The Rage of Dragons

by Evan Winter

  Marching over to Tau and Jayyed were Aqondise Anan and the just-woken, disheveled men of their scale.

  “Form lines,” shouted Anan.

  Tau ran over and everyone fell to order. Jayyed faced them.

  “You’ve already met Aqondise Anan,” he said. “He will help me make men of you.” Someone sniggered and Jayyed rounded on the man. “Perhaps, in your little farming village, you were special. A talent among the Lessers there, neh? You could hold a sword well enough and batter most men with it? Now you’ve gone through the trials and I’ve selected you. It’s confirmation. Isn’t it? You must be special. A real warrior.”

  Jayyed had their attention and, when he drew his sword, their curiosity as well. The weapon he held wasn’t sharpened bronze or even a dulled practice sword. In his hand was a sword made of wood.

  Jayyed waved Uduak forward. Walking over, Uduak eyed him. He indicated that Uduak should draw his blade. Uduak did so, his bronze practice sword reflecting sunlight. Jayyed attacked.

  “I have been an Ihashe warrior; an umqondisi for the isikolo; an inkokeli, leading scales against the hedeni on the front lines of our war; and an adviser to the greatest military power in the known world—the Omehi Guardian Council.”

  Jayyed spun past Uduak’s defense and cracked him across the temple, sending the larger man to his knees. Uduak, a look of surprise on his face, stumbled back to his feet.

  “The Goddess has seen fit to return me to the role of umqondisi, a role I left more than twenty cycles ago,” Jayyed said, punctuating the last word by slamming the pommel of his sword-shaped stick into Uduak’s chest, returning him to the ground.

  Jayyed stepped away from him and waved the next initiate forward. It was Chinedu, Tau’s coughing barracks neighbor. Chinedu glanced at Uduak, drew his practice sword, and went for Jayyed.

  “All my life,” Jayyed said, knocking aside Chinedu’s attack and bashing a fist into his face, “I’ve believed that we do not train optimally.”

  Chinedu reeled, blood oozing from both nostrils. He rasped a hairy forearm across his face, dragging the blood away from his mouth and onto his chin. That done, he came forward, his sword up and knees bent for quick movement. It made no difference. Jayyed was on him and Chinedu was disarmed and put into the dirt.

  Jayyed waved him and Uduak back to the line. “The Ihashe can be better,” Jayyed said, calling Hadith forward.

  Hadith already had his sword out and had found a shield. He smirked at Jayyed’s wooden weapon, keeping the shield between him and the umqondisi. Jayyed jabbed and Hadith blocked.

  “The testing exposed you to a faster pace of combat,” Jayyed said, sending three strikes at Hadith. Hadith blocked the first two, but the third slipped between sword and shield, catching him in the guts, doubling him over. “That’s why we cover the practice blades with linen.”

  Jayyed swung overhead and cracked Hadith over his exposed back. Hadith went down. “It makes you safer, so you can go harder, and that brings the fight closer to reality.”

  Without waiting to be called, the next man ran over, hoping to take Jayyed unaware. Jayyed sidestepped and struck the runner across the temple, knocking him out on his feet.

  “You will all use wooden swords.” Jayyed waved Tau over. “Our training will mimic real combat as closely as possible.”

  Tau drew his practice sword with his off hand. It was shaking. He had no practice fighting left-handed. Still, he refused to be embarrassed by someone twice his age. He stalked Jayyed, making sure to keep out of striking range.

  “If you want to be a great fighter,” Jayyed said, flicking his sword at Tau’s broken wrist and causing Tau to jerk back, almost dropping his weapon without being touched, “you must practice fighting.”

  Jayyed closed the distance with Tau and they crossed swords, once, twice, three times. “Theoretical forms,” Jayyed said, as Tau saw his chance, “and cautious sparring with bronze swords slows learning and advancement.”

  Tau changed levels, lunging for Jayyed’s chest.

  “We do not have time for slow.”

  Tau was midlunge when he felt his thrust being turned. Jayyed had his wooden sword whirling around Tau’s blade, and with a flick of his wrist, Tau was disarmed.

  “The Chosen do not have time for slow.” Jayyed reached over Tau’s lowered body, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and yanked him forward. Tau tripped, his lead foot hitting Jayyed’s outstretched leg, and he went down.

  “Too slow and you’re dead.” Jayyed was standing over Tau. “Too slow and we’re all dead.”

  Jayyed paced, scanning the scale for his next victim. “We fight an enemy that outnumbers us many times over,” he said, waving an initiate over. “Every one of us must be worth multiples of them.” As he spoke, he ducked an energetic swing and shouldered his new opponent away.

  Without finishing the initiate, he waved the next one forward. It was two on one. The men were smart; they spread out. Jayyed feinted at the first man, backing him off, and then he slapped the flat of his wooden sword into the groin of the second.

  The first man bellowed and swung hard enough to break bones. Jayyed bent out of the way like wind-blown grass, and when the initiate’s blade passed him by, he hammered his sword against the man’s legs. Jayyed’s sword snapped in half as it swept the initiate from his feet.

  “The wood on Xidda is horrible,” he said. “These weapons are expensive to make. But lives cost more. Great fighters are worth more than expensive wood.”

  Jayyed waved two others forward, so he would face three. He lifted his empty sword hand to Aqondise Anan and Anan drew his own wooden sword, tossing it. Jayyed snatched the stick out of the air and used it to club one of the newcomers. “You will not focus on forms or dance with each other while holding bronze.”

  There were two men left. Jayyed hit one on the upper arm, making the initiate drop his blade. The other man attacked and Jayyed darted in, dashing an elbow against the side of that one’s head before disengaging and swatting him across the neck with the wooden sword. The attack would have killed the man, had the blades been real.

  “You will learn to fight by fighting.” Jayyed whirled and faced the man he had disarmed earlier. The initiate had been in the process of bending down to retrieve his weapon. Feeling Jayyed’s blade resting on his forehead, he froze.

  “You will be faster, more experienced, and more brutal than all who would oppose you.” Jayyed sheathed the wooden sword and stepped back.

  There were a few groans from the downed men, but they were drowned out by the cheers from the rest of the scale. Tau was surprised to find himself cheering with the rest.

  “Enough, enough,” said Jayyed. “Get water. I’ll see you back here in half a sun’s span. We begin in earnest.”

  Anan called for the men to form lines. Hadith had to wake the man Jayyed had knocked unconscious. The man was shaky on his feet and Uduak helped carry him back to the line.

  “Take your leave,” Jayyed told the scale, and the men made for the water buckets or mess hall, talking to one another in voices that were half-hushed but eager.

  “Common Solarin, hold,” Jayyed ordered.

  MOMENTS

  “You don’t need water,” Jayyed said.

  “I don’t, nkosi?” Tau asked.

  “‘Umqondisi’ will do. I’m no Noble.” Jayyed walked deeper onto the training ground and Tau followed. For a few breaths, they moved in silence. Tau watched the other scales go about their business, noticing how familiar they looked, practicing forms, skirmishing with dulled blades of bronze, swinging at a fraction of true combat speed, careful not to injure one another. Already, Tau was seeing training with fresh eyes.

  “What do you want from the isikolo?” Jayyed asked.

  “I want to defend the Omehi from the hedeni.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Tau considered what else he should… what else he was willing to tell Jayyed. “I need to be one of the greatest fighters alive. I’m will
ing to work. I will—”

  Jayyed laughed. Tau stiffened.

  “Easy,” Jayyed told him. “I’m impressed is all. In fact, I remember wanting much the same thing. But what about Nobles?”

  “What of them?”

  “Nobles are bigger, stronger, and faster than Lessers.”

  “They’re still men.”

  Jayyed smiled. “Men born with natural advantages for fighting.”

  Tau felt his blood go hot as he recalled the day of his father’s death. “I was a match for Jabari Onai,” he said.

  Jayyed gave him a look, one eyebrow raised.

  “I didn’t say I was a good match,” Tau said, backing off the point and missing his friend all at the same time. “But I did beat Kagiso Okafor.”

  “That nceku can barely call himself Noble.”

  “But he is one and I beat him. I need to be the greatest fighter of the Omehi,” Tau said, fighting for calm, his fingernails digging into his palms. “Can you give me that?”

  Jayyed grew serious. “I can’t give you anything. It might be something you can take, if you’re willing.”

  “I am.”

  “We’ll see. The cost for greatness is high.”

  “I’ll pay anything.”

  “Your life?” Jayyed asked, causing Tau to stop. “That’s the price. Life is nothing more than moments in time. To achieve greatness, you have to give up those moments. You have to give your life to your goal.”

  “Easily paid,” Tau told him.

  Jayyed watched him. “Spoken like a young man, still new to the world.” He continued walking. “We’ll see if your actions match your mouth.”

  The rest of that morning and afternoon was spent sparring. Tau had to fight with his off hand and Jayyed warned the others that anyone targeting Tau’s healing wrist would be punished. It didn’t matter; Tau lost all his matches. He felt ashamed of his performance and worried that Jayyed would remove him from the scale.

  At supper, he ate little, his hunger masked by worry over his fate. He spoke to no one and no one spoke to him. He felt miserable but promised himself he’d do better the next day.

  Tau’s second day was filled with practicing proper technique for swinging, performing a thrust, and lunging. The basics. Jayyed told them he would not teach traditional forms covering long sequences of attacking or defending. He argued that long forms made fighters too rigid. They did not allow for individual expression or the use of individual advantages.

  “We are more alike than we are different,” Jayyed said. “Two arms, two legs, one head.” He had prodded the stocky and talkative Themba in the parts of the body he named, shutting the initiate up, for the moment.

  “There are only so many good ways to attack or defend. I will teach those and no others. The rest you will learn by adapting the basics to your individual advantages and disadvantages.” Jayyed had touched Tau’s broken wrist with his wooden sword when he said that part. “We are more alike than we are different, but there are differences. I can’t teach you yours. You’ll discover them for yourself.”

  So they practiced the basics. Then they sparred, dueling the rest of the afternoon and the next two days away. The fifth day began as the others, with basic sword work.

  “Thrust. Thrust. Thrust, damn you!” shouted Anan at the line of sweating men.

  Tau was frustrated. Jayyed’s impressive performance five days ago had begun to fade, and it was hard to imagine becoming a better swordsman by swinging a wooden sword. It didn’t help that the other initiates made fun of Scale Jayyed for fighting one another with wood, and Tau was finding it difficult adjusting to life at the isikolo.

  Many of the other men in his scale had formed small groups of friends. But they ignored Tau, and, reacting to their scorn, he’d decided he wouldn’t bother with friendships. Tau was at the isikolo to learn, to get better, to become a brilliant fighter, and that was all. He was finding it a lonely path.

  Worst of all was his performance. He lost far more duels than he won. Still, he never called for the Goddess’s mercy, always fighting to the bitter end. Tau told himself he did it to push himself. At night, he wondered if it was because his pride couldn’t survive both defeat and surrender.

  “Form lines!” Anan hollered as Jayyed strode up to their practice area.

  The scale ordered themselves for Jayyed’s address. “Morning,” he said, and they greeted him in chorus.

  “Before we continue, I have something to tell you,” Jayyed said. “I’ve asked Aqondise Anan to begin extra training for anyone who wants it, two sun spans earlier than regular training.” Themba groaned, earning himself a sharp look from Anan.

  “This is not mandatory,” Jayyed said, “but time put in determines the value of what comes out.”

  Jayyed’s eyes slid over the faces of the men before him. Tau felt as if the sword master’s gaze slowed when it reached him. Whether that was true or no, Tau would be there early the next day. If Jayyed thought extra time would help, then Tau would take the help.

  That afternoon, Tau sparred with Hadith, who crushed him.

  “I’ll see you at the early sessions, neh?” Hadith asked, forcing Tau back with a series of rapid-fire strikes.

  Tau nodded, doing his best to hold the Governor at bay.

  “Good,” Hadith said. “You need it, and it’ll be entertaining for Uduak and me to have more sparring time with you.” Hadith stabbed Tau right where his heart was. “Kill hit and match,” he said, resetting.

  Tau rubbed at his sore chest. His gambeson didn’t seem to do much to blunt blows anymore, and he couldn’t be sure if it was because his body was bruised everywhere or because the padding in his armor had been beaten threadbare over the last five days of losses. He did know he was not looking forward to extra time with Hadith and Uduak.

  TIME

  The next morning, Tau made sure he was first to the early practice. When he got to the training grounds it was still dark and the day was warm, instead of furiously hot. He readied his body with exercises, and as he did, five other men joined him. They were Uduak, Hadith, Chinedu, Yaw, and Jengo.

  Uduak was the first to the yard after Tau, and he stood as far from him as was reasonable, swinging the massive chunk of wood he’d asked the armorers to fashion as a sword for him.

  Chinedu was next. Then came Yaw, smallest of them, which meant he was only half a head taller than Tau. Still, he was vicious and had a talent for sticking his sword right where it would hurt the most. After Yaw came Jengo, strutting over like a Palm Royal Noble and drawing his sword as if he was about to order a charge. Last to the grounds was Hadith. He didn’t warm up, opting instead to stand off to one side, watching the rest.

  When Anan arrived, he called for them to line up. He made them run round the practice grounds, raising a sweat, before pairing them off. Tau was with Jengo.

  Anan had them spar, and he walked around correcting this and adjusting that. Even fighting with his off hand, Tau was a fair match for Jengo. Jengo’s problem, Tau thought, was that he tried to get through a match without taking a single hit. It made him too defensive, which gave Tau the opportunity to press him.

  His unrelenting attacks wore Jengo down and stretched out the match. The others had finished their rounds and watched. They all cheered on a flagging Jengo.

  “Bleed him!” bellowed Uduak.

  “Char… and ashes!” said Chinedu, hacking out dubious encouragement. “Jengo… do something!”

  Jengo pounced, shamed by his peers into attacking. Tau should have backed down, let Jengo’s aggression break on a wall of defense. But, the one-sided comments had gotten under his skin and he did the opposite, going harder at Jengo.

  They crossed blades, broke apart, and swung like drunks, each missing twice, until Tau clapped Jengo on the side of the helmet with his sword. Jengo wavered, and Tau hit him again, hard. Jengo dropped to a knee and Tau brought his sword down, going for a “killing” blow. Jengo got his wooden blade up in time to block then rolled away
before lurching to his feet.

  Tau gave him no space, and after trading blows, Jengo was too far out of position to defend. Tau hit him in the shoulder and then, as Jengo hopped back in pain, he cracked him in the neck. Jengo made a strange high-pitched sound and went down. Tau moved to finish him, forcing Anan to call the match.

  Face hot and heart drumming, but victorious, Tau put his hands up and yelled, turning to face the onlookers, flush with his first real isikolo win. The other men were quiet. They wouldn’t even give him the glory of this small obstacle overcome. Tau dropped his arms and sheathed his sword with force. To ash with them, he thought. He’d won with his off hand. He’d won.

  Anan gave Tau a shallow nod. “Hadith, pair with Tau. Uduak, have at Yaw. Chinedu, you’ll sit out with Jengo.”

  Tau grimaced and squared off against Hadith. His moment in the sun behind him and gone, without even time to wipe the sweat from his head.

  “Fight!” Anan said, and he did, that day, the next, the next, and the next.

  Hot mornings bled into torrid afternoons, and those spun away, becoming sweltering nights, and Tau’s entire body became one contiguous injury. Some days he woke so stiff he had to roll off his cot and onto the floor, lying there until he was loose enough to rise. But he did begin to win.

  It happened slowly, and every match was still a war, but Tau began to take wins from the rest of Scale Jayyed during the regular sessions. In the early mornings, during the extra training, Tau could beat Jengo with some reliability, but none of the others. Least of all Uduak, who, Tau had to admit, he loathed having to fight.

  Then, one morning, Jengo did not come to the extra morning session. He was not there the following day either. The remaining four gave Tau sour looks, as if Jengo’s leaving was his doing.

  A moon cycle later, Jayyed came to see the progress. To date, he’d attended fewer than a third of the regular sessions and none of the early ones. Anan, when asked about this, told the men that it was important to break bad habits and accustom the initiates to a new life of combat. When that preliminary work was done, Jayyed would have initiates able to benefit from his focused attention. So it was a surprise to see him so soon.