A HENRY STORY 2: Trials Of The Fallen Prince

XV. Balance

There she was. Henry's head twitched, his grip on the hilt of his sheathed sword grew stronger, and he reflexively lifted it until—

CRACK!

Henry ignored the jarring noise of the stone meeting the sheath and redirected his attention to what else he could hear. With the sword raised high, he fell back into guard, scanning his surroundings, and finally took in a scraping sound behind him. Following it, he turned with care so as not to lose his footing on the narrow pillar upon which he stood, thirty feet above the ground.

Now that Kismet was aware of this cave, she deemed it ideal for their training sessions. To think that his original motive for coming here had been to release his frustration by striking this pillar with his sword!

He barely blocked the next stone and frowned, realizing that he had neglected to follow up with an attack as he was supposed to. Make use of every contact your blade has with your opponent, Kismet's voice rang in his head. You must internalize that most of your opponents will not be armored. Even when you block, you attack.

Henry forced himself to concentrate by sinking his bare soles into the ground. As Kismet had insisted, he imagined his feet as roots, firmly grounded and steady. Your attack can only ever be as powerful as your stance, she snarled in his ear. You are not on the back of your flier anymore. Only if you stand firm can you attack firmly.

Henry breathed in and consciously matched his stance to the position of his blade. You must not think of your sword as any different than the claws and teeth that we others possess. You must hold it, hone it, and care for it in the same manner. Just because, as a human, you require an artificial weapon, that does not mean that you may see it as anything other than a part of yourself, lest you be at a grave disadvantage.

Henry slowly turned, guard up, following the sound of Kismet's steps, thirty feet below. When she hurled the next two rocks immediately after each other, he deflected them effortlessly.

"Pay heed!" he yelled as he eased his tension and skillfully twirled his sword. "May we go back to the lake after we are done? I'm starvi—agh!"

Only in his periphery did Henry register Kismet's laughter. He faltered from the rock she had tossed without warning and barely caught himself before he would have tumbled. "Hey!"

"Do not yet treat the exercise as over, pup," she snarled, and Henry cursed, using all his strength to steady himself and raise his sword. He barely managed to react in time to the next audible clue, originating approximately ten feet to his left, and adeptly sidestepped the incoming rock.

"As for your question . . ." Kismet had moved again, and Henry pivoted to follow her. "We may go."

This time, he struck the stone she launched with finesse and even fell back into a decently stable stance.

"If you can hit the next five rocks as well as you just did that one."

Rather than reply, Henry lifted his sword higher, keenly feeling every single contour and irregularity of the stone underfoot. If this was all it took for him to claim victory, he had already won.

***

"It's unfathomable to me how you still possess the energy for that obstacle course, even after an entire day of combat training."

With a grin aimed at Kismet, Henry sat himself down next to the torch he had set up for grilling the fish he had caught earlier at the lake. "It's simply a matter of being in excellent shape!"

"Physically maybe." She raised her vision aid from the book she had been reading. "Nonetheless, your mental restlessness persists. And while you are making strides, in battle you still more often than not move like a dancer, not a warrior."