The Rage of Dragons

by Evan Winter

  Zuri was tense too, but she had a part to play if violence was to be avoided. “It is our duty to serve in what ways we can.”

  Tau bowed again and walked away from her. He heard the Indlovu walking closer, believed they planned to attack him as soon as he was out of Zuri’s sight, but they stopped and Tau heard the Indlovu talking about the pleasant coolness of the evening. The man meant to stay with her, to be sure Tau wouldn’t come back.

  Tau had few reasonable choices, and so he returned to the drinking house, grinding his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache. He saw the others as they were leaving.

  “Tau!” Yaw called.

  Hadith smiled when he saw Tau and threw something across the distance. Tau snatched it out of the air. It was his purse, empty.

  “Two circles!” Hadith said. “Had enough for two circles.”

  “On us, next time,” Uduak said.

  Themba wobbled into view. “I’m drunk.”

  “A nice long march will sort that out,” Hadith told him, making Themba grimace.

  “Tau? You well?” Yaw asked, while Oyibo blinked at him, his eyes bleary and round as a spice mortar.

  Tau wasn’t. He nodded anyway. “Fine.” He moved alongside the men and they left the city, heading for the meeting place.

  Halfway through the march, Hadith drew apace with Tau. He’d been waiting for a moment alone. Tau didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

  “You knew her from home.” Hadith wasn’t asking. “Maybe she was someone special, but she is Gifted now.” Tau marched on as if he wasn’t listening. It didn’t deter Hadith. “She must marry one of them, a Royal Noble, eventually. Do her part in producing more Gifted.” Tau shot a dangerous look at him, confirming the things Hadith had been saying. “You knew her,” Hadith said, “but you don’t anymore.”

  Tau picked up the pace, walking away from Hadith and marching to the head of the scale, alongside Anan. Anan glanced at him, saw his face, nodded, and kept marching.

  Tau ground his teeth until his jaw locked from pain. He hadn’t wanted to hear that. What he wanted was to beat one of those feckless Indlovu into the dirt.

  He swore to train harder in the upcoming days. Scale Jayyed would fight in the next skirmish, and his eyes were open now. Jayyed had made sure of that. He had shown Tau the odds, and there was no hiding from them, but Tau didn’t want to hide. He wanted to destroy.

  SYMMETRY

  In the days that followed, Tau trained as one of Jayyed’s five in the morning, with the rest of the scale in the afternoons, and at night with the men being punished for misconduct. Many evenings, Yaw joined him. Shadowing Tau seemed to amuse Yaw, and the extra sparring sessions gave the slippery fighter plenty of opportunity to poke, jab, and injure other initiates. Even so, the evenings took their toll and Yaw dropped out of the sessions, but that didn’t stop him from telling everyone just how hard Tau trained.

  The stories, Tau decided, weren’t a bad thing. They gained him a measure of respect, and that meant the other initiates treated him like less of a pariah. He began to feel like he might belong, wanted everyone to keep believing it too, and decided that, since his martial progress had led them down this path, the way to truly convince them was to become the best among them.

  As soon as his wrist healed, he increased his efforts. He was determined to take advantage of having the full use of both arms.

  He tried sparring with shields, but they slowed him. He used smaller ones and found they brought little in the way of defense and nothing to offense. So he abandoned them, trying bigger swords that needed both hands to wield. That was a disaster. He didn’t have the strength or stamina for it and went back to one sword, choosing to focus on speed and a fighting style that was wholly aggressive. The intent was to overwhelm his opponents. It worked with weaker fighters but lost him winnable matches against the isikolo’s strongest, leaving Tau frustrated and confused about how to improve.

  He did know one thing. He was no longer right-handed. One season at the isikolo had improved his swordsmanship more than the lifetime of work that had come before, and against the isikolo’s strongest—Hadith; Itembe; Yaw; Runako, who moved faster than a striking scorpion; and Uduak, the last man among the initiates who still won more fights than he lost to Tau—Tau could win with his left, but almost never with his right.

  It drove him mad. He stood among the isikolo’s best but could get no better, his progress halted. Worst of all, he hadn’t sparred Uduak in several days, and that meant Jayyed or Anan would make the match soon.

  Their fights had become events that the other scales watched. When they sparred, the betting was fierce, even the umqondisi participated, and it was common for an entire moon cycle of stipends to trade hands when a winner was declared. Their next fight could come any day, and Tau wanted to win. He had to work harder.

  “Another round,” said Tau. He was in the practice yard with Oyibo, and if not for the full moon, they’d be fighting in the dark.

  “It’s late,” said Oyibo, avoiding Tau’s eyes. Tau had conscripted his help after Yaw stopped showing up.

  “One,” Tau said. “Only one more.”

  “It’s just… it’s just you keep saying that…”

  Tau didn’t want to drive Oyibo away and tried to keep the disappointment from his face.

  “Just one?” Oyibo asked.

  Tau nodded his thanks. “Only one,” he said, coming forward.

  Oyibo wasted no time. He readied his sword, feinted with it, then swung his shield horizontally at Tau’s chest. Tau quickstepped out of reach, avoiding the attack, and countered with a straight thrust. Oyibo threw himself backward and Tau’s wooden blade sliced air, a handspan from hitting.

  Following up, Tau closed the distance, and Oyibo, having lost all night by fighting cautiously, attacked in earnest. Tau blocked every swing, and though he was ratcheting up the pace, he did it slowly. If this was going to be the evening’s final round, he wanted it to last. He used no true attacks but blocked and countered with precision.

  Tau wanted to work his parries, ripostes, and endurance. He wanted a long match and planned to force Oyibo to call for the Goddess’s mercy from exhaustion. He’d take Oyibo to his limit, then break him, without landing a single killing blow.

  The plan, however, wasn’t working. Oyibo was flagging but must have realized Tau’s attacks weren’t committed. The boyish-faced initiate had switched from heavy attacks to probing ones, meant to do little more than keep Tau at bay. He was slowing the fight down and giving himself time to rest.

  Catching on to the strategy, Tau came at his sword brother fast, causing Oyibo, eyes widened with worry, to yank his shield up. Tau went at him, bashing the shield this way and that, knocking Oyibo’s arm one way and then the other, drawing rare curses from him.

  Still, Tau meant to stick to his plan. He wouldn’t hit Oyibo directly, but the man he faced held a shield and Tau had no qualms about hitting it.

  “I should have gone to bed,” Oyibo said, grunting between words.

  Tau laughed, enjoying the contest. It wasn’t something he’d expected, but he couldn’t deny it; every fight was a rush.

  It was the purity of it, the honesty. When Tau sparred, it was just him and his opponent. All that mattered was experience, skill, determination, and will. The rest of the world slipped away, leaving only the next move, the next counter, the next attack, the next victory.

  Tau blasted his sword against the top side of Oyibo’s shield, hoping to knock it down so he could close the distance and shoulder him to the ground. But when his wooden blade hit the shield, edge to edge, half his sword exploded, showering them both in kindling.

  For the barest breath, the two men were stunned to stillness. Tau reacted first. He shouldered Oyibo away; Oyibo fell, rolled, and was back up. Tau ran to the edge of the fighting circle, grabbed a spare weapon with his right hand, and turned to see his sword brother charging.

  Oyibo swung hard, an overhead strike, and Tau was out of time.
He was wearing a helm and Oyibo’s sword was made of wood, but there was weight behind the blow. If it hit, Tau’s head would pound for the night and ache the next day.

  Desperate and moving as fast as he was able, Tau raised both swords and crossed them. Oyibo’s attack thundered down and into the intersection of Tau’s blades, coming to a bone-jarring stop when it hit. Tau had enough time to see Oyibo’s jaw drop, before using both swords to pull his opponent’s blade sharply to the left, throwing him off-balance and giving Tau a chance to reset.

  Oyibo didn’t want to give Tau that chance. Although off-balance, he lunged, stabbing at him like he held a spear. Tau slashed his broken blade onto the incoming weapon and whipped his other sword at Oyibo’s helm.

  Tau’s severed sword pushed the attack wide, and as they were taught, Oyibo kept his eyes on his opponent’s dominant hand, his opponent’s weapon hand. The problem was that Tau had two weapon hands, and the sword in the one Oyibo wasn’t watching was coming for his head.

  Tau hit him cleanly, ringing his bronze helm like a bell and staggering Oyibo, who swung about wildly. Dodging the first drunken swing and halting the second with the half sword in his left, Tau used his other blade to continue battering Oyibo’s shield.

  Oyibo stumbled back, trying to get his bearings, but Tau was there, clubbing him in the thigh with one sword and clipping him in the ribs with the other. With twin hisses of pain, Oyibo backpedaled at speed, intent on getting out of striking distance.

  The two men had reset and Tau knew it was win the match then or never. If he let Oyibo steal the fight’s momentum, he’d also be letting him take advantage of Tau’s deficiencies. Given time, Oyibo was good enough to use Tau’s broken sword and inexperience fighting with two blades against him.

  Thinking fast, impulsively, Tau launched into the choreographed sequence of attacks most trainers used to drill basic sword swings into new fighters. It was a sequence taught to children, meant to encourage comfort and confidence around weapons. As such, it started slowly but rapidly increased in speed and power. Still, it wasn’t meant for two swords, and to avoid blocking his own attacks, Tau began the sequence with his left. Then, after the first swing, began it again with his right.

  Oyibo’s eyebrows shot up when he saw that Tau was still attacking with both swords. His surprise slowed him enough that he misjudged the first strike and was hit. He did catch the second attack in time, predicting it. He had to have recognized the sequence and knew Tau’s right hand would do the mirror-same thing his left hand had just done. He was using his memory of the sequence to predict Tau’s swings, but he’d never had to do this against two swords, and the whole point of the sword form, the reason Tau chose it, was that, though it began slowly, it ended in a whirlwind.

  Oyibo stopped the third strike, but the fourth and fifth hit him. The sixth and seventh did as well, eliciting a grunt and then a much louder yowl, the eighth dropped him to a knee, the ninth disarmed him, and the tenth Tau pulled short, the blade in his right hand quivering a fingerspan from the crown of Oyibo’s head.

  “Goddess’s mercy,” Oyibo whispered, eyes crossed as he stared at the sword’s too-close point. “Did you just fight with…”

  “I think so,” said Tau.

  Oyibo swore using words that made even Tau cringe.

  “One more round?” Tau asked, trying not to beg.

  BLOWS

  It was a few days later when Anan called on Tau and Uduak. The sun burned high overhead, its heat near enough to smelt metal. The rest of the scale, already having a sluggish day, put down their weapons and got comfortable, happy to cool off and ready to bet on the fight’s outcome. The word went out and initiates from the other scales wandered closer. Most of the umqondisi followed their men, putting on a show of casual disinterest.

  Anan was set to officiate the match and Jayyed stood off to the side, chewing a blade of dried grass. Uduak stepped in the fighting circle, warming up with his oversized wooden sword and shield. Tau, holding his wooden sword, followed him into the ring and the betting began in earnest.

  Anan raised his hand to start the match and Tau asked for a moment. He stepped out of the circle, with Anan and Uduak watching him like he’d lost his mind and then looking certain of it when he walked back with a second wooden sword. Tau swung his two swords in circles, flowing the blades in opposite directions.

  Uduak cocked his head. “Two?”

  Tau stilled his swords, ready.

  Uduak shrugged as if to say, one or two, he’d break the man who held them. Tau watched Anan, waiting for the call.

  “Fight!” Anan shouted.

  Tau attacked and Uduak stepped into the fray. Tau wanted to distract him with the second sword. The plan he’d developed, over nights of secret training with Oyibo, was to use it to keep Uduak’s shield busy while he found openings with his left blade, his strong side. In the beginning it worked, and he scored two quick hits.

  Uduak adjusted and came on harder. This put Tau on the defensive, and the extra attention needed to dual-wield was taxing. Tau realized that if he played this match according to plan—distract and engage—he would lose. So he let go, allowing the instincts bred into his right hand over cycle after cycle of training with his father to take hold. This allowed his stronger left side to reap the full benefits of training in the isikolo.

  He attacked full on and full out, each blow capable of maiming or killing if it had been dealt with bronze. The effect was instant, and Uduak began to buckle under the pressure of Tau’s twin blades as they whipped against his sword, shield, and body. The men who had gathered to watch stood without words, and the only sounds in the broiling air were the clashing of wooden weapons and the painful grunts from Uduak as Tau hit him over and over.

  But Uduak refused to fall. He bellowed, his temper lost to Tau’s flurry, and struck out as hard and as fast as he was able. Tau’s blades met his anger with equal rage, greater speed, and finer skill. Uduak’s shield arm was bludgeoned, his helmet crunched in on its right side, and the big man could not get past the stinging swords.

  Uduak began to retreat, no other option left, and Tau came forward, blades whirling. Tau beat him to his knees, forcing Uduak to drop his sword and use both hands behind his chipped and cracking wooden shield. He would not surrender, though, and, caught in the rush, the violence of combat, the shouts of the other men, and his own instincts, Tau no longer saw an initiate of the isikolo. He no longer saw a sword brother. He no longer saw Uduak.

  In his place was Kellan Okar, then Dejen Olujimi, and, at the last, Abasi Odili, and Tau let his anger spill out in a storm of blows that rained down on Uduak’s shield and body, but Uduak still would not surrender. Tau, screaming his rage at an opponent that refused to be vanquished and seeing the world through a haze of red the same shade as his father’s lifeblood, smashed Uduak’s shield in two, clubbed the helmet from his head, and went to cave his skull in, when Jayyed called the match in a stunned Anan’s place.

  “It’s done,” Jayyed yelled, moving to stand between Tau and Uduak.

  “Move,” Tau snarled, swords held to strike.

  “It’s done, Tau.”

  “Uduak has not called for the Goddess’s mercy,” Umqondisi Thoko said.

  “And that is why the match is declared a draw,” Jayyed told the circle of men, causing an outcry. “This is sparring, not a blood-duel. I’m not keen to see good Ihashe injured. I congratulate the efforts of both men, and Uduak is an example to you all. Think on his bravery the next time you face an Indlovu in the Crags.”

  Thoko snorted, snatching back a handful of coins from Umqondisi Njere. “Next time they face an Indlovu? There’s no example here. Tau is no Indlovu.”

  “Thoko, you can’t even be thankful?” Njere asked. “Jayyed just saved you your drinking money.”

  That drew stifled laughter from many of the initiates.

  “The match is over,” Njere continued, “and Umqondisi Jayyed has called it a draw. Enough gawking and back to training.
You can be sure the hedeni are sharpening their spears while we sit in the heat like sun-dazed lizards.” The initiates dawdled. “Go!” ordered Njere.

  The circle of men wandered off as Jayyed moved close to Tau, speaking to him alone. “Your swords are raised but the battle is over.”

  Tau lowered his weapons, trying to come back to himself. He’d been ready to kill. The thought frightened him, and he looked past Jayyed and down at Uduak. The big man was still on his knees, breathing with difficulty. He was cut all over and blood flowed from his head.

  “Uduak,” Tau said.

  “There’s a demon in you,” the big man said, without the strength to lift his head.

  “That’s enough for now,” Jayyed told them both. He turned to the men of his scale. “Yaw! Hadith! Help me get Uduak to the infirmary.”

  “I’ll help,” said Tau, leaning down to take one of Uduak’s arms.

  Uduak flinched, grimacing in pain. “No.”

  Tau didn’t know how to make things better. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

  “Give it time, Tau,” Jayyed told him as Yaw and Hadith ran over.

  They put Uduak’s arms over their shoulders and hoisted him off his knees. He groaned and fell against Hadith, almost bowling the smaller Lesser over. Hadith found his balance, then glared at Tau, and the trio stumbled off toward the nearest infirmary.

  Jayyed’s eyes followed the three men as he spoke to Tau. “You should continue with two blades. If you train with as much dedication as you have done, there will come a day when no Lesser in all the peninsula can stand against you.” Jayyed paused and stepped closer, so no one else could hear. “But Uduak is your sword brother, Tau. Would you have killed him, if I had not stopped you?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DRAW

  The next morning, Hadith stopped Tau on their way to the practice fields. “You need to see Uduak,” he said.