Bast had employed all his usual methods of persuasion, which mostly amounted to pleading obnoxiously like a small child. For all his eternal, untamed nature, sometimes Bast truly was just an overzealous boy. At times, Kvothe found himself giving in to him. His requests could be relatively harmless, and sometimes it was worth it to have his infectious, mischievous joy fill the place. However, it seemed Tempi did not feel the same.
Tempi was older than Kvothe remembered. It should have been obvious, but Kvothe had not been expecting it. On the occasions he had thought of his friend, he had conjured up the image of the same quiet young man he had known all those years ago. But this was not the same Tempi. He was weathered, though he still stood tall. He was still quiet, but it was a different quiet than the withdrawn uncertainty of his youth. There was more peace in his silences, more ease in his stance. He had a serene, long-suffering patience that allowed him to endure more—even, it seemed, Bast's plaintive requests. No matter how Bast presented his desire, Tempi would not teach him how to fight by the Lethani.
And so it was Kvothe who gave in first. One evening, exasperated beyond measure, he suggested that the two of them simply have a sparring match and be done with it. His pupil was delighted by the idea, almost worryingly so. But Tempi did not appear concerned; he only replied that if Kvothe thought it a good idea, he would be willing.
Tempi and Bast departed for a clearing behind the inn and out of sight. Kvothe lingered to lock up, wondering whether he had exhibited poor judgment. When he caught up to them, Bast had flung his jacket to the side and was working off his shirt. Tempi stood a short distance away performing a few simple stretches. His was a look of unruffled concentration, while Bast aimed a brash grin at Kvothe. "Do you want me to take notes, Reshi?"
"I think you should focus on not being beaten miserably," Kvothe replied dryly.
Bast's eyes did not turn the pure blue of the Fae, but they did brighten and glitter like a crashing wave. "You wound me," he drawled, voice spiraling through the words. He was not so much a man anymore as he turned to face the Adem, but he would wait for his Reshi's command.
Kvothe nodded at Tempi and gave it. "Begin." His sense of the moment had brought back old dramatic habits, and the word rang through the clearing like a gong. The entire space shifted.
Bast slid forward like liquid and struck at the last moment, but in his usual way, Tempi had found a safer space to occupy. Without hesitation, Bast spun low and brought his other hand around—only to meet air again. And so it continued.
Bast was no human, and did not move like one. He slashed and snapped ferociously, moving almost too quickly to follow. He rolled from one blow to another, never ceasing, never still. He twisted and bent in unnatural stances that brought him almost level with the ground and then vaulted him into the air. He struck from every direction. Tempi, on the other hand, moved little. He only shifted enough to avoid each blow. He had no time for anything more, but that much he managed every time. He turned to the side, stepped back, or ducked slightly. His movements were just enough to make him untouchable.
It was a useless battle. Bast was a storm, and Tempi was a leaf on the wind; neither could harm the other. Kvothe should have stopped it sooner, but it was enthralling. Bast whirled and danced around his opponent, and Tempi barely moved.
"Enough," Kvothe boomed, before he could find out who would hurt the other first.
They both stopped, though for one tense moment they did not back up, but remained almost nose to nose, Tempi's pale gaze cast down on Bast's sharp smile. Kvothe leveled a look at them and cleared his throat pointedly, which broke up the moment effectively. "It was just about to be interesting!" Bast whinged as he sauntered back toward Kvothe. His stance was still predatory, but his pout was ridiculous as ever.
"Too interesting," Kvothe retorted. He tossed Bast his shirt. "I hope you enjoyed yourself."
Bast tossed the shirt over his shoulder, ignoring it. He grinned. "I did, Reshi."
"Perhaps you should try, Kvothe," Tempi put in.
Kvothe looked to him sharply, frowning. He inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry to say that I have not been keeping up with my form."
"Then you need practice."
He could not. That part of him had passed now, and he had hoped he would not have to admit that to Tempi of all people. At least he could still act well enough to conceal his humiliation.
When he didn't reply, Tempi continued, "Unless you would rather spar with Bast."
Kvothe knew without considering it how useless that would be. He was not sure Bast would hit him, for one, and he knew that Bast would not win. And his pride was suffering enough without his student pandering to him. "No."
"Then show me." Tempi's tone was not aggressive, but it left no room for argument. He put one finger of his left hand on top of another—challenge.
"I think we've had enough sparring for one day."
"Show me," Tempi repeated, and this time it was a command.
Kvothe's jaw clamped, but he took one stiff step toward him after another until he was standing within arm's length of Tempi. His resentment only worsened when Bast cheered from behind him. He might as well get this over with.
It was worse than he had imagined. Tempi had knocked him flat on his back in seconds. Kvothe remembered how to move, but could not make his body do it. He pushed himself back on his feet, glowering at Tempi. "Satisfied?"
"Again," Tempi ordered.
Kvothe stepped in to punch, but missed entirely when Tempi moved. At least he had the presence of mind to follow through in a different direction before Tempi could land a blow again. It was a losing battle, though, and he knew it. He would be beaten sooner or later, and why not have it sooner?
That was when a fist connected with the corner of his jaw. Kvothe winced and pressed his palm against it and worked it back and forth.
"Not paying attention," Tempi told him patiently.
Kvothe let out a sharp breath and got in a defensive stance, or what he remembered of it. It had been years since he had used any of this, and moving freely was not as easy as he had recalled. He was getting old. He found himself bracing for the inevitable as Tempi came at him. He moved around the first strike and blocked the second, but the third caught him right below the nose, and he stumbled back, blinded by sudden tears. He heard a distressed call of "Reshi!" but shook his head sharply.
"Again," Tempi said.
"No." Kvothe straightened, swiping roughly at his face. "You've beaten me. We are done." He turned abruptly and stalked toward the inn.
Something caught his ankle and sent him sprawling forward, and he landed heavily on his elbows. "Get up," Tempi commanded. "Again."
With a growl, Kvothe rolled to his feet and came at the Adem, but his opponent was no longer there. "You are angry," Tempi noted. A second punch only resulted in his wrist being twisted to his side. "Distracted. Thinking too much."
If he had been thinking, he would have not made such poor decisions this evening. Knuckles struck his temple, which only made his pathetic attacks even more useless. When he could focus again, Tempi was standing a short distance away, and he was not simply stern; he was angry, perhaps as angry as Kvothe was. Kvothe blinked, then saw his student begin to move for Tempi. "Bast, no," he ground out. He watched Tempi carefully.
He did not have to watch Tempi's hands to know that he was signing anger, but he did anyway, and saw disappointment there, as well. "Thinking too much, about yourself. You pity yourself, let your bitterness drive you. Your focus is inside you." This time his gesture was accusation, and it filled his voice and made it flinty. "Not as good at fighting is fine. But you forgot the Lethani."
The humiliation of being beaten was nothing to the shame of that truth, especially presented by Tempi. Kvothe looked down and took a steadying breath. Bast began to try to interrupt, to suggest that they go inside, but Kvothe held up a hand. He took another long breath, and another, trying to find something he had lost a long time ago.
Minutes passed in silence this way, all three men unmoving. Finally, Kvothe stood straight and nodded. "Again."
It was still a travesty of his younger years, certainly. Tempi was far better than he now, and defeated him in less than two minutes. But when Tempi swept the blade of his hand at him, Kvothe moved. He did not resent or despair or anticipate; he avoided it and shifted behind Tempi. His overhand strike met air, but so did Tempi's kick. His technique was not perfect, nor his movements completely smooth, but his mind and body drifted nearly as they once did, reacting freely, riding eddies in the tide of battle.
Tempi struck first, of course. But this time, the blow was merely perfunctory, not painful. Bast stood frozen, muscles straining as if trying to reach them despite some hindrance. Kvothe stepped back—and laughed.
Tempi laughed, too, and put an arm around his shoulders, which he gladly accepted. "You did not forget," his friend said, proud.
"I did," Kvothe admitted. He was smiling now. Loss or no, he had not moved like that in years, and something in his heart had lifted. "Thank you for reminding me."
Tempi made a gesture of acceptance, and together, worn but glad, they headed back toward the inn. Bast spent the entire walk and much of the night inside fussing over Kvothe's injuries, but he was not as upset as he normally was whenever his Reshi managed to hurt himself. Kvothe knew his pupil was protective of him, but he did not seem to bear any malice toward Tempi, at least. Perhaps he found all the laughter contagious, or was distracted by tales of years ago. Whatever the cause, the three of them were able to pass the night in cheery, reminiscent camaraderie, and for once, Kvothe did not feel quite so old.