she concentrated on footwork, which was the one thing svaalverd and Lenay styles had in common. Except that the serrin understood balance and momentum with far greater sophistication. Sometimes, svaalverd knowledge could assist a non-svaalverd fighter, whatever Kessligh's doubts. She'd seen it herself, in Andreyis's improvements.
And saw it again now, as he smacked her stanch back to a hard blow against her right thigh. Andreyis grinned outright. Sasha scowled at him, rubbing her leg. “It wasn't that good,” she told him. “Your elbow lost extension again, you'd have so much more power if you could keep the lead arm straight.”
Andreyis slung the stanch over his shoulder and gave her an exasperated look. “You just can't stand to admit when someone's beaten you,” he told her.
“Oh you think that, do you?” Sasha said loudly.
“You've always been like that!” Andreyis retorted. “Like that time I beat you racing up the road from town and you insisted Peg had a cold? Or the time I beat you at the knife throw and, of course, you just happened to have a sore elbow? Or that time…”
“Okay then, let's try that again,” Sasha told him, resuming her fighting stance. Andreyis followed, eyes hard with concentration, lips pressed thin. “This time, I get to fight my way. Ready? Go.”
Andreyis paused a few moments, poised on the balls of his feet, awaiting the right moment. Then he attacked. Sasha met his lead overhead with a firm blade—it jarred her arms, but when she knew it was coming, she did have the strength for it. Then she stopped being polite, swung an angular intercept to the strike that followed, deflecting Andreyis away from whatever he'd intended next, and left him open for her counterslash that smacked into his ribs beneath his right arm.
Andreyis staggered sideways at the force of it, dropping his stanch and holding his chest. “I've told you before,” Sasha said firmly, as he doubled over, winded, “you can't make training personal, Andrey. It can't be about ego and pride, it has to be about improving your technique. Now if you'll just get this stupid notion that you can beat me at svaalverd out of your head, then maybe we can get back to fixing your footwork, yes?”
Andreyis did not reply, still doubled over. Sasha's temper fled, replaced by concern. The sound her stanch had made against his banda came again to memory…How could she have been so stupid? She hadn't needed to hit him that hard!
“Andrey!” She dropped her stanch and grabbed him, carefully. “Oh spirits, Andrey! Spirits, I'm so stupid…I'm sorry, Andrey, I wasn't thinking. Are you okay?”
Andreyis took a deep breath and winced, holding his side. “I think you cracked a rib,” he said in a small voice.
Sasha swore, loudly. “Look…just sit down. Damn it, I'm such a fool! Come on, sit. Here.” She helped him down and began unstrapping his banda. Andreyis tried not to breathe deeply, or move. She lifted the padding away. “If you can lift your arm at all, I'll get your shirt off,” she told him anxiously. “Can you do that?”
“Don't bother,” Andreyis said, in a small, muffled voice.
“Don't bother?” She stared at him, aghast. “Andrey, I have to look. I can see if it's broken, then…then maybe Kessligh will have something to help it heal…Spirits, why am I such an idiot? Just before the Wakening too! What was I…”
And then she saw the grin on Andreyis's face and the reason his voice had been muffled. He was trying to stop from laughing. She stared at him, dumbfounded. Something bubbled up inside, half fury, half laughter. “You! You…” She turned about, fetched up her stanch and thought about removing his head with it. Andreyis put both arms over his head, shaking uncontrollably, but not with fear.
She threw the stanch down, hard. “You utter bastard!” she shouted at him. “I thought I'd really hurt you!”
“You did!” Andreyis retorted, now indignant despite his laughter. “It hurt like hell! Serves you right, hot-tempered wench!”
Sasha cuffed at the top of his head, but missed on purpose. And found herself laughing. “Oh thank the gods,” she sighed, and sat heavily beside him.
Andreyis made the spirit sign, with his left hand. “Don't say that,” he said. “Not in the circle.” Not that there was a proper tachadar circle beneath the vertyn tree, but one did not praise lowlands gods within them, lest the spirits be offended…
“Old habit,” said Sasha.
Andreyis winced again as he took a deep breath. “I still don't know how you do