Sixth Stroke – Searching Conflict
Sylvia stared west to face Tyrin. The sun was at the human warrior's back, but the many trees made it a minimal factor in visibility. That was good, as this was meant as a demonstrative bout, so all things should be kept even. The level ground, with its soft but not too high grass, served well. The many years of use by sheep and cattle had made this place level, almost like tilled ground, so there would be little danger of twisted ankles or smashed toes.
Sylvia stood straight to her opponent, her sword carried in both hands with the edge in line with her nose. It was a basic and direct stance, and she had expected Tyrin to roughly mirror it, but the other woman was positioned differently.
Tyrin's body was turned to the side, so that she faced perpendicular to the Claymore, her right shoulder lining up with the edge of her own sword. Her shield came up tucked in across her body in the left arm, all together presenting a far narrower profile. All was loose in the other woman's stance, where Sylvia's was held hard she waved and shifted, flowing in an invisible wind. So while Sylvia faced her opponent, Tyrin's sword faced her.
Neither made a swift move, instead they studied each other silently. Sylvia found her focus drawn to the soldier's sword, a weapon unusual in her experience. It was single-edged, but the blade was broad and heavy, and slightly curved, not at all like the double-edged straight blades common to most that fought with sword and shield. Sylvia suspected Tyrin could use it very differently, almost like a cleaver in some ways, while still able to stab.
I have an advantage in reach, Sylvia noted the obvious. A substantial one in fact. Yoma were ogre-built and long of arm, and many could extend their limbs or fingers as well. Claymores carried such massive blades in part because of those very facts. Tyrin was a best marginally taller than Sylvia, not enough to compensate for the difference in their blades at all. With reach mine, and the inevitable advantage in strength and speed this is very one-sided. Intuitively she had known that before even proposing the match, but looking it at it like this Sylvia expected she would have to hold back carefully to even give Tyrin a chance to reveal her abilities. She hoped she could do so without embarrassing the other woman.
Yet, looking in the human soldier's eyes, Sylvia saw only fierce readiness, nothing more. Slowly she nodded to the other woman, holding her sword easily, ready, but not in any particular stance, ceding the first move.
Tyrin advanced slowly, in a sort of half-step, choppy, irregular, reminding the Claymore of waves moving up together against a shoreline. Her arms moved in a loose counterpoint swing, back and forth each, slight motions, drawing the eye back and forth, tempting it.
Sylvia was not so easily fooled by such a simple method to lull an opponent, and remained alert, focusing everywhere and nowhere, as she had been taught. Her yoki power she kept firmly suppressed, there would be no use of demonic energies in this bought, no matter what happened.
Slightly before reaching the effective range of the Claymore's massive blade Tyrin stepped a bit left, and then back, and again, side to side shifting before springing into a sudden attack straight forward.
Sylvia caught the unexpectedly straightforward maneuver easily, and smashed down a powerful block to throw Tyrin away and leave her open.
Steel crashed against steel with the eternally familiar screaming of metal. Sparks blared as the blades slid together and sang their hideous song.
Tyrin was forced to the side, but only in the slightest, her forward steps continuing unabated, only the angle shifted. Sylvia's mind flared with astonishment, for she should have thrown the woman aside, the blade had not met blade with sufficient strength.
Then she saw it there in the sparks as Tyrin's sword slid down her own as the soldier continued on, the same thing as had happened to the yoma before. The wide blade pirouetted in the air, shifting with a weathervane's fluidity against the currents of her blow, blunting the power.
But she cannot attack with her blade like… Sylvia thought. No!
With an explosion of speed far greater than any she had expected to need in this fight the Claymore dashed backward, avoiding a forceful smash by the soldier's shield-bearing left arm.
Tyrin spun away with a cry of triumph, knowing that she had surprised her opponent. "More than one weapon!" the woman called.
Sylvia nodded briefly, angry at herself, but she forced it away, made her body be calm. Still the bitterness remained as they circled each other once more. Sylvia had thought of the shield only as a defensive measure, but that was not so. It was doubtful a blow would have harmed her much, Tyrin's strength was surely not sufficient to break Claymore bones as she might against a human foe, but she would not allow herself to be dealt a blow in this contest. I shall not be touched by merely human strength and speed, Sylvia resolved. Certainly not that I outreach it! I'm worthless against yoma if that is the extent of my power.
They closed again, this time Sylvia taking the attack. Tyrin met the blow with her shield, and spun away low, kicking out and forcing her body in under the great sword. She took an off-angle pummeling upon her shield and shoulder armor, but again forced Sylvia to hop back, this time with a series of quick in-cuts from her blade.
They broke, and then closed, and broke, and closed, again and again. The human woman's pattern was different every time, experimenting with moves and as she sought a way around Sylvia's massive blade. She did not always force Sylvia back, indeed most of the time the human warrior was hard pressed to hold off her opponent, dashing away again and again in swift spinning escapes barely ahead of the potent edge. She took a drubbing too, blow after blow against shield and armor, and never once doing more than pushing the massive blade more than slightly off course. It was bitterly one-sided.
Nevertheless time and again Sylvia found herself scowling bitterly as she was forced to rely on truly inhuman speed and strength to escape or overpower those precise and hungry slices and smashes. She could find no explanation for why, why was it happening? Cold self-loathing blossomed deep down in her at this…this failure to seize a true advantage. The urge to release yoki power, just a tiny bit, only the least of it, barely enough to change the eyes even, and hurl the irritating armored woman into a nearby tree kept returning. With every break Sylvia felt that urge and burned in shame. Where is my control? She wondered desperately, and pinned her emotions down with the force of unsteady will.
Shortly both were panting as breath came hard. The sunset was in full loom above, tingeing the field where they fought with brilliant reds and long, twisting shadows.
Looking at her opponent Sylvia observed none of the intense frustration she herself battled with, but a fierce and unyielding pride. No wonder that, for she had not yet been beaten, and to fight this long with a Claymore, even one holding back, was a worthy achievement. She had not lied about her skills.
Despite this, it was obvious matters were coming to a close. Tyrin had received many blows, while Sylvia had none, and the human warrior's endurance, though substantial, paled in comparison to that of a half-human half-yoma.
"Guess this is it," Tyrin gulped down air. "Well, I might as well try something nasty, if it's the last one."
For the first time in the fight the soldier dropped into a forward facing stance, bringing the shield over and in to guard her left side. She held her sword not upright, but parallel to the ground, just out in front of the shield's edge. Only an intake of breath's time after taking this posture, she charged with all the speed still available to her.
A crosscut? Sylvia wondered. The positioning implied such an attack, but she was sure it wasn't something obvious. She refused to play to the trick, instead daring in her frustration to try something she perhaps should not have.
The Claymore pulled her blade upright, and moved to meet Tyrin not with a side to side parry, but instead to smash the broad side of the blade downward and from there stab home with the point. Sylvia saw the other woman's eyes widen at the move.
Blade met blade, but only for the briefest of taps of metal, and then Tyrin's sword flashed out and under the stroke. Her advance did not stop, but she crashed further inward to Sylvia, surging with her shoulder and accepting the weak push of the edge of the massive blade.
Metal screamed, but Sylvia's eyes, catching red sunlight glaring on metal, caught that the move was by no means finished. Tyrin's lade twisted in her wrist, and the arm snapped in, bringing the blade back in a second cross cutting stroke opposite the first.
Sylvia did not withdraw, but instead made use of the great size and power of her own sword in a way she had not expected but realized would work in this moment. She pulled back and down, using the great weight of the weapon no human could properly wield to drive Tyrin's swordpoint down, twisting it as she moved.
At last the Claymore took her own blade, now parallel to the ground as well, and crosscut to slice in at her foe.
The move was fiercely powerful, and far too fast for the soldier to react. At the last Sylvia noted she had put too much force behind her move.
A storm of emotions burst through her in panic, and yoki energy exploded within. The world became suddenly clear and sharp, and everything slowed down. Sylvia saw Tyrin's mouth fall open in shock as she undoubtedly watched the distortion of the eyes from sliver to slit orbs, snake shaped and wolf gold. It was terribly shaming.
The strength of that energy served an essential purpose, no matter the shame, and Sylvia pulled up her blow at the edge of Tyrin's armor, not even touching it. "Finished," she hissed in that inhuman voice she so despised. With shaking hands she gathered her mind and directed her will, clamping down on her emotions and the yoki energy, forcing everything away, down beneath her carefully crafted web of control once more.
Tyrin slumped down in response, dropping her sword gently to the ground, a motion soon mirrored by her opponent.
"Damn," the human woman whispered, walking in slow circles about her blade, carefully shedding bits of her armor and taking great deep breaths of air. She turned to the immobile Sylvia, and looked oddly puzzled. "Won't you cramp up if you don't move?"
"No," Sylvia replied, disarmed and comforted by this odd but peaceful question. "I was only vaguely aware that such a thing was ever a problem."
"Not fair," Tyrin whispered, and the Claymore thought she detected some resentment there. "Not fair, I'll be feeling this tomorrow, and for days to come probably," she shook her head. "Really it's not fair at all," her voice grew louder. "Amazingly not fair, stronger, faster, and with the damn monster sword you've got more reach than me too!" she was clearly shouting now, and Sylvia simply stood there, not comprehending what she should do or say. "Even so I had you! I had you! I'd read the patterns, found a weak point and I knew I could get you, but then oh just then you finally decide to do the unexpected and improvise! Damn it!" She hurled her shield into the ground so hard it bounced twice and then rang solidly against Sylvia's blade as it struck where it lay.
Tyrin turned and glared into Sylvia's face, placing her head only inches from her own. "Why? Damn it!" the woman's anger was obvious and bitter. She moved her hands up, and Sylvia wondered fearfully if Tyrin would try to strike her.
"Enough!" the Claymore said firmly, and to her surprise Tyrin seemed to deflate. "Of course it is not fair," she continued carefully, quietly, shamed herself. "I am half-human half-yoma and you are only human. There was no way for you to win, and had I truly wished it I could have released my yoki and ended this instantly at any time. Still," she added. "You kept getting the better of me, and I do not know why. If you are angry, I am ashamed."
Tyrin settled to the ground slowly, squatting down, and with lazy hand motions directed Sylvia to do likewise. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Blood got a little hot there. Really it's probably best that you blocked that last move, I think I would really have cut you, I wasn't thinking. I wouldn't have been able to pull it at the last like you did."
Sylvia could almost feel just how much those words cost Tyrin, but could think of no proper reply, so she simply sat silently.
They were quiet for a time, and then idly Tyrin picked up her shield and ran her hand over it, brushing the dirt off. "You want to know why I could get to you?"
Sylvia nodded, for she was indeed puzzled, and it made her feel ashamed and weak as well. She was not content with being so vulnerable to a human's attacks, even one of the best humans and while holding back. If that was all she managed then she was not worth being half-human half-yoma. Not worthy of the sacrifice.
"Pretty simple really," Tyrin shrugged. "Technique."
"Technique?" Sylvia queried.
"Look," the warrior explained. "You beat me in strength, speed, and reach. I figure our sense of timing's about equal, but your reaction's are faster than me too. So you've got all the natural advantages. It's the rest of it where I can make up an edge."
"Could you explain?"
Tyrin gave Sylvia a careful searching look. "Let me ask this first: you only get trained to fight yoma right? And only with those huge swords of yours?"
"We receive rudimentary instruction in the methods of other weapons," Sylvia replied truthfully. "But more or less that's true."
"That's what I guessed," Tyrin shook her head slightly. "Then the simplest way to take it is this: you've been taught to butcher with you sword, while I've been taught to dance with mine."
Sylvia, not truly understanding this comment, did not say anything.
"Alright," Tyrin shrugged. "I'm not that good at explanations, but here, I'll try." She pointed to the massive sword, lying there on the ground. "You've been taught to fight in a certain way, a way that's used to kill yoma, which is what you do so it makes sense. That's the same thing they do with pikeman, teach them to stand and hold the line. That's treating battle like it's a job, as if it were the same as building houses or threshing grain or making candles or something. For the most part that works, and it's easy and effective, and produces predictable results. Officers like soldiers who fight like that, I know I do." Tyrin gave Sylvia another piercing look. "And for you, it makes even more sense. Yoma well, after today, and even before, you get a sense that they aren't like men, that they aren't in control."
"They aren't," Sylvia said quietly. "The yoma half of me is a storm of emotions. It is not human at all, but a monster."
"That's the key though," the warrior was suddenly very serious. "Fighting a yoma is like fighting an animal. It may be cunning and tricky, I saw a man who had a bear trained to dance once, but it's not like a person. Yoma are smarter than any animal, but they still aren't really like men. That's why you call yourself a 'yoma hunter' not a 'yoma killer.' Hunting is a job, but killing," and Tyrin smiled with fierce darkness. "Is an art. So say the mad anyway, and the best swordsman I ever trained with."
"I think I perhaps understand you," though Sylvia was far less certain than she made herself sound in order to let the odd comment pass by. "But of what practical use is such a thing?"
"Ah, never mind," the human soldier shook her heard rapidly. "I knew I shouldn't have said it that way. Anyway, the crux is that your technique is weak because you've channeled all your fighting instinct to do a specific thing. You don't break from it, but stay within a set of patterns, and you don't improvise. As our fight went on I was beginning to sort you out and predict your actions. You only dared to try something new at the very end. It wasn't a bad attempt that, but you should have tried to disrupt me much earlier."
"Is that the weakness you see then? Predictability?" Sylvia wondered if it might well be true, if she maintained too many set patterns. She knew very well that she'd tried to organize her life, to find things that worked and repeat them, again and again. It was something developed to keep emotion in check, to force reliance on the orderly, human side of her while burying the emotional yoma side. It was a working method, and she had no intention of abandoning it, but even so, perhaps Tyrin had a point.
"You're predictable, your motions are less efficient than they really should be, and you're weak inside your guard," Tyrin spoke more gently than before, but still with an officer's eye. "That's the fault of the size of the sword, and the reach of yoma. You don't deal with opponents who try to get inside your guard, so you're weak against attempts to do it. Close in there's openings. You saw how I tried to exploit them, making you jump back like that. If I had speed to match you…" she left it to the Claymore to draw the obvious resolution.
Sylvia made that simple leap of imagination and was not pleased. Bad habits, she recognized. Very bad. She was ashamed again, carrying such weakness with her. Perversely, she directed to change the conversation. "Did you learn all this from your swordmaster?"
"No," Tyrin shook her head. "Nothing so formal. I was never schooled like that. I had to learn on the battlefield. Once I made up my mind to become the best I always sought out the best fighters and made it so we'd beat each other up until we couldn't do it anymore. Battle's a good teacher in itself too, you see people make mistakes and just how much it costs them. You see what works and what doesn't when it really matters, and learn from your scars or die by them. It wasn't an easy road, but that's just the way it goes."
"Well then," Sylvia asked politely. "Since your technique is superior, how would you suggest I improve mine?"
Carefully the human woman stood up, and walked over to Sylvia's side, where the great sword lay. Suddenly she reached down and grasped the hilt in both hands. With a grunt she then lifted upwards.
"Wait-" Sylvia began, but then realized it would not be necessary.
Tyrin managed to lift the sword up completely off the ground, but barely, she could only get the swordpoint up by inches, the unbalanced nature of the massive blade being clearly too much for her. Swiftly she dropped it. "I could maybe carry this around a while," she muttered, clenching her hands and unclenching them rapidly to work out the strain of the grip. "But not fight with it. It's not just the weight; my strength's positioned all wrong for that thing. However, I could teach you to fight with my sword."
"Teach me to fight with that?"
"Why not?" the question was asked idly but it was fairly serious. "You don't know the weapon and I do, and it's not like you have anything better to do with your time. Besides, it might help you with that monstrous blade of yours close in, and some of the tricky techniques, well, I bet you might just be able to use them with a blade that big considering your strength. Well?"
Sylvia sat silent for a while. The offer was made in earnest, she could recognize that much. Why Tyrin would make it she did not know. She suspected, in the cold cynicism of practicality, that the soldier simply wanted to practice her teaching technique on her. Even so, that was hardly unfair of the woman, and the Claymore had to admit that the possibility of improving or at least acquiring additional skills hung there in the acceptance. Can I do it? Sylvia wondered. Can I humble myself and take instruction from a human again? Me, half-human and half-yoma, who almost sliced her in half by accident this evening? It was there, in that dark thought, that she found her answer. Yes, I can, for if I was weak enough to make that mistake then Tyrin is right and my technique is lacking.
Shame coursed through her, deep and cold and she looked away from the soldier's face. "Very well," Sylvia said with cool separation from her feelings. "You may teach me the way of your sword and shield; not, however, as master and pupil, but as two women only."
"Good, good," Tyrin nodded carefully. "Here's hoping it works out, frankly, I could use some practice against someone so much stronger and faster than me. It'll help me push my own abilities."
"When should we get started?" Sylvia wondered, concerned the other woman, in her direct and soldierly way, would want to get going immediately.
"After these bruises heal," Tyrin laughed, and Sylvia found herself giggling just slightly as well. "There's no rush anyway, well take things as we feel like it. That's how it goes between jobs doesn't it?"
"More or less, yes," Sylvia replied without any joy or sorrow.
"Then I suppose it time to start making dinner," Tyrin swung herself fully upright and headed for an old firepit at the edge of the trees. "I'm not skipping meals after fighting."
Without saying anything more Sylvia went to gather wood as she had before. It will be nice to have a fire tonight, she thought with an unusually idle pleasantness.
Notes: I seem to have acquired a rather insulting review, anonymously of course. I consider myself open to criticism but I dislike bland and inaccurate insults (honestly, if my characters are Mary Sues then so is the entire cast of Claymore). Nevertheless I have left it in the interest of high-mindedness. To everyone else I welcome critical commentary, so long as it has some value beyond simply sniping.