Sparring with Sir Donavan

Atalanta sprinted toward Donavan, her sword held low. The instant she came within range, she swung.

CLANG

Her arms shuddered as though she’d hit a boulder.

She struck again.

Donavan turned the blow aside as if brushing away a branch.

“Go, Atalanta!” Daphne shouted.

Before she could rush closer, Jem caught her by both shoulders. “Stay back.”

Daphne squirmed. “But—”

“Stay back.”

Atalanta didn’t slow. She drove forward with another flurry of committed strikes.

Donavan grinned as he met each one.

“You’re quick,” he said between ringing blows. “And stronger than you look.”

Steel rang again.

“But I am neither a woman nor a mindless brute.”

He circled without giving ground “Whatever you’re trying to do… it isn’t going to work.”

She answered with another swing from above.

He caught it high and shoved her backward.

Steadying herself, she braced her feet for the next strike.

“You aren’t going to overpower me. And speed alone won’t defeat a trained opponent.”

He nodded toward the water without taking his eyes off her. “Now you’re almost in the lake. Always know your terrain.”

Atalanta glanced over her shoulder.

Only a couple of feet remained before the platform ended.

She shifted sideways, circling back toward the center.

Donavan smiled. She had learned something.

She rushed him again.

“You have no chance of winning like this,” he said, parrying another rapid series of blows. “You’re only making yourself tired.”

“I don’t get tired.”

“Everyone gets tired.”

This time Donavan attacked.

His first strike drove through her guard like a battering ram.

She caught it.

Barely.

The second came from the opposite side.

Then the third.

Each blow felt heavier than the last—each different.

Goliath stamped nervously against the deck.

“Is she going to be okay?” Daphne whispered.

Artemis didn’t answer.

Her eyes never left her sister. She took a single half step forward.

The peddler leaned around the corner of his cart despite himself. “Fools,” he muttered.

He watched another exchange. Then deliberately looked away.

Atalanta’s breathing grew louder. Her attacks slowed. The same parries came again and again.

“We should stop,” Donavan said.

Even as he spoke, his sword quickened. “This is pointless.”

But Atalanta refused.

She had never crossed swords with anyone like him. Every exchange taught her something—reminded her how much she still had to learn.

She struck less often now, mostly defending. Each impact rattled her arms.

THUD.

The blunted sword struck her ribs.

She staggered.

Donavan lowered his sword.

“Dead.”

“It’s over.”

Atalanta lowered her head.

Every muscle begged her to cradle her aching side. She wanted to collapse onto the deck.

She did neither.

“I lost.”

Donavan studied her for a moment “That first swing—why did you commit so early?”

“I—”

“Your skill is undeniable,” Donavan said “But your sword was never going to touch me.”

She opened her mouth.

…

“What did I tell you when we crossed swords?”

“You said… I couldn’t overpower you.”

“And?”

“…that speed alone wouldn’t beat a trained opponent.”

“So why did you spend the entire fight trying to do exactly that?”

Her eyes dropped to the deck. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

“You would rather I think you were stupid?”

He pointed at her with the practice sword. “You fought like a mindless brute.”

He stepped forward. “But you aren’t bigger than me. You aren’t stronger than me. So why fight my battle instead of your own?”

“I…”

“Answer.”

“I should have started slower.”

“Why?”

She frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

He rested the practice sword across one shoulder. “Within three seconds I knew how fast you were.”

He raised one finger. “Within three seconds I knew how strong you were.”

A second finger. “Within three seconds I knew the only plan you had.”

He lowered his hand. “What did you learn about me?”

She looked down. “…You’re strong.”

He sighed. “That’s all?”

She couldn’t answer.

“I should’ve hit you in the ribs after your first swing.”

He shrugged. “At least then you wouldn’t be exhausted.”

A faint laugh escaped Daphne.  Jem quietly elbowed her. She immediately covered her mouth.

Donavan let the silence linger.

“When you face someone bigger, stronger, and better trained, your first task isn’t winning.”

He tapped the practice sword lightly against the deck. “It’s learning.”

“Learn your opponent before your opponent learns you.”

“Hide your strengths.”

“Find your opponent’s weaknesses.”

“Adapt.”

He fell silent.

She was still standing. Sweat dripped from her chin. Her breathing was still ragged.

Pride alone kept her upright.

Without a word, Donavan lowered himself onto the deck.

After a brief hesitation, Atalanta sat across from him.

Only then did he continue, his eyes locked on hers. “If your entire plan is to swing until something good happens…”

He shook his head. “You’ll die.”

Atalanta swallowed. “You said I should hide my strengths…”

She hesitated. “What are they?”

For the first time since the duel began, Donavan’s grin disappeared.

He studied her seriously. “You’re fast.”

His expression didn’t change “Horrifyingly fast.”

“But knights are used to horrifying things.”

“We adapt.”

He leaned forward slightly. “But your speed…”

He shook his head. “…is exceptional.”

“And while you’re nowhere near as strong as I am…”

“…you’re much stronger than you appear.”

He paused.

“Then there’s your endurance.”

“My endurance?”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Of course you are.”

He laughed. “You swung your sword like a lunatic.”

“Most knights would’ve collapsed after fighting that way for a minute.”

A small smile returned. “You lasted three.”

Artemis frowned.

She had watched Atalanta fight for hours without slowing. Against bandits, her sister simply didn’t tire.

Atalanta slowly looked up. “So those are my strengths.”

She tilted her head. “What are your weaknesses?”

For a long moment Donavan simply looked at her.

Then he smiled again and rose from the deck. “I don’t know.”

He walked back toward the fishing gear. He picked up his fishing pole.  Then glanced back over one shoulder “But you’ve got two more days to find out.”

Atalanta watched as Donavan returned to his place at the edge of the platform. He baited his hook and threw the line.

Two days.