He was led into the center of the grassy courtyard surrounding the Elder's building. Many of those within the building, mostly the ones dressed in combat garb, had followed. A flood of similarly-dressed people from the south side of the village had begun to assemble into a wide circle with Shadow and Ryala at the center. Scattered amongst the crowd were more than a few individuals with a less overtly military look. They invariably wore brightly colored garb—white, black, blue, red, yellow, and brown. Fluttering above the crowd and watching with rapt interest was a dragonfly-winged fairy dressed in a swatch of red cloth, and snaking its way through the crowd was the dog-sized gray dragon that had revealed him just a short time ago.
“Step into the center of the courtyard,” Ryala instructed. “Your opponent will present himself and the match will then begin. It will continue until the Elder is satisfied. You may request any training weapon you wish, and padded armor will be provided if you wish.”
“I require none.”
“Very well. Do whatever you feel you must to defend yourself, but do not attempt to take a life.”
He nodded, and a moment later a man stepped out of the crowd toward him. The man was lean and tall, though Shadow was taller and leaner. He had dark skin, his hair cropped short and a scar interrupting one eyebrow. In one hand, he held a wooden pole with strips of cloth braided about its center, a quarterstaff. He was layered in padded clothes, but when he saw his foe, he turned to Ryala and spoke. She nodded. He handed the weapon to her, stripping off the padding as well. When he wore only a shirt and trousers, he stepped up and assumed a defensive posture. Shadow did the same.
The moment felt strangely serene. It was raw, simple. He had entered the cave seeking trial by combat, and finally the moment had come. It didn't matter why these people were here. It didn't matter why they seemed to accept him when no one else would. It didn't even matter if this was a trick and they wished to kill him. In this moment, the intention was pure. He wasn't wearing a mask. He wasn't pretending to be something he was not. Instincts of survival and combat—things that he had needed to lock away to live in the world of man—came alive. His pulse quickened in anticipation. His clawed fingers flexed. His senses sharpened. They wanted to fight him, to see what he could do. He wanted to show them.
His foe made the first move, coming in with a thrusting kick. The man looked to be a human, but he moved far faster and far more precisely than Shadow had ever seen. Even so, the attack was not quick enough to meet its target. Shadow sidestepped the attack, but the fighter somehow smoothly continued into a second strike. He narrowly dodged this one, too, and now the man was upon him. Fists, elbows, knees, and feet came at him in a flurry of attacks. Some he dodged, some he slapped away, others he blocked with crossed arms or raised knees. A few slipped through. He tried to make sure that those strikes that landed were those targeted at the least vulnerable areas, but precious few were so aimed.
In a practiced motion, the fighter swept a leg behind Shadow's knee and threw him off balance. He stumbled and fell backward, catching himself on his hands and scrambling awkwardly away. His foe closed in to capitalize on the vulnerable position, but Shadow threw himself to his back, coiled his legs, and planted his heels on the warrior's chest. A swift double kick forced the man back, and while he was still reeling, Shadow sprung to his feet and the fight continued. It was getting faster and more furious with each moment. Though the Entwell resident had precision and strategy on his side, the malthrope's wild and unpredictable combat kept him off balance. Both fighters were taking a fair amount of punishment as a result, but there was no indication that either was ready to admit defeat.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was finally letting his raw aggression take hold after it had been suppressed for so long, but as the battle raged on he found himself slipping further and further away, letting the simplest parts of his mind take control. Grunts of exertion became growls. Dodges aside became darting strikes forward. His teeth were bared, his senses on fire. It wasn't blood lust or anger—it was the raw exhilaration of the act.
Had he not been so focused on the battle, he might have heard the mutters at the edge of the battle. There was a shifting of spectators and the quiet whisper of orders. Instead, he fought harder and reveled in his opponent's ability to meet the challenge in kind. The last ounce of real thought was used to keep his teeth and claws out of the battle, leaving it a contest of fists and feet. He was dancing from foot to foot, watching as his opponent held his ground and tightened his defenses. Each met the gaze of the other, and for a moment the circling and shifting came to a stop, each waiting for the other to make a move. It was then that the moment came.
There was no single cause for his next decision. It was not merely that he heard something, or smelled something, or felt anything else in any measurable way. Some combination of his senses reached his mind as a command and he obeyed. He shifted his weight to one foot, tightened his fist, and turned, swinging his right fist in a wild backhand strike. It connected with the nose of an until-now unseen figure who had been approaching from behind. The blow instantly bloodied the face of the sneak-attacker, and the sight of the blood brought Shadow's mind charging back. Fear clutched his mind and he sprang back a few steps, eyes darting between the stricken man who had been approaching from behind and the opponent who had now dropped his guard and stood with his hands at his sides.
The malthrope tried to watch all of the crowd at the same time, certain that someone among them would draw a weapon or call for a guard.
“I didn't mean to do it! He came from behind! I didn't know that he was there!” he insisted, reflexively trying to diffuse the fury of the mob that had mysteriously failed to form.
The Elder spoke, again translated through Ryala. “Calm yourself, student. The Elder is satisfied.”
A pair of white-robed villagers approached the downed combatant while the original fighter offered a stiff nod of respect before weaving back into the crowd.
She continued: “Your combat skills are rough, but promising. The stealth master wished to see if your skills of detection were more refined, so he sent one of his pupils to approach from behind you. It seems in doing so he discovered an aptitude of yours. Go now. Eat. Rest. I am sure you will learn much, and teach much as well.”
Shadow's mouth hung open a bit as he tried to understand what had just transpired. The crowd was dissipating without anger or fear. The man he had bloodied was waving off the two villagers in white. They were presumably healers, and the bleeding man had no interest in their service. Strangest of all, he was chuckling.
“Go, go, off with you. A bit of blood now and then is good for a man. Keeps him humble,” he said, his words spoken in perfect Tresson.
For the first time, Shadow allowed himself to observe what the young man looked like. He was young, not far into his twenties. His hair was short and reddish-brown, and his face was clean-shaven. His clothes were black and tied close to his body with various thin straps. There was no weapon to be seen anywhere on the outfit, but there were plenty of loops and holsters to hold them if he'd chosen to arm himself. He pulled a rag from a pouch on his belt and wiped his face, then his hands. When most of the blood was gone, he smiled at Shadow.
“A fine blow. You'll have to tell me how you knew where to strike! Thrilled to meet you,” he said, extending a hand and widening his grin. “My name is Leo.”
Chapter 25
Shadow stared uncertainly at the hand that was offered.
“It's a greeting we have out west,” Leo said, reaching down to clasp Shadow's hand in a shake. The malthrope pulled away. Leo's smile turned to a smirk and he shrugged. “Very well, we'll try that again once you've had some time to get settled. Let me show you around.”
The young man strode confidently to the south. Shadow looked around. Now that the spectacle of battle was through, members of the crowd had each returned to their prior activities. No one was looking in his direction anymore. He was standing in the middle of a villag
e, revealed yet ignored. Without any better options, Shadow followed the man who had moments before seemed intent on attacking him from behind. The man began to speak again without looking, as though it hadn't occurred to him that Shadow wouldn't have followed immediately.
“You're a Tresson speaker, eh?” he said. “We don't get many native Tressons since the war began. It stands to reason, of course. The only reasonable entrance to the Cave of the Beast is in Ulvard. I don't imagine they would be eager to let a warrior from the opposition cross the border just to test himself against the beast.” He turned back to Shadow and noticed the look of vague unease on his face. “Something wrong?”
“No one is staring at me.”
He grinned. “You'll need to get used to that. It takes an awful lot to hold the attention of a denizen of Entwell. We have our own interests.”
“But I'm a malthrope.”
“That you are,” Leo said, looking him up and down. “Forgive me if I'm not treating you with the proper fear or revulsion, but, to be perfectly honest, I thought your kind was a myth. Now that I'm meeting one face to face, I expected something with more muscles—and some bigger fangs, perhaps. Still . . .” He blotted a fresh trickle of blood from his nose. “You don't disappoint.”
As they walked, the strangely jovial fellow pointed and described the various sights. They were entering the southern half of the village. The huts and cottages here were just the same as those to the north, but the people were markedly different. Weapons abounded, and not only the wooden training sort. Small courtyards were marked off, and racks of weapons of every type could be seen. There were simple things like axes and swords, but also odd contraptions he couldn't identify. Some were made from chain and wood. Others were curves of metal that seemed too delicate or complex to be of use. There were slender longbows, stout crossbows, slings, bolos . . . an armory of equipment and each with an avid user. There were mock battles happening outside many of the huts: graceful elves clashing with needle-thin swords, hearty dwarves heaving clubs at one another, humans fighting with bare fists.
Strangest of all, everyone seemed utterly at ease with it.
“That is Domar. He's at his best with pole arms, but lately he's been giving daggers a try, of all things. Trilla and Mia are doubtlessly our best knife-throwers, but which of the two is best is a point of debate, particularly between them. The food is served in a hut back in that direction. If you'd like to talk about having a weapon made, our smiths are the center of Warrior's Side and the carpenters are closer to the mountain. Basic weapons are done by Kafner and his apprentices. Croyden is our higher-level crafter for edged weapons . . .”
“Where are you taking me?”
“We're heading down to your hut. We've got a few built down at the southern fringe of town that aren't occupied yet.”
“You are giving me a place to live?”
“Of course! Unless you are more comfortable spending your nights under the stars.” Leo looked to Shadow and grinned again. “You look like a fellow with an awful lot of questions. We are all students here. If you've got a question, ask. We live to find answers. Is there something wrong?”
Shadow stopped and looked around him once more.
“All of this is wrong. This isn't how the world works. This isn't how people behave. Not around someone like me.”
Leo laughed. “Look around you. Those two?” He pointed to a pair of humans engaged in an animated debate. “They come from warring tribes. Those elves over there? Their families are ancient rivals. Anywhere else, they would kill each other on sight. Here they wield weapons against each other every day without a drop of blood to show for it. Half of the people here have got a reason to kill the other half, and yet once they reached this place they found their common ground. Don't ask me why it works. Maybe it is the cave. Perhaps having to survive something like that makes you treasure every moment that comes after. Or perhaps it is the fact that every man and woman in this place came seeking to prove that they were the best, and when they reached Entwell they found the very opponents best able to challenge them for such a title.
“I swear, you can come here looking to learn anything in the world, and the one answer you'll never find is how this place could have come to be. The stars simply aligned. All that is certain is that once the wizards and warriors of the world reached this place, they found their peers, and few have ever felt the need to leave.”
“What is expected of me?”
“Not much more than you would expect from yourself. You will be asked to learn at least two skills from the Wizard's Side and two from the Warrior's Side. If you attain a mastery level, you will be expected to take on at least one apprentice as well. The rest is up to you.”
“The Wizard's Side? I will be expected to learn magic?”
“We won't ask you to learn to cast any spells necessarily, but yes, something of that sort.”
“I haven't seen much of magic, but what I have seen makes me certain that I do not trust it. I don't want anything to do with it.”
Leo looked about briefly, then leaned close. “To be perfectly honest, neither did I,” he whispered. “But they've got some interesting tricks to share.”
“What do you study?”
“Ha! Until now, I thought I'd been doing a rather fine job of learning the ways of stealth. Seems you've provided me with a new hurdle to leap before I can make that claim again.”
“And what of the mark on my chest?”
“What of the mark on your chest?” Leo asked, clearly confused.
Shadow tugged the edge of his shirt aside to reveal the black mark. “I was asked to show it in the Elder's quarters. Those who saw it seemed to react as if they knew that it meant something.”
“Birthmarks and meanings . . . I couldn't say.” There was a call and Leo looked. Beside a small oak tree between two huts was a young woman waving him over. A wide smile came to his face. “My apologies, my friend, but I'm needed elsewhere. That hut there is yours if you want it. And about the mark . . . it sounds like more of the sort of thing that they would concern themselves with on the Wizard's Side. Better to ask there.” He trotted off toward the woman, calling back, “If you need me, just come looking. I dare say that you are one of very few around here who won't have much trouble finding me!”
The strange man ran off and joined the woman, greeting her with a peck on the cheek and a few jovial words. A few other denizens of the village greeted him and the group set off to whatever activity they had planned before Shadow's discovery had interrupted.
The malthrope let his gaze linger for a few moments, watching the friendly young man who had cheerfully accepted a bloody nose without an ounce of ill will. He then swept his eyes around the section of the village. At any other moment, if he'd found himself in the middle of a village, surrounded by people armed to the teeth, he would be running by now. Indeed, it was taking all of the strength of will he had to keep himself from doing so. And yet all he earned here was the occasional sidelong glance. The people here simply didn't care what he was. He turned now to the hut. It was a simple thing, perhaps even a bit smaller than the space he'd had on the plantation, but if what they said was true, it was his. A bed, a roof, and four walls to call his own. He sat on the bed and let his poor mind struggle with the events of the day.
Something deep inside of him rebelled, the part of him that had fought for every scrap he'd ever swallowed and every breath he'd breathed until now. This couldn't be true. How could it? He must have died in that cave. Or he was huddled in the darkness still, delirious from hunger and exhaustion. A place like this, a place where he was just another creature, couldn't exist. But the blows he'd taken in the sparring match were real. He could feel them throbbing. He closed his eyes and gripped the wooden frame, trying to focus on it. It was solid. Real. If he could push the rest aside, let it trickle in slowly, he might be able to accept this place. He breathed the fresh air, heavy with the scent of a hundred nearby people. He listened to the sounds of the
place, voices in the distance and the nearby buzz of an insect's wings.
It was just another place, he told himself. There was nothing so strange about it.
“Mr. Malthrope, sir?” asked a small voice.
His eyes opened to a sight that did little to aid his mind in accepting the reality of this place. There was a tiny feminine form fluttering on gossamer wings in front of him. She was drifting to and fro, just barely beyond the tip of his snout. It was the same creature who had been watching his battle, dressed in a doll-sized outfit of thin red cloth. She was slender, and appeared to be quite young. Black hair was cut short and flared along its length around a pert and energetic face. Her wings had a dim glow to them, a deep orange around their edge like a candle that had moments before been snuffed out. Brilliant green eyes stared sheepishly into his. She had an apologetic posture, hands clasped before her and bottom lip chewed between her teeth.
“I'm sorry to interrupt you so soon after being assigned your quarters, but I am an apprentice to the master of flame magic, Master Solomon.”
“I have no interest in flame magic, or magic of any kind.”
“Perhaps not, sir, but he has got an interest in you. If you are fatigued or unwilling to see him at the moment, please take your time, but he would like to see you as soon as you are available. He asked me to bring you to the Wizard's Side at your earliest convenience. Please consider coming with me? I would really rather bring you to him quickly. I don't get many chances to impress him.” She raised her clasped hands into a pleading gesture and bent one knee, her expression turning hopeful. “Please?”
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 182