‘Will the blades be poisoned?’
‘His will. Yours won’t. But the poison’s slow-acting – nothing to worry about now. It’s just something the tassels use to make sure opponents don’t default on a bet. Get cut and, win or lose, as long as you keep to their terms you’ll get the antidote.’
A blanket was laid on the ground and unrolled. Upon it lay about a dozen blades. No two were alike. I took my time, weighing each one carefully and testing its grip. They were all too heavy.
‘You’d be better off with Jon’s blades,’ Kwin said, but when she asked for them, the answer was no.
So I made the best of it, choosing the two lightest. The lighter of the two I gripped in my right hand. It would have to do.
My anger at Kwin was suddenly replaced by fear. I was scared. This was nothing like stick-fighting: I’d be hobbled by the rope. We could fall, go down in a tangle, and then we’d be cut.
Once I was armed, the crowd of tassels drew back to mark the edges of the arena, an oval set across the slope. Then our opponent came down to face us. He was very tall and stripped to the waist, his body glistening with grease. It was indeed the same tassel who’d been in command earlier.
The fight began disastrously. He came in fast, and despite Kwin’s promise to match me step for step, our legs became entangled in the rope and we went down hard. We scrambled for our lives, rolling over and over across the cinders while the tassel’s blades arced downwards savagely. Somehow we survived and got back to our feet.
The tassel’s speed unnerved me. All we could do was retreat desperately, while he scuttled across the cinders like an insect. But it was his greased and glistening upper body that posed the greater threat. It bent from the waist as if his bones were soft and pliable. Either that or he was double-jointed, allowing his long arms to strike from unusual angles.
We were gradually being driven back down the hill. I was already puffing hard, the air rasping in my throat, sweat pouring down my face, my palms damp, which made it hard to grip my blades properly.
I made a couple of lunges towards the tassel, but they were slow and cumbersome, and he never hesitated in his remorseless advance. Only his body moved back fractionally, just to take him out of range of my blade tips.
I could hear the tassels jeering and hooting behind us. I knew what would happen if we were forced back amongst them; the same things that happened in Mypocine. Someone would grip your sleeve in the dark. Feet would try to trip you. Or you might even be seized and hurled forward towards the waiting stick of your opponent.
And here it was blades . . .
By now I was terrified. My heart was hammering in my chest. Something inside me was already defeated. I was scared for Kwin and Jon, knowing that their lives would be forfeit. But I was afraid for myself as well. I remembered what Kwin had said:
Make it impossible for him to continue.
That was what the tassel was trying to do to me. Blades could kill. Blades could also disable. Even if I survived, my life might never be the same again.
It was then that it happened.
For some reason I halted, stopping our retreat. I took a deep breath and waited there, my blades extended before me, and the tassel halted too. His eyes were staring hard into mine, but he wasn’t moving.
A silence seemed to have fallen over everything. And then I heard Kwin’s feet crunching on the cinders behind me.
Two firm crunches with her left foot, followed by a short, quick, lighter tap with her right. She was indicating the basic manoeuvre, using the sound-code we had developed together: two steps to the left, two steps to the right, followed by a diagonal right reversal.
She was so close, I could feel the heat of her breath on the back of my neck. Like a lac, I obeyed, and we danced slowly across the cinders, left then right, executing the patterns of the Trig, signalled by the Ulum we had practised together; it seemed so long ago now.
The tassel didn’t like it. I could see the doubt in his eyes. When we began the retreat, he did not follow.
It didn’t matter. We attacked anyway, moving forward along the same diagonal, attacking with speed and coordination. And for the first time we moved like one creature, our steps in unison.
The tassel gave ground, and we went after him. And we were very, very fast. We flowed rather than moved, gliding forwards, our feet hardly seeming to touch the cinders.
Now my hands obeyed my brain, striking effortlessly, with quick arcs that had the tassel bending back from the waist. My third strike almost cut him, and only the speed of his legs saved him. They were still scuttling over the cinders, but now they carried him backwards as we drove him up the slope.
Kwin didn’t need to use Ulum again, which was fortunate. The time we had spent rehearsing the sound patterns together had been relatively short and our repertoire was limited. Yet it had served its purpose, shocking me out of my fear, giving me time to think and catch my breath.
Now, my confidence growing, I moved on to the next stage, where I was fighting by instinct and no thought was required. Each movement I made was spontaneous. I was a stick-fighter again, trusting to my body, the speed and skill devolved to my arms and legs while my mind was detached from what was happening, a cool observer calculating strategy, noting the weaknesses of my opponent.
And I wasn’t alone. Kwin matched me step for step. Even when we moved she was so close I could still feel her hot breath on my neck. It was almost as if I could hear her heart beating, thudding to the same fast rhythm as my own, as if we shared one system of circulation, her arteries and veins joined to mine.
It was exhilarating, and I actually began to enjoy it. But the end was approaching rapidly.
The first chance I had was a slim one, but Kwin probably didn’t even spot it. She didn’t notice because she didn’t know what I was capable of. When we’d fought, she’d tested me hard, but I knew that I could raise my performance to another level, which I’d reached perhaps only once or twice in combat. And now, under the pressure of fighting the tassel, facing all the dark consequences of defeat, I’d reached that place again.
The second opportunity was obvious, and when I let it go, Kwin reacted immediately.
‘Finish him! Finish him now!’ she hissed into my ear.
But I couldn’t do it. This was nothing like fighting with sticks. To finish it, I had to cut him with my blades. I had to cut him so badly that he couldn’t continue. Somehow the tassel must have sensed what was going on inside my head. Or maybe he realized that I’d missed my chance. Whatever it was, he was suddenly fighting with renewed energy and ferocity; once more we began to give ground, forced backwards down the slope.
In the end I did finish it. I won because the result of losing was too terrible to face.
The tassel had committed himself, taken that extra step, his body bending forward from the waist, his blade scything towards my throat.
He was fast, but I was faster, and I stepped inside his guard, thrusting with my right blade, feeling the rope at my ankle grow taut as Kwin hesitated fractionally. She reacted just in time to avoid bringing us down onto the cinders; in time to allow me to follow through.
But I didn’t cut the tassel. I turned the heavy handle of the blade towards him and drove it hard into his mouth, breaking his teeth.
I used the blade in my left hand in a similar fashion, like a club, striking his right temple. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.
I thought I’d won, but I was wrong. The tassels waited expectantly. The oval became a circle as they began to close in.
‘You still haven’t finished it,’ Kwin said. ‘When he’s back on his feet, he’ll carry on!’
I knew then what was expected of me. The tassel was on his back, his throat open to my blade. That was one way to finish it. Another option was to cut his hamstrings so that he couldn’t walk.
I couldn’t do either. I couldn’t cut him like that in cold blood.
But I did make a cut.
As if in a
nightmare, I made it without thinking. I cut the rope that bound me to Kwin. Immediately she buried her face in her hands and gave a cry of despair.
Only then did I realize the enormity of what I’d done. By cutting the rope that bound us before slaying or maiming my opponent, I’d ended the contest.
But I’d also forfeited it.
I’d lost.
Now the lives of Kwin and Jon belonged to Hob.
21
Genthai
We are the People of the Wolf.
Our god is called Thangandar
And none shall stand against us.
Amabramdata: the Genthai Book of Prophecy
The tassels formed a tight circle about us. I sensed the weight of them, a living barrier. We had no hope of escape. Within moments, Jon had been pushed into that small, claustrophobic space to join us.
Immediately Kwin hugged him and started to cry. He stroked her back and whispered into her ear. But then one of the tassels gave them a rough push, and we were driven up the hill. They didn’t bother to bind us. Every hand held a blade or a spear.
Now they began to extinguish the torches until we were walking in darkness. I suspected that the tassels could see very well in the dark. I couldn’t see a thing, but I felt the casual blows from the tassels. Twice my left shoulder was thumped hard. Weapons prodded my back, feet kicked at the backs of my legs. Apart from that the tassels were silent, and that somehow made them all the more menacing.
We were still climbing, and it was clear that we were being taken to Hob’s citadel. I didn’t know exactly what would happen to us there, but we would certainly meet our death – or maybe something worse than death. Sometimes defeated combatants had been taken alive. They never came back, so what happened to them?
Or would the djinni take our minds and return our bodies? I remembered the girl I’d seen eating offal in the slaughterhouse, reduced to that desperate animal state. Would that be our fate?
For all Kwin’s assurances, I knew that because I’d cut the rope I would now suffer the same fate as her and Jon.
Ahead of me, Jon and Kwin had their arms wrapped around each other. After all I’d risked, she still preferred him to me. She’d just used me to try and save him, I thought angrily. They could comfort each other, while I was about to die alone. I felt hurt and abandoned.
I took a deep breath and tried to stop feeling sorry for myself. What did anything matter now? All three of us were done for. I stared down at the ground, my mind numb, not thinking about it any more.
The moon was obscured by dark clouds, and for perhaps ten minutes we climbed through the darkness, until the massive outer walls and twisted spires of Hob’s citadel began to rear up before us, blacker than the night sky.
The moon came out briefly, illuminating the walls. They were constructed of enormous blocks of stone, of a type I didn’t recognize; stones that sparkled, distorting the moonlight as though through a prism, transmuting it into a new subtle shade of bronze.
Moments later we were plunged into darkness again, but I’d already glanced about me and noted that the majority of the tassels had dispersed across the hillside, leaving perhaps forty as a guard.
We approached the citadel, until finally I could just make out the massive bronze gates. But then I heard something else; something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Three massive shapes stood between us and the gates. At first I thought they might be emissaries of Hob. I heard the snort of a beast and a metallic jingling sound, and at that moment the crescent moon appeared from behind a cloud to conjure an apparition and light it to gleaming silver before my startled gaze.
Directly ahead I saw three horsemen dressed in chain mail, two great swords attached to the saddle of each. But what horses! Never had I seen such creatures. These were not the bulky, squat beasts used to draw barges or pull wagons. They were sleek thoroughbreds, fine and high-stepping, with arched necks and legs made for speed.
To my astonishment, the riders looked like Genthai. They had dark skin, aquiline noses, high cheekbones and long hair. One had a thick moustache that obscured his mouth. But I’d never seen Genthai quite like this.
Then I noticed something else. Their faces were painted with long thin lines; patterns of curves and whorls that followed the contours of their features.
These were no foresters, nor did they resemble those sad, bedraggled figures that traded and sometimes begged on the outskirts of Mypocine. These were warriors.
The man in the centre of the three drew his sword and urged his horse forward as our guard readied their weapons. Some of the tassels wielded short blades; others had spears, huge hooked scimitars, or long poles to which cruel double-edged blades had been bound with twine. But when the Genthai charged towards us, the tassels scattered. I was knocked to my knees and I looked up as the hooves thundered by, close to my head.
It was a short and unequal struggle: the six blades flashed and cut until the air was filled with screams. The tassels fled howling and hooting into the night. Some went down the hill; a few managed to crawl into the narrow tunnels on either side of the large bronze gates.
Within seconds, apart from a few scattered bleeding bodies, there wasn’t a tassel to be seen. I rose to my feet and went to stand beside Kwin and Jon. The Genthai were riding back up the hillside towards us, the one with the moustache pointing his sword at the bronze gates of the citadel.
They passed quite close by, but never even glanced in our direction. The leader rode up to the great gates and hammered upon them with the hilt of his sword.
Again and again he thundered out his challenge. Then he shouted into the night, his words booming and echoing back from the high walls.
‘Come out and fight with Genthai!’ he challenged. ‘Come out and face men!’
But there was no reply. The stone walls loomed high above our heads, glistening with a bronze fire in the pale moonlight. But no one came to answer. Nothing replied to their summons.
Again their leader hammered on the door, thundering out a challenge. ‘We’re here, Hob! Come out and face us! Come out and fight us, if you dare!’
But again there was no reply.
‘Hob fears us!’ one of them cried out. ‘We should break down the door!’
But their leader, the man with the moustache, disagreed, and his voice was filled with authority. ‘Not tonight, brother. Be patient. Our time will come soon enough.’
With that, he turned his mount and led them back down the hill, halting directly in front of me.
‘You fought well, brother,’ he said softly, his teeth just visible below the fringes of his moustache. ‘We watched you.’
I didn’t reply, but I felt my mouth widen into a smile. His next words drove that smile from my face.
‘But a true warrior would have slain that creature. You have much to learn.’
He turned, gesturing for us to follow, and we walked after the three horsemen down the slope towards Gindeen. What they were doing didn’t need to be explained. The Genthai were providing an escort, guarding us against any tassels still lurking in the darkness.
None of us spoke. Kwin and Jon had their arms around each other. She was still crying softly.
When we approached the first houses, the three men brought their mounts to a halt, while Kwin and Jon continued ahead, arms still interlocked.
I raised my hand in salute, a gesture of thanks, and began to follow them, but the leader called out to me.
‘Wait, brother,’ he said.
I turned and took a few steps up the slope to stand before him. He’d used the word ‘brother’ for a second time. On the first occasion I’d thought little of it, assuming it was just a common term of address, but the second time the tone of his voice told me that he recognized my Genthai blood.
Then I realized something. Those marks on his face weren’t painted on after all. They were tattoos. Those whorls and lines gave him a fierce, dangerous look.
‘What do they
call you?’ he asked.
My reply flew from my lips unbidden. ‘I am Leif, son of Mathias.’ I’d spoken quickly – it was too late to bite back my words.
I glanced down the hill, worried that Kwin and Jon might have heard, but they were some distance away now and seemed totally absorbed in each other.
‘Mathias? Do you mean the Mathias who fought Hob in the city arena? The one whose true Genthai name was Lasar?’
I nodded.
‘He was a brave man, and skilful,’ said the rider, ‘but he chose the wrong path. Don’t make the same mistake. Come with us now and fight for your people.’
‘Fight who?’ I asked.
‘First we must take back this land from the traitor who calls himself the Protector,’ the Genthai warrior replied, ‘and cleanse it of abominations such as Hob. That done, we will ride forward beyond the Barrier to defeat those who confined us here.’
My jaw dropped open in astonishment. What he said was impossible. Even if the Genthai had sufficient warriors to defeat the Protector, what chance did they have against those who lay in wait beyond the Great Barrier? But he spoke calmly, his words filled with certainty. It was no boast, but a statement of intent. Something he really believed could be accomplished.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I still have something to do here in the city. Something I’ve sworn to accomplish.’
I hoped that he wouldn’t question me further. Would he laugh if I told him that I intended to defeat and slay Hob in the arena? I’d already said more than I should.
‘These things will happen in your lifetime. Do you wish to be a part of what we do?’
‘When my task here is done, I’d be happy to join you.’
‘First, do what you must. Then journey south, deep into the forest. My name is Konnit. When challenged, ask for me. Soon I will become the leader of my people. Then the things I have spoken of will come to pass.’
With those words, Konnit wheeled his horse round and led the others back up the hill. I continued down the slope after Kwin and Jon. There was no sign of them, so I made my way to Tyron’s house, my head whirling.
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