A tremulous smile broke through. “You tried so hard to hide it.”
“At the time, I thought I’d sooner give up my title than show you any weakness.”
“Oh, tyrina. Haven’t you learned yet that it’s your weaknesses I love the most?” Salomen kissed her again before gently putting Tal’s arms away from her and stepping out of their embrace. “Help me move these.”
They pushed two of the chairs off the thick rug occupying the center of the room, making enough space for them to lie down in as much comfort as their situation would allow. For most of a hantick they simply held each other, murmuring whatever thoughts came to mind, wrapping up loose ends, savoring every touch and look and word. At times one or the other of them would silently weep, but the tears never lasted long, and their hands never stopped moving.
Their bond hummed between them, strong once again despite the wound beneath the surface. Somehow Salomen had cauterized it, but healing would take longer. Tal shuddered to think how close she had come to crippling herself through the very strategy she had thought was her best chance. In that moment, she missed Micah with a grief that bordered on anger. He had taken his counsel away from her when she needed it most. And she had chosen the wrong path twice, using political tactics when a warrior was needed, and warrior tactics when a tyree was needed.
At least she knew what to do now.
When she could put it off no longer, she kissed Salomen one more time and moved away, plucking her bag off the chair and pulling out the low shoes Vellmar had brought for her. As she put one on, Salomen picked up the other. Then she tilted her head and looked more closely.
“What’s this?”
“Armor.” Tal pulled her straps tight and accepted the second shoe. Running her fingertip along the dark metal alloy ridge at its front, she added, “Not for my protection, though. This one gives me more destructive power in a forward kick.” She turned the shoe and showed Salomen the second ridge, along the outside edge of the heel. “And this one is for side kicks. They weigh almost nothing, so they won’t slow me down, and they’re invisible unless someone gets as close as you just did. Not exactly regulation, but they’re not specifically excluded by the laws.”
“You mean you’re cheating?”
“Let’s just say I’m taking every advantage I can. Shantu will beat me in swordplay. There’s no question about that. I don’t have the skills I need. But I have other skills, and that’s where I’m pinning my hopes.” She adjusted the straps, rose to her feet, and held out a hand.
Salomen looked at it for several pipticks before taking it and allowing herself to be pulled up. “Don’t break my heart,” she whispered as they embraced one last time. “It’s not just your life at risk.”
“I know.” Tal held her so tightly that she was afraid of hurting her. Letting go was nearly impossible, and it took several attempts before her muscles would obey. She stepped back, putting distance between them. “You have to go.”
Salomen nodded, biting her lip as her composure cracked. They stared at each other, both trying to memorize every detail of a beloved face; both wishing the moment would never end. Tal felt the surge of determination just before Salomen turned and walked out, her stride smooth and assured. She never looked back as the door slid shut with a mechanical sigh.
Tal stood still, gazing at the closed door. The urge to follow was so strong that her body had taken a step before she realized what she was doing. Shaking her head, she turned away and began a warm-up form, a stylized battle that stretched and warmed every muscle. When she had completed two full cycles, she closed her eyes and took herself to her place of serenity. In her mind she was surrounded by a dense forest, the ancient trees flashing past as she ran in glorious solitude. Always this image had soothed her and given her strength, but this time she needed something else. She looked ahead, seeing a figure running on a converging path. Then Salomen was beside her, laughing in pure joy as they dashed through the trees, their footsteps noiseless on the soft duff of the forest floor. They ran without effort, without need for speech, reveling in their freedom and the deep comfort of their companionship.
When she came back to herself, she felt centered and as ready as she would ever be. Though the image of Salomen was gone, her presence was still there, strong and steady.
I am not alone, Tal thought. I will never be alone.
Once it had been an unthinkable burden. Now it was her lifeline.
She pulled her sword grip from the bag, opened the other door, and stepped through.
CHAPTER 57:
Fahla’s champion
It was the first time in Tal’s career as Lancer that a full Council had been utterly quiet upon her entrance. She walked to the edge of the dais and stood looking down at Shantu, who had changed into a red fighting suit and was performing flashy warm-up moves. Vidcams hovered at the edges of the chamber, recording him from every angle.
Overconfident, she thought. It was one point in her favor. She made no gesture to draw his attention, perfectly content to let him tire himself out while attempting to impress their audience.
He twirled around, showing off his fancy footwork, and saw her waiting. With a last flourish, he retracted his sword and stood looking up at her.
She did not move.
The tension rose palpably in the chamber as they stared at each other, each willing the other to give in. But Tal was still Lancer, and she would stand here forever until he gave her the respect her title demanded. It was a small psychological skirmish, but an important one.
Finally, he put his fists against his chest and made the tiniest of bows.
She nodded in return and descended the steps to the floor.
There would be no more grand announcements. The Council was nothing but an audience now, and the chamber no more than a fighting ring. Though Tal was disgusted at the ancient barbarism Shantu had brought to the State House, she had to admire his strategy. By thinking purely as a warrior instead of a politician, he had come up with a nearly foolproof plan, just as he promised Parser. The only thing that might keep it from being completely foolproof was Tal herself, and she was at a disadvantage.
They met in the middle of the floor and stood an arm’s length apart. Tal noted that the vidcams remained where they were, coming no closer, and guessed Aldirk had something to do with that. Such technology had not existed the last time a ritual challenge of combat had been fought, so there were no regulations dictating their use. But a ritual challenge was a private fight. Whatever the combatants said to each other had always remained their secret, unless the winner chose to tell.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “There’s still time to retract your challenge. Better to live an outcaste than to die a mere tool of a merchant.”
Shantu shook his head. “You speak like the coward you’ve become. In the Battle of Alsea you were a true war leader. I admired you then. You weren’t afraid to break Fahla’s covenant, and when you found the weakness in the ground pounders’ shields, I thought I could put aside our differences and follow you forever. But then you threw it all away. Diplomatic ties to the aliens who left us to die. Asylum for our enemies. And the matter printers—you should have kept them for the warriors. You could have been the greatest caste leader in generations. You could have made Alsea strong. Instead you’ve weakened us as you’ve weakened yourself. Really, a producer for a bondmate?”
“You’re living in the past, Shantu. I’m bringing Alsea into the future.”
“A future where we bow to other races? Where the warriors give up their rightful place among the other castes? No, thank you. Alsea needs stability and strength. You can’t provide them, but I will.” He smiled at her. “Don’t be afraid to die, Lancer Tal. Your Return will put your name in the history books. This will never be forgotten.”
“Don’t you realize that Parser used you
? He set up the trap, and you walked right into it. He thinks you’re a fool who was easily bought, and I have to agree. You think you’ll have any power even if you win? Our caste will oust you before you sit in that chair.”
“Let me worry about what happens after I win.” He held out his sword grip. “Meet the challenge, Lancer.”
She touched her grip to his, sealing the challenge. They stepped back and extended their swords.
The previous night, when Tal arrived at Vellmar’s quarters, her Lead Guard had already loaded Shantu’s profile on her reader card. Tal had spent the flight to the base listening to Vellmar explain exactly what she was up against. Shantu’s weapon was double-edged and longer than Tal’s; he would have a greater reach. His training was in the classical style, and he preferred power moves over finesse, but she should not underestimate his speed. Most worrying was his ability to use either hand, which gave him a bigger advantage than anything else. She needed to neutralize that as soon as possible.
Tal assumed her ready stance, drawing into herself and closing down her senses. She could not afford the distraction of the hundreds of minds around her. But Salomen was there, fiercely determined. Her presence kept Tal grounded, allowing her to study Shantu’s body language, his facial expressions, any clue she might have to his intentions.
He wove his blade in a series of loops, loosening up his wrist, his left hand held well behind him for balance. “You should have paid more attention to your history lessons. The winner of this challenge takes the State Chair by divine right. The warriors won’t go against that.” He stepped to the side, and she moved with him.
“Yes, they will. I already have the votes.”
“You had them. You won’t after you’re dead.”
The sudden tension in his shoulders warned her, and she was ready when an innocuous warm-up loop turned into a vicious cut at her throat. The impact of his blade on hers sent vibrations all the way down her arm—he had put enough strength into that blow to take off her head. She pushed his sword to the side and swung back in for a cut toward his weapon arm, but he parried it and attempted a thrust at her heart. When she knocked that aside, he backed away and smiled.
“I suppose that would have been too easy.”
She made no answer, nor did she go on the offensive. He grew increasingly impatient and finally began to circle around her.
“Afraid to move, are you? Perhaps your legs are too shaky from the fear. I always knew you were more of a carefully constructed myth than reality.”
She turned in place, staying on the balls of her feet, her legs spread and slightly bent for balance while her right hand was held low at her back. It wasn’t the classical stance, but it meant less travel distance when she used that hand for a strike.
“Given your tenuous grasp of reality,” she said, “I’m not certain how you could tell the difference.”
He lunged at her, testing her defenses with a quick flurry of feints and thrusts, then drew back. “I’m surprised. You’ve been practicing.”
“I knew what you had planned. When it comes to strategy, you’ve always been two steps behind me.”
She had hoped to anger him, but he laughed. “Strategy won’t help you now. And it doesn’t matter how much you practiced; you never had a chance. You’ve been playing at being a producer for the last moon.” He lunged again, and as she parried, she lashed out with a kick at his knee. He dodged in time, her kick landing harmlessly on his thigh.
“Armored shoes, nice touch,” he said, and attacked at full speed as she recovered her guard.
Tal let her body respond automatically while she focused on his moves, looking for patterns and any visual cues, anticipating him by one or two strokes. Then he shifted into a higher speed, pressing her so hard that she was forced to give ground as she countered each deadly attack. It was not where she wanted to be, and she looked desperately for a way out. This kind of fighting would kill her before long. He blended explosive thrusts with powerful overhand cuts, using his height to overpower her, and while she had long experience with that strategy, it was still tiring to counter. She let his sword slide off hers again and again, until at last she found enough of an opening to shove his blade to the side and drive her fist into his face, feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose. As his head flew back, she shifted and brought her sword grip straight back in, smashing the weighted pommel against his shoulder joint.
It would have been an excellent move if not for the fact that he had his blade in motion sooner than she could respond, and she was wide open to the blind cut at her side. She saw it coming in time to twist away, but not far enough. The blade tip caught her in the ribs and sent her stumbling, her hand automatically going to the wound. It was deep, the blood already spilling over her fingers. She was too shocked to feel the pain.
Vaguely, she heard the gasps of the audience, but Salomen’s distress was much more distracting. She shook her head, forcing her body back into a ready position, and wondered why Shantu had not yet killed her. Then she saw him standing with his sword lowered, the blood running down his face as he held his other hand to his weapon shoulder. She had done more damage than she thought.
With a growl she lunged at him, aiming for his injured side, but he quickly switched hands and met her blade with equal strength. Their swords slid to the crossguards and held as they glared at each other—and she kicked him viciously in the knee.
He howled in pain and rage, coming back at her with such fury that she could barely counter his attacks, the wound in her side tearing a little more every time she parried another violent cut. He was limping and down to one arm, but even with that he was still stronger, still faster at swordplay, still better at anticipating her and making her do the work.
And now he was careful. She had surprised him one time too many, but he would no longer underestimate her. He kept her on the defensive at the edge of his long reach, where she could find no opportunities for damage.
They battled from one end of the chamber to the other, she always moving backward or sideways as he pressed into her. Each time she parried an attack, it took a little more energy from a finite store, and the wound was sapping her as well. She had lost her best chance of ending this fight on her terms and was now reduced to merely staying alive and hoping he would make a mistake.
He did not. His strategy was simple but effective, and she was tiring. It was taking her a fraction of a piptick longer to parry or counter, and the thrusts began to slip through. A shallow cut to the forearm, a deeper one to her thigh… He was going to cut her to pieces until she could no longer raise her blade, and she could do nothing to prevent it. He left her no openings and no time to counterattack.
Again and again she tried to circle into open ground, but every time she turned, his blade was there. He still had the mental space to anticipate her, but she was too busy defending to think ahead. At last she began to accept the inevitable. She would Return, but he had been right about one thing: her death would go down in the history books.
For a moment she allowed herself to think of Salomen’s grief, a distraction that was nearly fatal as Shantu came within a hair of taking off her leg. She blocked it at the last piptick, forcing his blade away with a sudden determination. She refused to consider the possibility of losing! Accepting her Return was the first step toward death, and she would not go down that path.
She felt more aware now and noticed that Shantu was using fewer overhead blows. In fact, the overall pace of their fighting had slowed; he was tiring as much as she. With new hope she pressed into him, surprising him with a quick parry and riposte. Her blade slipped through and sliced into his side, returning his earlier favor, and he stepped back in shock. She followed it up with a cut toward his sword arm, but he recovered in time.
That was the last opportunity he allowed.
From that moment on, he slowly bu
t surely drove her to the ground. They were both exhausted and bleeding, their swords connecting at a fraction of the pace they had in the beginning, but the damage was no less for the lack of speed. Every blow now seemed to jar her whole body, and though she felt no pain from her wounds, they were draining her as well. Still she fought with all the strength she had, refusing to give in, refusing to think of any option but victory and a long life with Salomen…until the moment came when her tired muscles could not lift the sword high enough, and she failed to fully block the blow to her upper arm. She heard the scrape as his blade bit into bone.
Her sword dropped from useless fingers, hitting the floor with a clatter that echoed through the chamber.
Triumph shone in Shantu’s eyes. His body seemed to ripple, and she watched the boot flying toward her, too weak to do anything but wait. The blow caught her square in the chest, sending her crashing onto her back, and she was finished.
He limped up, standing over her with his sword extended as he gasped for breath. “I’ll give you your due,” he rasped. “You fought well. You had so much potential—but you threw it all away with your weak-minded ideas about caste equality. The castes are not equal. They never have been, and now the warriors will take their rightful place.”
She ignored him as she rolled to her left side, putting her good right hand down for leverage and pushing her torso up.
“Don’t bother,” he said, stepping forward for the killing blow. The point of his sword was almost at her throat when she drew her right leg up and lashed out with her heel, crushing his knee for the second time that morning.
He bellowed in pain, his leg buckling beneath him, and she lashed out again. The second kick caught him in the hip, levering him away from her as he fell. She gathered her legs beneath her and pushed off with her right hand, propelling herself upright with a sudden burst of energy. Two steps brought her within reach of her sword, and she scooped it up. She had little skill with this hand, but if Fahla bore any love for her, she had finally disabled Shantu enough to give her the edge she needed.
Without a Front: The Warrior's Challenge (Chronicles of Alsea Book 3) Page 44
