by Sean Stewart
Usually they were evenly matched, but Pax was clearly feeling the Force
today. His attack was long and fluid, a series of feints and cuts that came
blindingly fast, each disguised as the other, so the real attacks melted in and
out of the fake ones. Scout parried the first three with increasing difficulty,
gave ground, felt herself becoming lost in the swirls of humming light, and
finally broke back in full flight, using her speed to plain run away until she
could escape the maze of humming green light he had almost trapped her in.
Another pause.
They stood five paces apart. Scout was breathing hard. Glancing down, she saw
a char mark on her tunic where his blade had come too close. The smell of burned
cloth tickled the back of her throat.
Pax looked down at his own saber, wide-eyed. "Did you recognize it, Scout?"
"What?"
"The Mrlssi half-hitch. The knot you taught me. I was feeling for you with
the Force, you know, the way they teach us, and suddenly it was like I was
making the Half-Hitch around you, but all in light."
Murmurs throughout the room, and scattered clapping.
So much for trying to beat him straight up, Scout thought grimly. Time for
Plan B.
Pax looked up at her in wonder. "I've never done anything like that before,"
he said, delighted. And he stepped toward her with renewed confidence, eager to
dissolve once more into the calm fury of the Force.
Scout dropped her lightsaber on the ground.
Pax stopped, puzzled. Scout held out her hands, palm up, and bowed.
Understanding dawned. Pax clipped his lightsaber to his belt and returned her
bow respectfully. Now that the combat fire was draining from him, Scout could
tell he was anxious that she not lose face. "Well fought," he said. And then,
taking a step nearer, he whispered, "This isn't going to mean they send you to
the corps, is it?"
Scout tried to smile reassuringly, and held out her hand to shake. "Don't
worry about me," she said soothingly, as his hand entered hers. "I'll be—"
In the middle of her sentence, as soon as his grasp was in hers, she flipped
it over into a wrist lock. Pax blinked in surprise, then went quickly to his
knees as Scout upped the pressure.
"Oh, man," he breathed. "You got me." And with his other hand he tapped three
times on the floor.
Scout instantly let him out of the wrist lock. "Sorry!" she said.
Hanna Ding, an Arkanian apprentice Scout's age, shouldered past her to get to
Pax. "That was ill bred," she said. At the best of times, Hanna had more than
her share of Arkanian hauteur, and now a single glance with her milky white eyes
made it clear that, as little as she had ever expected from Scout, she had
expected more than this.
Master Iron Hand approached Pax. "Are you all right, Chizzik?"
"My pride is a little bruised," he said ruefully, shaking the tingles out of
his right hand, "but otherwise I'm fine."
"Of course you'll disqualify Enwandung-Esterhazy," Hanna said.
"With all due respect," Scout ground out, forcing herself to meet Master
Xan's eye, "the conditions of the match were plainly laid out."
"Combat to continue until one competitor surrenders, or receives three cuts,"
Pax said. "It's not Scout's fault I was dumb enough to forget the rules. She
tricked me fair and square."
"I see no reason to overturn the result of the match," Master Xan said, and
she walked back to the center of the room.
Hanna Ding watched her go. "Well done, Scout. You proved you can beat up
little boys, as long as you are allowed to cheat." She turned her milky eyes on
Scout. "How proud you must be."
Somehow Scout wasn't surprised to find she would be sparring with Hanna in
the second round. It was so very much the Jedi style to throw the two of them
together and see who would be able to retain her composure the best. Hanna's
proud, pale features took on an expression of distinct pleasure when she heard
Scout's name called after her own. "I am looking forward to this," she said.
I bet you are, Scout thought grimly. Realistically, Hanna was much the better
fighter. Physically, Scout gave herself a very slight advantage in speed and
strength, thanks to her extra training. Technically they were comparable—Hanna
possibly stronger with the lightsaber, while Scout was definitely ahead in the
unarmed techniques that Master Iron Hand taught. But when the Force was added
into the equation, the contest wasn't even close. Hanna was fourteen, and her
use of the Force was on an entirely different level from Pax Chizzik's:
polished, strong, and supple. Scout watched her warm up across the chamber,
leaping ridiculous distances into the air and then drifting down, light as a
snowflake falling.
"Good luck," Lena murmured, watching Hanna warm up.
Scout grunted. "On the bright side, at least I'll be fighting someone I
really want to hit."
It was time for their bout. They bowed to Master Xan, presented weapons, got
them back, bowed to one another. Master Xan said, "Some of the apprentices were
very vocal in lobbying for a tournament that was `more like real life.' " Was
Scout imagining it, or did Master Xan look directly at her? "In real life, we
rarely get optimal combat conditions. One might find oneself attacked in null
gravity, for instance. Or by surprise, or by a droid or other creature whose
physiology made certain techniques difficult or impossible. Of course,
introducing a Gorax into the Temple is not practical. But there are some things
we can do. For instance, in real life—" Scout would swear the Master's eyes were
lingering on her again. "—it is often dark."
And the lights went out.
Oh, great, Scout thought. No problem. I don't need to trust my eyes, after
all.
I can trust the Force.
It was pitch black. In the darkness, Scout could just hear the audience
breathing, and the sound of her own blood beating in her ears. A soft rustle of
cloth from the direction Master Xan had been standing in. She would be lifting
up the red handkerchief—and Scout had no way of telling when she was going to
let it go.
Oh, boy.
She tried to use the Force, tried to let her awareness seep out into the dark
room. She could feel the presence of the watching acolytes, Master Yoda back in
the corner, Master Xan. But she couldn't find the little scrap of red cloth. For
that matter, she had only a vague idea of where Hanna was. It was as if the
Arkanian were muddying the Force, the way a Quarren might squirt ink into the
sea.
Well, there was nothing for it. She couldn't draw before the handkerchief
touched the ground, and she couldn't tell when that was going to happen. She
would just have to stay alert, ready to spring backward at the first instant
Hanna made any move.
Scout stared into the darkness. Her eyes felt wide as saucers, and she was
straining to hear every creak and whisper. The little hairs on her arms stood
up, as if she could listen with her skin.
And then, a gift from the Force: the sudden electric knowledge that Hanna was
going to lash out—Now!
The Force told Scout when the attack was coming; her own hard work told her
what it would be. Scout had watched Hanna fight many times in the last six
weeks. She knew Hanna would start with a high, Force-aided leap, to get out of
Scout's plane of vision, hoping to drop down like a bird of prey from above. The
Arkanian's blade blazed to life, a stroke of green lightning crackling down from
directly overhead: but Scout's blade, a wand of cool blue flame, was there to
meet it. The weapons clashed in a jarring burst of sparks, but Scout had the
floor to brace against, and the force of her parry sent Hanna tumbling backward
through the air. The Arkanian twisted into a perfect backflip and landed in a
balanced fighting stance.
A scatter of applause drifted around the room.
Blue and green reflections hissed and spat in the milk-white surface of the
Arkanian girl's eyes. "Come now, Esterhazy. Aren't you going to try one of your
dirty tricks on me? You didn't use them all up on poor little Pax, did you?"
Scout grinned. "Not even close."
If Hanna had a weakness, it was that she was too in love with her lightsaber.
There was something in her fastidious nature that made the sweaty grappling of
hand-to-hand combat distasteful to her; she was really much happier standing two
paces from her opponent and letting her blade do the fighting for her. "You
know, Hanna, there's one thing I've always wondered. How exactly do you manage—"
Scout exploded into a flying fleche in the middle of her sentence, hoping to
catch the Arkanian off guard. Hanna snapped to parry, Scout disengaged, Hanna
caught her blade triumphantly and slid it down to the side. Scout's blue
lightsaber passed harmlessly by as Hanna spun like a matador to let her go by,
but that was all right, since Scout had only meant the swordplay to be a
distraction, something for Hanna to feel superior about, right up to the moment
Scout's body was nearly past, when her whip kick knocked Hanna off her feet.
They both hit the mat hard.
Scout tried to push her advantage, but by the time she was back on her feet
the Arkanian was flashing forward in a lunge of her own. Hanna had a humming,
buzzing, circular style of swordplay, fast slashes that changed angle
continuously. Only Scout's little Force talent saved her, subtly prompting her
to ignore the feints and parry the real blows.
Remember, you are the weapon, Scout told herself. Don't get caught thinking
about the lightsaber alone. Be the weapon.
Slash, parry, slash, parry, slash—and this time instead of making the
expected parry high, Scout dived in low under the blade, trying to tackle Hanna
around the knees. The Arkanian flipped up, sending Scout between her legs as she
somersaulted in the air, twisted, and landed in a fighting stance. Scout tucked,
turning her dive into a roll, and bounced up. They were both breathing hard now.
Lightsabers buzzed, blue and green.
Hanna lunged again, but this time she used the Force as well, dragging on
Scout's sword arm so her parry came too late and she had to throw herself wildly
backward out of the center circle of mats to evade the blow. Regaining her
balance, she skipped in among the surprised spectators, who scrambled out of her
way.
"Hey!" Hanna cried. "You can't go in there!" She swung around to face Master
Xan. "She can't go in there. One of the bystanders could get hurt!"
Scout edged behind Lena Missa. "Bystanders get hurt sometimes," she said with
a shrug.
"Master Xan!"
Scout rather thought there was something like a smile tugging at the bottom
of the Jedi Master's mouth. "This is real, Master Xan." Scout tapped Lena
lightly on the shoulder. "This is the terrain."
"Perhaps so," Iron Hand said dryly. "But I think we'll try to keep the mayhem
at least a little contained today, Scout. Fighting in the central circle only."
She held up her hand even as Hanna's mouth started to open. "That does not
constitute reason for Enwandung-Esterhazy's disqualification. I have made the
ruling in flow, and she may recommence inside the boundaries at no penalty. You
will both be satisfied." It wasn't a question.
"Of course," Scout said immediately, with a low bow. "Of course," Hanna
grated out.
Hanna stood aside. With all the composure she could muster, Scout walked back
into the circle of mats. "Begin."
Hanna's sword point dropped and she leapt forward, slashing for Scout's head.
And Scout ran behind Master Xan.
Hanna's lightsaber blade got to within a hand span of the Jedi Master's face,
froze, and snapped back like a child's finger from a hot stove.
"Whoa there," Scout said. "You nearly hurt an innocent bystander."
Hanna's mouth opened in something like a snarl. She lunged behind Iron Hand.
Scout scurried out in front.
"Stop!" Master Xan said.
"It's not my fault," Scout said. "You're in the terrain."
Hanna made furious gurgling noises.
Iron Hand was definitely trying not to smile. "True, Scout." She walked to
the edge of the circle of mats, with Scout and Hanna in orbit around her like
two eccentric moons. "But sometimes, the terrain changes."
"I was afraid you'd say that," Scout sighed, leaping backward to avoid a
slash as Master Xan left the ring.
Hanna stalked after her. "Any more cute ideas?"
"I'm working on it."
At least she had the Arkanian mad enough that she wasn't bringing the Force
to bear with quite as much finesse as she had at the beginning of the bout. On
the downside, she was running out of tricks to deal with Hanna.
The other apprentice knew it, too. Once more she attacked, methodically this
time, step after step, driving Scout toward the edge of the ring. Can't let it
go like this, Scout thought. She couldn't let herself get trapped purely on the
defensive. She fell back, parried a slash and whipped her wrist around to bind
their blades, then leaned as if she was going to charge forward as she had with
Pax. This rime she reached up with her left hand and made a jabbing two-finger
pop to the pressure point under Hanna's left elbow.
It was perfect. As the Arkanian's forearm went temporarily numb, her
nerveless fingers opened just as Scout kicked up at her hand as hard as she
could, sending Hanna's lightsaber spinning through the air. With a snarl of
triumph Scout charged forward with a roundhouse slash . . .
. . . and impossibly Hanna jumped over her blade. Scout pitched forward
through the space where Hanna ought to have been, stumbled, got her balance, and
turned just in time to see Hanna, her mouth set in a grim line, use the Force to
grab her lightsaber out of midair. It smacked back into the Arkanian's hand with
a sharp thud.
Hanna came forward again, relentless. "That was your last chance." She fell
on Scout like a storm, her limbs flashing like whirlwinds, her long, humming
blade falling like green forked lightning.
Slowly, irresistibly, Scout was being overwhelmed. She could see the attacks
coming, she knew which ones were real and which were feints, but now Hanna was
bending all her will to Scout's sword hand, using the For
ce to slow it down
until it felt as if Scout had to drag it through water, or mud. Feint, slash,
feint, cut, cut, and then a hard blow, a dipping slash to the leg that cut
through the cloth of Scout's robes and left a red welt across her thigh.
The pain dropped her to the floor. She rolled sideways and came up parrying,
stopping Hanna's blade a finger width from her face. The lightsaber hissed like
a furious serpent, spitting green light in her eyes. With a grunt Scout spun
sideways again and tried to make a cut, but Hanna was inside her blade, slamming
it flat to the floor, so hard Scout's fingers loosened for just an instant.
Hanna used the Force to grab her lightsaber, that line of blue heart's fire.
Then she ripped it from Scout's grasp, and flung it to the far side of the room.
Grab me, Scout prayed. If Hanna would just grapple, there was still a chance.
If she would just try a joint lock, an arm bar, anything...
The Arkanian stood up.
As soon as the weight left her hand Scout rolled over on her back, lashing
out with her legs, but Hanna was already out of range, cool and composed,
holding her lightsaber so the green tip hummed and buzzed a hand width above
Scout's heart. The Arkanian looked down on Scout from what seemed like a vast
height, an impossible height. The distance from a farmer's field to the stars.
"Yield," she said.
Scout lay under her blade, gasping for breath. Her leg burned and throbbed.
Hanna looked at her impatiently. "Yield!"
"No."
The Arkanian blinked. "What?"
"No." Scout coughed and spat. "I said no. I'm not giving up."
Hanna looked at her, genuinely baffled. "But . . . I won. Now you yield."
Scout shook her head. "Don't think so." She thought about trying to use the
Force to drag her lightsaber back while Hanna wasn't paying attention, but the
pain in her head made it hard to concentrate. And she was tired. So tired. "I'm
not ready to give up yet."
"But why?"
Scout shrugged. "Doesn't hurt enough yet."
Hanna shook her head in disbelief. "You're crazy. What am I supposed to do?
Just cut you while you lie there?" Her lightsaber buzzed and sputtered in
frustration: and right then Scout saw how she was going to win this fight.
She smiled. "We go until one of us surrenders or takes three burns. You got