"Will you just look at her friend!" hissed Corien.
"Face, eyes, are showing kind soul," said Samondel.
"Never mind his soul, look at the rest of him."
"What arts are to demonstrate? Removing boots, they are."
"I'd like to remove more than his boots."
Velesti and Martyne took off their boots while the girls looked on attentively, Martyne then removed his tunic. There was a loud and collective gasp of surprise from the audience as Martyne stood before them, dressed only in black drawstring trousers. Edutors in theology were not supposed to look anything remotely like Martyne. He was heavily muscled rather than massively built. His abdomen looked like a quite a workable washerboard, and his pectorals cast shadows down his chest in the summer sunlight. It was also more than obvious that the ostentatiously padded shoulders of his tunic had not been padded
at all. There was a bandage on his left forearm. Samondel's huge violet eyes were stretched wide, in spite of the bright sunlight.
"Imagine being in bed with him!" whispered Corien.
By now Velesti had removed her jacket, and as she slipped off her shirt Corien and Samondel involuntarily joined in the even louder collective gasp.
"Why did they gasp?" hissed Velesti anxiously to Martyne.
"Maybe they like that thing you are wearing," Martyne whispered back.
"The old language term is 'sports bra'; it does not translate easily."
"You may have started a new fashion trend."
The audience's surprise was not so much from the sight of the sleek, black symmetry of the first sports bra to be seen in two thousand years, as the sight of Velesti's upper torso. White silk stretched over a sculpture of heavy wire rope was the only comparison that Samondel could think of as she watched.
"Just imagine the two of them in bed together!" whispered Corien to the dumbfounded Samondel.
"Is self-confidence demonstration? Mistaken, perhaps?"
Martyne held an arm up for attention.
"Now I want you to think of me as a shadowboy, and of Frelle Velesti as a student for whom my attentions are unwelcome."
"Your attentions would be welcome to me" called a girl behind Corien.
Everyone laughed. Velesti and Martyne blushed.
Martyne strode confidently up to Velesti and reached out for her. Velesti snaked her arm around his, stepping in close to him to lock his arm against her back as she doubled him over and brought a knee up to his face.
"The weakest girl's leg is stronger than the strongest man's arm," declared Velesti. "Had I followed through, he would not be getting up for a long time."
The audience clapped. Velesti released Martyne. He now attacked with a knife, overhand. Velesti cross-blocked with both arms,
twisted his arm, and doubled him over again before bending his wrist and forcing him to drop the knife.
"At this point you can obviously knee him in the stomach," Velesti pointed out.
The audience applauded again. After several more practical demonstrations, the pair declared that they would now demonstrate free-form sparring. They bowed, then Martyne said "Hajime!"
Velesti and Martyne circled each other, their hands held out and their steps as smooth as those of the dancers of the Rochestrian Mayoral Ballet. Samondel could barely follow the first exchange of blows and blocks, but the whack of flesh on flesh came across very distinctly. There were kicks right up to head level, spinning back kicks, dodges, feints, and several blows that actually did get past the defenses of both fighters. Presently Martyne called "Yame!" The pair bowed to each other, then to the audience.
For the finale of the demonstration, Martyne picked up five terracotta roofing tiles and held them up for everyone to see. He looked across the audience, then pointed to Corien and beckoned.
Corien began to stand, but Samondel seized her arm.
"Frelle, no! Being hurting."
"Oh, no, I want to increase my self-confidence."
Martyne and Velesti held a tile while Corien sat on it, demonstrating that it could support her full weight. Corien held Martyne's arm, steadying herself, then she was set down. Now Martyne kneeled side-on to the amphitheater, holding the five tiles on his forearms. Velesti stood before him, her knees bent and her legs wide apart. She raised her open hand, held it perpendicular above him, the breath hissing between her teeth, then struck down at the tiles. They shattered. Martyne and Velesti bowed to their audience amid cheers, whistles, and cries for more. Martyne bowed to Corien, then led her back to her seat. Samondel looked up at him, then smiled tentatively.
"Fras, are hurt," she said, pointing to his arm where blood was seeping through the bandage.
Martyne looked down, releasing Corien's hand.
"A scratch, Frelle, no matter."
Just then there was a commotion from the northern archway of
the cloisters. Watchers scattered to either side as the Yellowbird gang strode through the arch, through the cloisters, and onto the grass. There were five of them, all shadowboys from beyond the university gates.
"Now, here's a fine group to become Yellowbirds!" declared the tallest of them.
"Wear the Yellowbird badge, and you'll never walk in fear," followed the more authoritative voice of their leader.
Protection ventures were common around the city, and the university was a favored target. The students tended to be from affluent families and were seldom the most martial of people. Several gangs had been fighting for the right to farm the university for protection money during December, and the Yellowbirds had emerged as the winners. One carried a bag of yellow badges, another a register of names.
"Hey, then, Caelen, will you look at the woofters!" exclaimed the tall one, catching sight of Martyne and Velesti. Samondel put a hand to her coat, where her reaction pistol was concealed.
Even had Velesti brought the whole of her considerable willpower to bear she could not have stopped the smile that was spreading across her face.
"Can I have them, Sensei?" she asked. "Please?"
Martyne put his hands on his hips. "You will not show control. The answer is no."
"I'll owe you a favor. Anything you want."
"Anything?"
"Please, it's been months."
"Weeks, actually. Oh, very well, but don't kill any of them."
"Sensei, if I do, I swear on my honor it will be an accident."
"As you will. I shall guard their escape."
The Yellowbirds were not entirely sure of how to take this. Either it was outrageous bravado, or there was something very, very wrong. Velesti advanced briskly on the leader, who raised his swagger stick and dropped back a pace. Velesti brought a foot down, swung around with a flying, circular kick and smashed her boot into the head of the shadowboy beside her, then backhanded her fist into the leader's
nose. Still turning, she lifted the tip of her foot into the soft flesh just behind what was protected by her next victim's codpiece, and as he doubled over she pushed his head down onto her knee. By now the leader was swinging his swagger stick down at her, but she cross-blocked with both arms, blunted the momentum from the blow, seized his wrist, twisted to double him over, then brought the edge of her hand down hard on the back of his elbow. There was a loud snap, followed by a piercing shriek of agony that was cut off as her foot connected with his face.
Something whizzed through the air, and a small-bore flintlock fell from the hand of a shadowboy who now had a wheelstar buried in his bicep. He toppled, his mouth open but silent. Another wheel-star was in his kneecap.
"Damn you, Sensei, stop doing that!" shouted Velesti, her hands on her hips. "I could have taken him."
Martyne shrugged and walked over to the remaining member of the gang, who was standing all alone, his swagger stick dropped and his hands raised. He turned him to face the astounded audience, then stood to one side.
"Now, here are some interesting thoughts on self-defense," he said, his eyes lingering in Samondel's direction. "With e
nough training you can withstand quite heavy blows."
He snapped his fingers, and Velesti slammed a roundhouse kick into his own abdomen that impacted with sickening force. Martyne appeared not to notice.
"On the other hand, there are certain pressure points that simply cannot be hardened."
He pinched the shadowboy between the neck and shoulder. He shrieked and dropped to the grass. Velesti hauled him to his feet as the audience applauded.
"Now, just here, at the center of the chest, there is another," she said, holding a finger up.
She thrust it into the center of the shadowboy's chest. He collapsed with an agonized wheeze. Martyne hauled him up again.
"Boxing the ears with cupped hands, very effective when you
are in someone's grip," added Velesti with an appropriate demonstration.
"Don't forget bending the little finger, when he grips you, also very effective."
"Or a knee to the testicles when in his embrace."
"Even a light blow to the throat."
"Pulling hair."
"Pinning his wrist to your breast if he grabs you there, then dropping to your knees, exquisitely painful."
"In fact there is a whole selection of really nice armlocks and wrist bends that you can do with practically no additional muscle development at all."
By now the shadowboy was incapable of standing unaided. Velesti released him and he fell to the ground. She walked over to the other shadowboys, none of whom had moved for the entire time.
"Ah, sorry, I killed the first one!" she exclaimed. "Got carried away."
Martyne knelt down beside her first victim, felt for a pulse at his neck, examined his head, then pulled his lips apart.
"He's alive."
"But I heard his neck snap."
"No, that was his teeth breaking. See?" He held up a broken tooth. "His pulse is strong." Martyne stood up and strode over to the shadowboy who had tried to shoot Velesti. With a determined tug, he pulled his wheelstar out of bone and muscle. Velesti kicked him delicately but firmly on the chin, then plucked her own wheelstar out of his kneecap.
"You did not have to do that," objected Martyne.
"But he was in pain, it was an act of mercy."
Martyne turned back to the audience. "We shall be taking names for both the lightweight self-defense course and the serious sessions on these fighting arts. There will be two lessons per week of ninety minutes each. Are there any questions?"
"What is the cost, good Fras?"
"There is no cost. Velesti will train you in basics, and I shall
later take advanced techniques and conduct examinations when students move to higher gradings."
"Why do you have commands in that ancient language?"
"Because few understand Japanese here. If two students are sparring and someone passing by sees a friend in the distance and calls 'Stop,' one student may stop while the other fights on—and an injury could result. If they hear 'Yame,' they know that it is a command for them, from their instructor."
It might be fair to say that many of those who enrolled were merely interested in becoming acquainted with the remarkable pair of warriors who had just wiped out the scourge of the campus nightlife in a single minute, but there was a core of girls with serious intentions. Several youths also expressed interest. Velesti did not like the idea of including them, but Martyne seemed to think that it was a reasonable idea. In the meantime the Yellowbirds had staggered away, minus their weapons, register, bag of badges, and purse of silver. They were clinging to each other for support and in a great deal of distress as they passed through the campus gates for the very last time.
"So, Frelles, are you impressed by Martyne?" Velesti asked as she joined Corien and Samondel.
"I am looking blind, perhaps?" asked Corien.
"I meant his fighting."
"That too. Might I ask if he is, that is, are you and he—"
"Are perhaps sharing bedding," Samondel finished for her.
Corien elbowed her, but Velesti smiled instead of taking offense.
"Martyne is not free, but neither am I his girl, good Frelles. Would you consider joining our guild?"
"A strong and brave lover would provide good protection for far less effort, Frelle," said Corien.
"Ah, but do you have such a lover?"
"No, but two girls as alluring as ourselves will not be without lovers for long, is that not so, Frelle Samondel?"
"Is right."
"But see the time, we three have a tutorial in Applied Theology," said Corien, looking up at the clocktower.
"You go, tell the edutor that I was delayed," replied Velesti.
"This is not a studious attitude."
"But I have my own students to teach."
As they walked away Velesti returned to Martyne.
"Thirty-five enrollments, Frelle, and three of the girls wish to adjourn to a tavern to speak of the Women's Assertion League with you."
"With both of you," said one of Velesti's recruits. "What do you say to a beer?"
"I say 'Greetings.' "
"What about your tutorial in Applied Theology?" asked Martyne.
"You are an edutor in Applied Theology; give me a private tutorial in the tavern," replied Velesti.
"We are going to the Gaudeamus, you can see it from the main gates," said the girl.
"Are you sure you want a man present at such a meeting?"
"Fras Martyne, the Women's Assertion League is about equality and harmony between men and women, not domination by either or war between both. You are welcome, specifically."
"Well, why not?"
The Southeast Coast, Australica
Jhadowmouse watched the kitewing curve away front the wingfield to follow a heading almost directly south. At this location the sea was only a few miles away, but the trip from the paraline wayside had taken more than a week.
"Now we go back," said Frelle Sparrow as they returned to their horses.
"Every time it takes longer," replied Shadowmouse. "At least the vigilantes have left us alone since the great battle." "They will just change their tactics. They always do." The new wingfield was nothing more than a level strip of grass with a cache of compression spirit hidden nearby. With the kitewing
gone it seemed just a grassy clearing. After farewells with Terian and his ground crew, they rode north. The aviads traveled by directions through the bush rather than paths, making themselves very difficult to track. Another tactic was to return by a slightly different route.
It was Frelle Sparrow who noticed the anomaly as they rode, something subtle in the background vista of the bushland. She reined in.
"The birdsong is not what it should be," she said to Shadow-mouse. "Notice that sharp tweet, tweet, tweet of the suneye?"
"The male makes that call," replied Shadowmouse.
"But only when something approaches the nest. He's about a hundred yards away, so that something is not us."
They sat in silence for a time, listening, then Shadowmouse put a finger to his lips and dismounted. They tethered their horses and crept away, treading slowly and silently. The sharp, percussive tweets of the bird continued, then there was a soft snort from quite close by. Both aviads began to crawl. A party of five men had halted in a scrubby gully, and their horses were hobbled and grazing.
"Vigilantes," whispered Shadowmouse.
"And on our original path," Frelle Sparrow replied. "Tracking us."
"Why have they stopped?"
"They must have heard the compression engine of the kitewing. They want to find the wingfield, so they only followed us until they knew they were close."
"Five men, six horses!" Shadowmouse suddenly warned.
There was a sharp whistle somewhere away in the bushland. A sixth man, and he had found their own horses, Shadowmouse realized. The vigilantes froze, then crouched and drew their weapons.
Frelle Sparrow fired at the nearest of the vigilantes, then rolled to the left. Four shots blasted back a
t her cloud of gunsmoke, then Shadowmouse discharged both barrels of his Morelac. Frelle Sparrow sprang from her cover with her saber drawn, but was cut down by a fifth shot. Shadowmouse flung his dagger, then charged with his own saber held high. The foremost vigilante blocked the cut from Shadowmouse as he advanced, but the aviad punched his face as he
dodged past, then brought a cut down across the back of his neck and rolled with the cut of another vigilante.
Vigilante and aviad exchanged parry and riposte amid the fallen for a few seconds, then a gunshot blasted out from the bush beside them. Shadowmouse dropped into a lunge, taking the vigilante in the throat with the point of his saber. As the human fell, Shadow-mouse noted a sixth body slumped at the edge of the gully. He returned to where Frelle Sparrow had fallen.
"Reloaded," she explained, frothy blood trickling from her mouth.
"Can you ride?" asked Shadowmouse, cutting open the blood-soaked cloth above the wound in her chest. "The wingfield has a medician."
Frelle Sparrow just coughed and let her flintlock fall from her fingers. Shadowmouse began to tear bandages from his trail cloak.
"Live well, it's all there is," whispered Frelle Sparrow with her last breath.
It was the evening of the same day that Shadowmouse, Terian, and two other aviads stood beside Frelle Sparrow's grave. Terian read a short Mechanist service, then they piled stones on the grave and returned to their horses.
"The vigilantes have changed their approach," said Terian. "One vigilante commanding four or five musketeer mercenaries. Small squads, but very effective."
"And all in the pay of the Gentheists," added Shadowmouse. "She loved life so much. I should be down there, not her."
"If you want to bring her back from the dead, young Fras, live life as she did."
Eyes of the Calculor Page 31