An older man, with long white hair and an unkempt beard, flowed like crashing waves. His blade carved impeccable sigils in between cuts and thrusts.
The Golden Lord. She’d seen paintings of him, burned his image into her mind as a reminder of everything backward about Kakute. And here he was, in the flesh. Diminished, but undoubtedly still a master.
He and Lavinia traded blows, moving almost too fast for Michiko to follow. Lavinia took a glancing cut to her side, blunted by her boiled leathers. A barely parried thrust pierced the warlord’s side.
Michiko’s heart raced with the thrill and terror of combat, but she kept steady. This moment, this bout, would be written in the book of her life, and she needed it to be a triumph.
She circled the traitor, carving Blazing Bolt to attack him at his flank. The Golden Lord switched sigils mid-cast, carving a modified Adamant Shield. Instead of dissipating on the shield, the bolt turned and punched through the chest of the Mertikan soldier to Michiko’s left. He fell, lifeless.
But with his attention turned, Lavinia moved to endgame. She cut into the Golden Lord’s sword with a heavy swing, then lashed out with a fist to the traitor’s temple. He dropped back, an arc of blood following the path of Lavinia’s strike.
The Golden Lord did not move, but Lavinia wasn’t done. She stripped the sword from his hands and punched him again for good measure.
“Gag and bind him.”
Michiko obeyed.
“It is fitting that you were here to assist in carrying out the empire’s justice, Michiko. His shame is your shame, but you have helped balance the scales.”
“What happened with the stone?” Michiko asked.
Lavinia looked back at the rubble. “Guardian’s Fang. A rare sigil, very complicated. Any sigil cast upon the affected object will instead cause the object to detonate outward. I didn’t think the old man had it in him. Now, back to the embassy.”
She’d seen death before, a duel gone wrong, a handful lost to a disaster. But nothing so destructive as this. Her stomach turned, and she looked away from the bodies, grasping for focus. “Your Excellency, the dead?”
Lavinia glanced at the bodies, then shook her head as if chiding a toddler. “Call a cart. We will ride back together and you will see that their burial fits their sacrifice.”
Michiko purchased a cart from a local merchant. The remaining soldiers loaded the bodies while Lavinia watched the prisoner.
Victory, but at a cost. If only she’d acted faster, circled around far enough that the warlord could not deflect the spell.
The whole way back, Michiko watched the Golden Lord, insistent that he would not get another chance to escape. She bored holes in his head with her wary resentment, even after they had returned to the embassy.
The funeral arrangements kept Michiko up until dawn. But even then she could not sleep. Not when the Golden Lord’s fate, Kakute’s fate, would be sealed the next day.
Chapter 8
Kris
The council reconvened first thing that morning, leaving Kris little time to enjoy breakfast before taking to their place in the guest gallery.
But this time a familiar-looking man in shoddy robes sat in the Mertikan box, hands and feet bound, mouth gagged. Six armed guards stood around him.
The bladecrafter they’d met on the Silver Sparrow was none other than the Golden Lord.
With him in custody, Lavinia would press the issue. The empire would see the Golden Lord executed that night.
Who will stand against the empire? Kris wondered. Kris did not yet have the right, and beyond them, only Ojo seemed to have any conviction in upholding the authority of Twaa-Fei to offer asylum. Warder Hii’s and Kyrkos’s objections were procedural, not moral. How could they be so blasé about the sanctity of a life?
Yochno called the meeting into session and yielded the floor to Lavinia.
Lavinia stepped up to the platform, as pleased as a cat with a bird trapped in its jaws. “Good morning, warders, friends, assembled dignitaries. I stand before you with escaped prisoner in hand,” she said, pointing to the Golden Lord, “to share with you as a courtesy my declaration of his impending execution this very evening for the violation of his oath.”
Ojo stood and approached the stage, seeming to Kris to grow taller as he strode toward Lavinia. He crossed his arms and settled into a wide stance. The light of the grand lanterns played off his muscled frame as he spoke. “With all due respect, Warder Junius. If you were that confident, you’d have killed him already. You’re here to argue your case. You’ve argued it, unless you have something new to say.”
Lavinia stepped forward to loom over the Quloi. “My case,” she hissed, “is unassailable. That you challenge it is a challenge to the authority of the Mertikan empire.”
“That is merely your interpretation,” said Warder Kyrkos of Vania. When she stood, she was the tallest person in the room by far. She had fair skin and wore her graying but thick hair in a tight, intricate braid. “Some here have made their objections clear, stated for the record.” There were several murmurs of approval from the various nations’ boxes, and from the gallery beside Kris, filled with local nobles and merchants with enough favor to warrant an invitation to council proceedings.
Would Penelope stand against Lavinia? Rumika’s reports said that Vania and Mertika were on good terms, but how far did that extend?
“I, Ojo Kante, on behalf of the Commonwealth of Quloo, do object to the claim by Mertika. Quloo asserts that Twaa-Fei’s laws cannot and are not superseded by any agreement the Golden Lord made with Mertika, and if he is here, he may petition for asylum according to the laws of the city. Do you claim asylum?”
The Golden Lord nodded, unable to speak due to the gag. A soldier moved to remove it, but Lavinia stopped him with a stare.
“He must be allowed to speak,” Ojo insisted.
Yochno said, “Warder Junius, for expediency’s sake . . .”
Lavinia huffed, waving to the guard.
The soldier removed the cloth from the Golden Lord’s mouth. “I do so claim.” The man’s voice was clear, strong, though he looked small sitting at the center of a circle of armed soldiers.
Ojo turned back to Lavinia. “Then Quloo insists that Twaa-Fei law must take precedence.”
Lavinia said, “Unacceptable.”
“So be it.” Ojo drew his ceremonial blade slowly and placed it upon the altar of challenge that stood in the center of the speaking platform. “I stand in defense of the accused. My blade shields his innocence, and I will not yield. I call for a contest of bladecraft.”
Lavinia scoffed. She drew her own sword so quickly that Kris was not sure she wasn’t going to try to run Ojo through at that very moment. “You’ve not bested me in many years, Kante. Today will be no different.”
A new voice spoke out. “Today will be different.” Kris turned and saw Hii no Taro, the warder of Tsukisen. He walked toward the platform, his old-fashioned arming sword out and held hilt forward. Warder Hii was a small man, but he looked deadly serious. He stepped up and laid his blade beside Ojo’s on the altar of challenge. “I stand in defense.”
There were gasps from the audience. By all reports, Tsukisen was famously private, their warders seldom stepping into contentious business.
“Two have pledged their blades in opposition,” Yochno said. “Warder Junius, which challenge will you face first?”
Lavinia laughed. “First?” She laid her sword across both Ojo’s and Warder Hii’s, murder in her eyes. “I will face them at the same time. The grace of the empress is with me, and her will shall not be denied.”
Kris gasped, along with a dozen others in the gallery. Two-on-one odds were dangerous even for a skilled bladecrafter, especially if one’s opponents were equally skilled. On Kris’s best day they could scarcely consider facing two masters at once. Was she truly that skilled?
“Very well,” Yochno said. “The rite shall commence in one hour. Warders, make yourselves ready.”
> •••
The dueling grounds of the council were one floor down in the tower, nearly the entire floor given over to the space, covered in packed dirt, the walls lined with intricate tile murals, telling the tale of the discovery of Twaa-Fei centuries ago.
Tiered seats lined the outside of the room, and in the center stood Yochno and the three duelists. Kris watched from the lowest level of the seats, as close as possible without being on the floor itself. Kris would have cast Spider’s Grip and watched the duel from the ceiling to be closer, had that been allowed.
Ojo swung his two blades back and forth, stretching his powerful arms. He was the largest combatant on the field, but Lavinia had three inches of height on him, which would give her an advantage in measure, especially as her one blade was longer than either of his. Warder Hii was shorter than Ojo, but also very slim, and would present a narrow target.
Even the greatest bladecrafter could be overwhelmed, and Lavinia faced three blades in this contest.
Then why did Ojo and Warder Hii look like men resigned to failure? Was Lavinia such a terror?
Yochno rang a handbell, but the sound filled the entire room with a single, pure tone that echoed from all sides. The signal to attention.
The seneschal held a hand up, and the three duelists stepped forward into a circle, blades sheathed.
Lavinia spoke. “I am Warder Lavinia Junius. Mertika claims the right to execute the deposed Golden Lord of Kakute.”
Warder Ojo was next. “I am Warder Ojo Kante. Quloo stands opposed, defending the right of the accused to claim asylum under the laws of Twaa-Fei.”
Then Warder Hii. “I am Warder Hii no Taro. Tsukisen also stands opposed.”
Yochno lowered his hand. All three combatants placed their gloved hands over Yochno’s and swore the oath.
“By blade and craft, I contest this claim. Let prowess and fortune determine the worthy, and let the outcome be unquestioned.”
Yochno stepped back, and the combatants followed. “This will be a contest of bladecraft, fought to one touch per combatant.”
Contests of bladecraft were the ultimate expression of the form. A single telling blow of blade or craft would eliminate a combatant. Lavinia would need to land two blows, one each, and could not suffer any in the process.
Ojo and Taro stepped back, swords drawn, far enough apart for their blades to swing without worry of hitting the other, but close enough to support each other. Ojo’s swords were short, slightly curved, fast and functional. The Quloi style, revolutionized by Ojo’s mentor, the late Warder Ache, was fast and versatile. What Ojo lacked in measure he could make up with two blades working in concert.
Taro’s sword was a traditional single-edged blade, longer than Ojo’s but similarly curved. The Tsukiseni proudly preserved the Old Way, a style that had given birth to many others long ago. It featured a variety of defensive and invitational guards and relied on parries more than blocks, cuts over thrusts.
Across the field, Lavinia kicked up dust with her heels, pacing like a great predator ready to charge. By contrast, Lavinia’s sword was long, straight, and sharp on both sides. It had a strong cross guard, which she could use to turn enemy blades. But it was still only one sword, and she would need to strike true twice without answer.
Yochno stepped back to the edge of the field, then rang the bell twice, signaling the opening of the contest.
Usually, combatants would carve sigils to improve their speed, strength, or to form defenses. Then they’d advance while using offensive spells to test one another, look for weaknesses. Ojo and Taro did just that, the Quloi using Bear’s Might while the Tsukiseni cast Swift Rabbit, a favorite of Kris’s.
But across the way, Lavinia cast a sigil so intricate that Kris could not recognize it from a distance. It contained the radicals for force, and for . . . separation.
The sigil snapped into place and a nearly transparent wall cut through the field, twenty feet high, reaching all the way to the bleachers. She’d cut Ojo and Taro off from each other, and began charging directly at Warder Hii, her blade tracing another sigil along the way. Swift Rabbit, to match his.
Kris’s heartbeat quickened, their mouth gone dry. She was the most skilled bladecrafter Kris had ever seen. And Kris would have to face her soon.
Ojo cast Spider’s Grip and scaled the wall, his hands and feet sticking to the barrier as he ascended. He carried his blades bit between his teeth like a marine climbing the lines on a ship.
Lavinia unlashed a torrent of thrusts and cuts, pressing Taro and leaving him no time to carve a sigil in response. He gave ground time and time again, resorting to larger parries to force the larger woman’s blade aside.
Her opponent off-balance and overcommitted, Lavinia reached under her blade, grabbed Taro’s hilt, and pulled him forward. As he recovered, trying to hide behind his blade, Lavinia’s sword arced around and cut the Tsukiseni across the bicep.
One bell marked the touch, and Taro bowed, removing himself from the contest.
Ojo leaped from the top of the bladecraft wall, his swords once again in his hands, and cut Swift Rabbit on the way down.
Lavinia turned barely in time, pivoting in place, dodging one blade and parrying the other, twisting her body improbably as she evaded the big man’s charge. She bounded back to give herself space, carving Mud Pit in the air.
The dirt at Ojo’s feet instantly became a mud pit, his feet sinking past the ankle. Ojo did not miss a beat, throwing himself to the side and out of the pit, using his body’s mass to pull himself free. He carved a shield during the dive, to cut off Lavinia’s angle of attack.
At the same time, Ojo carved Blazing Bolt with his other blade. Kris swallowed. They’d never seen a bladecrafter so skilled that they could carve two sigils simultaneously while dodging an attack. If the warders are this strong, how am I supposed to beat four of them in the Gauntlet? they thought.
Lavinia, seeing the bolt, threw her body back to dodge. The bolt from Ojo’s sigil pierced Lavinia’s tunic at the collar, but missed her body, piercing through the other side. Lavinia hit the ground and rolled backward, giving her space to collect herself.
Ojo gained his feet and pressed Lavinia, blades whirling high and low, drastically different lines that one blade alone could not hope to parry. Lavinia moved with the speed of a ship carried by a storm. She dodged from side to side to keep one blade out of reach while she parried the other.
She turned a parry into a counter-cut, and fell into Ojo’s trap. He stopped her cut with his right-hand blade, then wound his hand and the pommel of his left over and around Lavinia’s wrist, twisting with both in concert to rip the blade from Lavinia’s bands.
Kris watched Lavinia’s blade flipping through the air.
Ojo’s right-hand blade shot forward for the quick touch to Lavinia’s shoulder. Kris gathered their breath to cheer the Quloi’s victory.
Then, with uncanny precision, Lavinia grabbed her spinning blade from the air with her left hand and stepped to the side, parrying Ojo’s blade and landing a counter-thrust into his shoulder.
The second bell.
It was done.
Lavinia stepped back, sheathed her sword, then raised the gloved hand that had gripped her sword mid-blade to show all assembled that she had not cut herself, not invalidated the blow by drawing her own blood. She’d gripped the blade perfectly, exerted enough control to defend and attack at once.
A chill ran down Kris’s spine and they felt sick. They steadied themself on their seat.
Kris looked to the crowd. Michiko seemed enchanted, Bellona fiercely proud, as if she’d fought the contest herself. The others wore variations of shock and dismay.
Yochno raised his voice. “The challenge has been bested, and Mertika’s claim is proven.”
Ojo walked to the side of the arena, where a Quloi attendant prepared a poultice and bandages. He looked disappointed, but not surprised. If he had expected to lose, why put his reputation on the line, why expose Quloo
to the empire’s ire?
Whatever the reason, it showed Ojo to be a man of bravery and integrity. Kris would need allies to pass the Gauntlet, and Kris could ask for no better person than the man who had put his own life on the line for someone not even of his country.
Lavinia called out to the room, cheeks red, nearly vibrating with energy. She looked like she could fight another duel at that moment without pause. “The Golden Lord will be executed at sunset. You are all invited to bear witness as the empress’s will be done.”
Chapter 9
Michiko
Sunset came swiftly. Michiko took her place beside Warder Kensuke, next to the scaffold. Lavinia would wield the blade herself, serving as the extension of the empress’s justice. Michiko steadied herself with long, slow breaths, but her ears still burned. Until it was done, something could still go wrong. He could escape again, cause more chaos and dishonor for her people.
Under the Golden Lord’s rule, Michiko would have doubtless been conscripted to lead a unit in warfare, to rain bladecrafted death down upon her own countrypeople in one or another war to avenge some generations-held grudge.
As a Mertikan, she could become a senior warder, shape her people’s future directly. She could avert wars, save lives. Now any Kakutan could forge their own future. A street sweeper could study to be a librarian and challenge for the position. In the empire, a person was only limited by their ambition and their capability.
To Michiko’s left, Takeshi stole glances at a scroll he had hidden up his sleeve.
She spotted Kris in the crowd, standing with their attendants. They were dressed formally like they had been upon their arrival, structured top and caped skirt folded up in a bold design. Ojo joined the group, and even from across the plaza of the imperial embassy grounds, Michiko could see the familiarity and warmth between them.
That was a problem for another day. Tonight she would bear witness to the final passing of a shameful era in Kakute’s history, to carry with her as she ushered in a brighter future.
When the shadows grew long and the crowd restless, Lavinia emerged from the embassy in the exquisite crimson robe of an executioner. Bellona followed, carrying a sheathed greatsword nearly as tall as she was. Its hilt was golden and encrusted with jewels. This was the blade of the royal executioner, sent here on the fleet’s fastest ship to carry out the empress’s sentence.
The Complete Season 1 Page 4