The noon bell began. I started the retreat Aiden expected, then put my right foot a little toward the center.
It was a small step. My body still objected to it. The turn caught beneath my ribs, and I had to bring the left foot after it sooner than I wanted or leave all my weight hanging on the sore place.
Aiden's sword crossed the space I had been leaving. His follow-up was short enough that it didn't carry him past me. He could turn it back. For that moment, though, the wrist above his grip was nearer my point than his blade was.
I had a chance to hit him.
My hand began to lift. A tap at the wrist, or the upper arm if he withdrew it. Something that would make him move for once. It wouldn't put him out of the bout. He had another step available, both hands on the grip and none of my difficulty making his body follow a decision.
The line above his arm ran toward his throat.
