Honour
"Come on then." She said, a teasing smile creasing the corner of her lips, her eyes playful.
He just sighed. "What did I tell you about stances?" The words felt familiar on his lips, too familiar. That meant he had said it a lot more than he should have needed to in the last few days.
"What? Afraid of something new, old man? Didn't you teach me that even the best swordsman can be caught offguard by something unknown?" She countered, slowly shuffling left and right on the balls of her feet, her muscle relaxed and ready. They're supposed to be tense, and ready. Even her shadow seemed to sneer.
Another disapproving remark bubbled to his lips, but he held it down. Words hadn't served either of them well, it would seem. She didn't listen, or if she did the sound came in one ear and went right out the other. Kids these days, he sighed again, this time inwardly. The Master-at-arms just had to dump her in his laps. The Count wanted the best, he had said, and the Count usually gets what he wants. So does his daughter, it seemed.
"Come on then." He said, falling into a standard stance, repeating her words.
The girl wooted in delight, like it was some sort of game that she was determined to win. He bet she always won, through no skill of her own. She charged then, a half skip, half bounce movement which mere sight made him wince in disgust. Once, twice, left and right as if that was meant to be useful in anyway, then her scabbard on her side, the one he was always reminding her to remove before a fight but she never listened, caught itself in her odd and completely ineffective stance, and the girl tumbled to the dirt, throwing up a cloud of sand. He hadn't expected that, and so he couldn't hold back the booming laugh that came right after.
The girl came up off the ground, her face red in embarrassment and the fall, glaring at him through giants eyes that just then started welling up. Uh oh. He fought to control his laughter.
"You tricked me!"
"I...what?!?" He shook his head, confused.
"You tricked me!" She yelled, pointing a finger angrily at him. "You used some Morandee tricks on me! I can tell! You're not supposed to do that!"
"Morandee tri...are you out of your mind?" He spluttered, indignant. She was accusing him of needing the power of the Blood Bane to beat an untrained little girl?
"I'm telling the Master! I'm telling Father! You're not supposed to do that!" She yelled even louder, tears flowing now, and turned and ran into the barrack. He almost went after her, to catch her arm, to explain, to dispel her of the silly notion, but caught himself. She was the Count's daughter, and he was nobody. Nothing he said would make a difference. The Count knows well enough that he didn't, couldn't have used the Blood Bane, but he would humour his daughter anyway.
Maybe he should have just admitted that he did use the Blood Bane, just so she wouldn't feel too shamed. Maybe he should have pretended like she was the best swordsman in the world and there was nothing more he could have taught her, just like his many, many predecessors. Damn his honour and oath. His worst curse, trying to be a decent man. Damn it all it hell.
He sighed, for the third time in the same hour, and went to find a drink before everything goes to hell.
