Immortal Swordslinger 1

by Dante King

  As I dodged another fireball, I searched for a less lethal means of taking him down. Though he was still flying, he was coming lower as he headed for the far side of the arena. It seemed that Yo Hin was trying to land.

  I sprinted toward him even as I tried to work out his plan. Why would he land when he could keep flying?

  As I came close, and Yo Hin rose once more into the air, I saw the strain on his face, and the answer dawned on me. Yo Hin was using a huge amount of Vigor to stay up there. It had to be exhausting. If I could force him to stay up long enough, he would run out of energy and have to land, most of his resources spent.

  While Yo Hin flew above the arena, I ran back and forth beneath him. Some of the spectators, disappointed by the lack of combat, started booing, but I ignored them. This was still a battle, one of wills and of endurance rather than simple arms. If the others couldn’t see the challenge, then that was their problem.

  Yo Hin hurled a ball of fire to force me to back away, but I dodged it and kept moving. I answered with a blast of my own, but he twirled through the air, and my flaming orb shot past him. The fireball continued and sent a group diving out of the way as it slammed into the stands. They’d been the ones to boo, and I wondered whether I’d subconsciously intended the blast to land among them.

  I smiled as Yo Hin started to drift lower and the flames surrounding him began to fade. His legs were limp beneath him, and, at last, he flew a little too low. I dashed toward him and jumped while I blasted the ground with a powerful Untamed Torch. The force of the flames sent me 10 feet into the air, and I reached for Yo Hin. My right hand grabbed hold of his ankle, and I ignored the pain of the flames swirling around him as I yanked him down. He hit the ground hard, and the flames vanished as he landed.

  I didn’t even have to point my sword at him. Yo Hin just raised his hands in surrender, tears in his eyes.

  “I knew I couldn’t do this,” he whimpered.

  “Are you kidding?” I reached out to help him to his feet. “That was spectacular! You’ll have to teach me where you got the cores for that flying move.”

  “I-I suppose I can do that.”

  “One of these days, you’ll be the youngest master in this place.”

  “Really?” He walked with me toward the stands with his staff trailing behind him.

  “You see anyone else flying?” I asked. “Trust me, buddy; you’ve got this nailed.”

  He smiled a wobbly smile and went to take a seat.

  After that, I was able to rest for a while. With every initiate joining in the first round, there were a lot of fights to get through before we moved on. Sitting between Kegohr and Vesma, I watched the men and women we had trained with proving their worth, noted who had learned their lessons and who hadn’t been paying attention. In the ruthless arena, all our weaknesses were laid bare.

  While I watched, I spent time tending to my burns and meditating to replenish my Vigor until my name was called again, My next two opponents both proved far easier to beat than Yo Hin, and I was sure he would have made it past either of them. Facing me first had been bad luck for Yo Hin. I hoped that the masters had noticed the imbalance and would take account of it when deciding who graduated from initiate to outer disciple.

  The fourth round brought the quarter-finals. By now, we had been whittled down to just eight, all tough and skilled in our own ways. I fought one of Hamon’s buddies, a goon with all the grace and beauty of a horse’s ass but with the muscular physique of a bodybuilder. It was a tiring battle that left me sweat-soaked and aching, but I got him in the end by using Fire Empowerment to supercharge an Untamed Torch that knocked him back against the wall and gave me time to disarm him. I used my own torch to avoid the fate I didn’t want for Yo Hin, although I wouldn’t have minded burning the dickhead to a crisp. A win was a win in the end, and the enraged look on his face after the match made it all worth it.

  Vesma also made it through the quarter-finals, to my delight, as did Hamon, to my satisfaction. But things didn’t go so well for Kegohr. He was finally knocked out, caught off guard by an axe strike around the edge of his Flame Shield.

  “Could be worse,” he said as I helped bandage the wound. “Now, I can relax and enjoy the show.”

  “You’re really all right with this?” Vesma asked, looking shocked.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got this far, didn’t I? That ain’t to be sneezed at.”

  Xilarion stood at the edge of the arena, a black silk bag in his hand. One by one, he dropped clay tokens into it, each one marked with the name of one of the last four fighters. I wanted to win, but I also desperately wanted to pound Hamon into oblivion. Sending him down the path of defeat after giving him a few blistering wounds would have made this the best day since I came to the Seven Realms. Except there were two other opponents: the woman who took down Kegohr, and. . .

  I glanced at Vesma and thought about a very different tussle between us. Best not to get distracted by that now, or about having to fight each other. The odds were against it, weren’t they?

  “First contestant,” Xilarion said as he drew a name. “Ethan Murphy.”

  This was it. I strode out into the arena as my heart swelled at the cheers from my classmates.

  “His opponent:” Xilarion drew another token. “Vesma.”

  I took a deep breath. So much for chances.

  We faced each other and took our bows.

  “No holding back,” she said as she glared at me.

  “Agreed,” I answered.

  “This has to be for real.” Vesma seemed to think I would hold back, but I knew it would be a stain on her honor if I did.

  This world was starting to make me think differently. I never would have considered fighting a woman like this—not unless I was getting paid really, really well, and even then, I’d pull my punches. But in the Seven Realms? Honor was everything, and if my feelings for Vesma meant anything, I had to give this match everything I had.

  “Let’s do this,” I said with a nod.

  “Begin!” Xilarion’s voice echoed throughout the arena.

  We circled each other slowly, weapons raised. There was no need to evaluate each other’s fighting styles; after so many hours sparring, each of us knew the other’s strengths and weaknesses, favorite maneuvers, and preferred Augmenting techniques. Victory would come with applying that knowledge.

  Vesma attacked first, a charge with spear extended. I summoned a Flame Shield to block the blow, but she swung the tip of the spear around. I knocked aside the leaf-shaped blade while my sword darted at her shoulder. Vesma twisted away and spun her spear in her hands before slamming its flat end against the ground. She used it like a pole vaulter to propel her into the air and flew over my head. She chopped at me with one hand as she passed, a blow that caught the side of my head and made me see stars. I turned just in time to blindly parry her next attack, then took a few steps back.

  I’d hoped for a moment to muster my scrambled thoughts, but Vesma had been deadly serious about not holding back. She raised her Flame Shield, stamped her foot, and the flames shot forward as we’d practiced. I leaped aside and rolled across the ground as fire flew through the space where I had been a moment before, then sprang back to my feet.

  As long as Vesma kept me on the defensive, she would have the advantage of wearing me down without facing any threat to herself. I had to go on the attack.

  As Vesma lifted her shield and her foot, I did the same. Blasts of fire burst from both our shields and exploded against each other in the center of the arena.

  Vesma was a powerful Augmenter, so my best chance to beat her was with weapons. I charged, Flame Shield still held high, each step of my left foot sending a small burst of fire from the shield. Those flames weren’t enough to do any real damage, but they kept her busy deflecting with her own shield and bought me a vital few seconds.

  Now, I was in close and swinging my sword at her legs. A low blow like that was risky and would expose my sword arm to a counter-atta
ck, but I knew how Vesma would respond under pressure, when it was all about instinct. She leaped over the blade and landed just as I brought my weapon around in a series of attacks against her side.

  She moved with spear and shield to parry each attack in turn. Against a lesser opponent, that could have been my opening. I could have used one attack as a feint, then struck elsewhere while her view was blocked by her own weapons. But Vesma was too smart for that, and she moved quickly back to a central stance after each parry. She could tell when I was feinting, when a fresh attack would follow from another angle.

  What she couldn’t predict was the feint and the real attack in the same place. She raised her shield to parry a slash at her shoulder, then moved back down, prepared for a low blow. But already my sword was coming in at the same angle, harder and faster this time. I saw a split second of realization on her face just before the flat of my blade smacked against her shoulder.

  Vesma grunted with pain, and the spear slipped from her hand. As she crouched to grab it, I kicked and caught her in the stomach. The blow sent her rolling in the dirt, and in two swift strides, I was on her with my sword pointing at her face even as she tried to get up.

  Vesma raised her hands. “You win.” She grimaced. “Well done.”

  Familiar cheers filled the arena as I sheathed my sword. I reached out a hand, ready to help Vesma up, but she was already on her feet.

  Still, she took my hand, shaking it. “You deserve the win.”

  “It could easily have been you,” I replied.

  She shook her head. “I know my limits.”

  We took our seats as the other two semi-finalists entered the arena, Hamon striding in like he owned the place.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Kegohr slammed a hand down on Vesma’s shoulder and made her wince a little. We both turned to face him.

  “That was amazing!” he said. “You two should have both been in the final.”

  “Maybe,” Vesma said.

  “Of course,” I replied. “The question is who I’ll have to fight instead of you.”

  A thunderous tumult of cheering rose from the crowd. I turned to see Hamon standing over his opponent, fire-coated swords extended, while the woman raised her hands in surrender.

  It was over already. In just a few seconds, Hamon had beaten his opponent. I hadn’t even heard Xilarion announce the fight, nor had I seen what move Hamon had used. I wouldn’t exactly be going in blind, but it would have helped to note his techniques.

  Not that it mattered. I didn’t plan on losing to that bastard. Nor would I use the Sundered Heart or my wood and ash techniques to take him down. It would be all fire, and I couldn’t let him win. The rest of my classmates needed Hamon to lose, and from what Master Xilarion had told me, Clan Wysaro could do with their prized initiate getting his ass kicked.

  Well, I was up for the challenge.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I met Hamon’s gaze, a look of disdain so cold it sent a shiver down my spine. Even after five bouts of fighting, there wasn’t a single stain on his robes, and not a hair was out of place. He seemed completely in control.

  I knew that for the lie it was. I had seen what happened when Hamon didn’t get his way, when the blazing fury melted away his icy exterior. He had the power to destroy almost any initiate here and had no qualms about using it. In fact, that was where my best hope for victory lay. While he was calm, he would combine that power with skill and calculation. But if I could enrage him, if I could unleash that seething mass of resentment, then it would be a very different fight.

  “I’m surprised you got this far!” I called out. The crowd had fallen silent as we prepared to fight and so my words carried to the whole guild. “Didn’t think you’d make it past the second round.”

  “Nice try, outsider,” Hamon snarled. “But we both knew how this was going to end. Your blood, my victory.”

  “Sounds like Daddy Wysaro gave someone too much praise. Misplaced confidence is a terrible thing.”

  “So are wasted words.”

  Hamon closed his eyes and raised his curved swords. Fire flared from both and turned their short blades into lances of flame. I had seen him wield them many times now, and I knew how light and swift-moving they were. My heart beat faster as adrenaline coursed through my veins.

  I raised my sword and summoned a Flame Shield on my other arm. It was time.

  We stalked across the loose dirt of the arena as we circled each other in an ever tightening spiral until we stood just beyond weapons reach.

  “You know your dad came to see me,” I said, so quietly that only he would hear. “Sounds like there was something he didn’t trust you to do here. Or maybe he just wanted the best fire Augmenter on his side.”

  Hamon stepped forward, and his flaming weapons stabbed at me from both left and right. I brought my sword up and parried the attacks before I rushed forward and shoulder barged him. He went flying, and I thought I’d gained an advantage. But, instead of falling on his back, he rolled over, flipped to his feet, and landed as nimbly as any acrobat.

  “Crude,” he hissed. “As I would expect of a foreigner.”

  He advanced again, fiery lances raised. He spun one around his hand, and it formed a virtual wall of fire to his left side. He jabbed at me with his right hand, testing my reflexes and the limits of my Flame Shield.

  With that spinning arc of death on one side, it was hard for me to get inside his reach. He advanced steadily across the arena and pushed me back toward the far wall. I swayed and darted from side to side while I searched for any kind of opening.

  This was no good. As long as I was on the defensive, he had the luxury of taking the initiative. I would have to give up something to gain an edge.

  I let my Flame Shield drop, and Hamon swung in to make the most of my sudden vulnerability. I leaped and arced my back to jump over his Scorching Lance. I landed hard on my shoulder and rolled to my feet before coming up at a run. Clear of the space between his extended weapons, I fired a series of Untamed Torch blasts over my shoulder. My fireballs forced him to lower one weapon and raise a Flame Shield to deflect them.

  At the edge of the arena, I turned, slashed my sword, and summoned a Burning Wheel. A blue fireball erupted from the tip of my blade and expanded until it became a whirling storm of azure flames, but Hamon dodged easily out of its path. My attack ventured toward the stands, and I sucked it dry of Vigor until it vanished. The Burning Wheel was far too chaotic in this situation, and it would advance into the spectators too easily and cause them serious harm.

  For now, I had to use more targeted attacks. I recreated my burning shield as Hamon caught up. I darted in before he had time to switch weapons and lashed at him with my brightly shining sword.

  Hamon was as skilled with arms as he was at Augmenting. He caught my first two blows on his shield, parried the third with his lance, then counter-attacked with the sword in his shield-side hand. The fight swayed back and forth between us, each taking a moment of advantage before being forced back onto the defensive. The crowd gasped and cheered as we each came within inches of victory, only to have it snatched away by a skillful block.

  We paused for a moment and caught our breath. I was pouring with sweat, but Hamon barely even showed signs of exertion, his skin as porcelain pale as ever. Only a few strands of loose hair hung down the left side of his face and showed the strain he was under.

  He blew the strands aside, but they fell back, and his face crumpled into an expression of annoyance.

  “Not so perfect now,” I said. “I’m getting to you.”

  “You’re nothing,” he snarled as fire flared in his eyes. “I’ll turn you to ashes.”

  “Ashes don’t bother me,” I said. “Something has to remain once the fire’s gone.”

  “Fire is never gone. Fire always—”

  He was interrupted by the deep bass ringing of a gong. The note resounded across the rooftops of the guild and echoed back from the mountain behind. No sooner had the firs
t note died than there came another and another, with increasing urgency.

  “The alarm!” Master Rutmonlir leaped from his seat, and his wild beard swayed. “What the hell is happening?”

  Around the arena, guild members jumped to their feet. Initiates, disciples, and masters alike stared around in confusion and alarm.

  I took a step back, my attention torn between Hamon and this new turn of events. Surely, our bout would be halted while an emergency was addressed? But I didn’t trust him not to stab me in the back, tournament or no tournament.

  Hamon didn’t advance. Instead, he lowered his weapons and stood grinning at me. “Fire always triumphs,” he said. “The fire of my clan.”

  Across the rooftops of the guild and along the battlements of its walls, black-clad figures had appeared. They wore the same black ninja outfits as the men who had attacked me back on earth, and their appearance came as suddenly and silently. But there was an important difference. These ninjas did not merely carry swords and knives. Fire flared from their hands and blades.

  We stood surrounded by scores of Augmenters.

  “What is this?” Master Xilarion stood and looked around at the newcomers. He stood as calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back, as if he was addressing an unruly initiate, not an invading army.

  The ninjas stood silently and stared.

  “If you have come to watch our tournament, guests are always welcome in this guild,” Xilarion said as he held a hand out as if in greeting. “But intruders are not.”

  A sound of stamping feet drew everyone’s attention to the battlements, only to disappear as the ninjas stilled their feet. When we looked back, a single figure stood atop the outer wall of the arena. He pushed back his hood and revealed a familiar face beneath.

  Jiven Wysaro stared out across the gathered members of the Radiant Dragon Guild. With his hands clasped behind him and flecks of gray running through his hair and beard, he seemed the mirror image of Master Xilarion. But while Xilarion’s calm hinted at the wisdom and kindness beneath, Lord Wysaro’s spoke of a deep disdain. In his heart, he was just like his son.