The Combat Codes

by Alexander Darwin

  Cego heard two nearby Grievar talking about the upcoming matchup.

  “Murray’s last fight, he already looked worn out then. Like he gave up. Can’t imagine how he’ll look ten years later!”

  A second Grievar agreed. “Yeah. My uncle was Upworld, at the Citadel, when he lost. He was such a Mighty Murray fan, still talks about it like he was the one who lost the darkin’ thing. Says the same thing, though… Murray walked into the Albright Stadium like he’d lost already, shoulders sagging, eyes down on the canvas.”

  The other Grievar took a swig of something strong, strong enough that Cego could smell it from his seat. “Must be crazy, though, fighting for some boy after all these years. Don’t think old man Murray knows what he’s gotten himself into here. I mean, din’t he even watch the Dragoon’s last fight? He darkin’ put a Knight out in the first two minutes. I’m not talking about some washed-up Knight, either—Hardy was freshly graduated from the Lyceum.”

  “Yeah, I remember that fi—” Suddenly, the lights went out.

  Not just the huge array over Lampai Stadium; all the lights in the Underground went dark. The crowd quieted, a hush rolling over even the most boisterous fans.

  For a moment in the eerie black, Cego forgot that he was in Lampai Stadium with so many other folk. He forgot he was in the Underground even, a manmade city with a constant pulse. Cego was sitting in a massive cavern in the dark, in the quiet. He could hear the Deep wind swishing and chattering overhead, swarms of bats fluttering through the darkness.

  Wisps of lights emerged on either end of the stadium—spectrals, dozens of them on each side, floating toward the Circle. Even in the darkness, Cego knew that Murray was walking within one of those swarms.

  The lights blasted back on, roaring to life all at once across the Underground, beaming down again on the Circle. Murray was down there, standing on one side of the silvery ring with spectrals buzzing around him. Across from him stood the Dragoon.

  Both of the Grievar’s images flashed up on the huge lightboard in the center of the stadium along with their full biometric readings.

  The Dragoon was massive: across from Murray, he looked to be at least two heads taller, with long, corded arms and legs. The Dragoon’s signature flux tattoo was in full movement under the light, a black dragon curled around one of his shoulders, breathing a fireball across his back.

  The huge Grievar flipped his topknot over his shoulder and smirked, raising his arm to the crowd’s thunderous approval.

  Murray looked undaunted. Though by far the smaller and older of the two Grievar, he stood firmly in place, his chest deeply rising and falling as he steadied his breath. With Murray’s shirt off, Cego could see the intricately patterned flux tattoos that started on top of his shoulders and fell down his back and arms, each tattoo like a separate entity moving of its own accord, yet flowing together as if with some unified purpose.

  Looking up at the lightboard image of Murray, Cego tried to discern the tattoos on Murray’s bare skin. Usually, the burly Grievar wore a sleeved cloak that concealed all but the last few tattoos on his wrists and hands. Now Cego could see all the designs clearly, rendered fully under the light. A black wolf howling at the moon. A rooster running with rapid legs. A turtle pulling its head into its shell. A silver bear swiping its paws.

  Cego turned to Leyna. “What do Murray’s tattoos mean?”

  She kept her eyes on the Circle as the two Grievar took their final preparations below. The Dragoon showboated to the crowd by dropping into a split, while Murray stood quietly staring at his opponent.

  “Murray’s fluxes are badges gained in the Citadel. He earned some for achievements when we were studying together at the Lyceum, and the others he won fighting for Mercuri as a Knight. It’s not the same nowadays, though. The newer Grievar, like dragon boy down there, they just flux on whatever fits their fancy. Always trying to win the crowd over so they can command a higher bit-purse. Not like it used to be.” Leyna shook her head slowly.

  Leyna smiled wryly at Cego as she pulled the shoulder of her tunic down, revealing the same howling black wolf on her skin. “That one was for passing sixth-year finals at the Lyceum—becoming a Knight. Hurt like the dark.”

  Cego was astounded to see that Leyna, so caring and warm, had been a Knight as well. He couldn’t quite picture her in any vicious battles or traveling to foreign lands to fight for Mercuri’s borders.

  She caught Cego’s wide eyes and laughed. “Hard to imagine this gal a Knight once upon a time, eh? Well, let me tell you, young Grievar… I stood with the best of them.” Leyna looked like she was ready to launch into a story, but a loud tone echoed across the stadium, signaling the light was at its height for the day.

  The fight began.

  *

  Standing under the pillar of spectral light, Murray was confused.

  The light felt incredible, beyond what he’d dreamed of every night for the past ten years as he restlessly turned in bed and relived his days as a Grievar Knight. Murray could acutely sense every inch of his body, the connections between sinew, muscle, ligament, and bone, running from the tips of his toes to top of his skull. The light beam blasted away any doubts he had about fighting the Dragoon, the huge Grievar standing across from him, ready to take his head off with a kick.

  And yet, the light brought back memories. His last year fighting for the Citadel. So often under the influence of the light that the Circle felt more comfortable than his own bed. Pushing those he loved away in the name of Mercuri and his lightpath. Coach leaving, the team breaking up.

  Murray had lived through it. He knew that the light took in more than his biometric feedback, displaying it high on the boards for all to see. Murray knew that the light had taken his life, almost everything he had once held dear. And yet he knew he couldn’t live without it.

  Murray was a creature of the light—this was his fate. He embraced the light at Lampai, fully and wholeheartedly, letting it seep into his skin, his blood, his breath, and his heartbeat. He opened his eyes and looked forward at the Dragoon. He was moving toward the huge Grievar then, every muscle of his body in balance as he cut across the Circle.

  Anderson had laid out a gem of a game plan for Murray, one that capitalized on every potential factor of the fight. Murray was to stay away from the Dragoon’s long reach, in particular avoiding the jabs and leg kicks that the man could throw to keep his opponents at range. To do this, Anderson wanted Murray to circle the Dragoon, staying just outside of his reach.

  Eventually, the Dragoon would be baited to move in with one of his famed flying knees—a leaping attack that he launched to rapidly close the distance and potentially catch his opponent off guard. Murray had watched SystemView replays of the Dragoon’s last several fights, three of which had ended with a devastating knockout due to a flying knee. It was at this critical point in the fight that Murray needed to anticipate the flying knee and go in for the takedown. Get the Dragoon on the ground and get to work. That was the plan.

  Murray fully trusted Anderson’s logic. The game plan made perfect sense. It played to Murray’s strengths and the Dragoon’s weaknesses. Murray was at huge disadvantage in the standing game, so he needed to get the Dragoon to the ground. Simple.

  And yet, as the light streamed down on Murray and he moved toward the Dragoon, the plan disappeared, like a spectral blinking out of existence. Murray didn’t want to play to his opponent’s weaknesses. He wanted to fight him like a Grievar. Murray was a Knight; this was what he did. This was his path.

  The familiar mantra echoed in Murray’s head. We fight so that the rest shall not have to.

  Murray charged in at the Dragoon, the tall man looking down at him in surprise, not expecting such immediate aggression from the former champ. Just as expected, the Dragoon fired off two quick jabs at Murray, one catching him under the eye and the second brushing across his shoulder. Murray didn’t even feel them. He was already inside the Dragoon’s range, throwing a powerful overhand right, catching
the Dragoon right on the chin.

  The Dragoon stumbled back, stunned as Murray stayed on him, pushing him to the ground and leaping at him with a frenzy of punches. The Dragoon was barely able to close his guard, wrapping his long legs around Murray’s waist, but the old champ kept attacking.

  We fight so that the rest shall not have to.

  Murray could hear the chorus of osss coming from the Grievar’s section, an acknowledgment of his frenetic pace.

  The Dragoon attempted to wrap up Murray’s hands and pull him tight into his guard, but Murray broke free each time, posturing up and battering his opponent with quick elbows and punches from the top. He slammed two body shots into the Dragoon’s rib cage and then followed with another quick strike to the head. It felt good to get back to work.

  The Dragoon stiff-armed Murray with one of his long limbs, pushing him at the throat to jack his head backward. When Murray kept the pressure on, the Dragoon changed his tactic, jabbing two fingers directly into Murray’s eye socket. Pain shot down Murray’s spine like an electric current, making him rear his head back and scream aloud. The crowd hushed.

  Though any technique was legal in the Circle, eye attacks were frowned upon and seen as a dishonorable way for a Grievar to win a fight. By the precepts of the Combat Codes, at least. The Dragoon wasn’t playing by those rules.

  With the space he created, the Dragoon pushed his hips out from under Murray and leapt back to his feet, immediately starting to circle and throw jabs again.

  Though he’d proven he could surprise and even hurt the Dragoon, Murray knew he was at a huge disadvantage now. He was completely blind in one eye.

  Murray checked a quick leg kick, though it stung badly as it slammed into his shin. And another, this time the kick unchecked and slamming into Murray’s thigh. He’d seen this before—the Dragoon was softening him up, trying to take his legs out from under him so that he wouldn’t have the steam to shoot in for a takedown. And it was working; Murray could already feel some of the strength in his legs fading as each kick connected.

  The Dragoon continued to pepper Murray with stinging jabs and leg kicks, interchanging them to keep Murray guessing. His blind spot prevented him from seeing many of the strikes coming his way. Murray attempted to grab hold of a kick, but the Dragoon expertly pulled his leg back and followed up with a stinging cross that crumpled Murray’s nose.

  He could feel the tide turning, but Murray was undaunted. We fight so that the rest shall not have to.

  Murray needed to get out of kicking range; his legs wouldn’t be able to take much more of the punishment. He waded in again, this time bobbing and weaving his head as the Dragoon launched jab after jab. The punches breezed by his face, some narrowly skimming his cheek. Now within range, Murray followed up with his own stiff jabs, snapping the Dragoon’s head back and then following up with a series of thudding body shots.

  Murray clinched with the Dragoon as he was on his heels, wrapping an underhook behind the Grievar’s back and attempting a quick hip toss to throw him off balance. The Dragoon agilely countered the toss, swiveling to center up with Murray, then reaching with both hands to grasp behind the crown of Murray’s head in a classic plum clinch.

  Murray knew he was in grave danger here. The lanky Grievar jerked Murray’s head forward with both hands to offbalance him and threw a series of knees at his face, using his height to generate incredible leverage. Murray barely got his hands in front of his face to cover up, the knees smashing into his forearms, one busting through into his rib cage. Murray felt something snap in his left arm, a sharp pain that was echoed by another deep cry from the Grievar’s section as they watched the lightboard flash red above.

  Murray didn’t have time to look up at the board and see how bad it was. He dropped his good arm, purposely letting a thudding knee slam through into his chest and immediately wrapping up the Dragoon’s leg, driving forward with all his strength for the takedown. The Dragoon hopped around the Circle as Murray pushed forward, using his feline balance to stay upright on one foot as he simultaneously threw looping uppercuts into Murray’s head.

  Murray dropped levels and scooped up the Dragoon’s other foot, finally slamming him onto his back. This time, he was ready for the Dragoon’s guard. He kept hold of one of the Grievar’s feet and dragged it across his body, swiveling his hips and passing to the Dragoon’s side.

  The crowd wildly applauded at the back-and-forth fight, clearly astonished that the old Grievar still had it in him to take it this far.

  Murray, bleeding and battered, ground his shoulder into the Dragoon’s face as he threw his own thudding knees into the Grievar’s ribs. His left arm was useless now, so he used it to stabilize his position at the Dragoon’s side.

  Murray needed to be patient and wait for the opening. He couldn’t rush the opportunity and risk losing position. If the Dragoon stood up again, Murray knew he wouldn’t be able to hold him off. He continued to throw sharp knees into his opponent’s body.

  There it was. The Dragoon turned toward him and extended his hand to protect his exposed body from the knees. Taking advantage of the position, Murray smoothly slid his knee across the Dragoon’s belly, and then across to the other side.

  He had full mount. This was his position. This was where Mighty Murray Pearson had been born in the Circle, smashing his opponents from above.

  The Dragoon recognized the immediate danger and bucked his hips wildly, trying to throw Murray off balance so that he could reverse the position. Murray was ready for it, though; he thrust his hips to the floor and hooked his legs behind the Dragoon’s knees, clinging to the grounded Grievar like a constrictor.

  Murray went back to work, methodically throwing punches and elbows down at the Dragoon, who desperately tried to cover up. Murray couldn’t feel his left arm, but that didn’t stop him from using it to drop elbows in combination with his pounding right hands.

  The Dragoon was bleeding badly now, his breathing labored. Murray knew he’d have to take this one to the limit—the Dragoon’s biometric threshold was likely set to the point of no return.

  The Dragoon reached up in desperation, grasping at Murray’s face, his fingers seeking the eye socket again. Murray grabbed two of the Dragoon’s fingers and snapped them back viciously. He pinned the Dragoon’s arms to the floor.

  Murray growled, “That’s not how Grievar fight,” before he reared up and slammed his forehead down into the Dragoon’s face. The Dragoon smiled at him through his broken teeth, so Murray slammed his head down again, repeatedly, until his opponent wasn’t smiling anymore, until the face beneath him looked like the pulp of a ripened fruit.

  The light beam pulsed one final time like a heartbeat and then went dim before dispersing and refracting throughout the stadium. The crowd was quiet, seemingly in shock, as they watched the old champion breathing heavily over the Dragoon’s lifeless body.

  Murray slowly stood, blood streaming from his mangled eye socket and his left arm hanging lifelessly at his side.

  He clenched his hand into a fist, bringing it to his chest and then raising it to the air. He began to walk the perimeter of the Circle with his hand raised. The Grievar Knight salute.

  The crowd cheered as the Grievar in attendance rhythmically chanted. Murray walked the Circle.

  We fight so that the rest shall not have to.

  7

  To the Surface

  Osoto gari is surely a superior sweep when applied against an opponent whose near-side foot is planted firmly on the ground. However, a skilled opponent may sense the outer reap and retreat their leg to thwart osoto gari. This defense provides another opportunity for a perceptive Grievar. Sasae tsurikomi ashi may now be applied to block the opposite foot while pivoting an opponent toward the ground. Against an opponent that reacts to osoto gari by pushing forward, the harai goshi throw may prove an even better option.

  Passage Two, Thirty-Third Technique of the Combat Codes

  Cego waited for Murray at the base of the Lift
as the dawnshift swelled.

  He watched as hundreds of Deep folk piled onto circular platforms that rotated around the base of the massive structure. As each platform was pulled into the center of the Lift, it immediately spiraled upward, glowing faintly at the edges. Within the dark confines of the Lift tube, the many platforms spiraling toward the top and back down blurred together like a glowing corkscrew. Cego looked for wires or pulleys that might carry the platforms up, but he didn’t see any.

  “Usually, I’d insist we take the darkin’ pod.”

  Murray was standing beside Cego. He didn’t look as bad as he did after the fight, but he was rough around the edges. A white gem was set in the place of his left eye.

  Murray looked down at Cego, who couldn’t help but stare at the banged-up Grievar. “Anderson convinced me to stick somethin’ in there,” he said guiltily. “I didn’t want the clerics putting no vat-grown ball in my head, that’s for sure. I settled for one of these gems.” Murray cleared his throat.

  Cego could tell Murray was uncomfortable talking about his missing eye, so he changed the subject. “You said something about the pod?”

  Murray seemed relieved. “It took them five decades to put this thing up,” Murray shook his head, looking up at the Lift. “Big waste of time, if you ask me. I’d rather take the Deep pod any day. But I figured you should see this. The views are… better,” Murray said.

  They stood quietly for a moment, staring up at the platforms as they spiraled toward the cavern ceiling.

  “Ready?” Murray asked.

  Cego realized then that his friends from Circle Crew Nine weren’t there with him. He’d hoped that Murray would emerge with Dozer and Knees in tow, miraculously freed from Thaloo’s captivity. Things were never that easy, though.

  Cego would come back for them. He’d come back for Weep.

  “Yes,” Cego said. He wasn’t sure if he was telling Murray he was ready to head to the Surface, or affirming the promise to return to the Deep for his friends.

  The two began to climb the stairs at the base of the Lift toward the boarding area. Murray had a slight limp in his left leg, probably from all the thudding leg kicks the Dragoon had hit him with. Cego still didn’t understand why Murray had done this for him. He could have easily died in the Circle.