by R. M Garino
Cavallo brushed past the others, as was the right of his House. He would play along, letting them think that he would negotiate, and then, at the last minute, snatch the hope from them. How delightful it would be to see that smirk of scornful derision wiped from her face and replaced by genuine fear. Endeara could not fault him for beating her now, in so public a fashion, even if he had been forbidden to do so in the past. He still owed her for the tea.
“Nicely played,” Cavallo said, marshaling his thoughts. “I have to admit that I did not expect you all to get this far. So, how can we—”
The graduates all took position by sliding their right foot behind them, to a chorus of “Oohraah!” Their sin’dels contracted and condensed around them, a crystalline peal sounding and resounding. The graduates sprang upon the Elc’atar, weapons raised and slashing. Astonished, he drew his blade, but he didn’t have time to protect himself by performing the Satyagarha. Gwendolyn was already upon him, and her sword met the one he raised. With a flick of his wrist he sought to deflect her attack, but his blade did not stop hers. Instead, it shattered on impact, and her blade kept going. Cavallo dropped to his knees, too stunned to feel any pain as Gwendolyn drew from his chest. The world spun and twisted as he fell.
****
The Pride pushed past the first line of Elc’atar. A spray of bright sparks littered the early evening as casters were activated all around the field.
There’s noflag! Ba’ril’s announcement bellowed in all their minds. As per the plan, he’d pushed toward the pole, with Caradoc and Ossian guarding his flanks. Now, with no flag for him to grab, he found himself surrounded by Elc’atar, each of whom had enough time to perform the Satyagarha.
Rally to the first rank, Thomlin sent, and threw himself against the Elc’atar to match his words with action. The rest of the Pride complied, and pushed as one against the mass that had closed in around the trio.
Fourteen graduates faced over seventy-two elite opponents. Twenty-eight had already fallen to their swords as the combined effect of the sudden attack and the Satyagarha-protected graduates broke upon their senses. But the surprise had worn off, and true to their reputation, the Elc’atar rallied against the upset and threw themselves back into the fray. Now, all that separated them was their weaponry skill.
How do we win? Nessah sent. The desperation was clear in her telepathy, but she pushed on despite it.
We don’t, Thomlin sent. But that’s no reason to quit now!
Hack them to pieces, Arielle sent, and we sift through their bodies until we find the flag.
Every taunt, every curse, every punishment, Angus sent, picking up on Arielle’s train of thought. This is where we give it back to them. This is where we throw at them all they’ve ever given us.
Screaming defiance into the face of our enemies! Thomlin sent.
The Pride did as commanded. They gave voice to their every grievance. The numbers changed as five more enemies were removed from the field. It was only a matter of time, Angus knew, until their Satyagarha wavered. The first time it was achieved, Hammer had told him, it was rarely sustained for long. Angus had been unique, and had held it far longer than he should have, requiring Hammer to beat him out of it. They were all linked to Ti’vol, and they’d all hold that state until she fell, or their own bodies gave way beneath the abuse. As to which would happen first, Angus had no idea. So far, she was holding her own with Hironata and Darien to protect her flanks. Nevertheless, the now familiar pressure was beginning to make itself felt behind his eyes.
A sword thrust slid past his defense, and he managed to pull his head back far enough to receive only a glancing blow. Before his foe could recover, Arielle’s sword snaked out and caught the woman in her throat. Angus twisted and, rolling over her back as she fell, swung his axe into the head of an attacker coming up on Arielle’s other side. She spun, swinging one sword to cover his flank, just as he jumped over her other swing to bury his short sword in someone’s chest.
Ti’vol held to her task off to the side, but only just. She was no match for the Elc’atar, and her protectors were hard pressed to keep them off of her.
“Hang in there, Killer,” Darien said calling out his encouragement.
A trio of Elc’atar attacked. Hironata caught one with his war hammer, but the other slipped past his guard. With a backhanded swing of her fist she knocked Ti’vol to the ground. Grabbing her by the ankle, she hauled her into the thick of the melee, with Ti’vol kicking and squirming, trying to free herself.
There was a popping sound, and Angus felt his perception shifting. The Elc’atar flung Ti’vol forward into the press of bodies, knocking down Enid and Caradoc. They struggled to their feet, but were set upon as they tried to help her up. The Elc’atar who had thrown her grabbed her hair, and slammed her blade into Ti’vol’s back. The shimmering glow in the corner of his mind was gone. In a spray of light, Ti’vol was removed from the field, and the connection was broken. His Satyagarha still held, and he was surprised to note Arielle’s did as well. As for the rest of the Pride, he was afraid they’d soon be out of the fight. He swung his axe, and followed through with his short sword when the first weapon was blocked. Caradoc took an eviscerating slash across his middle, only to erupt into a spray of light. An array of arrows ploughed into Hironata’s chest, one after the other until he too disappeared.
Angus could feel Arielle beside him, and matched his movements to synchronize with hers, letting her lead. He stretched his awareness out to analyze the threats that came their way. They moved in tandem, one blocking, the other attacking, and then alternating, as they danced their way through the flood of attackers. A sword slammed into Thomlin; a knife took down Ba’ril. A foot slammed into Angus’ stomach and made the pressure in his head double. A similar strike against Arielle’s ribs did the same. The growing pain made him miss a strike, and his adversary slid beneath his guard and struck out with the heel of his palm against Angus’ jaw. The pain in his head exploded, and he felt his Satyagarha disappear as the shock knocked the weapons away. He tried to push through the pain as Hammer had taught him. His armor was gone, his weapons were gone, but it didn’t mean he was down. Hammer and Trenton had made sure he understood that lesson. He still had his fists, and he still had his feet. He still had breath. The Elc’atar who’d struck him moved in again. Angus blocked the swing, grabbed his wrist, and slammed his forearm against the elbow. Even as the joint popped, Angus swung his other elbow and slammed it into his opponent’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Demona and Denuelle fell within moments of the other. Darien and Nessah fell beneath a flurry of blows.
A stunning pain in Angus’ lower back brought him up short as all his muscles seized. He felt the knife slide out, only to slam in again, parting between the ribs and piercing his lung. The world darkened, twisted, and spun in upon itself in a swirl of bright lights.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Fifteenth
Arielle was staring at the ceiling of the infirmary as Bicca told her it was near morning, and time to rise. As soon as she was standing, an Elc’atar had grabbed her by the upper arm and all but dragged her out.
“Run, greenie, run,” her captor said. “Double time, double time!”
Arielle did as she was told, pushing past the aches and bruises as she’d been trained to do. She crested the slight rise that hid the infirmary, and nearly stumbled at the sight that awaited her. The entire muster of the Gates was gathered on the field, standing at rest behind the Masters, backlit by the torches that encircled the field. Her Pride was lined before them, kneeling on the hardpacked dirt in a show of failure.
Angus flashed her a weak smile as she approached. She tried to return it, but her face felt too swollen and bruised. She was pushed into position, and shoved to her knees next to her Pride.
Silence gathered among the Blades. Arielle held her head high despite the condition of defeat she found herself in.
Trenton let the stillness linger, and then gave a single, slight cue.
>
“Attention!” a voice commanded.
In response to long years of training, Arielle jumped to her feet in one motion and snapped to attention. The gathered command of the Gates followed suit, and she could feel them watching her Pride: Arielle knew that all of the Patresilen was watching as well, gathered in communal halls to witness the spectacle anticipated all year long. Trenton pointed at them.
“Before you stand two squads that sought to defy the traditions of the Gauntlet. They joined their forces in order to better their chances,” he said. “Hammer, what was the result?”
“They did not accomplish the mission.” Hammer’s voice carried easy on the early morning air, and Arielle felt her heart drop at the pronouncement. He would now pass judgment on them. True, there was no rule that said they couldn’t unite, but it had never been done before.
“Why?”
“They failed to claim the flag,” Hammer said.
“So,” Trenton said, “what did they accomplish?”
“They bested ten packs in the field. Eight were pledged Blades, two were rival cohorts.”
“Continue.”
“They attacked a superior force of Elc’atar guarding the flag pole.”
“And the outcome?”
“They fell, one and all.”
“And what of the Elc’atar? What were their losses?”
“A company of one hundred met them,” Hammer said. “Thirty-eight were left standing when the last of the graduates had fallen.”
Arielle felt the pit of her stomach tighten. Had they really bested so many Guards in combat?
“Thirty-eight were left standing,” Trenton said. “Do you mean to tell me that fourteen graduates attacked a force of one hundred, and they bested sixty-two Elc’atar Guards before they were brought down. Of those remaining thirty-eight, how many were left unscathed?”
“Five.”
“So,” Trenton said. “We are left with quite a problem. We have an unprecedented display of swordsmanship, strategy, and cooperation, but no clear winner.”
He paused, squinting down the line.
“Prior to their arrival, a coward removed the flag from the pole. This, also, is most unheard of, and this craven is serving penance as we speak. There was no way they could have won. They knew this, yet they fought on, knowing they would fail. I am reminded of El’Cain’s last stand in the mouth of Golan’s Pass.
“It would seem to me that, given all this, we Masters have a decision to make. Did they win, or did they lose? We have never before had a Gauntlet without a winner. Theta, what say you?”
“They did not capture the flag,” Theta said. “It does not matter what else they did. They did not accomplish their objective. I say they lost.”
“What say you Hammer?”
“Fourteen graduates defeated or wounded ninety-five Elc’atar in open combat, never once crying for quarter or mercy,” Hammer said. “They embraced their fate. For that alone, I say they carried the day.”
Trenton’s vote would break the tie. He walked up and down the line inspecting the tattered, disheveled, filthy Pride of upstart graduates.
Turning toward the gathered forces of the Gates, he raised his arms and his voice.
“I vote for a win! I give you the Third and Twelfth squads . . . better yet, I give you the Fifteenth! The winners of the Gauntlet!”
A frenzied cheer rose from the gathered crowd. Arielle twirled to face her companions. They wore expressions of stunned disbelief, until Ba’ril raised his arms in victory and joined in the cheering. As if the movement had awakened the others, they also raised their fists to the skies and shouted in victory. Angus grabbed her around the waist and swung her up into the air. Arielle, in turn, threw herself into his arms and kissed him for all the Patresilen to see.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Small Potatoes
The celebrations lasted for almost a week, and every House wanted to congratulate the victors. Especially vociferous was House Kal’Parev, which hosted three separate events in their honor.
“I give you the Fifteenth!” a half drunk Finlay Kal’Parev shouted at the assemblage. A rousing cheer assaulted the victors of the Gauntlet as they entered, and the members of the House expressed their pride and admiration for such an audacious maneuver.
“The Immortals!” someone shouted from the crowd. The cry was picked up by others, and quickly became a chant.
“A fitting title!” Finlay said. With an arm around Thomlin’s shoulders, he hoisted his cup high. “No other Pride can match their achievement, and their legend will be immortal, lasting long after even the Areth’kon has fallen and the Gates are dust!”
Another roar of approval lifted into the air, before the musicians cut in with a barrage of pipes and drums.
Hammer clapped Angus on the shoulder, passing him a tankard. They moved out from the main chamber, stepping under the stone awning above the columned foyer to hear each other better. “How many celebrations?” he said.
“This will be the sixth,” Angus said. “I think.”
“Ha!” Hammer said, slouching against a pillar. “Tell me, what did you think of the Fel’Mekrin affair?”
“It was the smallest of them all,” Angus said. “And the most formal.”
“Of course it was,” Hammer said. “It was just a show of propriety. Did you really think they were proud of your win? Or that they knew how to celebrate?”
“Not really. The Head of the House, Gwendolyn’s mother Endeara, was rather conspicuous in her absence,” Angus said. “Didn’t seem like propriety to me.”
“How did Gwen take it?”
“Gwen?”
Hammer shrugged. “Isn’t that what you all call her?”
“Arielle maybe,” Angus said with a chuckle. “I guess I’m still getting to know her. It didn’t really seem to bother her though. Then again, I don’t know her well enough to judge. Arielle would be the better one to ask.”
“Well, you lot are the first of us to get an invitation to a fancy Fel’Mekrin reception. That’s something.”
“Yup,” Angus said, taking a drink. “Not sure what that something is though.”
“Give it time. Your status as a Pride is no longer contested. The other cohorts concede the position of first tier. You risked everything, and it paid off.”
“Angus!” an Elc’atar called as he stumbled out of the barracks. “You need a mentor? Just ask for Lanoff.”
“Piss off!” Hammer roared, throwing his drink at him.
The Elc’atar jumped out of the way of the projectile, sputtering at the spray of beer across his shirt.
“Seven hells, Hammer!” he said. “What a waste of a perfectly good brew! That’s no small potatoes, there!”
Hammer ignored him, shaking his head. “He meant to say no small tuber.”
“What was that all about?”
“That? It’s a traditional drinking song.”
“I meant about the mentor business.”
“Think, boy,” Hammer said, poking Angus on the side of the head. “You all earned a tremendous degree of respect in the eyes of the Elc’atar, and the rest of the Patresilen. It was the greatest show of life.”
“Really?”
Hammer placed clapped Angus on the shoulder. “Yes, really. Lad, in all their years of service, they’ve never been part of a more stirring rite of passage.”
“I thought they’d still be mad,” Angus said. “We went up against them.”
“You stood against them,” Hammer said. “Believe me, there’s a world of difference. Most graduates would have shit themselves seeing the field full of Elc’atar. You lot caught them off guard. There was no ill will carried off that field. Well, maybe by some, but none that have any sense. Your Pride will not lack for mentors—or suitors for that matter—should they choose to try for the guard.”
“I’d say it’s a given by this point that all of us will try,” Angus said.
“Just remember,” Hammer said, “it’s the mento
r who chooses the apprentice.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
The A’gist
The celebrations faded, until they were a blur in the memory of the Immortals. Three months after the Gauntlet there was a change in their normal duties. The Pride was assembled after morning exercise and was addressed by the Master of the Gates. Trenton stood before them, as gruff as always, inspecting them as they stood at attention in the soft, misting rain. His demeanor gave no indication if he approved of what he saw, and he let the silence stretch to increase their discomfort, as was his wont. After months of his personal tutelage, Arielle was able to see past the façade he projected and knew the tactic for what it was, an attempt to teach them what most novice swordsmen lacked: patience.
“Today,” Trenton said, “we will see which of you is capable of becoming Elc’atar, and which are not. For some of you, this may be your last day among the living, or your last day at the Gates.
“You will be entering the A’gist. For those of you who have not kept up with your studies, the A’gist is the lo’el pasture. If you are accepted, your duties for the next six months will be focused there, and you will learn how to tend to them. Their needs are particular, especially when young, and they do not take kindly to neglect. Some of you may not return. They are deadly, and have often made their displeasure known with their teeth. Nevertheless, we will hold a place for you all at dinner, and drink to your memory should you fail. Elc’atar Thesius will meet you at the border in a quarter of an hour. Do not make her wait. Dismissed.”
The Pride, moving as a single unit, ran north toward the mountain trails. Ba’ril, Nessah, and Ossian tried to push ahead, eager to be the first to arrive and claim bragging rights for the achievement. Some of the old divisions still held, at least in private. Enid and Hironata matched them. Demona ran beside Denuelle, neither showing any sense of haste to reach their destination. Gwen ran near Thomlin. Angus and Arielle ran side by side, though he greatly modulated his pace to match her shorter stride. As always of late, Caradoc and Ti’vol flanked them, both of whom acted as if they were bodyguards. Caradoc’s reasons Arielle could understand, but Ti’vol’s remained a mystery. Darien had taken to remaining close to Ti’vol, as well.
