Descending Road - PLANNING TO FIGHT NICE PEOPLE? by Dana W. Paxson

PLANNING TO FIGHT NICE PEOPLE?

1551 4D

At nineteen, Ezzar was awkward at first. The Arcus Coll combat instructor, a woman built like a bundle of steel wires, wasted no time getting directly into Ezzar‘s face and staying there. “What are you here for, little girl? Pick up that baton and show me what I just told you. No, no, the other end. Gods and whores, what’s that — you want to bow to them before you kill them? Come here. Here!” She took Ezzar‘s lower face in one hard-gripping hand. “I don’t think you want to be here, do you? Do you?”

“Yef,” Ezzar tried to force the word out between her instructor’s fingers. The other students watched, eyes wide.

The instructor contemptuously shoved Ezzar backward by the face; she staggered and tripped on a stave, tottering back, windmilling her arms. The instructor’s crooked grin snapped into her awareness like a slap from an ugly man.

Ezzar jolted awake inside. Still falling backward, she spun her body, came to one knee, scissored her legs under her again, and whirled low, scything at the instructor’s knee with the baton to take her to the mat. The baton hit the knee with a crunch; the instructor’s breath exploded in an “Aah!”, and she countered with a rap on Ezzar‘s head that sent a flash of white light through her.

“Well! That’s better!” The instructor massaged her own knee while Ezzar gathered herself to her feet. “Does it really take all that to get you going, sweetie? Are you only planning to fight nice people? Like the Novander Wye streetboys?”

“I’m sorry I--“

“Don’t be. You’re here to learn to do this stuff. Learn, and do it.”

Ezzar ground her teeth.

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	PLANNING TO FIGHT NICE PEOPLE? 1551 4D At nineteen, Ezzar was awkward at first. The Arcus Coll combat instructor, a woman built like a bundle of steel wires, wasted no time getting directly into Ezzar‘s face and staying there. “What are you here for, little girl? Pick up that baton and show me what I just told you. No, no, the other end. Gods and whores, what’s that — you want to bow to them before you kill them? Come here. Here!” She took Ezzar‘s lower face in one hard-gripping hand. “I don’t think you want to be here, do you? Do you?” “Yef,” Ezzar tried to force the word out between her instructor’s fingers. The other students watched, eyes wide. The instructor contemptuously shoved Ezzar backward by the face; she staggered and tripped on a stave, tottering back, windmilling her arms. The instructor’s crooked grin snapped into her awareness like a slap from an ugly man. Ezzar jolted awake inside. Still falling backward, she spun her body, came to one knee, scissored her legs under her again, and whirled low, scything at the instructor’s knee with the baton to take her to the mat. The baton hit the knee with a crunch; the instructor’s breath exploded in an “Aah!”, and she countered with a rap on Ezzar‘s head that sent a flash of white light through her. “Well! That’s better!” The instructor massaged her own knee while Ezzar gathered herself to her feet. “Does it really take all that to get you going, sweetie? Are you only planning to fight nice people? Like the Novander Wye streetboys?” “I’m sorry I--“ “Don’t be. You’re here to learn to do this stuff. Learn, and do it.” Ezzar ground her teeth.