Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [109]
“I still think she’s astounding,” Sarene said, watching as the two children played.
“Oh, she’s that,” Lukel agreed. “It only takes Kaise a few hours to devour a book, and her language-learning ability is unreal. I feel sorry for Daorn sometimes. He tries his best, but I think he just feels inadequate—Kaise can be domineering, if you haven’t noticed. But, smart or not, they’re still children, and they’re still a pain to take care of.”
Sarene watched the children playing. Kaise, having stolen the stick from her brother, was proceeding to chase him around the room, cutting and thrusting in parodies of the methods Sarene had taught. As Sarene watched, her eyes fell on the doorway. It was open, and two figures watched the women practice.
The ladies fell still as Lords Eondel and Shuden, realizing they had been noticed, slipped into the room. The two men, though very different in age, were reportedly becoming good friends. Both were something of outsiders in Arelon—Shuden, a foreigner with dark skin, and Eondel, a former soldier whose very presence seemed to offend.
If Eondel’s presence was distasteful to the women, however, Shuden’s more than made up for it. A serious wave of blushing ran through the fencers as they realized that the handsome Jindoeese lord had been watching them. Several of the younger girls clutched friends’ arms for support, whispering excitedly. Shuden himself flushed at the attention.
Eondel, however, ignored the women’s reactions. He walked among the would-be fencers, his eyes contemplative. Finally, he picked up a spare length of wood, and stepped into a fencing posture and began a series of swipes and thrusts. After testing the weapon, he nodded to himself, set it aside, then moved toward one of the women.
“Hold the wood like so,” he instructed, positioning her fingers. “You were gripping it so tightly you lost flexibility. Now, place your thumb along the top of the hilt to keep it pointed in the right direction, step back, and thrust.”
The woman, Atara, complied—flustered that Eondel had dared touch her wrist. Her thrust, amazingly, was straight and well aimed—a fact that surprised no one more than Atara herself.
Eondel moved through the group, carefully correcting posture, grip, and stance. He took each woman in turn, giving advice to their several individual problems. After just a few brief minutes of instruction, the women’s attacks were more focused and accurate than Sarene would have thought possible.
Eondel backed away from the women with a satisfied eye. “I hope you aren’t offended by my intrusion, Your Highness.”
“Not at all, my lord,” Sarene assured him—even though she did feel a stab of jealousy. She had to be woman enough to recognize superior skill when she saw it, she told herself.
“You are obviously talented,” the older man said. “But you seem to have had little experience in training others.”
Sarene nodded. Eondel was a military commander—he had probably spent decades instructing novices in the basics of fighting. “You know quite a bit about fencing, my lord.”
“It interests me,” Eondel said, “and I have visited Duladel on numerous occasions. The Dulas refuse to recognize a man’s fighting ability unless he can fence, no matter how many battles he has won.”
Sarene stood, reaching over and pulling out her practice syres. “Care to spar then, my lord?” she asked offhandedly, testing one of the blades in her hand.
Eondel looked surprised. “I … I have never sparred with a woman before, Your Highness. I don’t think it would be proper.”
“Nonsense,” she said, tossing him a sword. “Defend yourself.”
Then, without giving him another chance to object, she attacked. Eondel stumbled at first, taken aback by her sudden offense. However, his warrior training soon took control, and he began to parry Sarene’s attack, with amazing skill. From what he’d said, Sarene had assumed that his knowledge of fencing would be cursory. She was mistaken.
Eondel threw himself