by Duncan Pile
Gaspi remembered the blazing power and certainty that had shone in Emea’s face as she’d performed the healing. It was unlike her in every way, and remembering the moment sent a shiver down his spine. It was as if an outside force had entered her in that moment, something bigger than him, than her, than all of them; something that made him feel very, very small. He was about to talk ask Emmy about it, but then thought better of it. He didn’t want to say anything that might take away the confidence boost she might get out of what had just happened. There would be plenty of time later to resolve mysteries.
“Well, you picked a good time to find some confidence,” he said. “I think Taurnil would have been a goner without you there.”
Emea frowned, staring out at the red patch still staining the ground where Taurnil had fallen. “I can’t even think about that,” she said.
“No, me neither,” Gaspi said, with a shudder. “So do you feel more confident about the Test now?” he asked, changing the subject.
Emea laughed. “I hadn’t even thought about that, but yes. I mean, I still don’t know about casting a strike...but somehow I think it will all be fine.”
Gaspi leant over and kissed her, breaking into an expansive grin. “Nice one, Emmy,” he said, slipping his arm around her and leaning back against the bench to watch the fighting. The two winners of the mace had been decided, and it was time for the general melee between the finalists. Gaspi noticed Jonn had made it back to the arena, sitting with Sabu on the winners’ bench along with the other six combatants. Both the twins had made it through; one with the two-handed swords, and one with the mace. Ruberto had won the staff along with a tall gypsy fighter called Simeon, and the remaining two fighters were Baard, who had also won the two-handed swords, and a stocky fighter called Brant, who had won the mace along with Zaric.
Gaspi was looking at the impressive group of fighters, when the gateway to the barracks opened, and out walked Taurnil and Lydia. Gaspi did a double take when he saw they were holding hands, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. His giant lummox of a friend must have finally drummed up the courage to talk to Lydia about his feelings. Emea let out a squeal of joy when she saw them. She was practically bouncing up and down on the bench with excitement as they drew near, until she couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She popped off her seat and ran over to Lydia, wrapping her in an explosive hug which Lydia returned with interest. Gaspi thought he should save Taurnil from standing there like a fool, and waved his friend over.
“So you finally managed it, then,” Gaspi said mischievously, when Taurnil had sat down next to him.
“Er...yeah, I did,” Taurnil said, looking at Gaspi sheepishly.
Gaspi laughed, and clapped his friend on the back. “Well done, mate!” he said. “I thought she liked you all along.”
Taurnil’s sheepish smile turned into a grin. “I didn’t...but what do I know?”
Gaspi laughed again. “Well, it only took a near death experience to get you two together,” he said.
Taurnil smacked him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off the bench. “Shut it!” he said, with mock sternness.
“That hurt!” Gaspi said, rubbing his shoulder.
“That’s right,” Taurnil said, with the smallest of smiles.
They were interrupted by Trask, who had stepped out to introduce the final melee. “Ladies and gentleman, it’s been an eventful afternoon, but now we have our eight finalists ready to battle it out to the finish.” He paused while the crowd cheered. “Wielding the one-handed swords we have Jonn and Sabu,” he continued, announcing the first of the day’s winners. “Wielding the two-handed swords are Baard and Zlekic. Wielding the staff are Ruberto and Simeon, and finally wielding the mace are Zaric and Brant. Fighters - to your positions!”
The combatants stood in a circle in the centre of the arena, facing outwards towards the crowd. Trask addressed them again.“You will pace on my count. On twenty, turn around and begin. I will declare each of you out when a killing blow is landed, until only one of you remains. That last man standing will be the winner. Ready?” All the fighters lifted their weapons in assent.
“Begin pacing. One…two…” Each of the fighters walked away from the circle with strong, steady steps, as Trask counted. Gaspi found the stalking warriors impressive. Each of them carried themselves and their weapons with a kind of easy deadliness, though none looked as deadly as Sabu. The graceful, dark-skinned swordsman moved like a panther, gliding over the ground with effortless balance.
Trask’s countdown came to an end: “Eighteen…nineteen…twenty. Turn around! Begin!” Gaspi noticed that Sabu and Jonn were nearest to each other, which he hoped didn’t mean Jonn would have to fight the other swordsman first. The dark skinned swordsman caught Jonn’s eye, and the two exchanged a quick nod and stepped towards each other. Gaspi’s heart was in his throat as they drew near each other, but the two men didn’t square off. Instead they joined ranks and stepped in carefully together towards the centre of the arena, looking in all directions as they moved. It looked like they were going to work together, which made more sense when he looked at the other fighters: The twins had quickly found each other and were standing back to back, one with a mace and the other wielding a huge, two handed sword. Ruberto and Simeon had also paired up, standing about ten feet apart and spinning their staffs around their bodies.
Brant turned to Baard, the only other fighter not to have paired up, and raised his mace in salute. His expectant look turned to alarm as Baard locked eyes with him. The giant man roared, raising his enormous sword over his head, and rushed in, flaming red hair and beard trailing behind him as he ran. Brant raised his shield just in time but one massive swipe of Baard’s sword ripped it off his arm. A second swipe snapped Brant’s weapon in two, and sent the mace head bouncing across the ground. Brant stepped back, arms spread as Baard levelled his sword for a killing blow. Trask called him out, and, giving Baard a hard look, he stamped out of the arena in a fury.
Jonn watched Baard dispatch Brant with brutal efficiency. His decision to fight alone changed the shape of the battle, and he wasn’t sure who would attack who next. The decision was made for him, however, when Baard swung around, fixing his gaze on Jonn and Sabu. He raised his sword with another wild roar, and raced towards them. Sabu and Jonn exchanged the quickest of glances and separated left and right, forcing the enormous swordsman to pick one of them and leave himself exposed to the other. Baard veered towards Sabu, who waited calmly in a fighting stance, blades held out before him and knees bent, balancing on the balls of his feet. The swordsman didn’t even try to catch Baard’s blade, but stepped under his wild swing, trying to snag his feet out from under him as the big man ran past. But Baard was no fool, jumping over the leg sweep with surprising grace.
He turned to face Sabu again, coming in more carefully this time, swinging his blade in low, even swipes as he came. Jonn tried to manoeuvre himself behind the large swordsman but Baard would not let him, keeping one eye on each of them and slowly retreating. Suddenly, he sprang towards Jonn, cutting a ferocious arc at chest level. Jonn had to leap backwards to avoid being hit, and as he landed his ankle twisted beneath him. Jonn let out a cry of pain as he fell over his ankle, landing hard on the ground. Rather than finish him off, Baard span to meet Sabu, who had stepped in with a blistering counter attack. Baard tried to use the extra range and weight of his sword to keep the duel-wielding swordsman at bay, but Sabu was already inside his range. Using his two hander like a cudgel he thrust the pommel at Sabu’s face, but Sabu ducked under the blow and brought both swords up hard into Baard’s ribs. Baard let out a wounded roar. Dropping his weapon to the floor, he fell backwards onto his rump, landing with an undignified thump. Clutching massive arms over his bruised ribs, he gave Sabu a grin, and let himself fall back onto the ground.
Sabu came over to Jonn, extending a hand and helping him to rise.
“Well done,” Jonn said, limping alongside the dark fighter.
“
He was faster than I thought,” Sabu said. While they’d been fighting Baard, the twins had taken on Simeon and Ruberto. Jonn and Sabu finished Baard off in time to see Simeon leave the arena floor with a broken staff in his hands. Ruberto had already been beaten, leaving only the four fighters left.
Jonn wasn’t sure if his ankle would hold up against the heavy swings of Zlekic’s two hander, but thought he could handle a mace. “I’ll take Zaric,” he said.
“Okay,” Sabu responded, as the two pairs of fighters approached each other. Sabu lifted a sword in salute to Zlekic, and attacked, not giving him a choice between himself and Jonn. Zaric swung a testing blow at Jonn’s chest. Jonn found himself weaving around Zaric’s blows, taking steps only when he had to, but the mace was a heavy weapon and Zaric’s best attack was to throw in broad swinging strokes and keep Jonn on the defensive. Jonn knew from drill sessions that Zaric was more comfortable with a blade than with a blunt weapon, so when Zaric swung a little too wide he switched from evasion to attack, testing his opponent’s defences with a flurry of well-placed blows.
Zaric defended well at first, catching Jonn’s strikes with a combination of both his shield and mace, but Jonn could feel that he was a fraction of a second quicker than his now fully defensive opponent, and increased the intensity of his attack. Zaric began to be hard-pressed, catching Jonn’s attacks at the last possible second - until finally one of them got through, Jonn’s sword slicing down hard on his shield arm.
Zaric dropped the shield with a yelp, his arm hanging limply at his side. Zaric’s only chance now was an all-out attack, and he launched himself at Jonn, swinging his mace wildly. Jonn anticipated the move, however, and stepped out of range of the heavy weapon. As soon as its head had passed him he stepped into Zaric’s space, not giving him time to bring his weapon round again for a second swing. He jabbed a sword hard into Zaric’s side, and stepped back. Zaric didn’t need Trask to tell him he was beaten, and, stepping back from Jonn, nodded once before turning his back and walking off.
Jonn turned to find Sabu standing alone, Zlekic already defeated and departed. The dark skinned swordsman smiled a wide smile. “It’s just you and me, my friend,” he said. Jonn smiled in return and lifted his weapons, dropping into a fighting stance. Sabu didn’t start circling as Jonn expected, but shuffled forward, dancing lightly on the balls of his feet. Jonn suspected Sabu was trying to give him an even chance by not forcing him to circle on his bad ankle. They engaged directly, swords glancing lightly off each other in a quick exchange of blows. The blades rang brightly in the (now breathless) silence of the arena.
Sabu led the pace of the fight, his rhythmic strikes teasing Jonn into a hypnotic interplay of thrust and parry. Jonn allowed himself to be led, enjoying the testing rhythm Sabu had set for him. He constantly made minor adjustments in grip and strength, matching his style to Sabu’s. Without warning, Sabu shifted a gear, throwing a burst of harder, faster strikes. They were out of kilter with the rhythm he had established, and Jonn found himself constantly on the back foot, struggling to anticipate Sabu’s attacks. He was only just blocking some of them, holding them on the last few inches of his swords, and then one got through, Sabu’s sword running along the edge of his blade and deflecting down across the chain mail vest covering his side, sparks trailing in its wake.
Jonn knew it wasn’t a killing blow, and didn’t look up to check if Trask had called him out. Even with sharpened blades his mail would have held against a blade at that angle. The strike had broken Sabu’s momentum, and Jonn used the moment to gather himself. It was blindingly obvious to him that he wouldn’t hold for long against Sabu’s bewildering attack, and the only option left to him was to take control of the fight. Without hesitating he launched his own attack, striking hard at Sabu, whose face tightened into a mask of concentration as he was forced to step back, fending off Jonn’s aggressive thrusts.
The crowd gasped appreciatively as Jonn turned the tables on the dark-skinned fighter. Jonn knew he had to push Sabu hard to have any chance of winning, so he didn’t hold back any strength or effort. He struck high and low, swinging in wide and then narrowing the angle, varying the rhythm of attack and using his full strength and speed to break through his opponent’s defences. Sabu stepped back steadily, ducking and weaving, parrying and riposting. He tried to force Jonn’s blades wide after each attack, but was unable to create an opening for a counterattack. As he forced Sabu backwards, Jonn thought he might be able to detect a wavering in Sabu’s defence; and, digging deep, he summoned up an extra reserve of strength, putting everything he could into each blow.
Sabu stepped back and Jonn stepped forward once again, using both swords to deliver a double attack. Sabu caught the blades hilt–to-hilt on his own. Pushing out and to the right, he forced all four weapons out and round over their heads in a glittering arc of steel, stepping sideways as he did. Jonn was forced to pivot as his swords came down, to avoid leaving his side exposed to an attack. He span quickly, anxious to keep up the momentum of his attack, but as his right foot landed his ankle gave way beneath him. He fell to one knee with a gasp, and, as quick as thought Sabu’s sword crunched into the exposed chain mail of his vest.
“Winner: Sabu!” Trask announced, followed by the explosive roar of the crowd. Sabu helped Jonn to his feet, a look of chagrin on his face.
“I’m sorry, Jonn,” he said into his ear, only just audible over the wild celebration going on all around them. “I tried to hold the blow when I saw you’d fallen, but it was too late.”
Jonn smiled at the dark-skinned swordsman. “You’re a gentleman, Sabu, but in all honesty you deserved to win. It’s my fault I twisted my ankle. A better fighter would have avoided it.”
Sabu returned the smile and grasped him hand to wrist, a grip Jonn returned. “Well fought, brother,” Sabu said.
“Well fought,” Jonn replied, unexpectedly moved by Sabu’s declaration of kinship. He shifted the grip he had on Sabu’s hand and thrust it into the air, the cheering crowd bursting into another, even louder shout. The cheering continued as they raised their weapons in salute to the other fighters, who stood and saluted in return. Trask took out a plain metal box from his jerkin, opened it, and retrieved a set of simple steel wristguards. He asked Sabu to extend his arms, wrists turned upwards, and he clamped them on onto the winner’s forearms. These plain ornaments were the only trophy the winner would receive, but they were a badge of honour among the guard, and the bearer would wear them proudly until someone took them off him the next year. Sabu held his arms aloft one more time, and then as the crowd cheered he, Jonn and Trask joined their fellow fighters, and left the arena.
The four friends met with Jonn in the barracks, hugging and congratulating him on coming second. Jonn was swamped by other guardsmen wanting to talk about the fight, and so he told them to meet him in the Traveller’s Rest that night. Buzzing with excitement, they walked back up to the college, reliving every moment, and even Taurnil was babbling away as they looked back on each fight. Gaspi looked at his friend with a heart full of happiness. It wasn’t often Taurnil got to be the hero of the moment, but right now he was being bombarded with questions from both girls, his face seemingly fixed in a massive grin.
They met with Jonn in The Rest that evening, as planned. He was waiting for them when they arrived, having secured a large table in the front room by the windows, and they were soon tucking into a beautiful roast beef dinner. It was pink and juicy, wonderfully flavoured with a peppery sauce, and they washed it down with ale.
When he’d finished eating, Jonn leaned back with a contented sigh, arms behind his head. “Good day!” he said, with satisfaction.
“I still can’t believe how awesome it all was,” Gaspi agreed. No-one seemed to have grown tired of the topic, even though the tournament was all they’d talked about through dinner. “Both of you were good. The way you took out that first guy, Taurn!”
“Yeah...and then I fell on a stick and nearly died,” Taurnil said, and they
all laughed.
The big difference in that evening’s gathering was the change in Taurnil and Lydia. They had barely been able to be in the same room for weeks, and now they sat comfortably next to each other. They weren’t holding hands anymore, but Gaspi couldn’t help noticing the looks they kept flicking at each other when they thought no-one was looking. Lydia had regained something of her usual dignified calm, but Gaspi could detect a faint flush in her cheeks that gave away the lie.
“I didn’t know you were such a good fighter, Jonn,” Emea said.
Jonn shrugged, still smiling. “I used to think I was good,” he said, “but then you meet people like Sabu.”
Taurnil focussed on the conversation for the first time in half an hour. “But you’d hurt your ankle,” he said. “If you’d not fallen like that, maybe it’d be different.”
“No, Taurn,” Jonn said with certainty. “Sabu is a master. I’ve only fought someone as good as he is once before, back in the old days when I was a guard with Gaspi’s Da.” Jonn’s eyes had a faraway look for a few moments as he drifted into memory, and then sharpened again as he turned his gaze to Taurnil. “No matter how hard, I try I’ll never beat Sabu unless I get very lucky.”
After a moment’s silence Jonn clapped his hands together, looking round at all four of them with a smile. “Well, Taurnil and I have had our moment of glory. Now it’s your turn,” he said, looking at the three trainee magicians. They returned his look quizzically. “The Test!” he said.
“Oh yeah, right!” Gaspi said, a fluttering awakening in his stomach. He glanced at Emea, who straightened her skirt nervously. “How are you feeling about it, Emmy?”
She was quiet for a moment. “You know, I feel much better after what happened today. I still haven’t got a clue how I’ll do in anything except healing, and I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to repeat what I did today anyway, but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. At least I know I can do magic when it really matters.” Gaspi smiled, relieved that Emmy had taken a confidence boost. It was no surprise she was feeling better really - healing Taurnil like that was pretty special.