Page 145 of Sword & Shadow
“Wouldn’t knowing your strengths be better?”
“Not at all. You’re only as strong as your greatest weakness.”
Ethenn scratched the back of his neck. “You’ve lost me.”
Evylin smirked. “Think of it this way: You can be the strongest fighter in the world, but if you aren’t aware that your armor has a hole in its back, you can’t defend yourself properly.”
“So you mean that by knowing your greatest weakness, you can become a better fighter?”
Evylin nodded.
“What are your weaknesses then?” he asked.
Evylin could practically hear Hewitt’s voice gently admonishing as he taught her to recognize her flaws. Then he’d instructed her on how to overcome them. “I have two,” she said. “I’m a woman and a show-off.”
Ethenn laughed, crossing his arms. “I would think being a woman is a benefit. People will underestimate you.”
“True,” she said. “But that benefit only lasts until the first strike, and then they discover how skilled I am.”
His eyes gleamed with interest. “How do you overcome those weaknesses?”
“As far as being a show-off goes, I just have to get over my own ego,” Evylin said with feigned self-derision. “Doing the job right isn’t always fun, nor is it always pretty. But it is the best way, and I have to remind myself of that.”
She shrugged. “There isn’t much I can do about being a woman. The fact is, I can never be as strong as the average man, and that’s a distinct disadvantage. However, that doesn’t meanI can’t beat him. I have three means of outfighting another’s strength: skill, smarts, or speed. The weight of muscle can make a man slow, which means I can be vastly faster. It can also make him think he’s invincible. In which case, I can use my knowledge and training to outsmart him. He can rely on his strength to overpower me, but I can use my superior technique to outmaneuver him.”
Ethenn nodded along, listening intently.
“However,” Evylin concluded, “if my opponent happens to be an intelligent, agile, masterful swordsman with superior strength, then Hewitt says I only have one recourse.”
“And what’s that?” Ethenn asked.
She smirked. “Run,” she said. “And if that fails, kick him where it counts.”
Ethenn burst out laughing, and she joined him. It felt good to be free enough to laugh once more, to release deep, rich laughter that came from her gut. When was the last time she’d laughed without a Relic’s influence? She couldn’t remember.
“Yeah,” Ethenn said through his mirth. “That should work.”
Evylin scooped up the practice swords. She tossed one to him. “Now, let’s figure out your weaknesses, shall we?”
Over the course of the next hour, they sparred, taking careful consideration of Ethenn’s weak points and shortcomings. They both worked to channel their magic throughout the training. Ethenn was a natural fighter—they’d known that from the start—and it was hard for Evylin to pick apart his skill. The technical, critical eye was Hewitt’s specialty, not hers. And she found it more difficult to pick up on what he was doing wrong than she’d anticipated.
However, she finally struck on some key failings. First, Ethenn was left-handed. Not a fault on its own, but sometimes, it showed in his swordplay. Though he held the sword in his right hand—a standard Hewitt had drilled into him—at times, hegrew sloppy, forgetting which arm should bear the brunt of his attacks.
Second, he was slower to make decisions. Evylin thought it came from his training as a hunter and archer, which required sitting still for long periods and perfectly lining up his shot. In a sword fight, you couldn’t wait for the perfect moment. Snap decisions were necessary. He’d have to become more decisive.
And thirdly, Ethenn held himself back. Evylin could feel it with every strike and blow—he wasn’t putting his full effort into any of it. When she commented on it, he shrugged. “I always do that,” he said placidly.
Evylin screwed up her face, nonplussed. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
“No, it isn’tyou,” he said. “I do it with everyone. With every fight.”
“Why?”
“Because...” He stared at the ground then. He rubbed away the sweat dripping down his nose. “Because I don’t like how it feels when I lose control.”
Suddenly, Evylin remembered the first time she’d met Ethenn. He’d joined the Third Volunteer Company and become a member of Thom’s platoon along with one of his old friends from Trollenston. “Friends” being a loose term, as the other young man had goaded him into a fistfight. One where Ethenn would likely have beaten the boy senseless had Thom not intervened.
Since then, Evylin hadn’t seen Ethenn lose his temper. Now, she wondered how hard he’d worked to keep it that way.
