"Enough!" shouted Larson. "You said we would go till night, not morning! It's time for a hot meal and a warm bed. This practice is finished!" He jammed Valvitnir into its sheath and stormed toward the inn.

"Wait," said the Kensei quietly. "There are two minor mistakes I can correct if you perform the kata one more time. Then we will find you a warm bed."

Hesitantly, slightly embarrassed at his own outburst, Larson returned and unsheathed Valvitnir. Gaelinar stood an arm's length in front of Larson. "Go through the kata. I will retreat before you." When Larson's weight shifted to his leading foot, a sharp kick from Gaelinar sprawled him on the cold sand.

Larson clutched his knee, rolling from side to side. "What the hell! You god damned sonofabitch! I won't be able to walk for a week. Why:"

"If you listen, I will tell you why." The Kensei's face was a mask, but his eyes smiled broadly. And that annoyed Larson more than anything. "You have just learned two important lessons. First, do not put so much weight on your front foot. It's harder to defend, and if knocked away, you fall." He paused thoughtfully. "Also, never gainsay your teacher."

Gaelinar smiled and offered Larson his hand. With his assistance, Larson stood. "For the remainder of the evening, you are a friend, not a student. Let's see about your bed, hero."

Darkness had settled about swordmaster and pupil as they worked. The moon hung, little larger than her court of stars. Gaelinar crossed the sand and shouldered beneath the rope. "We'll talk on the way to the inn."

Larson limped after, only partially listening. For neither the first nor last time, he realized there was something unusual about his sword, Valvitnir. Like some sort of primitive life form, it seems able to comprehend its environment and communicate with me in a rudimentary way. I just hope it knows how to fight.