by M. L. Greye
“She’s not an idiot,” he mused. “She’d go for my left side, upward between my ribs. To end me as fast as she could.”
The Gray smiled, almost fondly. “I think so, too.” He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he cracked his neck to the either side. “Come on, show me what she’s taught you.”
:::::
The morning of the Kruth staff championship, Emry rose before the sun. She had Fanny plait her hair on top of her head in a braided coronet – typical for Kruth women.
She dressed in a pair of soft black boots that went halfway up her calves and felt like she wore nothing at all. She usually wore the thick, fur-lined boots, but today she’d suffer the cold so that her feet would be light. She wore her usual fur-lined leggings in black, and a thick, black tunic that wet mid-way down her thighs with a wide black belt hanging loosely at her hips. Finally, she turned her hair blonde.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, she looked Kruth. She wore all black on purpose. To make a statement. To put on the persona she’d been slowly crafting all month. Fanny didn’t question her attire or the summoning at such an early hour. She merely did Emry’s hair and excused herself when finished. Emry really liked Fanny, despite her incessant use of formal titles.
Emry didn’t eat anything – her stomach was too nervous. She simply became shadow and slipped out through the cracks of her townhome’s door. Beneath the purple sky, Emry savored the darkness clinging to the last tendrils of night before the sun rose. She slinked through the city and didn’t solidify until she was almost to the center of Wexric. To where she’d seen them setting up the rounds for the past week.
It was a yearly event, but was rarely won twice. Its champion was celebrated all year long.
People were already crowding the square. Emry twined through them to where she’d arranged to meet Llydia and Levric, who had traveled to be there for the competition. Declan’s parents were next to a lamppost on the south side.
Upon seeing Emry approach, Llydia blinked. “Where’s your staff?”
Emry glanced around and realized all the other contestants had brought their own. She knew they were contestants by the green ribbons tied around their upper arms. “I’ll go find one after I register.”
The registration table had been set up near the rounds. A leathery Kruth woman sat behind it with green ribbons lining one side of the table. Emry pulled to a stop in front of her and said in her now well-practiced Kruth accent, “What be I needing to register?”
The woman glanced up from the papers in front of her and quirked a brow. “For yerself?”
“No, for me sister,” Emry drawled. “Yes, for meself.”
She frowned. “The city of Wexric be not responsible for any injury or death.”
“People be dying from this?” Emry asked, surprised.
“Not yet,” the woman replied. Although, her look suggested Emry might change that as she handed Emry a green ribbon. “Sign yer name here.”
Emry obeyed, signing in a squiggle of letters, unrecognizable and quick. As soon as she finished, the woman’s gaze drifted to the man behind Emry. It was a not so subtle message that Emry was done here.
She walked away, while trying to tie the ribbon around her arm like the others. It was too long, though, and would get in the way of her staff. Odd, since all the other enormous Kruths could fit the ribbon around their arms just fine. Emry decided to put it around her right leg. It was much thicker than her arm – closer in width to the Kruth men’s arms.
On her way back to Declan’s parents, Emry noticed two boys fighting with staffs off to the side. They were either eleven or twelve, by the look of them, and the lengths of their staffs were absolutely perfect. Emry shifted her direction to join them.
“Morning to you,” she greeted, still in her Kruth accent. She’d be using it all day. Llydia had deemed it sufficient, which made Emry feel just a little bit proud. “Might I be asking you a favor?”
Their eyes landed on the ribbon around her leg. The smaller of the two asked, “What you be needing, miss?”
It was so lovely not to be addressed as dearest anything. She pointed at one of their staffs. “Care if I be borrowing that, lad?”
They stared at her, stunned. “I promise not to break it,” she assured, although she wasn’t sure that sentence was quite the way a Kruth would have said it.
The boys exchanged glances then the taller one offered her his staff.
“Thank you, lad.” She took it from him and ran her hands over the worn wood. It wasn’t perfectly straight, but it would do.
“Succeed in yer endeavors,” the smaller boy said.
Her gaze snapped up at the Anexian saying. She was startled to hear it here in Kruth. Yet, she grinned and finished the phrase, “Or die trying.”
A few minutes later, she was back to Levric and Llydia, who had a sharp intake of breath upon seeing Emry’s borrowed staff. “Isn’t that for children?” Llydia said it like an accusation.
Emry just shrugged. “Maybe in Kruth.”
“When’s your first match?” Levric asked.
“They didn’t say.” She frowned.
Levric nodded once. “What number are you?”
She winced. “I didn’t ask.” Could she have been any more ill-prepared?
Llydia pointed to the ribbon around Emry’s leg. She glanced down and suddenly felt a little sheepish. The number 210 had been embroidered quickly into one end of it. “Oh.”
“You head to the rounds to wait,” Levric told her. “We’ll go place our bets.”
“Your what?” Emry stared at him.
He smiled, “We’re going to raise some awareness for you.”
“You’re going to put your money on me?” She blurted in horror. “What if I lose?”
Llydia tilted her head to the side. “Will you?”
“No,” Emry replied slowly. She really wouldn’t. Not today. She wasn’t going to let anyone best her.
“Then you’ll only be making us richer.”
Emry sincerely hoped they were right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The contestants were told to go to the rounds to wait for their number to be called. Emry had already been standing there for about half an hour – ever since she’d parted with Declan’s parents.
There were only two other women waiting for their turn on the rounds. So that made three of them – out of probably fifty. Not to mention, both women had to be about six inches taller than Emry.
Her palms were beginning to sweat. She was nervous. She needed to win. Really, really needed to win. She needed to gain the respect of Kruth, and this was her best shot. Her quickest and easiest option.
She rested her borrowed staff on the ground in front of her and twisted her hands back and forth over the wood – her hands stacked one on top of the other. It was very nice of the boy to trust her. Like many other Kruths, he was very generous.
A burly, middle-aged man with a tuft of snow white hair on top of his head stepped onto one of the five rounds. The square grew quiet as he lifted a hand in the air. “Morning to you,” he called out.
“Morning to you,” the crowd encircling Emry called back cheerily.
“Welcome to Staffs Day!” He shouted. “The best day of the year!”
The crowd erupted into hooting and whistling applause. Emry clapped along, a grin plastered on her face, even though she had to disagree. Night’s Crown was by far better.
“You be ready to watch some brawling?” The man yelled. Again the cheers. He smiled broadly. “Then, we best get to it.”
He began listing off the first ten numbers – the first ten contestants. Emry wasn’t one of them. She stayed in her spot, rubbing her hands over the wood of her staff – to stop her hands from trembling. Her anxiety was growing, especially as the nine enormous men and one of the tall women stepped onto the rounds of dark brown clay.
From somewhere Emry couldn’t see, drums began – a steady, fast beat, building and building. The contestants raised th
eir staffs in front of them, readying for the signal. Louder and louder, faster and faster the drums beat. Deafening and reverberating inside her chest. Until all at once they stopped. The Kruths leaped at each other. The first thwacks of their staffs echoed off the surrounding buildings. The crowd burst into shouts and cheers.
And Emry nearly sank to her knees in relief.
The Kruths were terrible.
It was like they’d never held a staff before in their lives. They swung them around like they were some sort of club or a large sword. They were slow on their feet. There was no rhythm at all to their movements. Trez was right. Kruths looked like unskilled oxen. These were supposed to be the best of the best and they looked like Emry maybe a month into her training.
They were strong, though. She watched as one of the men smacked another across his side so hard it sent him sprawling. He hobbled up to his feet but not fast enough to block another blow to his shoulder. The man went down with a groan.
The one still standing took a step back and a Ruby rushed to the side of the fallen. She ran her hands just above his side and shoulder as the announcer with the white hair appeared at the side of the one standing. He held out his hand and they clasped wrists before the standing contestant walked off the round, staff in hand.
So … their match was over. A little anticlimactic, but there were many other matches to follow. No need to make a big deal out of the first winner.
The eliminated fellow was helped off the round and the announcer called out two more numbers – barely audible over the din. Emry noticed the woman didn’t win her match, either. Not very comforting.
Emry continued to watch match after match. It seemed the bigger the muscles the more likely to win. The other woman barely managed to win her match, but Emry suspected it was because she’d been paired with a smaller man by comparison to the others. Again, not very comforting. She understood now why Llydia had said women didn’t usually sign up. The woman who’d won had still walked off with a black eye and bruised ribs.
It wasn’t until the seventeenth match that Emry’s number was finally called. Every round had been filled up two more times. She knew because she’d been counting. She almost missed her number, being distracted by one of the other matches. The announcer had had to repeat himself.
But now Emry was walking to the round. Even though it was bitter cold, even with all the people, Emry barely noticed. The Kruth who approached with her was shorter than most, but was thick. His arms bulged beneath his tunic. His own staff looked like it was two of Emry’s. He stepped onto the round and when he saw Emry do the same, he laughed. He actually laughed. Emry raised her eyebrows at him.
“You be joking.” He slapped one hand on his thigh. “Such a small thing. You be holding a bairn’s staff. You be about to ruin yer pretty face.”
Emry had honestly hoped for this reaction – had been preparing for it. It was why she’d been practicing her responding face in a mirror for nearly a month. Setting her face in the taunting, sultry smile she’d stolen from Sabine, Emry jutted out one hit, dropped her shoulder, and tilted her head to one side. “You not be scared, then?”
“Of you?” He blurted with another laugh. “Nah, lass.”
“Yer mistake.”
Before he could ready himself, Emry ran at him. He swore and raised his staff above his head to swing it down at her. She drew up her own staff, her hand on either side, as if she was about to block his blow. But as he brought it crashing down, she spun left and dropped into a crouch, while simultaneously flinging out one side of the staff with the flick of her wrist. It flew around the back of the Kruth’s knees just as his staff slammed into the round.
She caught the other end of her staff with her free hand, reaching down low across his legs, and yanked it to her through his ankles. He stumbled sideways and Emry didn’t waste a second. Holding her staff at both ends, she began peppering him with thrusts toward his head, his side, his knees, his shoulder. It was a barrage to set him off guard, to keep him occupied and distracted, while continuously retreating. Just as Trezim had taught her – to use her weaknesses as strengths. She would never be able to meet the Kruth muscle to muscle, but she was small and quick. She didn’t need to get fancy on her first match – she just needed him to step off the round, out of bounds. Which was exactly what he did.
As soon as his foot went down over the edge of the round, Emry ceased her attack. He swore, glancing down at his foot. He glared up at Emry and she flashed him a smug smile. “Yer mistake,” she repeated.
The announcer appeared to clasp hands with Emry. “Well done, lass,” he congratulated with a wink.
Emry smiled and returned to the waiting area. She hadn’t even broken a sweat. Her match had taken maybe five minutes. There still were about twenty more people waiting for their first match. Emry wouldn’t be up again until after they all competed. The winners of each match would then be tallied and paired off once more. But then that would be only the second bracket of matches. Emry probably had another four or five ahead of her. The more the better. She wanted to be noticed.
She had a while to wait, though. Her body felt all coiled up and tight. She wanted to pace up and down the rounds. She wanted to move to release all her pent-up energy and nerves. She would have even settled on screaming, but instead she found a spot on one of the rough-hewn plank benches that had been brought out for the contestants and forced herself to sit down.
Leaning forward on her staff, she kept her eyes on the rounds. On her competition. She made herself focus by picking out similar moves between the various players – memorizing them so if someone tried to pull one on her she’d recognize it. So that she could beat them all.
It took over an hour to get through the rest of the first bracket of matches. Emry had been closer to the beginning. With some brief praise to the winners, the announcer began the second bracket. This time, Emry was startled to hear her number as one of the first five matches.
She was the first one to her assigned round, but twenty seconds later a beefy young man joined her – his too long staff in hand. He looked to be around her age with pale scruff covering his jaw, and he was about a foot taller than Emry. When his eyes landed on her, he sighed. Sighed like he was dealing with a stubborn little child. Emry blinked. That was not a reaction she’d been anticipating.
As she raised her staff, gripping it on either side in front of her, the man frowned. “I be not about to pull me blows, lass.”
Emry nearly laughed. “Good. I be not to do so either, lad.”
That was all they said. This match went by much the same as her last. His skill level was about the same as her previous opponent. Emry realized that first one might had actually been fairly decent for a Kruth. With this new one, she didn’t force him off the round. She brought him onto his back with a quick sweep of her staff to his legs. Before he could roll back up, she jumped above him. A knee on his chest, one end of her staff to his throat.
Despite what she’d said earlier, she’d had to check her blow from shattering his nose. She’d pinned him, winning her second match in barely more time than her last one. This time the crowd noticed. They applauded her as she walked off the round. A few even threw her a coin, which she pocketed. Not for herself – for Levric and Llydia.
Even though she had to wait through about the same number of matches, for some reason it felt like this bracket moved much faster. She was just finishing a cup of steaming apple cider that had been handed out to the winners of the second bracket when the announcer got up to start the third. The other woman hadn’t progressed on. It was now just Emry and the men.
Her third match lasted twice as long as the first two. Yet, when she brought him to his back, her breathing was still fairly even. Her fourth match, though, made her pant.
The Kruth had realized she was faster than him, so he thought to combat that by waving his staff back and forth like a pendulum. Like he could make a shield in front of him with his swinging staff. She had to dart in and o
ut of his staff’s arc – ever mindful of its trajectory because if it hit her once she was sure she’d be flung from the round. The man’s arms were as thick as her thighs, and she didn’t have stick legs. By the time she finally managed to knock his staff out of his hands, sending it flying into the crowd, ending the match, Emry was sweating beneath her wool and fur. The first time of the day.
When she walked off the round this time, it was to thundering applause. To the audience, Emry was this petite little thing and was destroying the best men Kruth had to offer. Anywhere else, Emry was of average height, but in Kruth, the shortest woman she’d seen was around five feet eight inches, and Emry was five-five and a half on a good day. What she was doing to these men nearly twice her size was unheard of. At least in Kruth.
By now it was mid-afternoon. The square was filled with people, drinking hearty ales or hot ciders, cheering on the matches, devouring fresh warm sticky rolls. It was a day to celebrate being Kruth. Following the matches, there would be a dance, right on the rounds – where the Mountain Thunder would begin the night. The finalists would start it out with partners of their choice from the crowd. Emry would be one of them. Because she only had one more match to go.
The pale announcer started the final bracket – the match for Champion of the Staff. It was down to just two of them – Emry and an orange-eyed giant she’d watched earlier. The square had gotten more crowded – everyone coming to see the final match. Emry should have worried her guards would see her, but as she supposedly hadn’t left the house, they weren’t permitted to do so either. Fanny would stop anyone from going snooping for her in her rooms.
Even if they did catch the match, she wasn’t sure they’d recognize the blonde Kruth girl as the raven-haired princess. Sometimes people didn’t believe what was right in front of them.
Emry faced the Orange on the round. His staff, surprisingly enough, was the proper size for his height. Emry watched as he adjusted his grip on the staff and dropped into his opening stance. She blinked, realizing with a start the Orange knew the Turanga. All the better. Emry grinned.