by Paul Heisel
#
The sensation caught Nar unprepared, his guts felt scrambled as he appeared wherever here was. Around him were rolling hills of wavy green grass of medium length, blades turning brown from either lack of water or because of the time of year. It was warm, but not hot. What was odd was the sky was a dark blue with thin hazy white clouds, but there was no sign of the sun. It almost looked painted. The brightness was the same as full daylight, yet he couldn’t see any source of the light. The air was fresh but held a taint, blood he thought. He turned around to view the whole area; it was the similar in all directions. His opponent was looking at her surroundings as well.
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” Nar said. He glanced at the woman – she looked quick and fast and wasn’t much older than his daughter.
“Me either,” she said. “I guess we wait.”
It was then Nar noticed what he had thought were small hills were burrows covered by grass. Small portals sealed up by rocks were at different locales, and he counted twelve in the immediate area. A mist seeped from one of the burrows and it became a ghostly figure after it slipped by the rocks. The mist congealed into the semblance of an armored person and flitted forward. From the other burrows, more spirits came and they lingered behind the first spirit.
“You have come,” the spirit said, the voice tinny and distorted.
“Yes, we have,” Nar responded.
“Why are you here?” it asked.
Nar wasn’t sure if the question was in general or in specific context. He figured the latter. Formality perhaps? He would make it up as he went along. “I have come because I need to save the life of my Most Favored. The only way it can be done is if I become the Warlord of Pyndira. I’m here to challenge my opponent.”
“And you?” the spirit asked.
“Since I became a Favored One and more involved with my family, I have trained to one day become the Warlord of Pyndira. It has been my dream to be counted among the elite members of the Empire.”
“Come forward. Both of you.”
As they moved toward the spirit, a table constructed from dark wood appeared in the middle of a clearing. On it were a variety of weapons, belts, and sheaths.
“Choose your weapons. There can be only one to return from the Crypt of Warlords victorious. You may fight in whatever manner you choose or what you two agree is the fairest, if that is how you wish to fight. We, the thirteen of us – the first thirteen Warlords, will be the final and only judge of who is victorious. If one of you wishes to concede, now is the time.” Neither made a move. “Then the time is nigh.”
“What if one of us dies?” the woman asked.
“Then we will not need to make the decision, it will have been made for us.”
“So you’re saying we should kill each other.”
“Choose your weapons.” The spirit ignored her comment.
“I have no desire to kill you,” Nar said, “but I won’t lose.” He grabbed a katana with an ebony sheath. Without thought he attached it to his waist.
The woman grabbed a pair of sais and shoved them in her belt, then she grabbed a sword thicker than a katana. The table vanished and the spirits hovered on the edge of the clearing to watch. They squared off.
“If you let me win,” she said, “I give you my word I will spare the life of your Most Favored when I become the Warlord of Pyndira.”
Nar’s response was to pull the katana clear of the sheath. The quick backhand strike was blocked with one of her sais, yet Nar knew he had almost ended the fight right there.
“Let’s get this over with,” she spat, moving backwards.
#
When Nar appeared with his opponent cradled in his arms, Feln figured Nar was victorious. They both were drenched in sweat and steam shot into the cold air. Nar had his hand pressed against the woman’s thigh, where blood was flowing freely. She looked dazed. People rushed forward and Feln lost sight of Nar. A sense of relief came. Feln pushed his way through the crowd and made it to Nar, who was using a cloth to wipe blood and moisture away. He was breathing hard. When he caught Feln’s eye, he nodded, yes he had prevailed, then motioned toward their tent.
#
“The spirits wanted me to kill my opponent,” Nar said as he settled into a wooden chair. He took a flagon of water and dumped it over his face, washing away sweat and blood. A towel removed the wetness.
Feln motioned to the Furies. They directed those who weren’t part of the Xialao family out of the tent. Once the area was secure from external ears, he sat down opposite Nar. Caleth was there in his brown robe, eager to hear what Nar had to say.
“Back up,” Feln told him. “I want to hear it all.”
Nar described what it was like and what happened up until they began to fight. “She was proficient, good at blocking, and quick. She landed a few kicks,” he pointed to his legs, “but no strikes. I sliced open her leg and she went down. In battle, I would have lopped off her head, which is what the spirits asked me to do.”
“What exactly did they ask of you?”
Nar closed his eyes, as if remembering the event took monumental effort. “The spirit asked me to finish her because she wouldn’t concede defeat. I told her she was beaten and she refused to surrender. The spirit told me to be victorious in their eyes, I would have to finish her and if I refused, they would heal her and the fight would begin anew. So I took her weapons away – she started pleading – and I choked her until she was unconscious and I hoped they would think her dead. That worked and in a flash, I was back here.”
“Get some rest, you’ve earned it,” Feln said. “I know you spared her life and that is a great testament to you. You have represented our family well.”
“Next time I won’t hesitate, if that’s what you’re asking,” Nar said. “Deaths are rare during this competition. We’ve already have had one and nearly another. They wanted me to kill her.”
“Maybe they feel a certain type of Warlord is needed.”
“Perhaps they want a ruthless person willing to kill a weaker opponent,” Nar said.
“Go get some rest. Take food and drink. Go to the palace and get cleaned up, take a long bath. Caleth doesn’t fight until this evening so you have time.”
Nar departed with an escort of soldiers and Furies. Looking at Caleth, Feln could tell he was concerned.
“I won’t hesitate, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Caleth said. “Nar was inventive tricking the spirits by choking her.”
“After you get through the first round, I want you and Nar to spend time with me. There are techniques I was taught that might help you during this. Our family has the most advanced fighting techniques ever devised! Why I didn’t think of that before is beyond me. Shades!” Now he wished he hadn’t dismissed Suun. She knew all of them forwards and backwards!
#
Later that day dozens of crates were delivered to the Xialao tent that contained red lantern covers – basic red lights. They were made of fabric that went around other lanterns or candles, meant to be quick decorations. Feln knew they were from Suun, but didn’t know what they meant or were supposed to be used for. He had them unpacked and placed around the Xialao tent over the lanterns, the red glow that emanated gave a festive and intimate atmosphere. If Suun’s intention was to draw attention to the Xialao tent, the she had succeeded. No one would mistake their tent for another. The red glow stated, ‘we’re here!’
Caleth prevailed in his bout against Furawa, the fighter conceded once on the ground and in an arm bar. His contest, unlike Nar’s, was without weapons. The celebrations were subdued as there were two additional deaths, one from Daiwer-dar and one more from Ashimo. The Yokai family from Ashimo lost two of their challengers in the quest to become the Warlord. Ashimo and Furawa each had one chance remaining to put their family in the position of Warlord. Shisaru still had five of their eight who started the tournament. Feln discovered a whole new world, wagering, and that was a huge draw for the invited guests. The
odds-on favorite was Watahon, from Emesia, Hiru’s monkey. He was well known for his prowess with a blade and his shear strength. The celebrations, as he expected, continued into the night and morning.
#
Two days later the tournament bouts began again. Those who were injured had healed, rested, and were ready for their next opponent. Feln spent time with Nar and Caleth, reviewing different techniques in hopes it would help them. Both were pitted against Shisaru fighters, Favored Ones of the Sode family, and at the end of day both were victorious. This time both subdued their opponent until they admitted defeat. During the contests, Feln took to wandering the grounds, searching for signs of Suun despite his promise that he wouldn’t look for her. Never once did he see anyone who resembled her, and he was looking at every man and woman he thought could be in disguise. Whatever she was doing, she was doing it well. That evening the Emperor announced that when there were four combatants left, they would begin preparations for the Emperor’s funeral. The message went to the masses as well in the city, and it caused even more people to flock to the palace to see the Emperor for one last time.
Feln sat with Nar and Caleth, keeping warm with blankets and a small fire. Finding heat was becoming problematic, as large fires created too much smoke, and flying embers could catch the tent on fire. The celebrations continued regardless of the weather, and from the soft red glow of their tent, Feln could see snow drifting down from the sky. Djaa killed his second opponent as he promised, and he and Nar would face each other in the third round – day five of the event. Caleth would have to battle a Hikimi warrior who looked like a thug. The other match up of note was Watahon, Hiru’s champion, against Gargam. Feln had mixed feelings as he wished both would lose. The winner would face Caleth, if Caleth prevailed. The whole situation had his nerves on edge.
The fifth day came, and the first bout was to be Caleth and the Hikimi thug, followed by Gargam and Watahon. The two matches took most of the morning, with Caleth prevailing against the Hikimi warrior and Watahon beating Gargam. The four combatants were battered and bloody, if judgment was by their injuries, all of them would have lost. Caleth recovered in the tent while they waited for Furawa and Ashimo to battle, then it would be Nar and Djaa. Feln spent additional time going over the techniques perfected by the Accord of the Hand, trying to prepare Nar to succeed against Djaa.
Snow continued to fall from the sky that day, leaving a blanket of white over the landscape. Where everyone walked, the snow turned to slush. The order of the day was trying to keep warm and dry. The tents sagged from the wet snow and servants constantly worked to keep the snow off. The Furawa woman was victorious, the last woman remaining in the competition, and next up was Djaa and Nar. Feln and the entourage of protectors walked with Nar to the front. The Shisaru contingent, countless people, was there, Djaa looking as cold as the weather and more confident than he should be.
Not one person spoke. Even in the distant tents all activity came to a halt. With the cloud cover, snow, and silence, the Crypt of Warlords took on an eerie aura. The two combatants stood in the circle, bowed as was the custom, and in a flash disappeared.
#
Busy was not the word for it. Owori’s legs were tired. With so many people to watch out for and keeping the Emperor safe, she spent the entire day on her feet. Her special shoes were wet and her feet numb from the cold. The rest of her remained warm from her thicker red robe and she took the time to use her magic to provide additional protection from the elements. It worked except for her feet, the only part of her touching the ground. In the distance, the crowds were gathering for the last contest of the day. Caleth was victorious and she hoped Nar would end Djaa’s streak of deaths. It would give Feln an additional chance to survive the Warlord’s judgment. She was worried for Feln; rumors were flying that whoever won, besides the Safun contestants, was going to kill Feln on the spot. She figured no one would dare act against those orders prematurely, not here, not in the presence of the Emperor and all the Most Favoreds, but still she was worried. She wanted Feln to run away, no matter what the outcome would be, but she knew he wouldn’t and couldn’t. He was resolved to see this through no matter what the consequences.
The crowd drew silent. From her vantage point, she could see flakes coming down and it was peaceful except for the two combatants staring at each other. There was the red glow from the Safun tent, Owori had no idea why Feln would decorate the tent that way, and it made the tent stand out. Not that it didn’t have appeal, it was just too different, too flamboyant. She then remembered the Emperor, dead now, telling her to change robes, red is a happy color. Nar and Djaa vanished in a flash after bowing. Owori let out her held breath, taking in fresh cold air. Across the way, toward the entrance to the Crypt of Warlords, she saw footprints in the snow where none should be.
#
The hollow pit in Feln’s stomach wouldn’t leave and it became worse when he noticed that he was seated in the gallery proximate to a group from Shisaru. He kept feeling the glances, though when he looked over it appeared no one was interested in him at all. They were nobles, dressed in warm fabrics and fashionable hats, with an eclectic collection of consorts and escorts mixed in. There were Furies seated as well, he knew it, and he wondered if they held the key to the chaos. He didn’t see Keme, the Shisaru Most Favored, seated with the nobles. As he glanced around the area, he saw other Most Favoreds mingling with their subjects. But not Keme. He was not here this evening. Feln caught the eye of one of the Shisaru nobles, a man with steely eyes and blondish hair. He was dressed in black finery with a fur lining, and he wore black gloves. The only spot of skin showing was his ivory face. They stared at each other for a moment too long, then both broke away. Feln wondered, was this man covered from head to toe because he was cold, or because he was trying to hide his Fury marks? He pulled the magic book from its hiding spot and flipped open the Shisaru page. Nothing. He hadn’t heard from his team in days. Feln scribbled a quick note and snapped the book shut. When he looked up the noble was staring in his direction, but not at him. His eyes were locked on his Fury, Pearl.
#
Nar was accustomed to the magic of the transportation and planted his feet firmly in the wavy grass. His opponent discarded his robe. Djaa was a stout man, experienced according to Feln. There were bruises on his face, minor cuts, but other than that he looked fit for the fight. Djaa resembled other Shisaru Favored Ones, men who had led armies against Safun, against his family in the not so distant past. In front of him was a Shisaru dog, a member of the family that nearly killed him. The family that allowed the demon cats to come from the Nether. He survived those evil beasts and took revenge against the Most Favored, now he was pitted against them for a different reason. This fight was his to win and losing would be his death, and there was no way he was going to lose. His blood boiled. They were going to execute his Most Favored. Good, he thought, the anger will make me stronger. He had one other thing to fight for – Suun. His daughter needed to know all the reasons he never went home.
The spirits came forth as before, seeping from the burrows at a leisurely pace. It took a minute for them to arrive and for the table of weapons to appear. Nar hoped the contest would be weaponless, as he thought he would be a better brawler than Djaa. At least he knew this was a fight to the death, as Djaa had killed his other opponents, so he wouldn’t hold back anything. The Warlord spirit meandered forward, the mist taking more solid form.
“There are no rules,” the spirit said, voice tinny. “You may choose your weapons.”
Both grabbed a katana and knives. Once they were armed, the table dissolved.
“As I have done before, there will be no mercy,” Djaa said to the spirit as he adjusted the katana strapped to his left hip. “No mercy.”
“If you think I have reservations lopping your head off, you’re mistaken. No mercy here either. Your family has tried to kill me before and I have survived. This is no different.”
“I heard that you’re a gardener. I hop
e you told Feln where he can dump your ashes.”
Nar stepped forward in a flash and as before the katana came out of the sheath and sliced where Djaa’s head was, and had Djaa not twisted out of the way the fight would have been over. With energy and drive, Nar pressed the attack only to have Djaa deflect the rain of blows, steel against steel. Djaa recovered and they squared off, sweat was beginning to show already.
“I promise you – I’m full of surprises,” Djaa said.
Nar hammered the sword down, no finesse in what he was going to do, he was going to pound Djaa until he was dead. A man could only block so many blows and it didn’t matter if it was a katana or a shovel in Nar’s hands. He could do it for hours on end.
#
Owori trotted forward, her eyes not leaving the mark she had seen on the ground. Ahead was a footprint in the snow, angled from the side, as if a person tried to conceal their approach to the Crypt of Warlords. Her own approach left footprints in the snow, a trail, and it made her pause. She stopped, looked back, and summoned two of her Dragonguards who grabbed lanterns. The guards standing in front of the Crypt came to attention as Owori and the Dragonguards arrived.
“Who entered the Crypt?” Owori demanded.
“No one Dragonmaster,” the guard replied. “We have four shifts of guards – no one could get past us. No one has gotten past us.”
“Look at that footprint. Doesn’t it seem out of place?”
The guard glanced at it. “I didn’t notice that, but it’s a solitary footprint. No one came this way. We would have seen them. Maybe it was one of the other guards.”
“Walking backwards?”