stand there and swipe at a stick. I decided to make my first attack a deep body swipe – the kind of advance that would be dangerous to ignore. I bounced backwards and forwards on my toes, made a short backhand fake that brought her stick out of position and then lunged with a full cut to the body. Without seeming to move her legs at all, Essa instantly backed out of reach. I had forgotten just how fast that girl moved. Her stick lightly engaged with the leading edge of my moving sword, circled around it and then pushed it away. By the time I got control my arm was way across my body and my weapon was nowhere near where it should have been. Essa slid one hand to the middle of her stick and swung the base of her banta into my kidney. It dropped me to one knee.

‘Usually I would not have counter-attacked so soon in a match. As you all should know, the golden rule is to parry and retreat until you can ascertain your opponent’s favourite attack. I have an advantage with the Prince – I already know his favourite attack.’ Essa came over to where I was still on one knee. As she helped me to my feet she whispered, ‘Miss me?’

I was still wondering if I would ever be able again to pass water with that kidney when she flowed back into her en garde position and asked, ‘Ready?’

I held up my hand for a time-out and stepped in close to her. ‘Do you think maybe I should have some protective clothing?’

‘Aw come on, Conor, it’s only a stick. You’ve got a great big sword.’

‘You … you could poke my eye out.’

‘I promise I won’t hit you in the head – even though it is such a large target.’

I tried to remember some old saying about a woman scorned but I didn’t have time. She started circling again, this time to my left and she was doing that figure of eight spinning thing with her banta that I had seen Araf do – it made me feel a bit woozy. I decided that maybe Essa’s students shouldn’t be the only ones paying attention to her tutorial, so I attacked the stick. I just stuck my blade into the twirling thing and she flipped it into a counter-attack. Fortunately I was ready for it and brought my sword up into a high backhanded parry. When she saw the steel coming she checked her swing and bounced back in to her home position.

‘Well done, Princess,’ came a shout from one of the people in the crowd.

I took a couple more swipes at the stick and every time pretty much the same thing happened. She would make light contact and attempt to counter but would then pull back at the last second, to avoid her wood being damaged by my steel. Essa’s bravado, the bruises on my chest and side, her cheering peanut gallery and the fact that she was the third best stick fighter I had ever seen had initially made me feel like I was the underdog but I was starting to remember that I had a sword. I had the better weapon.

I took another swipe at her banta but this time when she attempted her counter-attack I stepped in and took a full power cut at her weapon. My sword made hard contact with the top of her stick. If I had been using the Lawnmower I would have sliced that bit clean off – this dulled thing stuck halfway into the wood. As Essa pulled back I felt the tug and quickly twisted my pommel. I heard the crack as about ten inches of her stick spun into the air.

Essa backed and circled. The same voice from the crowd called out, ‘Not to worry, Princess.’ As Essa inspected her weapon I stole a quick glance to see who the cheerleader was. It was the Banshee she had been sparring with earlier.

While she was readjusting to the new length of her stick, I moved in a step and began my trademarked low sword attack. That’s where I keep my blade low and then swipe upward using my natural agility to bob and weave my head out of the way. I should note that every fighting teacher has told me that this is a very bad idea but it usually unnerves an opponent the first time they see it and I’m pretty sure I never did it when Essa was around. It worked too. She backed up fast but before she ran out of room, she took a full baseball swing to my head that made me hit the ground with a roll.

‘Hey,’ I shouted as I jumped back to my feet, ‘you promised not to hit me in the head.’

‘If you’re just going to hang your face out there, I can’t resist taking a pop at it.’

‘Good one, Essa,’ the Banshee shouted.

The crowd was getting pretty worked up and from the sounds of it, I wasn’t the hometown team. It’s dangerous when emotions creep into a practice fight and at that moment I wanted to kill the girl of my dreams. From the look in her eyes my love wanted to do the same thing. I should have called it off right then and there – instead I modified my attack. While protecting my face, I succeeded in backing Essa into her cheering section. Just as she was about to run out of room – she did it. I knew she would. I knew she couldn’t resist showing off for her pupils. She launched herself straight up and over my head and attempted to grind her banta into my shoulder as she pole-vaulted over me – but I was ready for it. When she was directly over my head, I dropped to the ground. Her stick made contact with nothing but air. The self-satisfied smile on her face vanished as she realised she didn’t have enough leverage to complete her somersault. She instantly went from a graceful gymnast to a flailing circus clown and landed hard on her back.