by R. M Garino
Gwen glanced over her shoulder at the oncoming Blades and shrugged. “No,” she said, turning her back to Cavallo to watch the approaching officers, “I don’t believe I did.”
“Are you crazy?” Nessah said, grabbing Gwen’s elbow and turning her around. “He’s going to kill us for this.”
Gwen glanced down at Nessah’s hand on her arm, and waited. Nessah noticed her gaze and pulled away.
“Cavallo can kiss my ass,” Gwen said to the group without bothering to keep her voice down. “We’ve never got along. He was a self-righteous prick when we were younger, and he’s been even worse since he attained the guard. I am not about to start asking his permission to live my life.”
“Gwen, he’s the resident,” Denuelle said, pointing at the horde drawing nearer. “He stands for House Fel’Mekrin here.”
Gwen offered her a small, tight smile. “I stand for House Fel’Mekrin here, Den. Not him. Arielle wants the world to see who and what she is, that she’s not Logan’s puppet.” She touched Arielle’s arm as she spoke. “And you’re not. I want to be seen for who I am as well. My brother is not the only Heir to House Fel’Mekrin. It’s time everyone learned it.”
Her words were brave, and their truth was clear in her sin’del as she spoke. Nevertheless, the squad shifted with anxiety at the revelation.
“Put it aside,” Arielle said. “We have other things to focus on right now. Do not let this cloud your thoughts. It is done. We will deal with it, together, when we are finished here. We stand to mitigate things in our favor with a victory. So let’s focus on kicking in some Le’Manon teeth, shall we?”
“Right,” Ba’ril said with a forceful clap of his hands. “We can take these scrubs. We hold third tier since the bridge. They’re stuck in eleventh, tied with Kal’Parev. We can batter these guys all over the Gates and not break a sweat.”
Arielle started at the mention of Angus’ House, a quick, involuntary response that made her sin’del swell. She blushed and lowered her head, cursing herself for her own lack of focus. Ba’ril’s energy field spiked, taking on a green hue.
Easy, lightning bug, Gwen sent, as her friend telepathically nudged her. Everyone has only just stopped talking about you and your quivering lights.
Arielle glared at her, daring her to push the subject with a silent challenge.
After this is done, I’ll have to hook the two of you up.
Arielle blushed at the thought, along with the lewd subtext Gwen added in for good measure. Frowning, she punched Gwen in the arm. “I need to focus.”
“So do I,” Gwen said as she faced the approaching Elc’atar.
Cavallo stopped in front of Gwen, his displeasure rolling around his sin’del in dark amber waves. He tilted his head to the side, indicating that he wished a private conversation. They stepped off several paces, and he stopped. He tugged off his glove, finger by finger. His posture declared that he was apathetic regarding her presence, his focus affixed to what he was doing instead of her. The muscles danced as he clenched his teeth. As far as demonstrations of indifference went, he was failing in spectacular fashion. Freed from his glove, he slapped the black leather against his palm.
Gwen watched him, her left foot tapping a steady rhythm on the packed earth.
“If you even think of hitting me with that, you’ll lose the hand that holds it,” Gwen said when Cavallo bestowed his attention to her, still tapping his glove.
The tapping stopped, and his scowl deepened. “Mind your tongue, scrub,” Cavallo said. He pulled the other glove off without slowing for dramatic effect. He took a step closer as he spoke, causing Gwen to stand up straight. “You have stepped way over the line with this little stunt. There hasn’t been a major confrontation between our Houses in over two hundred years. You are here for less than a month, and you enter their barracks to challenge them, breaking the peace? Your brother was not even that arrogant.”
“You are out of line,” Gwen said, advancing on him. “You may have your minions shaking when you approach, but I can remember every time I bloodied your nose. Do not make me remind you of it in front of everyone.”
Cavallo held his aggression in check. His thin lips tightened, seeming to all but disappear as he gave his head a small shake. His displeasure with Arielle was evident in the set of his lips as he glanced her way, his countenance suggesting that he had expected better of her.
“You will report to my quarters at the conclusion of this farce,” he said, his voice pitched low. “I will expect you by Close.”
His order given, he walked away.
“And if I do not?”
“The doors will be barred to you at Close,” Cavallo said, speaking over his shoulder. “Do not be late.”
Gwen did not reply. She watched him walk away, the crowd parting before him.
“He’s not even staying near the boundary,” Arielle said as she stepped up beside her. “He’s going to watch from the back.”
When Gwen did not respond, she stepped in front of her. Gwen’s face was strained.
“We’ll face this together.” She grasped Gwen’s shoulders and drew her attention.
Gwen refocused on Arielle, blinking with surprise at how close she was.
“I am to be disciplined,” Gwen said, her voice as hollow as her expression. “He gave orders to bar the doors against me if I do not return to him by Close.”
“It won’t be that bad,” Arielle said, feeling her indignation rising as she lowered her arm. “He can’t go that far.”
“Yes he can,” Gwen said. “He’s the resident. He has the power to excommunicate even me.”
“Your mother would have his head.”
Gwen’s gaze fell to the ground. “Maybe,” she said. “I have never been Mother’s favorite. She might promote him for it.”
Gwen fell silent, struck by the truth of the words she’d spoken. Her sin’del clenched and swirled in upon itself above her solar plexus.
“This is ridiculous! I’m not going to let you take the blame for this. There is no way—”
Gwen held up a finger, cutting Arielle off. “It’s done,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s nothing for it. Obey first, complain later. We have work to do.”
Gwen met their concerned expressions with a hearty smile. “What’re you all standing around for? Form up!”
Still watching Gwen, Arielle tamped down her own irritation at the situation. She’d heard tales of an Elc’atar’s private discipline, and felt her stomach drop at the thought of her closest friend facing such a thing. Nevertheless, Gwen was right. They did have work to do.
She felt five tentative nudges as the others sent their telepathic queries toward her, which pulled her from her thoughts. Waving away their questions, she stepped toward the line.
She’ll be fine, Arielle sent to them. Just make sure we make these scrubs bleed.
Five heads nodded with purpose in response, and one by one they faced the Le’Manon cloister.
The Twelfth stood in a straight line, several paces apart and facing west in what they called their waiting stance. They were calm and still. In the Areth’kon waiting was an art form, and patience a most cherished virtue.
The crowd that gathered behind them, now Mer’Chien as well as Fel’Mekrin, held a respectful silence. Torches were staked into the ground with quick efficiency, the flames swaying with a lazy oscillation in the night breeze. The flames served to mark the outer edges of the combat zone that all participants had to stay within, and cast a fitful, guttering array of shadows upon the field.
From across the valley, light spilled out as doors were opened. The Blades of House Le’Manon marched in formation, their resident Elc’atar in the vanguard. They stopped at the edge of the circle, and the squad entered the combat zone, filtering through the torches.
House Le’Manon had arrived.
A tall, thin Mala’kar stepped to the fore. His bald head, his bare arms, the tattoos that decorated his arms, and the piercings that adorned his face scr
eamed his name as loud as a herald. Arielle recognized him as soon as he moved: Kolsch of House Mer’Chien, the Master of the Ledge.
“Officer of the Watch!” one of the nearby Elc’atar announced.
The Twelfth and Ninth stood at attention, as did the gathered crowds behind them. He glided between the torches and stopped just inside the combat zone. Kolsch positioned himself between the two groups, his left hand behind his back, his right stroking the dark braided beard as he walked down their lines. His attention roamed the assembled Blades as he passed, lingering on each for a moment as he assessed them. Arielle felt, as much as saw, his focus shift to her. A self-satisfied smile blossomed on his face as he stopped.
“Well, well,” he said as he brushing against her. His voice was pitched low, for her ears only. “If it isn’t the harlot. We’ve missed you on the Ledge. I’ll have to see about getting you reassigned.”
Arielle did not respond. The loathing that Kolsch and his very nature brought forth surged within her, but she fought it down. The turmoil in her sin’del pleased him, and he chuckled.
“That’s right, little duckling,” he said. “Don’t lose focus. Don’t let your mind wander.”
He moved on, leaving her seething, and returned to the front. Lifting his bare arms with his palms facing each side, he raised his voice to be heard.
“A challenge has been issued. A challenge has been answered. House Fel’Mekrin demands satisfaction of House Le’Manon. House Le’Manon seeks vindication from House Fel’Mekrin. The champions for each have been chosen. The Twelfth, currently holding a third-tier ranking stands for House Fel’Mekrin. The Ninth, currently holding an eleventh-tier ranking stands for House Le’Manon.
“The ancient prescripts apply. The border has been set, and none shall be permitted to pass its boundary to escape or intercede.” Kolsch’s energy spread out and flared. A shimmering wall, milky white in the night, rose from the stone of the earth between the torches. It flowed together and merged to a single point far above their heads, forming a dome that glittered momentarily in the torchlight, and then faded away. The occasional streak of blue or yellow light arced across the now translucent surface, as if to remind all that it was still there.
“The life of the Lethen’al is sacred to us,” Kolsch said. “You are charged to avoid the unnecessary end of life. The Blades are sharp, and their weapons have not been dulled. This is a test of skill and of courage; the champions are reminded of that and urged to act accordingly. The boundary will hold until the last champion of a House falls. The House left standing is the victor.”
Kolsch swung his palms together, the resulting clap resounding through the night.
“Begin!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Quick Silver
A change floated through the Third, perceptible perhaps as the collective exhalation of held breath. Smiles spread across faces, although no one had moved, and all still stood at attention.
“Be at ease, graduates,” Brodhi said, allowing a rare smirk to slip past his reserve. As one, they slid their left feet out to the side and clasped their hands behind their backs.
“You work well together,” Brodhi said. “You have learned to adapt as a unit, and continue to function despite the deficit of a weakened member.”
Ti’vol stared down at her feet, embarrassed.
“You are to be commended, and I will pass that comment along with my report. I know of no other squad that could do four pyramid passes while porcupined. Well done.”
“How much did you win, Brodhi?” Angus said, his curiosity pushing him past the bounds of propriety and protocol.
Brodhi met him with a blank stare, and the grin slipped away, back to its usual hiding place. Angus met his stare, his eyebrow quirked in amusement.
Brodhi laughed, loud and uproarious, clapping his hands together. “Two half barrels of ale and a gallon of mead.”
“And are we sharing?” Demona said.
“No, we are not,” Brodhi said, bemused perhaps at his sudden wealth. “You, however, have the night off. Rhodes has moved your morning class to after midday, so you have the morning to sleep in. Dismissed.”
With that final word, the Third allowed itself independent motion. Almost as one, they chose to congratulate each other. They had won! The sheer newness of the sensation suffused their sin’dels with a kaleidoscope of colors arcing in every direction. Tomorrow, they would be presented with another cruel, senseless, and impossible task. But for right now, they were victorious! When all backs were patted and hugs received, each member allowed themselves the opportunity to revel in the most coveted prize of the day: a chance to rest. One by one, they sank to the ground, luxuriating and moaning in the sensation of the strain leaving abused muscles. Enid dug into the back of her pants, pulling out the pine needles that had been chaffing her all day.
Angus lay on his back in the grass, his arms spread to either side of him as if embracing the darkening sky. His eyes were closed, and his energy field blended into that of the grass, dirt, and stone beneath him. The rhythm of the earth pulsed through him, and his own rhythms adjusted to beat in time. With each breath the power of the world rose into him, filling him and reviving him. He sighed, contented with the accomplishment of the moment.
Thomlin interrupted his reverie with a smack on the shoulder. “Oi, ger up, ya oaf!” As usual, Thomlin’s sin’del sparkled with mischief and the knowledge that yet another grand adventure lay just over the horizon.
Tired as he was, Angus sat up, ready and intrigued about the night’s entertainment. Thomlin directed Angus’ attention further out into the gathering night.
And there she was, her silver hair glowing in the lights of the new risen moons and torches that surrounded her. Angus’ fatigue vanished between one held breath and the next. She stood with her squad. The Twelfth were fanned out to either side of her in what was, to all appearances, a perfect waiting stance. Behind them, just outside the firelight stood a massed gathering of Fel’Mekrin and Mer’Chien Blades. Across from the Twelfth, within the confines of the torches, was another group, Le’Manon by their appearance. They too held themselves in the waiting stance, poised to respond. What could only be the entire host of Le’Manon House filled the field behind them, comingled with Kal’Parev. A Mala’kar walked the lines, inspecting them before the contest.
“Looks like Le’Manon’s Ninth,” Hironata said as he watched, propped up on his elbows. “Padric.”
Angus’ glanced to the side, noting that it was indeed Padric facing Arielle
“They don’t stand a chance,” Ti’vol said, her voice far off and distant. “They’ll drop far beneath us tonight. With our win at the pyramids, and their loss to the Twelfth, we’ll no longer be tied for last with them.”
“That’s good, right?” Thomlin said, looking at Ti’vol askance even as he chuckled.
“Not for us,” Ti’vol said. There were times, everyone knew, when she became too spooky for her own good. By her tone and her far-off gaze, tonight was one of those times. She was watching the grass before her, running her fingers over the tops of the blades. “We’ll have no choice but to rise, and adapt to the demands placed upon us. Our ascension will be swift, and noticed by a great many.”
“I can deal with a little more attention,” Enid said, watching the gathering.
“I know, but not all of us will enjoy it.”
All but Angus cast a glance at Ti’vol, for the sadness in her tone was marked and clear. Demona pulled her into a one armed hug. Angus had not taken his eyes from Arielle, but he was aware of Ti’vol watching him.
“Bare arms, bald head,” Ossian said of a sudden, indicating the far-off officer with his chin, breaking the awkwardness of the moment.
“No brains,” Enid said, completing the oft-used saying. “Must be Kolsch.”
Angus allowed a perfunctory glance toward the Master of the Ledge, as if only to give a context to Arielle’s presence. He darted back to her, drinking in all the details he c
ould. It had been weeks since he had so much as caught a glimpse of her, despite his increased vigilance as he moved across the grounds. The Gates was not a large complex by any means, but it was nevertheless difficult to work against conflicting schedules. He felt his pulse quicken as he watched her, a pleasant nervousness spreading across his limbs. He stood to get a better view, the act registering in his mind on the most superficial level.
“Hold on,” Hironata said, jumping up. He placed his hand on Angus’ chest, stopping him from moving. “Let’s not get too presumptuous now. We’ve been porcupined, remember? We’re filthy, and we stink. Don’t you want a bath first?”
“I’m just watching,” Angus said, only a small portion of his awareness allocated to the conversation. The way she stood, the way she held her sin’del tight against her with a passive field spread about marked her as a Magi to him. His chest swelled at the thought of having something, no matter how trivial, in common with her.
Demona stepped beside him. Resting her wrists on his shoulder, she laid her chin on them. Far afield, Kolsch lifted his arms, palms up as if in benediction, and spoke to the contestants. This far away, his words carried as a faint mummer in the night.
“Her name’s Arielle,” Demona said. Angus mouthed the name. He knew that.
“She’s a Rhen’val,” Demona said. She was smiling at the entire tableau, but Angus pushed her reaction from his mind. “Rhen’vals always pledge Fel’Mekrin, or so it’s said. Angus, don’t go getting your hopes up.”
Kolsch clapped his hands together, and Angus held up one finger extended to halt the discussion. One of the Le’Manons—Leah, perhaps?—shifted subtly on the far side. This was the sign everyone had been waiting for, and those within the circle went for their weapons. Arielle’s drew her swords from the shoulder and waist in a simultaneous action, without telegraphing the movement. Padric had only just cleared his scabbard before he went down hard to a quick succession of blows.
Enid whistled, slow and long. “She’s fast,” she said, a whisper of awe in her voice. “Did you guys see that?”