Editing Warhammer High (section)

==Riposte==

Fulgrim once had a saying he was fond of quoting to his officers: There is no finer way to find the true worth of a person than in a duel. A duel is the ultimate expression of ones’ skill and prowess, a mirror to reveal their true essence. Nobles had been fighting duels since the earliest days of human existence, and nothing had changed in all the thousands of years since then. That saying was one that the Primarch had picked up from the sons of the noble houses of Europa, and the Primarch had popularized it within his Legion, which then spread back to the houses of Terra eager to emulate the Legions that were winning them the Galaxy.

That legacy had now made its way here, to the mighty educational bastion that crowned Hive Tetra. The school that trained the leaders of the future was also seeking to teach those that wished to learn how to wield a blade.

The sanctioned duelling room had been specifically built into the main block and was one of the hidden highlights of the marvel that was Imperator High. It resembled an amphitheatre, or more darkly a fighting pit. The seats were smooth stone while the flat, stage-like fighting floor was polished wood with soft mats lying upon it. Weapons racks wrapped around the walls full of duellists rapiers, foils and épée, longswords, scimitars, gladius and other, less identifiable weapons.

Abdemon, Lord Commander of the Third Legion, master duellist, destroyer of the Katara, and now the sword instructor for Imperator High crouched silently upon one of the soft fighting mats in a meditative pose. It had been taught to him long ago by Captain Hathor Maat of the Thousand Sons during a joint campaign, and Abdemon had been taken by how it helped him cleanse, clear and sharpen his mind. It had supplemented his many other methods of finding his ‘Zen’ as the ancient wisdom of Terra called it. It was always helpful to have when dealing with his students.

In a single, fluid blur of motion he rose to his feet, drew his sword and executed a single, perfect cut and thrust with the blade. A Maru Skara. A Killing Cut. 
There was only a small handful of beings that could pull off a perfect Maru Skara. Abdemon was one of those.

Nodding his approval, he sheathed his blade and turned around. There was a figure standing on the topmost steps, gazing down upon him.

“You are early today Phoenicia,” his voice, as smooth and sharp as a forged blade cut the air.

“Of course I am Abdemon. I didn’t want to miss that.” Her voice was friendly even as she addressed him so informally. “No matter how many times I see you pull off a Maru Skara, it never fails to amaze me.”

Clad in the standard fencer's uniform of a padded bodyglove in the school colours that only barely concealed her enhanced stature, Victoria, Phoenicia, Daughter of the IIIrd came up to the son of her father’s Legion, respectfully bowing her head at him as she entered the ring.

“Train enough and one day you will be able to do the same.” He replied.

“So you keep telling me, and yet I have trained for a long time and yet every time I try, it’s always a second too slow, a strike through water instead of air.” Her rich, elegant tone could not entirely hide s sense of frustration that bled through.

Abdemon shook his head. “No amount of extra time can rush perfection. It will come to you when you are ready, not after and certainly not before.”

Victoria gave an annoyed sigh. “I have trained with the sword since I was a child. My father, Captain Lucius and yourself were my tutors. How is it that with all of that, I still can’t make a perfect Maru Skara?” She shook her head to dispel the flicker of anger, a few strands of her ivory tresses shaking lose from her cap.

To those who did not know her (and they were many) the notion of Victoria, the perfect, pampered princess standing firm with a blade in her hand would have seemed inconceivable. Yet only a very few among the other Daughters could match her in a swordfight. She treated duelling as a family vocation, and had delighted her father when she took up the blade herself. And it had changed her, though not in ways that were readily apparent.

Outside this room her persona was that of the queen bee, gossip girl and ethereal beauty, the centre around which the cutthroat social scene seemed to revolve. Inside it another side of her - one Abdemon wished she used more this one room - emerged.

“We have ten minutes until the rest of the class arrives. May I have the chance to warm up?” Victoria asked.

“Of course, Phoenicia. I would be delighted to see your progress.”

He took a few steps off the stage and sat down on the lowest stone bench. After a set of stretches, Victoria drew a Foil from the student rack. Almost instantly she began to experiment with a few swings and strikes, her body shifting to a fluid stance. She was surprisingly fast and light on her feet, moving like flowing water as she make strike after strike, parry after parry. Her natural elegance was heightened whenever she was like this. In moments when she held the blade like this, shades of her father and his best qualities shone through.

In an instant it was over, and she was back to standing still, blade now hanging from her side. Her head turned towards him, so see his reaction.

“Impressive as always Phoenicia.” He said, and she brightened visibly. “Although you do tend to linger on your right heel for a second too long when executing a reverse-swipe.”

In an instant she was deflated. The corners of her smile dropped, some of the sparkle fading from her eyes.

“Every little improvement begets more improvement. Take pride in where you are, and in where you’re going.”

Before she could say anything, he swiftly changed tack. “The Terran yearly duelling competition is this month. I have no doubt you will be entering the junior division.”

“Of course.” A hint of arrogance tinted her voice, along with a clear hunger. “What better way to display my skill than against my peers, and before all the nobles of Terra?”

“It will not be that easy.” Abdemon countered. “Not only will you face bladed fops and glory-hungry nobles children, but also bodyguards in training and those who have devoted as much of their lives to the blade as you have.”

She gave a dismissive gesture of her head. “They may try, but they lack my drive, my perfection in form and technique.”

Abdemon was stung by the arrogance in her words. It reminded him too much of Captain Lucius. No finer swordsman was there to be found in the Legion (which even Abdemon had to admit, much as it galled him to do so) but his unweaning conceit and pride won him few friends. That side of the Legion was the one Abdemon had always struggled against, and did not want Victoria to ever fall to.

“And of course, what about the others? Your blood-kin?”

At that she paused. She could not laugh them off as easily. After a second, a note of steely resolve entered her voice. “I can still beat them.”

“I have seen Lupercal fight. She is as instinctive, measured and yet unbridled as her mighty father. Can you defeat her?”

With bravado, she declared, “The question is, can she defeat me?”

“Yes.” Abdemon said bluntly and directly. “The answer to that, Phoenicia, is yes.”

She wheeled on him. “Do you have no faith in me?”

“I have plenty of faith in you Phoenicia, but not if you let your pride blind you. You will not defeat her if you let that attitude rule.” Abdemon rose to his feet. “Come over here.” He gestured as he went up the stairs to one of the weapon racks on the walls.

Victoria joined him as he drew a beautifully forged Charnabal Sabre from one of the racks.

“Illumination. The sword with which I struck down Hamaya.” Abdemon said the name reverently as he gently caressed the blade with a single finger. “I fought him with the fate of an entire world on my shoulders alone. But I did not fight him with pride, or with blind hubris. I did not declare that I would defeat him. I knew well if he was the better man, he would kill me. And yet I still fought him with the honour of my Primarch, my Legion and the entire Imperium itself on the line, and I would do it again.”

She was silent, listening, absorbing. This was when she was at her best, when fighting against her pride, against herself.

“If you end up fighting Lupercal in the tournament, or any great foe, I want you to face them the same way I faced Hamaya. Fight not for pride, but for honour. And know that while honour may be lost in a duel, it can also be regained.” He then turned the blade and passed it to her. “You are to lead the class today, and I want you to carry this as your badge of office."

Her eyes were wet yet bright as she reverently took the blade, and experimentally hefted it.

“Can I practise with it?”

“No.” Abdemon said bluntly. And then with a hint of a grin, he added “But maybe when you need to practise for the tournament, I might be persuaded.”

She threw a beaming, radiant smile back. “Trust me Abdemon, I won’t let you down.”

‘I know you won’t. You never have.’ Not a word passed his lips as he moved over to let the rest of the class in. It was time to begin.