protec-tiveness, a desire not just to avoid hurting her but to keep her from being hurt by anything, ever. "But I suddenly realized I could hurt you. The next move
after the block would bemdash" She mimed the upward strike, slowly.
"Yes, and I would block," Conal said, bringing his shield around equally slowly. "We've done this with the wooden swords. You're fast, and you're getting much smoother."
"But if you didn't block in time, I could hurt you. With a wooden sword, that doesn't matter."
Conal grinned wryly. They had both felt the force of the wooden swords in the time they had been training hard together.
"Well, if you don't count bruises, it doesn't matter," she amended. "But with this if I don't stop, I could gut you. And I know I shouldn't be thinking about stopping."
"You're right, it's the last thing," Conal said seriously. He sat down and patted the ground beside him. For a wonder, the grass was quite dry. Emer sat obediently, quite close. "That's what Meithin always says, and I
see now how right she is. That's why we always practice with wooden blades. If you learn to pull your blows, then you'll pull one in battle, when you need to be gutting someone. And they won't do the same and then you'll be the one who's dead."
As he was speaking the smith's hammer stopped for a moment and the last word came out unnecessarily loud in the sudden silence. The sound of the stream came to him clearly, and a thrush singing in the woods.
"Have you ever fought anyone for real?" Emer asked quietly.
"Not with swords." Conal didn't want to think about the times he'd fought Darag. He wasn't sure it counted anyway; real as those fights were, they weren't trying to kill each other, only to win. "Only that thing in the water."
"That wasn't at all the same," Emer said, turning her sword in her hand. "It didn't have hands or a head. It was a monster. I just wanted to stop it. It wasn't like fighting a person. I didn't use any technique until you told me to cut through it with you."
"We were very lucky, I think," Conal said.
The hammering started up again, louder than ever.
"It felt different from practicing," Emer said, raising her voice. "I think fighting people for real would feel different again."
"I think so, too," Conal said. He hesitated, looking at her, still feeling strangely protective. "You don't have to fight if you don't want to," he said.
Emer looked startled. "Of course I want to! Do you mean you don't think I'm good enough to be your charioteer after all?"
"You're better with the chariot than a lot of charioteers already," Conal said. "Even my mother says so, and my mother never gives more praise than she need. I didn't mean that at all. It's what I want. But if you would rather not fight and kill, rather stay home safe, nobody would think any the worse of you, and I would defendmdash"
Even as he found the words, he knew he was saying the wrong thing.
Page 22
"I think you are mistaking me for my sister," Emer said, her voice very hard. She turned her face away, wiping it on her sleeve.
"I'm sorry," Conal said after a moment. "I wasn't mistaking you for anyone else. I justmdash"
Her hair was tightly braided, as if to go under a leather battle-cap; she seemed all eyes, as always. She wasn't beautiful, not like Elenn. But she was unmistakably herself. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. He wished she weren't so young. "You are special, and I want to keep you safe."
She turned her head back, her eyes still bright with tears, but there was anger in her voice. "And how would you feel if I said that to you?"
He thought about it for a moment, giving it consideration. "Treated like a child," he admitted.
"Well then!" she retorted, and threw a piece of grass at him. It landed on the leather practice coat around his chest. He looked at it for a long moment as it moved with his breathing. "I want to defend you, and be defended by you," she said. "I want to be your charioteer and fight beside
after the block would bemdash" She mimed the upward strike, slowly.
"Yes, and I would block," Conal said, bringing his shield around equally slowly. "We've done this with the wooden swords. You're fast, and you're getting much smoother."
"But if you didn't block in time, I could hurt you. With a wooden sword, that doesn't matter."
Conal grinned wryly. They had both felt the force of the wooden swords in the time they had been training hard together.
"Well, if you don't count bruises, it doesn't matter," she amended. "But with this if I don't stop, I could gut you. And I know I shouldn't be thinking about stopping."
"You're right, it's the last thing," Conal said seriously. He sat down and patted the ground beside him. For a wonder, the grass was quite dry. Emer sat obediently, quite close. "That's what Meithin always says, and I
see now how right she is. That's why we always practice with wooden blades. If you learn to pull your blows, then you'll pull one in battle, when you need to be gutting someone. And they won't do the same and then you'll be the one who's dead."
As he was speaking the smith's hammer stopped for a moment and the last word came out unnecessarily loud in the sudden silence. The sound of the stream came to him clearly, and a thrush singing in the woods.
"Have you ever fought anyone for real?" Emer asked quietly.
"Not with swords." Conal didn't want to think about the times he'd fought Darag. He wasn't sure it counted anyway; real as those fights were, they weren't trying to kill each other, only to win. "Only that thing in the water."
"That wasn't at all the same," Emer said, turning her sword in her hand. "It didn't have hands or a head. It was a monster. I just wanted to stop it. It wasn't like fighting a person. I didn't use any technique until you told me to cut through it with you."
"We were very lucky, I think," Conal said.
The hammering started up again, louder than ever.
"It felt different from practicing," Emer said, raising her voice. "I think fighting people for real would feel different again."
"I think so, too," Conal said. He hesitated, looking at her, still feeling strangely protective. "You don't have to fight if you don't want to," he said.
Emer looked startled. "Of course I want to! Do you mean you don't think I'm good enough to be your charioteer after all?"
"You're better with the chariot than a lot of charioteers already," Conal said. "Even my mother says so, and my mother never gives more praise than she need. I didn't mean that at all. It's what I want. But if you would rather not fight and kill, rather stay home safe, nobody would think any the worse of you, and I would defendmdash"
Even as he found the words, he knew he was saying the wrong thing.
Page 22
"I think you are mistaking me for my sister," Emer said, her voice very hard. She turned her face away, wiping it on her sleeve.
"I'm sorry," Conal said after a moment. "I wasn't mistaking you for anyone else. I justmdash"
Her hair was tightly braided, as if to go under a leather battle-cap; she seemed all eyes, as always. She wasn't beautiful, not like Elenn. But she was unmistakably herself. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. He wished she weren't so young. "You are special, and I want to keep you safe."
She turned her head back, her eyes still bright with tears, but there was anger in her voice. "And how would you feel if I said that to you?"
He thought about it for a moment, giving it consideration. "Treated like a child," he admitted.
"Well then!" she retorted, and threw a piece of grass at him. It landed on the leather practice coat around his chest. He looked at it for a long moment as it moved with his breathing. "I want to defend you, and be defended by you," she said. "I want to be your charioteer and fight beside
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