With the Ahlai family, each battle was a sort of dance. Stasia might be more aggressive, Thorda more methodical, but it was a rhythm of give and take. Weapons intertwined, defenses tested, openings sought and taken advantage of. Cyrus didn’t appreciate how much he had grown accustomed to that style of combat until engaging an opponent who deviated from it so severely.

Fighting Rayan was like trying to crack a boulder with a spoon. Even worse, there was no interplay. No dance. When Cyrus would slash in with his right hand, the paladin smashed the attack away with his shield, then returned to his stance. His footing was solid, his movements perfectly calculated. Cyrus thrust with both swords, trying to bait out a counter, but Rayan would not have it. His shield barely had to shift to slide both weapons harmlessly aside. Upping the tempo accomplished nothing. The quicker he swung, and the less accurate his hits, the more savage Rayan’s retaliations were when he smacked aside the swords or rammed into him with his shield.

There was, however, a rhythm to their exchanges. One-two, every single time. One, a block with his shield or sword. Two, a dismissive shove to send Cyrus staggering backward. That was it. One-two. One-two. It was maddening. Worse than the inability to score a hit, or engage Rayan in a true whirlwind exchange of steel, was the creeping disappointment growing on the paladin’s face.

“Will you only stay defensive?” Cyrus asked, trying hard to disguise his frustration with a deep layer of sarcasm. “I want to fight, not wail at a training dummy.”

Cyrus’s sister swords hammered the gray surface of Rayan’s shield. He shifted closer, hoping to angle around the shield’s edge with a follow-up thrust, but the paladin retreated two steps in anticipation of the maneuver. His sword swept wide, parrying the thrust.

“If you believe yourself ready for it, child.”

To be called “child” added flame to an already burning mood. Cyrus abandoned all pretense of self-defense as he weaved his weapons into a barrage of hits upon both sword and shield. He would force the paladin into a real duel. Once he was no longer on the defensive, there would be ways to use his sister swords to their fullest. His greater speed would win out over the heavily armored man in platemail.

At least, that’s what Cyrus told himself.