“Rafe,” Lexi said in a whisper.
“It’s not his fault,” Tiberius said. “He would have fought for me if he could.”
Lexi shook her head, her mouth moving but no words coming out. Then she pointed over his shoulder. Tiberius turned and saw Rafe striding toward him. Olyva was behind Rafe, she looked exhausted. Rafe on the other hand looked almost jubilant. He was smiling and there was a spring in his step.
“You weren’t going to start all the fun without me,” he said.
“You’re awake,” Tiberius said, relief flooding through him.
Lexi leaned on his shoulder and Tiberius guessed she was just as relieved to see Rafe as he was.
“Awake, refreshed, and from what I hear spoiling for a fight.”
“Rafe, you don’t have to do this,” Tiberius said, ignoring the pain as Lexi dug her fingernails into his shoulder. “It’s my fight.”
“And your fight will always be my fight,” Rafe said calmly. “Now as I remember, the Tuscogee calls for a special meal. What’s it called, Filsa?”
“The Ullanee,” she said, waving to the other women standing nearby.
“That’s right, the Ullanee. I could eat a whole Tamaka I’m so hungry,” Rafe said with a chuckle.
“How is your shoulder?” Tiberius asked.
Rafe raised his arms and flexed his muscles.
“Never better,” he said. “Olyva told me what you did. It hurts you when you heal people, doesn’t it.”
“Somewhat,” Tiberius said.
“From what I heard, you were in agony. I’m sorry for that.”
“It’s only temporary,” Tiberius said. “The result is always worth it.”
“Well, I’m grateful my friend. Now tell me what you know about this raider.”
“His name is Bu’yorgi. He’s big, Rafe.”
“As big as Ummar?” Rafe asked.
“No,” Tiberius said.
“He is well known among the Hoskali,” Filsa said. “The sky tribe is powerful.”
“I take it he’s fought his share of Tuscogees,” Rafe said sitting down.
“I can’t help you in this one,” Tiberius added. “His Swanee isn’t here, so it wouldn’t be fair for me to interfere.”
“I wouldn’t have needed your help in the last one if Moswanee hadn’t jinxed things. I’ll be fine.”
Food was brought to Rafe, who ate ravenously. Then he stood up, taking one of the ancient bronze swords and swinging it. He went through the basic steps—strike, block, thrust, parry. When he’d fought Ummar, he’d used an unconventional grip, holding one hand on the small sword handle, the other on the back of the blade near the tip. Most fighters would only see the sword as it was intended, but Rafe saw multiple ways he could use the weapon to achieve his purposes.
“It is time,” Te’sumee said. “We are gathered. The captives are arranged.”
“We’re coming,” Tiberius said.
He stepped up to Rafe and spoke so quietly that only Rafe could hear him.
“You’re sure you’re up to this?”
Rafe nodded, his focus on the ring of fire in the distance.
“I’m sure I could work some magic and—”
Rafe cut him off.
“No Ti, that won’t do. You’re the Swanee and this isn’t just a street fight. I can handle Bu’yorgi. You must make sure his people live up to their side of the agreement.”
“Alright,” Tiberius said. “Thank you, Rafe.”
“For what?”
“For being such a good friend.”
Rafe turned and looked at Tiberius, then at Lexi and Olyva on either side of him.
“We aren’t just friends, Ti,” he said. “We’re family.”
Chapter 29
Rafe
Walking toward the area prepared for the Tuscogee was different for Rafe than before. On the one hand, he felt like he had so much more to lose. The first time around, he was simply fighting to survive, but this time he was fighting for Olyva, Tiberius, and Lexi, as well as the tribe he’d come to love. He had always felt like he was part of a brotherhood in the Earl’s war band, but he’d also felt like a pawn. He had been expendable, just a tool to the Earl, not a vital part of the community. Life in the tribe was different, he was different, and he liked the changes.
On the other hand, he knew what to expect in the Tuscogee. The only difference this time around were the captives. The male members of the tribe were all present. They stood facing the oblong ring of fire, which was fed by small piles of dried Tamaka dung evenly spaced. In front of them knelt the captives. On one end of the hastily created arena were the raiders captured by Te’sumee’s Rogu. On the other end were captives and property taken by the raiders led by Bu’yorgi.
Rafe felt good. His body was not only rested, but he felt stronger than ever. The bronze swords used in the Tuscogee were not his weapons of choice, but he still felt confident with them. They were heavy and clumsy compared to his rapier, but they were effective enough.
Te’sumee led them around the thick cluster of spectators to a small gap. When Rafe walked through, he was surprised to see Bu’yorgi, not because he wasn’t expecting his opponent to be waiting for him, but because he recognized the man. It was the raider who had thrown his club at Rafe and dislocated his shoulder. Bu’yorgi stood near his tribesmen on the far side of the battleground. A smile crossed his face when he saw Rafe. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes and he laughed as he rubbed his shoulder, letting Rafe know that he remembered their last encounter.
“That’s strange,” Tiberius said.
“What?” Rafe said, his voice tight with tension.
“Why’s he rubbing his shoulder like that?”
“Because he’s the one who dislocated mine last night,” Rafe said.
Rafe’s father was more than an established swordsman, he was considered a master with a blade. He had fought in numerous duels, always victoriously. Whenever the Earl traveled to any of the other Nine Cities, inevitably Grentz was challenged. The greatest fighters from all nine cities had measured their skill against the Sword Master and everyone had come up short. As a boy, Rafe had idolized his father, but Grentz knew that his own fame would give rise to a dangerous life for his son. The man who defeated the Sword Master’s son would be known throughout the Nine Cities of Valana. Grentz knew Rafe would be challenged wherever he went, and so he had trained his son, pushing him harder than any of the soldiers in the Earl’s war band. He also taught Rafe how to deal with his emotions. Fear was dangerous, but so was anger, and even confidence. Rafe knew how to find the place between respect in his opponent’s abilities and confidence in his own.
It took Rafe a little longer than normal to find that place as he prepared for the Tuscogee. He felt more fear than he was accustomed to. With a weapon in his hand, Rafe had always felt like he was more than a match for anyone in a fair fight, but Bu’yorgi had surprised him the night before. Throwing his club had been a risky tactic. If it had failed to find its mark, he would have been defenseless. But the club had taken the fight out of Rafe. It had come at him so unexpectedly that Rafe now had trouble reining in his imagination. Bu’yorgi was a seasoned warrior. Was it possible that he had tricks up his sleeve that Rafe wasn’t prepared for?
It was hard for Rafe to control his anger as well. Part of him wanted to avoid the raider, but the other part of him wanted to make him pay for what he’d done the night before. Rafe felt his heart rate speeding up at the thought of defeating Bu’yorgi in combat. He wanted to see his opponent hurting, wanted to hear Bu’yorgi’s cries of pain and desperate pleas for mercy.
Rafe took several slow deep breaths to calm his emotions down. In his mind, he formed a plan of action. He needed to let the raider come to him, to set the tone for the battle. If Bu’yorgi thought that Rafe was afraid, it would come as a great surprise when Rafe unleashed his own offensive onslaught.
“You okay?” Tiberius asked.
“Sure,” Rafe said. “Jus
t getting my mind right.”
“Well don’t toy with this guy. And don’t take any unnecessary chances.”
“Don’t worry,” Rafe said, sounding more confident that he felt.
Rafe wasn’t sure why his own confidence was waning. He never felt more alive than in combat. He loved training, doing sword drills, building his strength, and sparing. He’d never been in a real fight until he and Tiberius had fought the Graypees outside the walls of Avondale. That had been a thrill he would never forget. And when he fought Ummar in the Tuscogee, he’d felt supremely confident in his skills. But the raiders had surprised Rafe more than once the night before. They fought differently, as if they had a different perspective on combat. Rafe couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something.
When Te’sumee and Tiberius left the battle area, Bu’yorgi moved forward. He was taller than Rafe, his shoulders and arms larger. Where Rafe had a narrow waist, Bu’yorgi’s was thick and round; not fat, but strong from years of living on the wide plains of the blighted lands. He swung the sword much the same way as he would have wielded his club. The weight of the bronze sword didn’t seem to faze the bigger man.
Rafe moved forward as well, but slowly. He watched his opponent, looking for clues to the other man’s fighting style, or weaknesses that Rafe might be able to exploit once they closed upon one another.
The crowd was quiet, watching every move the two combatants made. Once they were almost within striking distance of one another, Rafe and his opponent began to circle. Bu’yorgi feinted, but Rafe remained calm. He expected the bigger man to try and intimidate him, but he refused to be drawn in. Bu’yorgi swung his weapon at Rafe, but the big man was barely in range. Rafe swayed back, letting the bronze blade whistle harmlessly by. Then Rafe feinted; it was nothing more than head and shoulder movement. He acted as if he were going to charge forward to counter strike, and Bu’yorgi side-stepped, bringing his sword around in a practiced defensive posture.
This time it was Rafe who smiled and Bu’yorgi’s eyes narrowed. Rafe wanted the other man to be angry. He wanted Bu’yorgi to make mistakes in his bloodlust, but whether he did or didn’t, Rafe wasn’t going to let his guard down no matter what. He had been reckless the night before, taking too many chances in combat. He’d learned his lesson and was willing to wait for the right opportunity to bring down his foe. His goal in the Tuscogee was victory without loss or injury to himself.
When Bu’yorgi stepped closer, raising his sword, Rafe took a defensive posture, raising his own sword to ward off any overhead blow from his opponent, but he didn’t follow the brightly gleaming sword with his eyes. Instead, he watched Bu’yorgi’s chest. The bigger man’s body twisted as he lashed out with one foot at Rafe’s left knee. The sword was just a distraction and luckily Rafe was ready. He lifted his foot from the ground, so that the kick didn’t strain his knee when it landed. Rafe then took advantage of his opponent’s high guard.
Rafe stepped forward quickly, keeping his blade high, but swinging the bronze pommel of the sword at Bu’yorgi’s face. This time it was the raider who dodged backward out of Rafe’s range, but he was off balance. Bu’yorgi struggled to keep from stumbling as he backpedalled away from Rafe. At the same time he brought his sword down in a powerful chop that was meant to keep Rafe at bay. Instead, Rafe deflected the blow, letting the bronze blades clash, but Rafe’s sword was angled away from his body, so that Bu’yorgi’s sword slid down and away. Rafe then spun, moving toward his opponent’s exposed side and lashing out with the ancient weapon.
The bronze swords were made for slashing and chopping. The tip of Rafe’s sword cut through Bu’yorgi’s arm, just above the elbow. The slash was deep enough to sever muscle, but it didn’t reach bone. The bigger man shouted in anger and pain, jumping backward and moving away from Rafe, who let the raider go rather than push the attack. Rafe knew the cut wasn’t fatal. In fact, it probably wouldn’t have much impact in the outcome of the fight, but he remembered how the Rogu had brought down the huge Tamakas using only their small knives. They danced in, cutting and slashing strategically, then dashing away again so that they were out of reach of the enraged animals.
Rafe guessed what was coming next. Bu’yorgi had not taken Rafe seriously, but now he would. The bigger man rushed forward and unleashed a flurry of blows. Rafe trusted his training. He wished he could hold the heavy bronze sword with two hands on the weapon’s handle, but it was too short for a double grip. Instead, Rafe moved his body, so that the clash of the weapons didn’t drive him back or knock him off balance. All the long hours spent practicing his footwork with his father were now paying off. Rafe was careful how he moved, keeping his feet under him, turning his body, staying alert.
Bu’yorgi slashed from high to low, first on one side, then on the other. He was in a frenzy, and Rafe had to move quickly. He kept his own blade angled, not wanting to waste his strength absorbing the full power of each blow. He raised his sword to meet his attacker, always allowing the blades to deflect and at the same time moving to avoid the blows. After several intense moments, both warriors backed away from the other. Bu’yorgi had exerted much more strength, but he wasn’t even breathing hard. Rafe knew he couldn’t wait to wear the bigger man down. They continued to circle while the tribesmen watching began to hum in unison. It must have been a battle song, but one they all knew, even the raiders from the other tribe.
Rafe decided it was his turn to attack. He stepped in toward Bu’yorgi, his sword held in front of him with one hand. He flicked the tip of the curved weapon up toward Bu’yorgi’s face. It was not a traditional tactic, and certainly not a killing blow. Bu’yorgi stumbled back, trying to dodge the attack, but he was too late as Rafe’s arm extended and the tip of the blade scored a shallow cut across the bigger man’s cheek. Bu’yorgi retaliated just as Rafe expected him to, slashing at Rafe with his sword in a horizontal swipe. This time Rafe slid his free hand down the back side of the blade so that he held the bronze weapon at each end. He caught Bu’yorgi’s sword in a parallel block that stopped the other man’s weapon in mid-strike. Bu’yorgi was strong and he’d swung his sword with great power. Rafe felt the shock race up both of his arms and sting his shoulders, but Bu’yorgi took the backlash of the shock in his good arm.
Rafe let the momentum of the blow carry him forward inside Bu’yorgi’s guard. He lashed out with an elbow that struck Bu’yori just below his sternum and drove the breath out of his lungs. Rafe then brought his sword around in a powerful strike from high to low that caught on Bu’yorgi’s sword just above the hand guard. Bu’yorgi’s hand was already stinging from the clash of his previous strike, and Rafe’s blow knocked the weapon out of the bigger man’s hand.
Rafe felt a rush of joy, and then Bu’yorgi’s fist smashed into the side of Rafe’s head. The resulting pop felt like nothing Rafe had ever endured. He staggered back, his vision wavering. He could feel the swelling immediately. His whole face ached terribly, and there was an intense pain in his right eye. Panic threatened to overtake Rafe. He kept moving back, his body bent at the waist, his sword dragging on the ground. The song of the Hoskali intensified, but Rafe didn’t hear it. All he could hear was the sound of blood rushing through his ears. When he finally looked up, Bu’yorgi had retrieved his sword and was stalking forward.
Rafe glanced at Tiberius who was standing near one of the small fires that ringed the battleground. Tiberius looked worried, which only made Rafe even more afraid. His hand came up, touching his face. The right side of Rafe’s head felt heavy, the skin pulling tight. One touch brought agonizing splinters of pain lancing through Rafe’s head and eye. His vision was blurred and Rafe knew that his eye would soon be closed from the intense swelling.
Rafe realized that he couldn’t keep fighting much longer. He wouldn’t be able to see well enough to gage his angles and avoid strikes that came from his right side. He took a deep breath and then rushed toward Bu’yorgi.
“Rafe!” Tiberius shouted. It was the one sound outside of
Rafe’s pounding heart and ragged breath that he could hear.
Rafe let the cry galvanize him. He saw the look of surprise on Bu’yorgi’s face. The big man hadn’t expected Rafe to retaliate. Rafe jumped into the air, raising his sword over his head but keeping the tip of the weapon pointed at his opponent. As he came down he drove the sword forward in a powerful thrust. Bu’yorgi was stepping back to avoid the attack, but even as Rafe’s weapon missed the bigger man’s body, Rafe continued to push his weapon down. The point of the bronze sword caught Bu’yorgi’s left thigh. It pierced down through the thick muscle and severed tendons, and arteries, before gouging through the side of the dense thighbone.
Rafe pushed the sword all the way through Bu’yorgi’s leg and ended his attack in a kneeling position. The raider wailed, his sword swinging harmlessly over Rafe’s head. Then Bu’yorgi toppled backward.
Rafe stood up, the whole right side of his face swollen and throbbing. The throng of Hoskali watching the Tuscogee had fallen silent. The only sounds were the raider’s grunts of pain. Rafe looked down at Bu’yorgi, whose life blood was pumping out of the ragged wound on his leg and soaking into the moss.
“If you’re going to save him,” Rafe said in a loud voice to Tiberius. “You better hurry.”
Tiberius rushed from the side of the battle area, but he ignored Bu’yorgi. Instead he grabbed onto Rafe, who was shaking from the pain in his head.
“Are you okay?”
“No,” Rafe said. “But I’m not dying. You can save him right?”
“The Tuscogee is a Hallinsae,” Te’sumee said, as he came up beside them. “It is a fight to the death.”
“No one else needs to die,” Rafe said.
“I’ll do what I can,” Tiberius said.
“I need something to drink,” Rafe bellowed, and the crowd cheered.
The captured raiders all bowed their heads. Their future was grim. If their fellow raiders couldn’t trade for their freedom, they would become slaves. The tribespeople rushed to their captives and caught them up in a joyous embrace. The stolen items were returned and the Hoskali tribe began to celebrate. The ground marked out for the Tuscogee was abandoned by everyone but Rafe and Tiberius, who was still working to save Bu’yorgi, and the small group of raiders who hadn’t been captured.
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