Fighting for You

by Megan Derr

  "Yes, Shanna has that effect."

  "So does Kallaar," Ahmla said wryly. "Sometimes I envy bloodgivers like Omar and Sendaar, who are sworn to obedient lords with sense in their heads."

  Penli laughed. "I think you would be unbearably bored."

  "Probably." Ahmla sighed. "It's a brave thing you do, challenging Lord Tishasanti, especially as he's proven he's willing to use the foulest means to ensure you lose."

  "I'm not really any better, at the end of the day. Tishasanti and I are not all that different when the frippery is stripped away."

  "That's ridiculous, though I will concede you are both stubborn and dangerous. But Tishasanti would only work this hard for himself, and you have nothing to gain from challenging him."

  Penli thought of Teia and Sendaar curled together on the bench. Stretched out on either side of him, reading to him, or Sendaar softly singing. "That is not true," he said softly. "I am confounded that even Tishasanti cannot see the good thing he nearly had. I am even more confounded he would want to split them up." He frowned. "Especially since his proposed replacement, Master Omar, made it sound as though there was no significant difference, in terms of bloodgivers, between him and Sendaar."

  Ahmla snorted, and leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his broad chest. "In lineage, I guess there is no significant difference. One peasant is much like another, to people around here. A bloodgiver with noble blood is somehow better, even though that makes no difference in how well I swing a sword. No, Lord Tishasanti does not particularly care who replaces Sendaar, only that someone does. Though at that, Master Omar is quietly known to be a highly skilled bloodgiver."

  "Oh?"

  "I doubt he is aware. Like Master Sendaar, he has been made to be too aware he is not of noble birth, and so tends to only hear the bad things said about him. It's a shame. I hope his new sworn is worthy of him, and not another old, spoiled noble who thinks a bloodgiver his due."

  Penli nodded. "That actually provokes another question: why does Tishasanti not have a bloodgiver? Meat too foul for a vulture he may be, but he's powerful and influential enough to merit one, I'd think."

  Ahmla's expression turned cold. "He did have one. The man was killed protecting him—a situation that would not have occurred if Tishasanti had done as instructed. He was given another anyway, and that man was nearly killed as well. Our commander withdrew him and refused to assign anyone else. We cannot protect those who refuse to be protected, and are cavalier with our lives."

  "I see," Penli replied quietly. "I am sorry."

  "If only Lord Tishasanti was," Ahmla said with a sigh. "You might not have wanted this fight, my lord, but there are many hoping you will win it."

  "I'll win or go down hard trying," Penli replied. "And do my best to take Tishasanti with me."

  Ahmla smiled faintly. "I have every faith. Now if you will excuse me, I have lingered overlong and do not trust my charges have remained where I put them. They're bad enough on their own, and impossible when they combine forces."

  "Good luck," Penli said with a laugh, and after Ahmla had vanished from sight, he went in search of his own bed.

  He needed all the rest he could get; tomorrow would be filled with desperation, rage, and blood.

  Chapter Six

  When he woke in the morning, Penli almost felt like himself again. Unfortunately, it was the himself he'd tried to lose, the him that felt cold and distant and very much separate from the rest of the world. Shanna had been the one to draw out pieces of him he'd thought lost, had brought him back to the world of the living and given him the motivation to live as he'd always wanted before the war whittled him down to hard edges and a cold demeanor.

  What was the point in being a flower, however, when really he was the wasp nobody noticed until it was too late?

  A waiting note had notified him to be ready for archery and combat. Eschewing the beautiful clothes he was not, for once, in the mood to wear anyway, Penli picked out something that suited both tests: leather armor, fitted pants, knee-high boots, and a sleeveless tunic. On the right arm he wore the special elbow-length glove meant for archers, momentarily cheered by the familiar feel of it, curling his fingers simply to feel the leather covering the middle two.

  On his left arm he wore a metal bracer that buckled in place and attached to a fingerless leather glove. On his upper arms he wore only metal bands intricately worked with birds, butterflies, and flowers. Finally, he wove his hair into a tight braid that left it falling to just short of the middle of his back.

  The supple, worn leather hilt of his favorite sword still felt familiar in his grip, depressing him further. Tucking away a few more supplies, and settling his buckler on his back, he picked up his unstrung longbow and headed out.

  When he reached the great hall, everyone else was waiting, though it looked as though Tishasanti had also only just arrived. Adnan made a sweeping gesture, and the group headed out, leading Penli and Tishasanti out of the palace and across the courtyard and several more buildings and yards. Eventually they reached the enormous complex that belonged to the royal military—including a massive, intricate training yard, part of which was an obstacle course that could be altered to suit almost any training. It was a far cry from the small training yard Penli had been using infrequently since his arrival.

  Right then, it had been set up for terrain archery. Penli almost laughed, but that would have been rude and he had also been recently reminded of the follies of arrogance and complacency. He didn't need another refresher quite yet.

  That being said, the obstacle course before him was ridiculously easy—at least for him. It was not the sort of course meant for people who did most of their training in the heavy, mazelike woods of the Trinira Mountains or the Bekkart Plains. Not that archery in a desert environment was easy, but it wasn't dense woods in the middle of the night, either.

  Penli went to the starting point when one of the soldiers in charge of the course indicated he should. At the man's nod, he strung his longbow, relishing the flex and strain in muscles he'd not used for entirely too long. Since his broken arm had healed, he'd worked hard to get it back into fighting shape, so to speak, but he'd done so by other means, preferring not to draw attention if he could help it—and he always drew attention on the archery field. Shooting things with arrows was the only thing he loved more than clothes.

  "Challengers!" Hajar roared out across the open field, fierce as any commander in the moments before a battle. "Your first test of the day is archery. There are twenty targets you must hit as you run through the course, and you have three minutes to do it. Best of twenty wins the test. Failure to complete the course in the allotted three minutes is an automatic loss, unless both parties fail to complete it, in which case the final score determines the winner. Lord Tishasanti, since you were the victor of the last test, you have the honor of going first."

  Tishasanti bowed and murmured platitudes, but given his general inability to hide what he was thinking, it was obvious to everyone that he did not consider going first much of an honor. Nevertheless, he took the bow a servant had strung for him, settled into starting position, and at the sound of the gong took off running.

  Penli and Tishasanti had always fought point for point in archery, but Tishasanti didn't generally participate in the terrain challenges, preferring flight. Terrain was, and always had been, his weak point. Penli watched as he struggled through the course, getting most of the shots, but rarely the dead center of the targets. Tishasanti reached the finish barely in time, and collapsed to his knees just past the line. He was red-faced, chest heaving, and looked furious with the world. What a pity Penli couldn't mock him.

  After a few more minutes, once the course was ready again, the nearby soldier signaled Penli. He took the starting position, and at the gong, sped into action.

  Terrain archery generally entailed running through a forest course, seeking out the targets that were usually hidden high, low, and every manner of in-between on trees, roc
ks, the ground, even all the way at the top of some waterfalls and cliffs.

  The course he was running tried to emulate much of that, but simply the fact the ground was mostly flat, at worst a bit of up and down and small jumps, made the whole affair almost childishly easy.

  Penli finished the course in under two minutes, with eighteen bullseyes and two near-marks that made him angry, though given how much his still-recovering body screamed at him in agony, it was a decent performance.

  The final touch was that, despite the pain tearing through him, he managed to stay on his feet.

  He didn't need to look at Tishasanti to know the hateful look he was casting. Penli could practically feel it, and for the first time in days he was almost in a good mood.

  Once the officials were finished with the tally, Hajar motioned for Tishasanti and Penli to come to the royal dais. Penli climbed the steps and bowed; beside him Tishasanti did the same.

  "You have both performed well," Hajar replied, "but I do not think it surprises anyone that the victory goes to Lord Penli."

  Tishasanti sneered. "What is the fairness in a test so obviously meant to favor him?"

  "You mean the way the endurance test favored you?" Hajar asked coldly. "I hope you are not implying that anyone is cheating, Lord Tishasanti."

  "No, Your Majesty," Tishasanti said hastily. "My apologies."

  She stared at him a moment longer, then finally gave the barest of nods. "On to the next test, then, my lords. Fetch your swords, for your next test is a duel. You will fight until somebody surrenders or is incapable of continuing. Fortify yourselves, for the test begins in an hour."

  Penli bowed low and, at her signal, departed for the small tent that had been set up for him. Servants came with food and drink, cool water and soft clothes to wipe away sweat and soothe the worst of the heat.

  Throughout everything, Penli had avoided looking at Teia and Sendaar, something he regretted now because he would have liked to know if they were impressed with his performance. On the other hand, by this point they might consider Tishasanti the lesser of two evils.

  Shanna's admonition rang through his mind, but even her exceptional advice could not override the looks on their faces.

  He buried the thoughts. They wouldn't help him, and right now he needed focus. Dueling was not his strong suit; he was trained in more covert methods of dealing with people. Direct violence was a last resort. Still, he was a soldier, and he would persevere as all soldiers did.

  Thanking the people who had tended to him over the last hour and leaving a pile of coins for them to share, he left the temporary sanctuary of his tent and headed out to the dueling ring next to the high walls of the obstacle course.

  Tishasanti stood on the far side of the ring, large and looming, a formidable opponent as much as it pained Penli to admit it.

  He looked toward the dais that had been set up far to his left. Kallaar looked cocky and assured, Ahmla watched with his quiet patience, and Shanna glared at him in silent admonition not to let her down or that ‘or else' would return.

  Teia watched him with sad, haunted eyes, and Sendaar looked equally distressed for all his expression was blank.

  Penli didn't know what to make of them. Were they worried about him winning? Worried he would lose? If only he could tell them they had nothing to fear. If it was the last thing he did, he would ensure their freedom. So they would never again have to depend on the generosity of a near-stranger to save them from a torturous marriage.

  As easy as that, the answer to the final challenge came to him. He was left as bereft as excited, but he'd never gone into this for himself. Well, no, that wasn't true. He'd very much hoped for things he didn't want to fully admit to, but if he could free them, that would be enough.

  He stepped into the ring and pulled his buckler from his back. Attaching it to his left forearm, he flexed and swung the arm until everything felt properly settled. Then he drew his sword and waited.

  Across from him, Tishasanti was wielding a full-sized shield, and a larger sword. But that was typical of them: Tishasanti used his strength and endurance; Penli used his speed and dexterity. If Penli had been more of a bastard, or Tishasanti less of one, they would have been close friends and an unstoppable force.

  Instead, it was only the rules and the repercussions that would follow that were keeping this duel from being to the death.

  "Challengers!" Hajar threw out her arms. "Your final test of the second challenge: a duel to defeat. You know the rules. Breaking a single one is an automatic loss. Maybe the most worthy suitor win. Begin!"

  Penli braced as Tishasanti charged.

  Tishasanti came at him hard, all fire and fury—but he'd always been the strike fast and hard sort, when he could not threaten, bribe, or trick someone else into doing his dirty work for him.

  Penli was nowhere near Tishasanti's weight or muscular ability, but he was no lightweight either, and he had all the experience that years of covert military life could give him. If Tishasanti was the blazing heat of his desert home, Penli was the frigid winds of his mountains.

  But two such sharp contrasts did not make for an easy fight.

  Penli blocked a swing with his sword and slammed his buckler into Tishasanti's face, sending blood pouring down his tunic. Tishasanti snarled and attacked with increased fury. Though Penli was fast, he didn't move in time to completely avoid the swing. He swore as the tip sliced open his right cheek, giving him a bath of blood to match Tishasanti's.

  "Bastard," Tishasanti garbled. "I should have thrown you in that river when I had the chance."

  "You should have," Penli replied, grunting as his buckler took a hit. He shifted his weight and kicked out, landing a hit on Tishasanti's thigh, which helped, but wasn't the cock-shot he'd been hoping for. He dodged and rolled as Tishasanti surged forward, and barely regained his feet in time to block another blow.

  It ended up slicing his left arm, adding more blood to the mess, but it also gave him an opening to add a superficial, but annoying wound to Tishasanti's right leg.

  He blocked, feinted—and barely dodged as Tishasanti's own feint worked almost too well.

  Baring his teeth, Tishasanti swung out with his shield, clipping Penli's shoulder enough to send him stumbling back a few paces, then slamming it against him hard. Penli barely turned his head in time to avoid getting his still-healing nose broken all over again. But the blow left him with an aching head, ringing ear, and a shoulder that throbbed with pain.

  Penli bellowed as Tishasanti came in for a hard swing, barely lifting his buckler in time to block it—and going down hard when Tishasanti swung his shield as well, barreling into Penli and knocking him flat on the ground. Penli slammed a foot into his groin, rolled and regained his feet, then lifted his shield again just in time to block another blow from Tishasanti's sword.

  Thankfully, the finally-successful groin hit slowed Tishasanti down just enough. Penli knocked him back slightly and slammed his buckler into Tishasanti's face again. Tishasanti screamed in agony—but the bastard still didn't go down.

  Penli didn't wait for the charge this time, but met him full on in the center of the ring—and then dodged and blew right by him. Swinging around, he slammed the flat of his blade down on Tishasanti's shield arm hard enough the shock forced him to drop it, then kicked his knee out, forcing him down.

  Tishasanti brought his sword up, but Penli knocked it away with his buckler and swung his own sword—

  Only for Tishasanti to grab it one gauntleted hand, as his free hand slammed into Penli's jaw at the same time he drove a knee up, though thankfully he got Penli's thigh instead of his delicate bits.

  Penli stumbled back, lost his footing, and crashed to the ground. He rolled away as Tishasanti's sword came slamming down, then lunged up and threw himself forward, sending them both to the ground—his sword at Tishasanti's throat. "Yield, you rotted piece of dog shit."

  "Better dog shit than a glorified murderer," Tishasanti hissed, but though he strugg
led, he couldn't get the leverage to break free of Penli's hold.

  "And yet your betrothed still prefers the murderer," Penli replied as he pressed the sword harder against his throat and snarled, "Yield!"

  Tishasanti bared his bloody teeth again. "I hope they take your money and run. It's all you're good for."

  "Better than being the person nobody will miss when he dies."

  "I hope you die alone and miserable, Penlington." Louder, Tishasanti bellowed, "I yield!"

  Penli relaxed his hold and started to rise, and Tishasanti kicked out hard, sending him stumbling-falling away. He landed hard on his back, the breath knocked right out of him, sword clattering away, his hand sore from how tightly he'd been holding it throughout the duel.

  Groaning, Penli rolled over and pushed to his feet, retrieved and sheathed his sword, then slowly, painfully, limped his way to stand in front of the dais.

  Cheers filled the air, making it impossible for Hajar to speak for several minutes. Eventually, however, she finally quieted the crowd enough to declare, "Lord Penli, you are the winner of the final test, and victor of the second challenge. Well done."

  Penli barely remembered to smile and nod and bow and speak in all the right places, too exhausted and in pain to really focus. He was bleeding and bruised and broken. When Hajar finally stopped talking, he could have wept as people came up to help him make it to the healers' hall.

  The healers clucked and frowned and fussed, but got him comfortably settled in a private room and inundated him with medicine. Again. Penli was getting sick of needing healers. Thanking them groggily, he let the drugs sweep him into sweet oblivion.

  *~*~*

  He woke briefly a few hours later, and felt the familiar press of Shanna's hand holding his, registered her voice as she said his name, then spoke to others. Then he was gone again.

  When he woke later, far more cognizant of his surroundings, he was alone, though a beautiful bouquet of white roses and night blooming jasmine had been left in an earthen vase beside his bed. They lent a pleasant, sweet perfume to the air, dredged up a smile he would have thought himself still too tired to manage. Who had left them?