The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 5, Chapter 26

Valen

"Some people think of it as a magical, mystical power of some kind," his grandfather had said, on a very different day a few years ago. It had been one of the last lessons the old man had ever taught, a lesson he had said he couldn't teach before.

It was raining. Not the sort of rain anyone in the City was used to, but the kind of rain where a hand's length fell in a couple of days. The kind of rain that flooded streets, over-taxed drainage systems, and had civil designers dragged from high towers to be reposted to survey positions to plan out the expansion of the walls.

"That's absurd, of course. You and I have seen magic. It's bright as the sun, and comes at the will of someone wearing a red coat." His grandfather, as unperturbed by the winter rain as he was about nearly everything, was standing in a deceptively relaxed stance, and carried a blade that gleamed as it reflected the warm red light of the Spire. "It's a skill, one that anyone can learn. But like common sense or an affinity for good literature, it's not something most people ever bother with."

"Then what is it?" Valen had asked.

True to form, the old man didn't ignore the question. He just wasn't in a hurry to answer it. "How do you think I will attack you?"

The old man was three steps away, his sword gripped loosely, high on the handle with his thumb and forefinger rubbing against the guard. Left foot in the lead, more than shoulder-width apart. "A feint. Dash forward, with a thrust directed at my face. But the move is meant to obscure your feet, which will take another step forward, and when I move to brush the thrust aside, you twist into a slash over the blade, and come down hard on my right arm."

The prediction was a hard one to make. His grandfather had insisted on naked blades that day. It was a first.

The old man shifted his left foot, pulling it back in a slow circle, until his right foot was forward. "And now?"

"Hard slash aimed at my chest, to shift my defence close to my body and lock my legs, so you can switch to two hands and strike while stepping forward," Valen said. He shook his head, and held up his hand. "But Grandfather, I'm not talking about making that prediction when I'm calm. I see it happen, see what will happen next during a fight."

"It's not some magical precognitive powers. I do it. Your grandmother does it. Hell, your father, for all he hated learning the sword, could do it. There are more than a few people in the army who have learned it, and at least a few shadows," his grandfather explained. "You understand how reflexes work, right? And how all those drills you've done over the years are to train your basic instincts to use the skills I've taught you? This is similar."

"Is it?" Valen asked.

"You get into enough fights, get familiar with being afraid or angry, and your brain starts adapting. You use your skills out of reflex, instinct, which makes you faster. You start being able to use your fear, which makes your legs faster and your senses pay attention more thoroughly. You use your anger, which makes your arms faster and tells your pain receptors to shut the burning hell up for a bit. This vision of yours, is just your instincts finally starting to use your brain. You're well practiced in visualizing what I'll do, at least for the first few motions. You've been doing it at the start of our practice duels for years. Your brain has just started using that skill in the middle of a fight."

******

One straight ahead, it would reach him first. Two to the right, half a second after. Valen extended his sword straight ahead, but shifted his feet to face the next two. He held his sword in his right, loosely, near the pommel. But not too loosely, only as tough as flesh would resist.