15. Swordplay
After Murtagh left them, Eragon and Arya breakfasted atop the peak and enjoyed the magnificent view.
As they finished their meal, Eragon said, "Well, my love, we have another day before us. Shall we carry on as yesterday?"
"If we can avoid the emotional drama, then yes, I have no objections," Arya said, smiling.
"Aye. That was trying. How about that sword fight? We have yet to test our skills there."
"That would be welcome, though I must admit to some reluctance. I can't help but sense that you must have improved beyond my skill with your intensive training here, while I have been languishing in Ellesméra, unable to do much more than cower next to Fírnen."
"Don't be so critical of yourself," Eragon insisted with gentle reproof. "That was beyond your control. Besides, you once reminded me that you had nearly a hundred years of practice. I should think you wouldn't so quickly forget your skill. And if by some chance I prove superior, why then I'll share of my expertise until we're once again equally matched." He was teasing by the end to show that it didn't matter to him who was the better swordsman.
"How very noble of you," Arya dryly observed. "But since some exercise would be most enjoyable, let us not delay any longer."
Saphira and Fírnen flew them back to the lakeshore, where they both retrieved their swords. Arya used a leather strap from her saddlebags to secure her hair out of her face.
"I like the way your hair looks," Eragon complimented. "And I don't just mean tied back like that. It looks wild and wavy after drying from our swim last night."
"Thank you," Arya said with a smile. "But don't think a well-timed compliment will gain you any advantage. Shall we?"
"Indeed," Eragon said. "But I've always wondered and never dared ask before. Do you somehow make your hair smell like freshly crushed pine needles, or is that how it naturally is?"
Arya laughed. "That must be how it naturally is. I don't consciously do anything to make myself smell a certain way. Do you?"
"No," he said. "Do I smell a certain way? Maybe you shouldn't answer. After a few days in the wilderness, my scent can hardly be pleasant. Saphira never tires of reminding me how pungent humans smell, though she tells me I smell more like an elf than I did before the Blood-oath Celebration." He chuckled regretfully and felt Saphira's amused agreement.
"I like the way you smell, though I can't narrow it down to one thing, as you have with me. You smell masculine. Your sweat is part of it but not in a repugnant way. It's attractive."
Eragon dubiously creased his brow. "If you say so. But maybe you're just saying that to gain yourself an advantage." He grinned teasingly. "Now shall we?"
"Yes!" Arya exclaimed. After dulling their blades with magic, they stood across from each other in the clearing near the saddles, their swords at the ready. They carefully regarded one another, each content to let the other initiate the fight.
Eragon immediately cleared his mind, having mastered the skill after years of persistent practice until it felt as natural as breathing. He had worked so long to keep his emotions in check that this, by extension, came automatically. He saw no need to move until Arya did, so he waited patiently, weighing every perceivable stimulus with mechanical efficiency and calculating how each would affect any number of possibilities as the fight began.
He noticed shadows and the play of light against the earth and surrounding area as well as against Arya. He saw and sensed small lifeforms in their abundance. He heard and felt the breeze, the rippling of the lake's surface, and the warmth of the sun on his skin. He smelled numberless smells, including Arya's distinctively pleasant scent, though he simply filtered that through his mind as detachedly as the rest. He even tasted various flavors as he breathed through slightly parted lips. Eragon observed Arya most carefully, for he wanted to be sure he understood her and was truly seeing her as she was, which was different from ever before.
Finally Arya seemed impatient to begin, so she raised her sword and boldly leaped forward. Eragon held his body so still that there was no movement or reaction for her to anticipate. In his heightened state of awareness, it seemed to him like Arya moved in slow motion, and he stepped to the side a moment before she reached him, not finding it needful to move any sooner. His evasion was so precise and perfectly timed that Arya had no hope of recovering before his sword was resting against her back.
But Arya spun away and slashed upward toward his face. Eragon easily blocked the blow, forcing her sword down with a deceptively casual movement so she wouldn't be prepared as he unleashed his full strength.
To maintain her grip, Arya moved her blade away from his and retreated, but Eragon gave her no time to regroup. He advanced swiftly, taking advantage of her hesitation as the opportune moment to strike. She backed away steadily, attempting to hold her ground under the relentless onslaught. After but a moment, he was staring into her eyes with his sword pressed to her throat.
His face remained impassive, for he felt no surge of triumph or twinge of regret, just calm emptiness. "You overcompensated on that last block and left yourself unprotected a moment too long," Eragon mechanically recited, backing away.
Arya took a deep breath, and Eragon sensed from her expression that she was attempting to clear her mind as completely as he had. He was pleased to see that she didn't allow herself to feel any irritation over her defeat.
Eragon initiated the next exchange. There was no reason to make her begin every time, though he could have, as conserving his energy was the logical thing to do. He circled to his right, for Arya held her weapon in her right hand, leaving her left side exposed. She circled as he did to maintain the distance between them.
Eragon lunged, and she raised her sword in preparation, but he retreated just as quickly, taking an unexpected step to her left. As Arya pivoted to face him, Eragon preceded her reaction and brought his sword to her ribcage. It all happened in the blink of an eye. His speed and accuracy were deadly.
Arya danced nimbly away, and Eragon advanced once again, always keenly aware of her every hesitation and feint. He moved only as much as absolutely necessary and then with such perfect precision and strength that she never touched him with her sword.
After another match, Eragon noticed Arya's eyes repeatedly flashing to his torso. He exploited this sloppy distraction by knocking her sword from her hands and placing the point of his against her navel. As he bent to retrieve her sword, Eragon questioningly regarded her.
Her attempts to match his unruffled detachment were weakening, and Arya tersely explained, "I was distracted by your body and the movement of your muscles." Eragon expected this answer, for he had recognized it happening from his distant mental perspective. And just as Arya had once used a dazzling smile to exploit his weakness, he had done nothing to diminish the distraction of his body in taking advantage of hers.
Eragon allowed a slight smile as he walked over to his shirt and quickly drew it on over his head. "Will that help?" he asked.
"Most likely not," Arya replied. "You're better than I. There's no question. You have achieved such mastery over an emotionless, attentive state that there's no movement or maneuver—including its motivation and intent—that escapes your notice."
"And therein—in its entirety—lies my expertise. You know this, Arya. Learning the physical forms and footwork is an essential foundation for success, for you must be able to call on them automatically during the fight, but the emotional discipline is far more difficult and important to achieve. I had such practice mastering my emotions while you weren't here that it has become second-nature to call on that in this instance as well. I think I have all but lived in my fighting mind as I've sought to forget you."
"Will you help me?" Arya asked.
"I will," Eragon agreed. "But my advice and suggestions will do little for you. Just as you once knew not how to help me improve and hoped I would learn by repeating my mistakes often enough that I would eventually stop making them, the ability to remain unattached and yet completely in tune during the fight is the element that will once again make you my equal. You were always far superior with the blade and your mind is also more disciplined. I'm sure it won't take long."
Eragon was still withdrawn enough that he spoke somewhat bluntly. Yet he could see that Arya was not offended, for she knew as well as he did—if not better—that controlling her emotions, subduing frustration, and letting go of all desire to compete and triumph were essential to her improvement.
"Let us continue," Arya urged. "Not to determine who is better, for that is sufficiently clear, but rather because I wish to improve and this exercise is most welcome."
Eragon obliged. For several hours they moved together in a graceful dance. He made brief encouraging comments here and there, and she occasionally asked questions.
Once Arya remarked, "I'm glad I was able to concede your superiority, though it was difficult for me, as I'm sure you can imagine. It has allowed me to learn as an eager student rather than a resentful competitor."
Eragon nodded approvingly. "Yes, and from this state of mind you are primed to practice the emotional detachment so essential to your success. Being teachable was also a hard lesson for me to master."
-:-:-
By midday Eragon insisted they break for lunch. They were drenched in sweat, and Arya was breathing heavily, though Eragon hardly seemed winded.
"I wish I hadn't lost so much of my stamina," she lamented as they sat to drink and eat. "I was once one of the strongest and swiftest of the elves."
"You will soon regain it, Arya, now that you are able. You already seem much improved over yesterday, and it has been but one day. There is new life and color in your cheeks."
Arya smiled gratefully, drinking deeply of the water he offered.
Eragon continued, "A much-decreased sense of exertion was one significant change I noticed once I began to grasp detached fighting. While keeping my body relatively still and conserving physical energy, my mind performed the most difficult work of receiving and filtering countless sensory stimuli. When fully aware of every anticipated and actual move of my opponent, I can dodge and retaliate with minimal effort, even in the face of a desperate barrage."
"So I noticed," Arya said.
By the time they had finished their meal, their sweat had dried and left a salty, gritty residue. Arya suggested swimming in the water to remove it, to which Eragon gladly agreed.
Being in the water so refreshed and energized Arya that she asked to continue their swordplay when they emerged. So they began again, and Arya made great strides, occasionally tagging Eragon with her sword.
"As with mastery of any skill, all it takes is time," Eragon reassured. "Your foundation is already much more solid than mine when I began to train in earnest. You'll quickly close the gap."
"I like your teaching style," Arya approved. "Your constant encouragement makes me eager to improve myself. We Riders are fortunate to have you as our leader."
"Thank you, Arya. That's gratifying. But I really don't consider myself the leader. I may be the most senior Rider, but only by a few months. Murtagh has been a Dragon Rider nearly as long as I, and he received the same degree of instruction. Then you became a Rider so soon thereafter, and your education on all of these subjects was already substantial. I have never felt equal to the task, thrust upon me as it was, but without much alternative, I have simply done my best. Perhaps after the contemptuous way Vanir always treated me, I resolved never to be the same if I had the opportunity to mentor someone in improving a skill."
Dusk had fallen, and Arya's weariness was so evident that Eragon refused to continue. After a brief meal, she curled on her side facing Eragon, who was seated right next to her, and promptly fell asleep.