by John Marco
She was twenty yards away. Not a long distance to run, but with Jahan after her it would be difficult. He was armed. Lukien couldn’t help being a little afraid for her. She had taken blows before, but this time was different. This time, he had told Jahan to attack her for real.
‘When you’re ready, then,’ he said.
Lahkali took a breath, steadying herself as if she were entering the cave of the Great Rass itself. She peered down the tunnel made by the trees, spying the swinging targets, sizing them up. Her eyes grew alert; her ears listened sharply. She knew that somewhere in the trees Jahan waited, ready to spring.
Then, like a leopard, she sprung herself, leaping into the tunnel with her katath outstretched before her. With a quick sweep of the weapon she took the first target, slicing it easily from its rope. She spun, ducking low, then took out another target with equal ease. Confident, she leapt ahead. As she spied the next swinging target, Jahan sprang. Bursting from the trees, he had his bamboo stick swinging for his prey. Lahkali dodged the first blow easily, jumping over the whistling weapon. Jahan pursued, righting himself and bringing the stick around. It rushed for the girl’s back, yet Lahkali sensed it in time. Twisting away, she lopped off the third target. Lukien watched, pleased and impressed as the girl hopped away from every attack, expertly using the katath for balance. She moved like a dancer through the swinging targets, inch by inch closing the gap between them.
‘Faster, Jahan!’ Lukien called. ‘It’s too easy for her!’
Hearing this, Jahan sped his attack. Long days on his farm had muscled his body and given him speed. Racing ahead of Lahkali, he feinted with his bamboo stick to force her sideways, blocking her way. Focused on the next target, Lahkali saw his strategy too late. His stick sliced the air, catching her leg and knocking her down. For a split second Jahan looked horrified – enough for Lahkali to spin away.
‘Get after her, Jahan,’ Lukien called. ‘She’s faster than you think!’
Jahan’s face twisted angrily as once again he went after her. With more than a yard separating them, Lahkali took out two more targets, then centred on a third. In a blur the twin blades of her katath cut the air, ripping into the target and sending straw flying. She turned just in time to dodge Jahan’s attack. The bamboo stick came down, and the sharp blades of the katath easily sliced it.
‘Ha!’ Lahkali boasted, then turned away from her opponent. Lukien smirked. Jahan was not without surprises.
From out of his deep pocket he pulled a weighted rope, quickly unspooling it as Lahkali ignored him. It was called a garok, a hunting weapon of Jahan’s people, and just as he had practiced all his life he swung it twice overhead before launching it at Lahkali. It struck the unsuspecting girl, catching her waist and pulling her backward. Stunned, she began to fall, but as she fell she worked her weapon, trying hard to cut the rope. Failing, she let out a cry as her back smacked the ground. This time Jahan didn’t retreat. He jerked the rope, pulling Lahkali off balance as she tried to regain her footing.
‘Evade!’ cried Lukien.
‘I’m trying!’ yelled Lahkali.
She worked the katath, reversing it and coming up under the rope. The two blades caught the garok, severing it. Jahan stumbled back in surprise as Lahkali leapt to her feet. Covered in dirt, she went after the target just above her head, crying out in frustration as her blades ripped it to shreds. Angrily she glared at Lukien, who stood with arms crossed at the end of her ordeal. The Bronze Knight stuck out a hand and waved her forward.
‘Keep on coming.’
Lahkali was panting now. As quickly as she could she danced past the remaining targets, her katath darting in and out of them. Now weaponless, Jahan nevertheless continued his attack, roaring as he leapt for her. Bigger and stronger than Lahkali, he should have reached her easily.
But he did not.
Lukien watched with pride as the girl side-stepped his every move, sending him sprawling or tumbling to the dirt while she pirouetted her way through the swinging targets. She was only feet away now. Victory shone on her face. Lukien readied him. She had been too far away to see the bamboo staff behind him, and while she worked he reached back and grabbed it.
‘Too slow, Jahan,’ he jibed.
Finally, Jahan gave up. With a big smile on his face he watched as Lahkali finished the final targets, tearing through them with glee. When the last one exploded with straw, she landed at Lukien’s feet . . .
And fell like a rock to his unsuspecting blow.
The staff had hit her square in the chest. Not hard, and not enough to hurt her, but enough to make her tumble. Lahkali dropped her prize katath. On her back, she lay staring up at Lukien. Disbelief gripped her face. So did anger.
‘Why?’ she cried. ‘I made it through!’
Lukien tossed away his staff. ‘What did you think would happen when you reached me?’
‘Nothing!’
The knight nodded. ‘Right. That’s the problem.’
He offered down his hand. Lahkali angrily rebuffed it. ‘I can get up on my own!’ she grumbled.
Lukien shrugged. ‘All right. Then stand up.’
The girl did so, and for a moment stared hard at her teacher. She was more than mad. She was hurt by what he’d done, and not physically.
‘You did well,’ said Lukien. ‘But not well enough. Rest now.’
Walking past her, he left Lahkali standing alone in stunned silence. Ahead of Lukien lay Jahan, looking equally aghast. Lukien avoided his friend’s gaze, but as he passed the village man followed him.
‘What was that?’ Jahan asked.
‘What?’
‘Why did you hit her, Lukien? She made it through your test.’
‘No, she didn’t,’ said Lukien, and kept on walking.
Jahan followed him. ‘She did, Lukien. You said nothing about that trick.’
‘Trick? She has to fight a rass, Jahan.’
‘So?’
‘So she has to be better! She has to think faster, use her imagination!’
Jahan grabbed his shoulder. ‘Stop.’
Lukien turned to face Jahan. ‘I’m too harsh. Is that what you want to say?’
‘She’s just a girl, Lukien. She is trying.’
Past Jahan, Lukien could see Lahkali brooding, staring down at the ground where her katath lay.
‘It’s not enough,’ he said. ‘She has to fight a rass, Jahan, and I don’t know what that means.’
‘What? Lukien, I don’t understand.’
Lukien pulled Jahan closer, turning him around so that Lahkali could not hear. He said, ‘I’m her teacher, right?’
Jahan nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m to teach her how to kill a rass, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t you see? That’s the problem, Jahan. I have no idea how to kill a rass.’
The home of fencing master Niharn lay along a quiet, twisting avenue, more than a mile from the palace of the Eminence. On a street lined with many such houses, Niharn’s home was neither plain nor grand. With little open space to divide it from the other homes, it rose up three stories high, a structure of clay and stone that shone a peculiar orange in the heat of the day. Long ago the home had been white-washed, but the sun had bleached away the wash so that the brick shone through easily. Over the door hung a limestone lintel. The door itself had been made of wood, a strange wood of black that had been lacquered so many times that Lukien could see his reflection in it.
Because he was a man of rank in the city’s military, Niharn had servants to cook his meals, look after his large brood of children, and to greet visitors who came to his home. Lukien only needed to knock once to bring one of the servants running. This time, as last, an old man named Tagna answered the door. Lukien recognized him at once.
‘Hello again,’ he said sheepishly.
Old Tagna did not smile. He simply nodded. ‘Greetings.’
‘Is your master at home?’ Lukien asked.
‘He is,’ replied Tagna,
and the magic of Lukien’s amulet translated his words. The servant glanced down at the gift Lukien had brought along, a bottle of a kind of wine Niharn had mentioned a fondness for last time they’d met. Lukien had found the liquor in a marketplace not far from Niharn’s house. He’d been shocked by the cost of it.
‘Will you tell him I’m here, Tagna? I’d like to speak to him.’
Tagna stepped aside so that Lukien could enter the home. Typical of the architecture he’d seen in Torlis, the first floor of the house had been given over to rooms for receiving guests and conducting Niharn’s military business. A number of comfortable looking chairs had been arranged near the room’s hearth, but the hearth itself was cold. Laticed windows let sunlight into the room. The walls were appointed with military things, like an old katath and some worn-out ribbons, perhaps accommodations the fencing master had earned. As Lukien entered the room, a young girl seated near the hearth stood. She smiled at the visitor.
‘Lukien,’ she said. ‘You’re back.’
Her name was Shalra, and she was Niharn’s youngest daughter. A precocious girl, she was five years old and loved to say Lukien’s name.
‘Hello Shalra,’ said Lukien. ‘I’m here to see your father again.’
‘He’s upstairs,’ said the girl. ‘With mother.’
‘Oh,’ said Lukien sheepishly. He looked at Tagna. ‘I could come back . . .’
‘I will tell the master you’re here,’ said the servant. ‘Sit.’
Tagna disappeared into another room. Soon after, Lukien heard him ascend the unseen staircase. He looked at young Shalra and grinned.
‘I didn’t think I’d see you again,’ he said.
Shalra jumped out of the chair which was too big for her anyway and came to stand before Lukien. ‘My father said you’d be back.’
‘Did he?’
‘He said you would need his help.’
‘You’re father’s very smart,’ said Lukien sourly.
The girl looked at the bottle in his hand. ‘What’s that?’
‘A gift for your father. It’s vaf.’
Shalra made a face. ‘Vaf? My mother says that tastes like—’
‘Shalra!’
The girl froze at her father’s voice. In the threshold between rooms stood Niharn, scowling at his daughter.
‘What were you going to say, child?’ he asked with a tone of false threat.
‘Nothing,’ said Shalra. Her little grin quickly defused her father’s ire.
‘Go and play with your sisters. Let your father talk to his guest.’
Shalra excused herself, saying a polite good-bye to Lukien before leaving the room. Niharn watched her go. A hint of fatherly pride glinted in his eyes. Tagna entered the room again, waiting for his master’s orders. Lukien heard other voices in the adjoining chambers, but no one entered to disturb them. When Niharn turned back to Lukien, a trace of smugness crossed his dark face.
‘Welcome, Lukien,’ he said. ‘You found your way back here.’
‘Yes.’ Lukien handed him the bottle of vaf. ‘This is for you.’
Impressed, Niharn’s eyebrows went up. ‘You brought this from Toors in the market near here, yes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Toors is a thief but he finds the best vaf. Expensive. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Niharn handed the bottle off to Tagna. The air charged with awkwardness. Niharn gestured to the chairs, all of them upholstered with colourful silk.
‘Sit,’ he offered. ‘I sometimes take guests out to the garden, but it’s too hot today.’
‘I remember,’ said Lukien, taking a seat. ‘Thank you.’
Niharn took a chair opposite him, leaning back and steepling his fingers. He smiled at Lukien. ‘Aliz Nok has made the katath for the Eminence. I have seen her practicing with it. How has that been for her, the katath?’
‘Very good, Master Niharn. You were right about Aliz Nok. The weapon he made for Lahkali is peerless.’
‘He’s the best,’ said Niharn. ‘And she is happy with it? It is the right weight for her?’
‘Yes,’ Lukien replied. When he had first come to Niharn for help, they had argued over the heft of the weapon. They had argued over just about everything. Still, Niharn had offered his advice.
‘I am glad,’ said Niharn. ‘The Eminence has been doing her best for you. I have seen the change in her. She speaks of you often, Lukien.’ The master laughed. ‘You are all she speaks about in court! It is good that she has someone like you to train her. A foreigner. I see now that her own people were not enough.’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that.’
‘You did say that.’
‘No, not precisely, Master Niharn . . .’
‘Let’s not argue.’ Niharn at last waved Tagna away, not so much as offering Lukien a drink. ‘The Eminence is doing well. That’s all that matters.’ He looked expectantly at Lukien. ‘So . . . ?’
‘So, you want to know why I’ve come back.’
‘That would be nice, yes.’
‘Because I need your advice, Master Niharn.’
The admission made the warrior’s face light up. ‘Oh? Tell me, please.’
‘Enough, please. I know I offended you. I never meant to. You helped me find a man that could make a katath for Lahkali. Now I need your help again.’
Niharn grew serious. ‘I am listening.’
Staring at Niharn made Lukien feel small. He had rebuffed the master’s offers of help, replacing him as Lahkali’s teacher. For Niharn, the insult had been great. Still, Lukien found himself liking the smug man. Despite Niharn’s feelings of betrayal, he was loyal to Lahkali and willing to help.
‘There’s a problem with her training,’ Lukien began. ‘Not with her, mind you. She’s a fine student. If you had given her the chance you would have learned that, I think.’
‘Really? You say that even though you know what she is up against? You’re not even one of us, Lukien. You can’t even speak our tongue without that . . . thing around your neck.’
‘All right,’ said Lukien. He held up his hand. ‘All right. Let me start again.’
‘No, Lukien, let me start,’ said Niharn. ‘You tell me that you mean no offense to me, yet every time you open your mouth you offend me. I am a fencing master! Do you know what that means?’
Lukien grimaced. ‘I have to admit that I don’t.’
‘It means that I have trained the greatest fighters in Torlis. The best men in our armies have come to me to learn the katath. I know what a person can do. And I know what the Eminence cannot do. She cannot fight the Great Rass and win.’
‘So she’s wasting her time?’
‘And she’s wasting your time. You should go back to wherever you came from, Lukien. Ah, but you can’t, can you? Because you’re looking for the Sword of Angels.’ Niharn leaned forward curiously. ‘How is that going for you, Lukien?’
‘It’s not,’ Lukien admitted.
‘No? Have you not found out anything useful?’
‘You know I haven’t, Niharn.’
Niharn sat back again. ‘You think that if you help the Eminence defeat the Great Rass that she will tell you where the sword is hidden.’
Lukien shook his head. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘I don’t think I am. But I will tell you this, my friend, from my heart – Lahkali cannot beat the Great Rass, because she does not have the gift of her blood. No one can kill the rass if they can’t control it.’
It was the same tired argument Niharn – and everyone – had made before. Lukien could only ignore it.
‘I believe in her,’ he said. ‘So does Karoshin.’
‘Karoshin!’ Niharn laughed. ‘That old man believes because he must, because he loves Lahkali like a daughter and can’t see anything through his blindness. Karoshin does not train warriors, Lukien. He believes because he knows no better. But you are a warrior like me. Tell me the truth – do you truly believe? I see fear in your eyes.’
Niharn looked circumspect. ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘Touching on this other matter of the sword – you have not been looking for it?’
The question made Lukien shift. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know where to look, Niharn. I have thought and thought, but where to start? Only Lahkali knows where the sword is hidden.’
‘And she will never tell you.’ A trace of sympathy passed over Niharn’s face. ‘You have all this magic, Lukien. So much power. You are a mystery to all the people in court! But this sword is a curse to you. Why must you find it? Why not just go home?’
Lukien grinned. ‘You would like that, I know. But I have business here. I’ll go when I’m ready, Niharn.’
‘All right, then, business.’ Niharn opened his hands. ‘So? Why are you here?’
‘I need your help.’
‘Again?’ Niharn looked pleased. ‘Continue.’
‘Have you ever fought a rass?’
‘Why would I do that? The rass are—’
‘Revered. Yes, I know. But not where I come from. Where I come from men have fought the rass. Is there no one in Torlis who has ever fought one?’
Niharn shook his head. ‘No one.’
‘Then how do you train for it?’ Lukien asked, frustrated. ‘How can anyone fight a rass?’
‘You forget – it is the gift of the blood! No one fights the rass, not the way you have been thinking, Lukien. The Red Eminence controls the rass, brings it to him.’ Niharn smirked. ‘Or her. That is the only way.’
‘That can’t be the only way,’ said Lukien. ‘I can’t accept that. I need to learn. I need to find the way.’
Niharn looked intrigued. ‘How?’
‘I need transport,’ said Lukien. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘To Amchan.’
33
From the deck of the feruka, the forest of Amchan seemed primeval, an endless soup of tangled vines and steaming, dew-dropped trees. Shadowed by the mountains that towered like overlords in the distance, the arms of the river surrounded Amchan, holding it tightly and squeezing up the trees until they touched the grey sky. Lukien watched through his one good eye as a flock of dark birds winged over the forest, calling to the creatures far below. A million angry insects answered, filling the land with their buzzing.