“I do,” Me-Larr said.
“Yes,” Klag said, eager to get on with it.
“Then begin.”
Klag turned to face his foe, holding his bat’leth in a simple defensive posture. Me-Larr held his sword upright, elbows bent inward, keeping the blade close to him. Klag noted that the blade’s curvature allowed Me-Larr to hold the sword near his head without risking injury to his protruding snout.
Me-Larr swung his sword, and Klag parried it easily, the metal striking metal with a clanging sound that echoed off the surrounding trees. They each backed away a step. Klag then swung his bat’leth, and Me-Larr parried. Again, the sound reverberated; again, they each backed away. They were simply taking each other’s measure.
They continued, each making progressively bolder strikes, then pulling back. The San-Tarah’s double blade provided a flexibility with types of strokes, which made up for the limited range of those selfsame attacks. Klag found himself on the defensive in short order, but he had allowed it on purpose. He had never fought against this weapon, and he needed to know how his foe would use it.
As it happened, the strokes were fairly wide ones, but strong. What they lacked in unpredictability—a sufficiently skilled opponent could see most of them coming a qelIqam away—they made up for in sheer power.
One such stroke from Me-Larr to Klag’s right proved difficult to parry. Klag almost lost his footing as he thrust the bat’leth out and to his right to stop it. Me-Larr then took another swing to Klag’s left. The San-Tarah’s speed was impressive given the ungainliness of the sword, and Klag was barely able to switch arms so that he could parry this blow also.
This time, though, Klag was able to do more than block the stroke—he redirected it downward. Me-Larr didn’t lose his grip, but he did lose control of the sword for a moment. In that instant, Klag brought his left arm upward, striking Me-Larr in the snout with the back of the bat’leth blade. As the San-Tarah stumbled backward, Klag moved to strike him in the chest, but Me-Larr was barely able to block the blow.
Now Klag was on the offensive, hitting Me-Larr with a continuous barrage. His foe seemed to be slowing with each parry—unfortunately, so was Klag. They had been going at it for the better part of an hour now, based on the passage of the suns overhead. In particular, Klag found that he was hurting right at the point of the connection between his father’s right arm and his own right shoulder.
He drove Me-Larr to the edge of the circle, and the San-Tarah obviously realized his position, since his posture became more aggressive, then. Me-Larr refused to give any more ground.
Then Klag made his first mistake. Me-Larr thrust weakly at Klag’s left. Klag parried it with ease, but it left his right side wide open for a second—which Me-Larr took advantage of. Klag managed to get his bat’leth over in time to block the second curved blade, which kept the first straight blade from penetrating too far into his side. But penetrate it did.
First blood to Me-Larr.
Klag cursed himself. It was an obvious feint that Me-Larr had made. I fell for it like a novice. He hadn’t done anything so foolish since—
Since Father taught Dorrek and me how to use our bat’leth s as boys.
Back then, the sons of M’Raq were inseparable. Even as Me-Larr harried him with a series of strikes, Klag smiled grimly at the bittersweet memory. They had only been born a year apart, though they looked very little alike—Klag taking after M’Raq, Dorrek after their mother—but they might as well have been twins for all the time they spent together. They learned to hunt and fight together, they both studied to become officers in the Defense Force together, they even chased the same women.
It wasn’t until M’Raq escaped from the Romulans and came home that the rift opened between them.
If you had told the young Klag that they would grow up to each command one of the finest ships in the fleet, his heart would have sung with joy. It was only fitting that each command a mighty vessel. But when the news of Dorrek’s posting to the K’mpec came, Klag was filled only with disgust that his once-worthy brother now filled the same role as he. Dorrek had, Klag knew, lost sight of what it meant to be a Klingon.
He swore that the final blow in this battle with the Children of San-Tarah would be his. And then he would show Dorrek, show General Talak, show everyone that his was the heart of a true warrior.
Toq watched with glee as Klag and the San-Tarah leader fought. Neither of them gave in—whenever one got the upper hand, it didn’t last long. The fight took them all around the circle, and sometimes to its very edge, but neither combatant ever came close to stepping over the line that would end the match.
“This is truly amazing,” he said to Leskit. They stood side by side amidst a group of Klingons and San-Tarah who were crammed together, each trying to get a better view of the proceedings. “I know about the captain’s skills, but this is the first time I’ve seen one of the San- Tarah in action.”
Leskit shot him a look. “Really? Oh, yes, well, you would not have seen the other hunter in your contest.”
“No, only the results. And I have heard the stories from the troops, but still. This Me-Larr is a worthy foe.”
A voice sounded from behind Toq. “He is a superior foe.”
Toq was about to come to the defense of his captain against the slander of the San-Tarah, but when he turned around, he saw that it was Bekk Morr, the captain’s own bodyguard, who had spoken.
That, if anything, angered Toq more. “You dare speak ill of the captain?”
“I do not do so happily, Lieutenant, believe me.” Indeed, Morr’s voice sounded pained, as if he’d been forced to eat dead gagh. “I had hoped that I was mistaken, that he had regained his skills, but he has not.”
Leskit shrugged. “His form looks excellent to me.”
“Parts of his form are, yes. All his one-armed and one-handed maneuvers are those of a champion. But anytime he uses both hands or must switch, he is awkward like a novice. In particular, he is vulnerable on his right side.”
“I haven’t noticed it slowing him down,” Toq said defensively.
“It would not, at first. But the longer this goes on, the more glaring the weakness will become—and if the San-Tarah is as worthy a foe as he appears to be, then he will find ways to exploit it.”
As if to lend credence to Morr’s words, Me-Larr began a barrage of attacks, all downward strokes, first to Klag’s left, then his right, left, right, left, right in rapid succession. Klag succeeded in blocking each one, though.
“Bring your right up farther,” Morr whispered.
Much as Toq hated to admit it, he saw that Morr was right. The captain’s right arm—the one he’d had replaced—was not as strong to defend as his left. Me-Larr’s strikes on that side came very close to getting through.
Then Klag surprised everyone by blocking a left strike, not with his bat’leth, but with his left arm. The San-Tarah sword cut into his gauntlet, though Toq didn’t think it made it all the way through to the skin. Klag then swung his bat’leth around with his right arm to Me-Larr’s exposed right side. Me-Larr managed to avoid the worst of the thrust, ripping his sword out of Klag’s arm, but the bat’leth still tasted blood.
“That was foolish,” Morr said.
“I agree,” Leskit said, pointing at the darkening stain on Klag’s left gauntlet. “See? It penetrated. His left arm will weaken, and it was the stronger of the two.”
Angrily, Toq said, “Captain Klag defeated a dozen Jem’Hadar with the use of only one arm!”
“Yes, with a mek’leth—a weapon you can use one-handed. You don’t show up for a gunfight with a d’k tahg.” Leskit snorted. “And it was only seven Jem’Hadar.”
Klag struck another blow that Me-Larr was unable to parry, but did dodge. Unfortunately for the San-Tarah, even with the dodge, it struck his right leg. As he moved back further, he stumbled to the ground.
“Now it will end,” Toq said confidently.
Klag lifted his bat’leth for the kil
ling blow. Toq could see the fire in the captain’s eyes and knew that he could not lose.
However, even as he brought it down, Me-Larr somehow managed to position his sword over his chest, blocking the blow. The deafening sound of colliding blades echoed back and forth throughout the forest, as did the cheers of the Children of San-Tarah, who no doubt momentarily thought their champion lost. Me-Larr had caught the bat’leth’ s two front blades between his two blades, then twisted his arms so that the bat’leth shifted to the right. The captain was unable to keep his grip on the weapon, and it flew off to the side.
Fortunately, it did not fly far—still within the circle—and Klag was able to get to it in very short order. It did, however, give Me-Larr time to regain his footing.
Leskit smiled at Toq. “Care to revise your statement, Lieutenant?”
Toq spit at the ground at Leskit’s feet. “You may have no faith in our captain, Leskit—”
“I am extremely confident that Captain Klag will wage this battle with all the skills at his disposal,” Leskit said in that overbearing, sardonic tone of his.
Again, Toq spit at his feet.
Meanwhile, Klag bent down to the ground to grab the bat’leth with his left hand and then swung it upward in one smooth motion. Me-Larr parried the strike easily, but it left him vulnerable to a kick to the stomach from the captain.
That led to a flurry of attacks from Klag. Toq smiled, noting that the captain was wielding the bat’leth with his right arm, and mirroring the very same right-left attack that Me-Larr had used.
Toq winced when one thrust that should have come did not—it was as if the captain’s right arm suddenly seized up and stopped working. Based on the look of surprise on Klag’s face, the sudden dysfunction of his limb was neither planned nor expected. Me-Larr took advantage, naturally, and sliced upward, catching Klag in the belly.
However, Klag was able to punch Me-Larr hard in the snout with his left fist. Me-Larr stumbled backward, briefly addled, blood pouring from his mouth.
“Now, Captain, kill him!” Toq cried.
To his shock, Klag did not administer the killing blow. It was a perfect opportunity—all he had to do was run the alien through with his bat’leth. Instead, the weapon sat uselessly in his right hand.
Then Klag grabbed the bat’leth out of his right hand with his left and swung it, but by then Me-Larr had recovered.
Morr shook his head. “His right arm is useless. And his left is still bleeding. If Klag is not victorious in the next half-hour, he will not be.”
“I am sure that they thought the same of Kahless and Lukara at Qam-Chee,” Toq said with a snort.
“I do not wish to—”
Leskit interrupted Morr. “Both of you be quiet! There is a reason why the songs aren’t written until after the battle is over. Right now, we are privileged enough to watch two masters at work. Enjoy it, will you?”
Morr let out a long breath. “I apologize, Lieutenant, I simply—fear that I have failed in my duty to protect the captain.”
At once, Toq realized the reasons for Morr’s constant harping on Klag’s inadequacies. Klag had been taking his bat’leth drills with Morr. Toq remembered the pride that Lorgh had taken in Toq’s hunting lessons, and his feelings of personal failure whenever Toq did something wrong, as if that failure reflected on Lorgh’s abilities as a teacher more than Toq’s inadequacies as a student. Morr appeared to be feeling much the same thing.
“The captain took us on this path, Bekk, ” Toq said quietly. “It is only fitting that he be the one to take the final step. You have done everything you can, and there is no shame in it.”
“Listen to the boy, Morr,” Leskit added with a smile. “He’s smarter than he looks.”
A cheer went up from the gathered Klingons, and Toq looked back into the circle.
Klag had struck another blow, this to Me-Larr’s shoulder.
Pain tore through Me-Larr’s left shoulder as the Klingon sword penetrated fur, flesh, and bone. His right leg burned even as it started to go cold. Gripping the hilt of his sword in his right hand, he desperately kept up a defense. His breaths came in shallow rasps that sent needlelike pains through his chest, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. The salty taste of blood filled his mouth from the tooth that had loosened from his foe’s blow to his head.
Captain Klag was a magnificent, if flawed, opponent. What he lacked in skill, he made up for with sheer tenacity and ferocity. The mightiest Child of San-Tarah could not hope to surpass the passion with which this Klingon fought.
The weapon Captain Klag used helped considerably. Me-Larr had been told that Kahless—that revered figure in the Klingons’ history—had forged the first of these weapons, which they had named a bat-lett. Its versatility amazed Me-Larr. The weapon was suited to be held one-handed or two-handed, horizontally or vertically, straight ahead or cradled against the curve of one’s arm. Me-Larr thought it the finest weapon he’d ever seen, and he wondered if there was any way the Klingons could leave some of them behind after the contest was over.
The thought was, of course, pure foolishness. They will hardly reward the one who defeats their leader.
Even as feeling drained from Me-Larr’s left arm, he thought he saw an end in sight. He had spent the entirety of the fight watching Captain Klag, and discovering the pattern of his swordplay. Several times, Me-Larr had deliberately let the Klingon get the upper hand in order to better study his maneuvers. Truth be told, Captain Klag also earned the upper hand with no help from Me-Larr on many occasions. But Me-Larr had been able to find several weaknesses, and he now had determined a means to use it against his worthy opponent.
Assuming I live long enough to implement it. It had been many seasons since Me-Larr had fought for so long alone. Many Great Hunts had lasted longer than this, of course, but there he was one among many. Few of his bouts in the circle had been so grueling, certainly none of the recent ones. He could feel his limbs slowing down, felt his very life drain with each effort to make his body move, and those efforts taking longer each time. I feel like I’m older than Te-Run….
His only solace was that he could see the same thing happening to Captain Klag. The Klingon had taken to avoiding using his right arm, which only improved Me- Larr’s chances, especially as the blood seeped from the wound in the captain’s left.
What he needed to do was get Captain Klag to commit to a thrust that led with his right arm. For whatever reason, those thrusts tended to come up short, and were easily parried. Me-Larr needed to set up one such thrust so he could disarm his foe.
Dimly, he registered the cheers of both his people and the Klingons. He was too fatigued to make out the words, but he heard both his name and Captain Klag’s being called out. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the size of the crowd watching them had not noticeably diminished, even though the contest had gone on for much of the day.
The fate of our world is in my hands, he thought as he made a conservative feint to his right, leaving his left side vulnerable.
Leading with his right hand, Captain Klag thrust downward toward Me-Larr’s left side.
Me-Larr parried easily, catching the Klingon’s blade—which would not have reached Me-Larr’s side in any case—between the blades of his own sword right at the spot where Klag’s right hand held it. Then he twisted his wrists.
The weapon went flying out of the Klingon’s hands and out of the boundaries of the circle. Me-Larr heard the snapping of bones in Captain Klag’s right hand even as he slammed the hilt of his sword into the Klingon’s jaw, sending his opponent down to the ground.
Almost instantly, the crowd went quiet.
Me-Larr stood over his fallen foe. “The battle is over, Captain Klag. You may not retrieve your weapon without violating the circle. You are at my mercy. Do you concede the battle?” To accentuate the point, Me-Larr cradled the Klingon’s neck between the two blades of his sword. One slice in either direction would cut his throat.
The h
ead of the Ruling Pack of the Children of San-Tarah watched the eyes of his foe as they vacillated between furious and respectful.
Speaking slowly, with the fury Me-Larr saw in his eyes tingeing his voice, Captain Klag said, “You have won this battle. I die with my eyes open. I ask only that you kill me quickly.”
A part of Me-Larr wished to do it. It was, after all, the fitting end to the fight. But, no. He removed the sword from Captain Klag’s neck. “I would sooner cut down the Sacred Tree than I would deny your noble crew their leader. You have been more than just to us, and are truly the greatest foes we have ever fought. Tales of your prowess will be told at feasts until the end of time.” He threw his sword to the ground. “I grant you your life, Captain Klag, for you have earned that and more. But your people must leave San-Tarah immediately and never come back.”
The Klingon leader rose to his feet. His eyes still smoldered, but Me-Larr sensed that the anger was at himself for losing. Lending credence to this were the gentle tone with which he spoke his next words. “I gave you my word, Me-Larr. No true Klingon would ever break it. The Empire will never trouble your world again.”
Even as Captain Klag spoke those words, and the gathered Children of San-Tarah cheered their leader’s triumph, Me-Larr found himself thinking about what Te-Run had said the previous night. And he wondered if he had truly won a victory this day.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Klag sat in his office on the Gorkon, reviewing the record of the final swordfight against Me-Larr that had been transmitted to the ship. It was the third time he had watched it since he and the rest of the crew had beamed back up and left orbit. They had not departed the star system yet, pending a response from General Talak to Klag’s report. Toq had requested they remain a bit longer to finish mapping out the subspace eddies—the knowledge that they were caused by subspace weapons in a long-ago space battle had proven helpful to Toq in determining their pattern, interestingly enough.
I.K.S. Gorkon Book One: A Good Day to Die Page 20