"What is the meaning of victory?" said Miyamoto, slowly lifting his sword up and back.
"To defeat your enemy," said Valerian, circling as Master Miyamoto slid sideways.
"No," said Miyamoto, launching a lightning-fast thrust toward Valerian. "That is not enough."
Valerian averted the attack, his speed impressive, and slashed his sword at his trainer's side. His blade struck empty air and he realized he'd been lured into the attack as the flat of Master Miyamoto's blade struck him painfully on the bleep.
"Then what is it?" he yelped. Every time he failed to answer a question correctly, Valerian received a slinging rebuke from Master Miyamoto's weapon.
"It is to destroy him," said Master Miyamoto. "To eradicate him from living memory. You must leave no remnant of his endeavors. Utterly crush his every achievement and remove from all record his every trace of existence. From such defeat no enemy can ever recover."
Master Miyamoto's sword looped around his body in a series of perfectly executed maneuvers that, had Valerian attempted them, would have seen him limbless, earless, and dead.
"That," said Master Miyamoto, "is the meaning of victory. You would know this if you had paid attention to the books on your father's reading list. Or the one I gave you."
"I read that one," said Valerian, returning to the guard position and bowing to Master Miyamoto.
"Not closely enough. Again."
Valerian nodded and once more dropped into the еn garde position, his long blade extended before him. After three hours of training with Master Miyamoto, Valerian's arms burned with fatigue and his chest felt as though a fire had been set in his lungs.
Master Miyamoto returned Valerian's bow and the two of them circled one another, their swords shining in the afternoon sun.
"The enemy comes at you in a great horde," said Master Miyamoto. "How do you fight?"
Valerian cast his mind back to the text his tutor was referencing. It was a treatise recovered from the data vaults of the Reagan, the supercarrier that had brought the colonists to Umoja. Supposedly written by an ancient warrior king of Earth, its words were instructions in the arts of war, diplomacy, and personal discipline.
The book had no official title, but Master Miyamoto called it The Book of Virtues, and seemed to know its text verbatim. Valerian had read the book, as it was high on the list of approved texts his father had set him, but he found it difficult to recall its teachings while trying to avoid a stinging slap from the flat of Master Miyamoto's blade.
"Quickly," said Master Miyamoto, his sword raised to strike. "Do not think. Know!"
Valerian lifted his blade, letting his mind float back over the many evenings he'd sat at his desk with the pages swimming before his tired, gritty eyes. He had read the book a dozen times or more, and as he let his thoughts concentrate on the tip of his tutor's sword, the words came to him without conscious thought.
"It's best to try and direct them into a narrow defile or enclosed space," Valerian said.
"Why?" A slash lo the body.
"So that their numbers work against them." A rolling block.
"How will they do that?" A thrust to the chest.
"Crowded together, those at the front will impede those behind." A parry and riposte.
Valerian shifted left and launched his own attack. "The push from the rear will prevent those at the front from retreating or finding a better path."
"Very good," said Master Miyamoto, easily deflecting Valerian's attacks. "And what of balance?"
"It is the key to success," said Valerian, smiling as yet again the words came easily to him.
"Why?" repeated Master Miyamoto, parrying a clumsy attack and rolling his blade around Valerian's sword.
"A leader who puts his faith in his guns will be outmaneuvered," said Valerian, deflecting the blow and circling around to his right.
"Then he must train all his warriors in close-quarters combat," offered Miyamoto.
"No, for then he will lose his force to enemy fire," countered Valerian.
"Very good. So what does it mean to have balance?"
"It means that every element of an army must work in harmony, so that its effectiveness is greater than the sum of its parts."
Master Miyamoto nodded and lowered his blade. He spun the weapon quickly and sheathed it in the scabbard at his belt.
"We are done for the day," he said.
Valerian was relieved, for his body was aching, but he was also disappointed, for he had finally begun to appreciate the lessons of The Book of Virtues and how to access them while he trained. It was just a beginning, but it was an important beginning, he felt.
He returned Master Miyamoto's bow and sheathed his sword, running his hands through his blond hair. He wore it long, pulled tightly into a ponytail during sword practice, and its golden hue was no less bright than it had been when he was a youngster.
Master Miyamoto turned on his heel and made his way along a stone-flagged path toward the fountain at the garden's center. He took a seat on the ledge around the fountain and dipped his hand into the cold water.
Valerian followed the swordmaster and sat next to him, taking a handful of water and splashing his face.
"You are improving," said Master Miyamoto. "It is good to see."
"Thank you," said Valerian. "It's hard work, but I think I'm beginning to get it."
"It will take time," agreed Miyamoto. "Nothing good ever comes without effort. I remember telling your father the same thing."
Valerian's interest was suddenly piqued, for Master Miyamoto had never spoken of his dad before now, save when he had first arrived. Miyamoto had arrived a few weeks after Valerian and his mother had fled Umoja, informing Juliana that Arcturus Mengsk had retained him to become the boy's tutor in all matters martial and academic.
His mother had been furious at his dad's presumption, but the matter was not up for discussion. Master Miyamoto had only been persuaded to leave his position at Styrling Academy to teach the boy for an exorbitant fee, and only Valerian's desire to win his father's approval had persuaded Juliana to let Miyamoto stay.
"You taught my dad to use a sword?" asked Valerian.
"I did," Miyamoto nodded. "He casts a long shadow, Valerian, but it is my hope that you will be able to escape it and fulfill your potential."
"I bet he was good with a sword," said Valerian. "He looks like he could fight."
"He was a fair swordsman," conceded Miyamoto. "He was strong and won most of his bouts before even a single blow was struck."
"How?"
"There is more to fighting than simply wielding a sword," said Miyamoto. "More often than not, a man is defeated by his own doubts."
"I don't understand."
"In any contest of arms where life and death rest on the outcome, most men's fear will see their opponent as stronger, faster, and more capable," explained Miyamoto. "Such doubts only serve to make it so. To win, you must have utter belief in your abilities. No doubt must enter your mind."
"Is that what my dad did?"
Miyamoto stood, as though deciding that he had said too much. "Yes, your father had complete faith in his abilities. But victory is not the only measure of a man."
"It isn't?"
"No, there is honor. A man may lose everything he has, yet still retain his honor. Nothing is more important. Always remember that, Valerian, no matter what anyone else tries to teach you. Even your father."
"Honor is more important than dying?"
"Absolutely," said Miyamoto. "Some things are worth dying for."