Late afternoon shadows stretched long and blue from the twenty-four eight-sided pillars as Daro Kesh reached out and depressed the bronze intake stud on Vaska’s test pressure lens himself. The pale white beam of refracted sky-glare shot down the ten-pace hall, pinning the center of Seyun’s scorched wool coat where three days earlier it had burned the cloth in three breaths.
“No teaching pauses on this pass,” Daro said, his hand resting on the handle knob of his new twenty-two-inch short sword as he stood behind the stone stand. “Ilyra, use full Deeper Bronze speed on the left. Kes, bind his wrists or ankles whenever an opening shows on the right. And the lens stays live down the middle. Eight breaths, Seyun. Show the mark what your Bronze can actually hold.”
Seyun exhaled until his lower ribs settled snugly against the two-slat linen band. He lowered his ash staff. Then he stepped into the white beam on the first breath. Instantly, all three pressures came together on his ten-pace hall at once.
The late afternoon sun dropped toward the western crags. Then he turned the frost between the twenty-four pillars gold. Then, Daro Kesh switched Vaska’s test pressure lens to live tracking down the center of the ten-pace hall. The pale white beam of refracted sky-glare pinned the breastbone of Seyun’s scorched wool coat. Ilyra and Kes stepped into live sparring distance on either flank.
