In an instant he beat her blade aside, then he paused as though he meant to halt. But she dove at him again, lunging when he retreated, driving forward. He parried easily. She advanced again, and his parry deflected her blade, but he did not counterattack. Again she thrust her arm forward, and again, redoubling and thrusting anew until he parried steadily, not pausing and not allowing her through, the swords clicking and sliding. “What are you doing?” he said. Lips pinched between her teeth, she extended, advanced, pressed him until he dropped back a step, then another, and yet another, deflecting her blows with an easy defense. Moonlight glittered on steel, and the sounds of metal clashing and her own labored breaths were in her ears. “Advance,” she said. “Attack, damn you.” “No.” “You want to,” she grunted and her wrist jerked as his blade beat hers away. Without the glove, her hand ached already. “I know you are angry.” “Methinks the lady should examine the plank in her own eye,”
