The name Marybador was often applied to the entire region, but it was really only the name of the island on which the headquarters were situated. It was small, as islands go, she supposed, but it had plenty of space for their needs. The sprawling compound covered forty or fifty acres, with plenty of unused land still on the island.
She looked down into the water from her vantage point on a rock overhang. The woman staring back at her was often called beautiful. Men seemed to like her features, seemed to lose their sense when she was around. She looked more closely to determine what it was that caused them all to act like such fools when they were near her.
Her corn silk hair blanketed her head in perfect waves, shining in the morning sunlight. Her face, too thin she thought, sloped with delicate angles to her slightly pointed chin. Her cheekbones, too pronounced, seemed overly sharp to her. She did like her own eyes, though, and how they seemed to transmit her feelings, with their subtle blue with yellow swirls within. She didn’t spend a great deal of time looking at herself, but she probably did so more than normal people, trying to figure out why everyone called her a “goddess.”
Her body, apparently, was the perfect mix of toned muscle and shapely curves. She did have to agree with that; she liked how her body looked. In fact, if she could be said to have one flaw, one bit of arrogance, it was that she tended to wear clothes that showed off that body. And why not? She had worked hard all these years in training. Why shouldn’t she wear skin tight clothing that made the boys stop in their tracks, staring with their mouths open? They enjoyed looking at her and she enjoyed them looking. There was no harm there, right?
She straightened her back, noticing the pleasing way it caused her chest to push out, accentuating the gentle curves of her breasts. Yeah, she kind of liked her body. She’d keep it. Laughing at her reflection, she threw a pebble into the water, breaking her image into a thousand ripples. She had better things to do than to sit and stare at herself. That was the boys’ job, after all.
Chuckling again, she jumped to her feet, her snug pants and even snugger half-top caressing her as she moved. She picked up her bladed pole, a six foot staff with wide blades at each end, almost like two swords had been attached there, spun it once, shouldered it, and headed toward the competition grounds. Today was the big contest and she shouldn’t be late. Again.
Regi would be one of the twenty-six competitors today, the best combatants in the entire Sapsyra order. It would be a long day of fighting, but it would be fun. She was looking forward to it. As she skipped toward her destination, she threw herself into a cartwheel and then into a roundoff, ending with a back handspring and a graceful flip, landing lightly on her feet with hardly any noise, her weapon making the turns as if it was part of her.
And it was, kind of. She had practiced with the pole for years and didn’t feel the same without it in her hands, or at least close by. She’d use a mock-up of her own weapon today, padded and safe. The contests would include unarmed as well as armed combat, depending upon the stones drawn. She hoped she got weapon combat. She loved weapon combat.
Taking one more long look at her surroundings, she sighed contentedly. Marybador was an island in Zyrqyt Lake, in the cone of what was once a volcano. Apparently, thousands of years ago, the volcano had erupted and the entire cone had collapsed, creating a crater. It had filled up with water and the lake had formed. The Sapsyra compound, on its little island, was surrounded by the lake and by high cliffs all around, the remaining walls of the cone. It made for a highly defensible position.
Not that the Sapsyra were ever attacked. One would have to be mad to attack the finest warriors on Gythe. Still, aside from the military value of the location, it was also a beautiful place. It got a little cold in the winters, but if that was the price to pay to see the sunlight dancing off the lake’s still water, reflecting the snow-covered trees, then she would gladly pay it.
She continued on her way into the compound. As she approached the outer walls, she caught sight of a masked figure making her way toward Regi. With that mask, it could only be one person.
“Hey, Towel Face, where’re you headed?” she yelled out to Nalia Wroun. “The contest is that way,” she pointed back toward the way from which Nalia had come. “Are you chickening out because you know you’ll have to fight me?”
The masked head shook as if having to deal with an obnoxious child. Regi got that a lot. “No.” She stopped in front of Regi. “My mother has sent me to try to find you so that you are not late. Again.”
“Awww,” Regi protested, “I won’t be late. I was heading there, wasn’t I?”
Nalia stared at her with the blank mask, silent. The seconds ticked by. Then, she shook her masked head again, chuckled softly, and put her arm around her friend’s shoulder.
“It is impossible to be cross with you,” Nalia scolded her. “And do not let my mother hear you calling me by that nickname. She hates it and thinks it disrespectful.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t mind though, right?”
“No, I do not mind. Just do not let others hear you say it. It is,” she looked away for a moment, trying to find the right word, “inappropriate.”
“Ok, no big deal. It’ll just be our little secret.”
The two young women headed through the open front gates and past the thick stone walls that made up the outer defenses to the compound. Though they had never been attacked, the Sapsyra Shin Elah was a martial organization, structured like a military unit, and their buildings reflected it. They hurried toward the large amphitheater near the center of the compound, Regi speeding ahead, trying to race Nalia, taunting her and goading her on. Nalia kept up a constant moderate jog, ignoring the taunts, shaking her head at her friend’s antics.
As they came close to the combat ring on the stage of the amphitheater, they slowed to a walk. Regi looked over at her friend, wearing the loose-fitting mottled gray-green garb most of the Sapsyra wore. Not for the first time—and not for the last she was sure—she thought of how bad it must be to be so ugly that she would have to wear a mask all the time.
The two had been friends their entire lives. Regi’s mother had been one of the Sapsyra, a close friend to Nalia’s mother Ylleria. She hadn’t known her father, some man her mother bedded while out on a mission somewhere. When her mother died in service to the order, Ylleria took Regi in as her own. To this day, she was still the only one who called her by her full name: Reginia. Actually, maybe not. Master Rindu called her by that name sometimes, but Ylleria only called her by her full name. Always.
She and Nalia had grown up together, sisters and best friends at the same time. In the crucial year after her mother had died, Regi had adopted a carefree, joking attitude to cover the deep pain she felt. At first, she did it just to appease others, to show them that she was not damaged, but she found that the more she put on that mask, the more she became like it. Soon, her real personality and the mask she had carefully created were one and the same.
As they grew, Nalia excelled in everything: combat, book knowledge, rohw training with her father, everything. Regi studied hard and trained hard, doing well herself, but she couldn’t seem to take anything seriously. Because of that, the leaders of the Sapsyra constantly wheedled her, tried to squeeze her into the mold the rest of them had designed for her. She wouldn’t budge, though. She was truly happy being carefree. She didn’t need rules to tell her if and when she was happy.
She was one of the top ten fighters in the order. On a good day, she may be ranked as high as fifth or sixth. Well, today would tell it true. She felt that it was a good day and her energy was at a high level. The other combatants better be wary. She was ready to fight.
The twenty-six women stood respectfully around the combat ring. The leader of the Sapsyra order held the title of Rusha. Dreya Kloos, the current Rusha, stood before the combatants, looking at each one in turn. Then, she turned to the other Sapsyra, arrayed out before them on the benches set on top of each tier of the amphitheater.
“Welcome to our contest of combat!” she said loudly. “We have here the twenty-six finest fighters among our sisters, selected by smaller competitions held over the last year.” The crowd of sisters cheered loudly.
“Today, we find out who is the supreme combat specialist. Each match will be chosen by drawing stones with the combatants’ names written on them. Any single loss will cause the sister to be eliminated. The winner’s stone will be returned to the pot to be chosen again. We will also draw stones for the manner of the competition, whether hand-to-hand or with weapons.” She turned to the combatants.
“Are you ready?” All the women nodded. Regi winked at the Rusha.
Shaking her head—why did everyone do that when they were around Regi—she continued, “Then let us begin.”
Rusha Kloos reached into the pot holding the stones and drew out two. “Kaina Tarm and Regi Sparks.” As the women entered the ring, the Rusha drew out a stone from another pot. “Combatants’ choice of weapon.”
Regi smiled as she picked up the padded mock-up of her bladed pole. She blew a kiss to Nalia and skipped up to the ring. This was going to be fun.
The two women bowed to each other and then to the leaders sitting on the stage. Formalities observed, they squared off.
Kaina Tarm was a small woman with her bright red hair tied back into a long pantor tail. Her weapon of choice was the spear. She dropped into a classic deep stance, her spear held at the ready, waiting to see if Regi would move first.
Regi didn’t.
Instead, Regi spun her bladed pole, causing the padded wooden blades to whistle. She spun the weapon in front of her, behind her back, and twirled her body, landing in a deep stance herself, one of the blades of her weapon pointing directly at Kaina. The red-haired sister took that as a cue to attack.
The spear shot out, traveling along Kaina’s outstretched arm with great speed, blunted point on a trajectory toward Regi’s head. Regi batted it away almost contemptuously with her own weapon, rotating the blade in a circle to strike at her opponent’s hand. The other Sapsyr had already moved, sliding to the side to strike at Regi with the butt end of her spear. Regi blocked that strike as well, with the center of her staff.
Kaina tried to thrust with the spear, projecting the tip out, pulling it back, and sending it toward Regi again, over and over. Regi moved her head or other part of her body each time just enough so that the spear’s tip would miss her by a fraction of an inch. Then she swept one of the blades down to drive the spear tip toward the ground and at the same time rotated her body counter-clockwise, performing a high wheel kick which dropped right on top of Kaina.
The redhead backed up quickly so that the kick didn’t connect, but when Regi landed, her feet came down precisely on the spear’s shaft. It flexed wildly but did not break. Instead, the force of Regi’s weight on it tore it out of Kaina’s hands.
Regi continued her spin, throwing her leg out for a kick, which Kaina dodged, and a spinning back fist strike, which Kaina jammed, though barely. One more complete spin and the blade of Regi’s weapon sliced at the other woman’s leg and the other blade immediately swung around to strike at Kaina’s exposed neck.
All motion froze, Kaina standing there awkwardly with a padded blade stopped barely touching her throat, and Regi holding her weapon in perfect stillness. Then Regi smiled at Kaina, removed the blade from her neck, reached over, and patted her on the shoulder.
“That,” Regi said, “was a blast! Let’s do it again. Best two out of three?”
Kaina looked at Regi, confused. Then she looked at the Rusha, who was just getting to her feet, shaking her head. The diminutive red-haired woman bowed to Regi, then to the Rusha, and made her way out of the ring.
“Winner, Regi Sparks,” Rusha Kloos said, with just a hint of exasperation in her voice.
The day stretched on as contest after contest was started and finished. As the afternoon wore on, the field narrowed and narrowed again. Finally, there were only two combatants left. Rusha Kloos selected the stones as a formality.
“Nalia Wroun and Regi Sparks,” she called out. The two women, moving slightly more slowly than they had when the combat started earlier that morning, stood and entered the ring. The stone for the manner of combat was drawn.
“Unarmed combat,” the Rusha announced.
Nalia looked at Regi. The two stared at each other for a moment, until Regi broke into a wide grin. She mouthed the words “Towel Face” and heard Nalia giggle softly in her mask.
“Well, Nal,” Regi said. “Are you ready to finally lose a match?”
“If it is to you,” she bowed, “losing will be acceptable.”
“Begin,” the Rusha called out.
As they circled each other for the briefest of moments, Regi looked to the side of the ring, where the Sapsyra leaders sat. She could see Ylleria there, proud as she could be, watching intensely. She saw the Rusha seat herself and focus her attention on the two combatants. Scanning the audience, she saw that the eyes of every Sapsyra were trained on them. No one dared to look down or away for fear of missing any part of this bout. Regi decided she liked being in the limelight. She smiled and attacked.
Regi switched her stance to a right lead, trying to throw off Nalia’s timing and distancing. She immediately lunged forward to strike with her right hand while sweeping at Nalia’s lead leg with her right foot. Nalia swatted the punch aside, turning the parry into a strike of her own while lifting her leg just enough for Regi’s sweep to pass harmlessly underneath it. Regi moved her head to slip Nalia’s strike and backed up a step, out of range.
As Nalia came forward, Regi threw a fast kick combination at her: low, then high, then mid-height, her foot striking out so quickly it was a blur. Nalia blocked the first kick with her own kick, the second she patted just forcefully enough to cause to go wide, and for the third she lunged in and jammed Regi’s leg, stopping the kick before it could connect. When Regi used the momentum from Nalia’s strike to spin and try to strike with the back of her foot, Nalia ducked underneath the spinning kick and struck out at Regi’s leg, not doing any damage but causing her to lose her balance momentarily.
Regi threw herself to the side, kicking off with her other leg and twisting in mid-air, coming down in a perfect three-point landing, both feet and one hand lightly touching the cloth-covered surface of the combat ring. She rose to her feet and backed up another step.
Then it was Nalia’s turn to attack. The masked Sapsyr lunged in with a lead-hand jab while delivering a sidekick toward Regi’s midsection. Regi knew the jab couldn’t connect so angled to the side to parry the sidekick away. As she did, she shuffled in and threw a flurry of blows at the other woman. Right jab, left straight punch, right hook, left uppercut, right cross, left lifting strike, all within a second.
Nalia calmly turned all the blows aside, using her forearms and elbows and rotating her arms with a minimum of motion. So perfect was her distancing that several of the blows just barely grazed the cloth of her mask, but didn’t actually strike her. She responded with blows of her own. Soon there was a blur of hands that Regi was sure the audience members wouldn’t even be able to follow.
Regi blocked, parried, counterattacked, and tried her best to strike the other woman, but couldn’t. Nalia tried also but was unsuccessful. As their hands and elbows flew, Regi drove her knee sharply into Nalia’s knee trying to buckle it to throw her off-balance, but Nalia was not so easily toppled. The masked combatant stiffened her leg and then twisted her knee back toward the other woman, causing Regi to move slightly, interrupting her stance by the smallest of distances.
Regi tried to take advantage of the slight movement her foot was forced to make by thrusting out her hand to grab Nalia’s shoulder, attempting to apply a joint lock. Nalia had anticipated the motion, however, and snatched Regi’s wrist. Just as Regi expected.
Regi twisted her own wrist around and snapped her palm onto Nalia’s forearm. Shifting her left foot, she rotated her body an
d after blocking a strike from Nalia’s right hand, bent her masked friend at the waist, moving in for the final trap. She twisted, swept her foot out while pulling up with her other hand, aiming to throw Nalia off her feet.
Instead, she found herself upside down, seeing Nalia’s image twirl by as she landed flat on her back in the ring. The air was knocked out of her and for a moment, she lost track of where she was. Then, she focused her eyes and saw Nalia there, above her, with her knee bent and resting on Regi’s ribs and her hand in a sword-strike position with the fingers resting against Regi’s throat. She understood. If this was real combat, her ribs would have been crushed and her throat torn out. She would be dead.
She looked up into Nalia’s masked face. They were both motionless and silent for a moment. Then, Regi broke out in a delighted laugh, grabbed Nalia’s arm, and pulled the other woman down on top of her. She hugged her tightly to herself and began to roll over and over until the masked woman was hugging her back.
Ending up with Nalia on the ground and Regi on top of her, she heard Nalia’s wonderful, tinkling laugh, the one she loved to hear so much. She smiled widely at her friend and climbed to her feet.
Regi held her hand out to help Nalia up. When her friend took the proffered hand, Regi pulled her into another hug, kissed her mask where her cheek would be, and then released her. She took one step back and bowed deeply to her friend, smile so big it hurt her face. She looked over just in time to see Rusha Kloos roll her eyes and Ylleria put her forehead in her palm. Regi felt her face flush.
The Rusha approached the women, eyeing Regi coolly and Nalia with satisfaction. “We have a champion,” she announced, gesturing toward Nalia. The masked woman bowed to the Rusha, to Regi, to the leaders seated next to the ring, and to the audience in turn.
The leader of the order continued, “The award for being the supreme combat technician of the Sapsyra,” she motioned for a sister to bring a wrapped bundle to her, “are these ancient weapons. They are heirlooms of the Sapsyra order, handed down through the centuries, made by an art long since forgotten. They are called shrapezi, ‘iron moon’ in the Old Kasmali language.”
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 45