by Brian Fuller
“Perhaps,” Gen replied. A trumpet sounded on the field, signaling that the Trials were resuming. “But it is also unfortunate to see that so many of the nobles and aristocracy revel in his behavior. I wonder how they would react were the situation reversed and Kimdan were to receive the same kind of thrashing he gave Terrant?”
“Well, if you think you could do it, then do so with my blessing!” Fenna said, laughing at the thought. Looking around, she saw that Kimdan had already arrived at the field again and was counting his sashes.
“I may just attempt it,” Gen said. “Fare thee well, Miss Fairedale. I will be cleaner should we chance to meet again.”
The last was said like a promise, and Fenna couldn’t help but feel a bit perplexed. By the time she made her way back to the stands, Captain Tolbrook was announcing the cuts. Only seven of the fifty-six had been dismissed. As she sat, Harrick, Cadaen, and the First Mother turned toward her expectantly.
“What?” Fenna said, nervous at their sudden attention.
“What?!” The First Mother smiled. “Dear child, we could not help but notice that you were talking to a certain young man who has captured our interest. What have you learned?”
Fenna’s mind spun. In horror she realized that she had spent most of the time talking to him about Kimdan and had failed to ask him something as simple as where he was from.
“I, well, I didn’t speak to him long. He asked me to buy him something to drink, or to point him to the water. He speaks as if he were court bred, though there is a bit of the country in his voice. He still claims to be a serf.”
“Anything else?” the First Mother asked disappointedly.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“If you should chance . . . no, do not leave it to chance. Speak to him again, and do try to find out a bit more.”
“Yes, Highness.”
Fenna came to her feet as the second round of the Trials began. In this phase, fighters were placed into groups of five and given sashes of different colors to differentiate them. Captain Tolbrook then ordered one group to fight another. By rule, a combatant struck on the torso or head had to “die” and exit the combat.
As the first fight began, it was immediately obvious to Fenna that fighting in groups required a different ability than fighting one-on-one. Whereas fighting a single opponent involved one point of concentration, fighting multiple opponents with team members could only be done successfully with a broad awareness of everything and everyone nearby.
Fighters who appeared confident and skilled during single combat were dazed and disordered when thrown into a mix of men. Often, the team battles degraded into scattered free-for-alls. Even Kimdan seemed lost with a team and took to fighting by himself, ever in his flashy style, while his team members tried their best to form some sort of order. Harrick and Cadaen shook their heads disappointedly at the proceedings—until Gen took the field for the first time.
“Look at him!” the Regent exclaimed as Gen gathered his team and started issuing instructions.
“Imagine that,” Cadaen said sarcastically. “Talking with your team beforehand. A novel concept. The serf should be rewarded for his innovation.”
“I’m sure Kimdan would have done the same,” Serena snorted, “if his teammates were not so far beneath his skill. It would be like commanding a herd of cows.”
“The thought of working with his teammates never crossed his mind,” her husband contradicted. “I never could get that boy interested in group tactics.”
Even more surprising to all assembled was that Gen’s high-born teammates listened and obeyed. In his first battle, Gen took command and ordered his men to form a tight wedge and charge quickly, throwing the unprepared opposing team into a discombobulated chaos. The wedge divided them easily. Gen barked orders, voice powerful and clear, and within moments his team had “killed” every one of the defenders. When it was over, Gen congratulated his teammates coolly.
“Now that was impressive,” the First Mother remarked admiringly.
“And strange,” Cadaen added. “For the first round he was content to underwhelm us all, and now he’s out there barking orders like a field general and drawing all kinds of attention to himself.”
“I too wonder at his change in strategy. What is his purpose?” Harrick questioned loudly over a crowd alive with comment.
It struck Fenna that she knew what his purpose was. He was going to try to force a confrontation with Kimdan, and the remainder of the battles bore her intuition out. The young men were moved around into different groups and thrown at each other as the Dark Guard sat and judged. Since Gen provided the example, almost all the teams tried some sort of group stratagem. But in the three additional matches in which Gen fought—two more than anyone else—he took command and countered the other teams’ ploys with little difficulty, leading to quick victories each time.
Gen stirred up all kinds of speculation in the nobles sitting near Fenna, and the crowd was abuzz with anticipation every time he stepped onto the field. Most vocal were the common folk who came to view Gen as their “man,” someone like themselves acquitting himself well in the realm of nobles. By Gen’s third match, they raised his name in a chant. Serena very nearly lost her composure at their ebullience, sensing a decline in her son’s notoriety.
Kimdan was red-faced and fuming over his inability to match Gen’s skill at group combat, and she could tell by the way he stared at Gen that he was itching for a chance to face and beat him. But the Dark Guard never placed the two on the same team or on opposite sides, and by the time the second round ended, Kimdan was visibly furious, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, face indignant. Fenna felt a slight prick of satisfaction.
Again, Harrick, Cadaen, and the First Mother left to consult with the Dark Guard. It was well past noon, and the stands and field emptied as everyone went in search of food and entertainment before the final round began. The next round would not start for two hours to give everyone ample rest before the conclusion and to allow the First Mother and her advisers time to consider deeper cuts.
Fenna tied her bonnet on to protect her face from the sun and went in search of Gen, hoping she could catch him and offer him a meal so she could learn more of him. Much to her disappointment, she could find him nowhere, and the streets were too packed to do a quick or effective search. With a sigh she made her way to an inn and took her midday meal alone, anxious for the next round to start.
She wondered if the Chalaine had been watching using her Walls. The Chalaine, of course, was forbidden to come near a place with so many people, but to Fenna, the Chalaine seemed uninterested in the contest. She put all her energy of mind and will into preparing for the arrival of the Blessed One; she wanted everything to be perfect when he and she met, and her preparations in mind, body, and dress consumed her to the point of obsession.
“Who is he?” Kimdan’s voice startled her, his eyes devoid of mirth and mockery for the first time she could remember. Strangely, no young ladies attended him.
“Who is who?” Fenna asked as innocently as possible, knowing full well whom he meant.
“Gen, that ragamuffin. I saw you talking to him earlier, remember?”
The acrimony of his tone soured any disposition she might have had to be kind or flirtatious. “I’m afraid I know little,” Fenna replied truthfully. “I so wanted to speak with him after his magnificent performance in the second round, but I couldn’t find him. I suppose a lot of people want to talk to him now. Did you notice how he defeated every other team easily?”
Fenna knew she was being mean, but couldn’t help herself. Kimdan almost growled.
“Let him face me one-on-one and we’ll see who wins easily!”
Kimdan strode angrily back out onto the street. Fenna fought down the urge to giggle and finished her lunch quickly. If Kimdan did find Gen, she was sure there would be a fight no matter how calm and collected Gen might be. She paid for her meal and affixed her bonnet, deciding to search a bit more.
After wandering the packed, noisy streets for over an hour, she gave up and threaded her way back to the tournament field to find most of the fighters milling about, anxious for news. She started walking back to the stands when she noticed Gen out of the corner of her eye, sitting on the fence where the common folk gathered and staring into the afternoon sky.
As promised, he was clean and had better clothes on, including a used pair of boots. With a smile she pushed through the crowd toward him. She could see now that his hair was dark brown, not the light brown the caked dirt had colored it. He was nowhere near as beautiful as Kimdan, the scars lending his countenance a disturbing edge, but he wasn’t completely repulsive, either.
“I see you managed to get cleaned up before you saw me again, as you said.” He turned toward her. The scars on his face showed more plainly now and she wondered what had happened to him.
“Yes, I did, Miss Fairedale. It seems I have a few friends among the common folk.”
“You are their champion of the day. Do you intend to face Kimdan, then?”
Gen was silent for a moment before hopping off the fence to stand by her. “I will, should they permit me. He is a skilled fighter but needs to be tempered. It is clear that he will be a part of the Dark Guard. If we are to fight alongside each other, then he must learn to respect me and the other apprentices.”
The trumpet sounded and people scrambled toward the stands, filling them quickly.
“Here,” Fenna said, quickly removing her light blue sash and handing it to him. “It is not right that one doing so well should fight without the favor of a lady.” Fenna hoped it would give her an excuse to talk to him again.
“I thank you, Miss Fairedale” Gen said formally, genuflecting. “I had better go see if I shall have the honor of bearing your favor at all.”
“Wait!” Fenna exclaimed, realizing her forgetfulness as Gen hopped the fence. “Where are you from?”
Gen either didn’t hear her or ignored her and Fenna cursed. A quick look into the Box revealed that the First Mother and her companions were watching her intently and awaiting her arrival. Fenna walked back slowly.
“I see our boy has been cleaned up a bit,” the First Mother commented as Fenna sat down sheepishly. “I can also see by the look on your face that you got little out of him again.”
“Forgive me, Highness,” Fenna apologized. “I had just found him when the trumpet sounded. I do know that he hopes to face Kimdan and that some commoners bathed and clothed him.”
“Well, he will have his chance at Kimdan. Everyone agreed that the two needed to face each other. Gen has the advantage over Kimdan for the captaincy because of his leadership during group combat. However, if I were to name Gen as the Captain’s apprentice without him fighting Kimdan, I fear the high-born crowd would have my head.”
Fenna nodded in agreement, a quiet thrill building inside her.
“By Eldaloth!” Serena exclaimed, coming to her seat. “What noblewoman would dare bestow her favor to a serf, from Tolnor no less? I must find out who and have a talk with someone’s mother! A shame. A pitiable shame! Perhaps she wished to reward him for the noble accomplishment of finding a bath.”
Fenna sat as inconspicuously as possible as Serena produced a fan from her sleeve and worked it furiously. The First Mother turned and gave Fenna a furtive wink that Fenna took as an expression of approval for what she had done.
The second round of cuts were more painful that the first, leaving only twelve from which the six would be chosen. The third round reverted back to single combat. Unlike the first round, however, the combatants were to fight until only one remained standing, a brutal contest of endurance and skill. The First Mother would choose the six and from among them the Captain. Even those defeated could still find themselves in the Dark Guard, as she figured Gen or Kimdan would be despite the fact that one of them would be defeated.
One by one Tolbrook announced the pairings for the combat, and when it became apparent that Gen and Kimdan would fight each other, the crowd on both sides of the field roared in approval. Wagers were laid as the other bouts started and continued almost completely ignored. When the fifth bout ended and Tolbrook tried to announce the last pairing, his voice was submerged in a wave cacophony rolling in from both sides of the field.
“This is getting out of hand!” the First Mother yelled in Harrick’s ear.
“My men can handle it,” the Regent replied confidently, a glint of anticipation and excitement in his eyes. Serena sat straight-backed, dignified, and confident, only her desperate fanning hinting at her agitation.
The crowd finally settled down as Kimdan and Gen approached each other from opposite sides of the field. Fenna noted her sash tied about his waist, and Kimdan eyed it with disdain. She hoped Kimdan didn’t know who it was from.
Captain Tolbrook strode forward to personally oversee the match. Both young men were calm and collected, but as Gen stepped toward the center of the field, he tripped over the heel of his own boot and landed flat on his face, sword skittering across the grass. Kimdan stopped it with his boot as the nobles in the crowd laughed. Serena produced a sound somewhere between cackling and crowing.
“What is this?” Kimdan said grandly, “I have felled him without a single stroke!”
Fenna’s enthusiasm drained from her as the high-born crowd jeered. Gen wasn’t ready for the noise and wildness of the assembly. Kimdan got his boot under the sword and flicked it high over Gen’s head, forcing him to retrieve it like a dog fetching a stick.
“Well, that was inelegant,” the First Mother observed. “A case of the nerves, Harrick? He seemed so poised before.”
Harrick’s face was split in a wide grin, as was Cadaen’s. Fenna was confused by the old soldiers’ reactions. The First Mother was too.
“No, Highness,” Harrick replied mirthfully. “My son is about to get the education he so desperately needs.” Serena’s eyes darted to her husband briefly and then remained determinedly on her son.
“How so?” the First Mother asked, bewildered. Cadaen provided the answer.
“He faked it. He knows that Kimdan’s weakness is his arrogance, so he is feeding him a large portion to fatten him up for the kill.”
Fenna raised her eyebrows in unison with the First Mother. “How can you be sure?” Fenna blurted out before the First Mother had a chance.
“Fighters of his skill don’t trip on their boots,” Harrick replied. “Ever. Watch. This should be most amusing.”
Gen recovered his sword and returned to face Kimdan. Captain Tolbrook stood between the men, explaining the rules as he had for each pairing before. The crowd hushed in anticipation, save those still mocking Gen for his clumsiness. Fenna noted that Gen’s blunder subdued the ebullient mood of the commoners, their faces grave. Gen was slump-shouldered and beaten, and Kimdan bounced around as cocky and confident as ever.
Tolbrook’s arm dropped.
Kimdan raised his sword.
Gen, all feigned defeat aside, sprang into action.
With a quick, precise stroke, Gen hit the wrist-bones on Kimdan’s sword arm. Kimdan’s face registered agony and he dropped his sword, falling back quickly before Gen could hit him again. Gen didn’t press the attack. Instead, he took his own sword in two hands and threw it high into the air. All eyes followed the sword upward, including Kimdan’s, and only the sickening crunch of Gen’s fist on Kimdan’s nose yanked all eyes back to the combatants.
Kimdan flopped backward, trying to retain his balance as blood spurted out of his nostrils. Without looking, Gen caught his falling sword by the hilt. Again, he didn’t press the attack but waited while Kimdan collected himself. Harrick and Cadaen laughed, practically the only noise coming from the stands. Several of the Regent’s companions, including his wife, stared at him with shock. How could a father enjoy the beating of his son?
“You dishonorable wretch!” Kimdan spat. “Will you attack an unarmed man?” To reply, Gen threw his own sword to Kimdan, who ca
ught it, eyes wide. Gen kept his eyes fixed on Kimdan, making no move toward his opponent’s sword, which lay on the ground nearby.
“He can’t mean to fight Kimdan unarmed!” the First Mother exclaimed incredulously, but Kimdan, despite the obvious hypocrisy, rushed Gen without inviting him to retrieve the available sword. In the split second Kimdan took to bring his sword back to strike, Gen moved inside the swing in a blur of motion and caught Kimdan’s arm. In one fluid movement, Gen put his hand on Kimdan’s chest and used the leverage to drive him hard, back-first, into the ground.
Breath exploded from Kimdan’s lungs and gasps erupted from the crowd. Again, Gen did nothing as Kimdan, angry, got back up and rushed him again. This time, Gen pulled Kimdan forward as he thrusted, tripping him and stripping him of his sword at the same time. Before Kimdan could turn over, Gen tossed the sword at him offhandedly, hitting him in the back with it. Kimdan grabbed the sword and stood, and—for the first time that day—took a defensive posture.
In a heartbeat, Gen darted forward and punched Kimdan in the face so quickly that Kimdan couldn’t react. Kimdan swung back, missing wildly, and in a blur Gen landed a staccato of blows all over Kimdan’s body that came so fast that Fenna couldn’t count them. Kimdan staggered backward, disoriented. While Kimdan struggled to focus his eyes, Gen retrieved the sword Kimdan had dropped and proceeded to punish him with it without mercy.
Due to Kimdan’s confusion, Gen struck Kimdan at his own convenience, the defense paltry and inadequate. Gen, in an almost artistic fashion, covered Kimdan with welts, kicked him ferociously in the groin, kneed him in the head, and swept his legs out from under him. Kimdan, squirmed on the ground, not having enough hands to grab everywhere he was in pain. To spare Kimdan more shame, Tolbrook raised his hand and declared Gen the winner.
A great cheer erupted from the common folk while the high-born sat stunned. Serena cried at her son’s plight. Harrick and Cadaen, who had laughed heartily at the start of the spectacle, were sobered. Fenna’s eyes went to Gen. Pride and gloating were absent from his face, and, in a show of good will, he extended his hand to help Kimdan up. Kimdan refused, struggling and finally standing on his own. Several clapped politely for his efforts, but Kimdan had lost the captaincy and he knew it.