by Paul Chafe
“Ztrak Pride! To me, defensive circle now!” He screamed the command, and blocked again as the Ftz’yeer swung overhand. His warriors responded, and he anticipated another attack, feinted low and then sliced his opponent’s belly open when he fell for it. There was no time to celebrate the victory—two more Tzaatz leapt to attack him. He parried one and dodged the second, and then had to fall back to the forming defensive circle. The sthondat extract aids my anticipation. He felt another attacker closing from the flank, pivot turned and cut him in half almost without effort, and then he was in the circle. Something popped and he ducked in time to avoid a monofilament net that flew over his head to entangle the czrav warrior beside him. He turned and hooked his slicewire into the mesh and brought it up, ripping the net open, but the distraction left him vulnerable, and the Tzaatz he had just blocked whipped his slicewire up and under Pouncer’s sword arm. Pouncer leapt vertically and the slicewire cut empty air instead of amputating his arm from the armpit up. He swung as he came down and decapitated the Tzaatz from above, spinning in midair to gut the second one even as he screamed and leapt. Victory, for a heartbeat, but more netguns were firing and the tight defensive circle of czrav was disintegrating. A mind flash showed tuskvor in lakes of blood, his support prides fighting for their lives as the Tzaatz cut the Citadel off with eights and eight-squareds of rapsari.
We will live or die in the next moments. The czrav beside him went down and he slipped sideways and brought his slicewire up to gut the Ftz’yeer who’d overextended himself to gain the kill. These Ftz’yeer are too good. In the raiding campaign he had grown used to the low standard of battle discipline in the Tzaatz rank and file, but Ftzaal-Tzaatz’s elite were as good as any czrav, and here with the advantage of surprise and numbers they were going to win. His defensive circle was starting to collapse under the pressure. More netguns popped, and he risked a glance backward to see a quarter of his force struggling under the monofilament mesh. They mean to take us alive. That was bad, that meant the Ceremonial Death…
No time to consider it. He stepped forward, feinted, blocked and slashed downward, and a Tzaatz fell at his feet gushing blood. They will not take me alive…He stepped back again. The defensive circle was getting smaller. His death of honor would come soon. Flashes of pain and fear struck him in mind space. His force was being slaughtered. The Tzaatz had laid their trap well. But I can save what I can. The prides outside the Citadel walls could escape, if they could disengage from the rapsari. It would be a shameful retreat, but the shame would be his, and he would not have to endure it long. His warriors would survive, with their honor intact. Sometimes honor demands that we accept shame. He keyed his vocom to give the order.
“Ftz’yeer! Hold!” The voice rose over the din of battle, and Pouncer looked up, surprised. The kzin who gave the order was standing by the high-arched entrance to the main hall, broad shouldered in red-and-gold armor. The circle of Tzaatz drew back, and Pouncer looked around the antechamber. He had a pitiful pawful of warriors left, standing back-to-back and watching warily for any renewal of attack. They were outnumbered four-to-one at least, the outcome of the battle, this part of it anyway, was in little doubt. Why did they stop? He reached out with mind awareness but sensed only the presence of his enemies.
“Zree-Rrit-First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit, show yourself.” The Tzaatz leader’s eyes searched the circle, searching. “An honor truce has been commanded.”
Honor truce? Why? He stepped forward. “I am Zree-Rrit.”
The Tzaatz made the gesture-of-respect-to-an-enemy. “I am Ftz’yeer Leader. Come with me.”
Warily, Pouncer followed him into the Great Hall, his warriors coming after him. Could it be a trap, even with the Pride-Patriarchs watching? It seemed unlikely; the Tzaatz had victory within their grasp without the need for trickery. Inside the vaulted chamber he understood the reason for the sudden truce. C’mell was there, her four-sword deployed to guard a small group of kzinti in noble’s robes.
“Look what I have caught for you, Zree-Rrit.” C’mell’s tail stood straight with pride and pleasure as she met his eye. She made the gesture of mate-fealty and pointed. In the center of the ring of slicewires was Kchula-Tzaatz. There were others at the front of the hall, Zraa-Churrt and the Pride-Patriarchs he had asked to come bear witness to the traditions, his traitorous brother Scrral-Rrit—and Rrit-Conserver! No, he is Kzin-Conserver now. He resisted the urge to greet his old mentor. There will be time for that later. He looked to C’mell and returned the gesture. She must have infiltrated her small force into the Great Hall and taken the Tzaatz leader by surprise. She has forced Kchula to the truce and saved us all. There were sporadic sounds of battle from outside the hall, but they quickly faded. Skalazaal was over. Now it was time for skatosh.
The Pride-Patriarchs were watching, and Kzin-Conserver himself. I must be true to the finest point of honor. He stepped forward, drawing his variable sword, waving C’mell’s warriors out of the way so he could stand before his enemy face to face. “Kchula-Tzaatz. For the death of my father, for the usurpation of my birthright, for the dishonor you have brought this house and the Patriarchy, I challenge you to single combat.” Fear in Kchula’s mind. His mind-awareness was increasing again; it seemed to come and recede in gradually diminishing waves. Pouncer dropped into attack crouch. He is old and fat. I will finish this here. He shot a glance at Scrral-Rrit. And I will deal with my traitorous brother later.
There was a commotion at the entrance to the hall, a wedge of Ftz’yeer entered, and a black-furred kzin. Ftzaal-Tzaatz dismissed his bodyguard and drew his variable sword. “I stand for my brother.” The black killer stepped forward, extending the slicewire of his variable sword. “Leap if you dare, Rrit.”
Pouncer had turned to face the newcomer, and he screamed and leapt, his own slicewire blurring around to catch Ftzaal before he could take a defensive stance, but Ftzaal turned sideways and brought his blade up and blocked the blow effortlessly. Pouncer fell back before Ftzaal could counterstrike, but Ftzaal followed, delivering a swift left-right combination that Pouncer wasn’t ready for, nearly breaking his guard. Pouncer flexed his knees to bring his center of gravity lower and present a smaller target, hiding behind his own blade as though it were a sapling. There was a split second while Ftzaal flowed into a lower stance to match him, and in that instant Pouncer kicked out with his forward leg, hoping to connect with his opponent’s knee and break it. Ftzaal was ready though, and pivoted slightly, catching Pouncer’s heel with his own and hooking it forward. Pouncer sprawled to the ground. I’ve been trapped. Even as he had that awareness he was rolling to get out of the way of the killing blow he knew was coming. Ftzaal’s blade came down a handsbreath from his head. Pouncer knocked it clear and rolled again, flipping back to his feet, and the pair faced each other, eyes locked. I have the mind gift, what is he thinking? But Ftzaal’s awareness was muted to his mind sense even this close, and Pouncer couldn’t see enough to give warning of the Black Priest’s next move. The black fur gene is at work.
Ftzaal screamed and leapt, swinging overhand and Pouncer moved to block the blow, but it was a feint and the real threat was Ftzaal’s hind claws, coming around to rake at his face now that Pouncer’s slicewire was out of line. Instinctively he jerked back, although his armor would have protected him from any serious damage. As he did so Ftzaal brought his blade around and down, aiming for Pouncer’s neck articulation. Double feint! In desperation Pouncer twisted sideways. The motion saved his life as the monomolecular filament cut into the grooves that protected his neck but didn’t penetrate all the way. He didn’t get a chance to reflect on his luck. Ftzaal had used the momentum of his swing to carry him into a spin, swinging again as he came around. Pouncer blocked awkwardly and fell back, and again they faced each other.
Ftzaal was breathing deeply and evenly through bared fangs. “I want you alive. Put down your sword and I pledge my honor to your life.”
“I came here to win or die. Pledge your honor to your own l
ife.” Pouncer turned the last word into a scream and leapt, feinting high, slashing low. Ftzaal blocked and spun sideways as Pouncer touched down and turned, his hind claws tearing strips from the lavish carpeting as he stopped his forward momentum with sheer muscle, crouching low to keep himself from tumbling. He slashed again, and his opponent jumped back to avoid the unexpected strike.
“You are skilled, Rrit. I may actually wear your ears.”
“You’ll have to collect them first, Ftzaal.” Pouncer spat the words with a confidence he didn’t feel. He is better than me and he knows it. With more sthondat drug he could know even Ftzaal’s mind well enough to anticipate his moves, but he didn’t have the option of taking it now. And dare I face the addiction? Could I bring myself to kill him with our minds connected? Sthondat was seductive, but he had seen what it had done to his brother. I don’t want to share Patriarch’s Telepath’s fate.
And he didn’t have the option to take more now anyway. When in doubt, attack. Guardmaster’s words came back to him. He screamed and leapt again, swinging his variable sword up and around to catch Ftzaal on his weak side. His opponent pivoted to block the blow, and Pouncer went past, lashing out with his hind claws at the Tzaatz’s hip to knock him sideways. The ploy worked, but his claws skidded off Ftzaal’s armor. His adversary staggered but didn’t fall, and still managed to get in a counterblow as Pouncer came past. The slicewire bounced off the back of Pouncer’s helmet. There was little chance it would have hit a weak spot with enough force to penetrate from that angle, but the blow served as a warning. Never leave an opening. The first mistake would be the last when facing the Protector of Jotok in single combat.
He rolled again as he landed, then flattened himself to the ground as Ftzaal’s slicewire blurred over his head. He had a split second’s respite to scramble clear as Ftzaal brought the swing around to cut him in half from above. He dodged back and forth, flat on his back as a flurry of blows rained down around him, then finally managed to get his slicewire into position to block. He caught the edge of Ftzaal’s weapon and managed to flip it out of line, but from the floor he lacked the angle necessary to exploit the advantage, and Ftzaal just stepped back out of range, flipping his ears in amusement. Pouncer rolled to his feet, breathing hard. Ftzaal was relaxed and unruffled. He is toying with me. It was a sobering realization. Pouncer was putting every sinew into the fight. Ftzaal-Tzaatz was not even trying hard. The black-furred killer would end the fight when and how he chose and there was nothing Pouncer could do about it. I too have more power here than I am using; my troops control the Citadel. He pushed the thought away as honorless. He had chosen skatosh to finish Kchula-Tzaatz because he needed to set an example for his followers, needed to demonstrate that he was the kind of Patriarch who fought his own fights. His warriors would come if he called them despite the traditions that said they should not, their loyalty was that strong. It would save his life if he did, but he would lose their respect. He could never rule effectively without their support, and the Patriarchy needed a strong Patriarch now more than ever. No, if my destiny is to die here I will die here, but I will not show cowardice to my followers.
Ftzaal circled him slowly, forcing him to turn to keep his guard toward his enemy. When in doubt, attack, but he was tired now, and his opponent was still fresh, and Guardmaster had also cautioned that attack must come from a position of strength. I am allowing him to set the conditions of battle here, fighting his fight. I need to change that, force him to fight my fight. The problem was, Pouncer’s fight was Ftzaal’s fight, the single combat form, and Ftzaal was better at it. Nor was he liable to be sucked into the kill rage with a few insults.
Ftzaal lunged forward, slicewire cutting the air, and Pouncer blocked and stepped back. Ftzaal snapped his weapon vertical, avoiding the block and then bringing it down again to slice through Pouncer’s arm articulation. Pouncer turned and rolled backward, the only option he had to save himself, and again Ftzaal rippled his ears. “Let me know when you’re ready to die, Rrit.”
Pouncer didn’t waste breath on a reply. Make a decision fast, time is running out. He flicked his eyes around his father’s hall, seeking anything he could turn to his advantage, but there was nothing. So if you can’t fight your own fight, at least choose a fight that isn’t his either. His eye came over the crimson Patriarchal banners hanging down the carved stone walls and inspiration struck. He screamed and leapt, not at Ftzaal but past him, retracting his slicewire as he did. Ftzaal swung as he went by, but the distance was too large for him to connect, and then Pouncer was at the drapery, claws extended to catch the fabric. It sagged as it took his weight and for a moment he thought it would collapse, but it was heavy woven hsahk, firmly bolted to the vaulted roof, and it held. He scrambled up it, his claws tearing slashes into the precious fabric as he went.
“So the Rrit runs like a vatach.” Ftzaal was enjoying himself. “And you think this is how a Patriarch fights?”
Again Pouncer didn’t bother to answer. At the top of the drapery he drew his variable sword again and extended it to full length. Leaning backward he leapt to grab one of the thick stonewood ceiling beams. On his way past he swung the sword, arm fully extended, to cut the support chain of one of the room’s huge, ancient chandeliers. The chain parted and the chandelier fell as he grabbed at the beam with his other hand, claws digging in. He pivoted his hind claws around to get purchase, and then levered himself onto the beam. The chandelier crashed to the floor, spraying gemstones from their fittings, but Ftzaal-Tzaatz had managed to dodge out of the way before it hit. His reflexes are incredible. Already the Tzaatz had understood that Pouncer was not fleeing but changing the ground rules, and he was leaping to climb another drapery, choosing one far enough away that he too would be up in the ceiling beams before Pouncer could scramble over to cut it loose beneath him. Ftzaal’s reflexes would be an asset in a battle fought in such an awkward and precarious environment, but most of the single combat form would be inapplicable. The assembly below watched, awestruck. Pouncer swung his slicewire through the beam beneath him. The timber popped loudly as it was severed and ancient strains suddenly relieved. He felt it give slightly beneath him, but the two cut faces pressed against each other kept it from collapsing completely. Now I have a trap, if I can lure him into it. A second cut would drop a section of timber to fall to the floor, and if Pouncer could get Ftzaal to stand between himself and the first cut, when he made the second cut the Tzaatz would fall with it.
But he couldn’t make it that obvious. His mind awareness surged slightly, perhaps in reaction to the intense emotion of the encounter, and through it he knew Ftzaal, felt his intention to kill him and his complete confidence that he would succeed in it. It was a frightening mind to face. Fear is death. He leapt from beam to beam toward his opponent, who had finished his climb.
“You will not escape me, Rrit.” Ftzaal leapt as well, so they were on the same beam, now facing each other. There would be little opportunity for maneuver here. Confined as they were to the linear space of the beam, they would fight a battle of finesse with the variable sword, with the added tactic of trying to unbalance the other fighter into a fatal plunge to the stone floor below.
Pouncer slashed the beam beneath him, backed up, slashed again so a thick chunk of stonewood crashed to the ground. The remaining segments of the beam sagged, now supported only at one end. Too many beams cut would bring the whole roof down. And that too may be a strategy, if I have to employ it. It would be a last resort.
“You think that gap will stop me?” Ftzaal spat, angry now as he had not been before. He had expected an easier kill. Pouncer backed up further. Let him think I am afraid. He will grow careless.
Ftzaal screamed and leapt the gap, landing with perfect footing and coming up into attack stance, feinting down and swinging high. Pouncer let his guard drop with the feint, but not so much that he left himself vulnerable to the swing. I knew he was going to do that. Pouncer flowed into v’dak stance, and smoothly blocked two more bl
ows. I am gaining something from mind awareness. It was not enough to win, but perhaps enough to survive.
Ftzaal fell back, and Pouncer took the opportunity to cut the support chain for one of the decorative tapestries hanging from the ceiling. It fell with deep rustle of heavy fabric and nearly enveloped Ftzaal where he stood. As it was, he had to leap backward, nearly losing his balance in the process. The black kzin’s fangs showed white in a wide gaped smile. He is angry, and rage is death. Pouncer began to think he might win. He held his ground a long moment, waiting for the wild killing leap, but it didn’t come. The Tzaatz was too smart a warrior to let hot anger interfere with cold intent. He advanced and Pouncer fell back, a pace at a time, all the way to the wall. There was a wide ledge there, where the beams joined the walls and roof. When he got close to it Pouncer turned and leapt. He had hoped the sudden move would give him room to maneuver, but Ftzaal had anticipated it and leapt with him. Pouncer pivoted as he landed, nearly overbalancing, and found Ftzaal’s slicewire already coming for his head. He got a partial block in, enough to deflect the blow, and the weapon slashed chunks of ancient stone from the wall to clatter down into the hall below. Pouncer retreated again as Ftzaal feinted low, feinted high and then swung in the middle, but again mind awareness gave him enough warning to keep his guard where it needed to be when the killing slash came. He fell back until he came to the next crossbeam, the one he had cut. Now we spring the trap. He swung hard, overhand, connected and swung again, beating Ftzaal’s guard down through sheer force. It was a short term strategy that would lead to exhaustion without any other result if he kept it up, but it bought him the second’s respite he needed to leap backward onto the beam. The position he held was precarious and difficult to guard, but he stayed there long enough for Ftzaal to recover and swing at his ankles. Let him think I have made a mistake, and he will expect me to correct it. He blocked the blow, then leapt down the beam, leaving the way clear for Ftzaal to mount it and follow him. He turned again, adopted v’scree stance in time to see his opponent take the same position. Ftzaal advanced, slowly and deliberately. When he got within striking distance Pouncer began to withdraw. He flicked his eyes to the beam with each backward step, trying to pick up the almost invisible cut he’d already made.