by Jeff Gunzel
“Time to switch!” Ozryn ordered. With some chaotic finger pointing, he quickly matched everyone up with new partners. Viola was now supposed to go with Kalmton. Nald glanced over Viola’s shoulder, looking none too pleased as Umoro made his way over to take her place.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Viola. “Remember what we worked on and you will do fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” Nald grumbled. Viola went to join Kalmton, ignoring the warrior’s sneer when they passed by each other. She didn’t like him any more than the others, but she wasn’t about to antagonize him either. They were on the same side, after all, and his skill would hopefully prove useful down the stretch.
Kalmton was waiting for her, bent over with his hands on his knees. She couldn’t see his face but could see him spitting red into the sand. It was no surprise when he looked up with one eye swollen, blood running from his nose and mouth. He had been working with Umoro and it showed. Still, he actually managed a smile when he saw her. It looked odd with those beat-up features. The smile was a look of relief more than anything. Here was a partner who wouldn’t try to kill him.
“Oh, Kalmton,” Viola said, the touch of her ice-cold fingers brushing across his cheek.
“The beatings only make me stronger, right?” he asked with a shrug. His smile changed to a grimace before he bent over again, spitting a glob of red mucus onto the sand. When he glanced up, the look in his eyes was deadly serious. “Really, I’m all right with this,” he assured her. “My body aches, and my lungs feel like they’re on fire most of the day, but I am grateful for every breath I take. Every morning when we walk out into this forsaken pit, I am promised a day filled with pain. But with that promise comes at least one more day of staying alive. One more day of seeing the sun set. One more day of staying above ground. Viola, I don’t want to die.”
“Kalmton, you’re not going to die,” said Viola, her soft voice sounding anything but convincing.
“You sound about as confident as I feel,” he muttered.
“Hey, I made you a promise!” she said, much more boldly. “I said I would watch your back and you are going to watch mine. We are both going to get out of here together.”
“Hey, what’s going on over there?!” Ozryn boomed, clearly irritated that they hadn’t started yet. The two of them flinched, then quickly readied their stances.
“Ready?” she asked.
“I don’t think it matters,” he said, blowing out a deep breath. They engaged, slow at first. Their weapons clacked lightly while going through the memorized forms they had done countless times already.
As they picked up speed, Viola made careful observations of Kalmton’s technique. Not unlike Nald, he had improved greatly as of late. His conditioning was much better. That had probably been his biggest weakness until now. Much of his excessive fat had melted off from the hard work, exposing a stout set of arms and broad shoulders. He could stand to lose more weight, and most likely would in the coming weeks. But for now, he had become a capable combatant whose fear for his own life had proved to be more than enough to push him well beyond his limits. There was just one problem...
“You’re too slow!” Viola blurted out, leaping back and lowering her blade.
He lowered his own blade with a look of confusion. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I must say, your attempts to inspire me could use a little work.”
She cringed. Her spoken assessment was mostly the result of her thinking out loud. She wasn’t trying to insult him. It was just an observation that she felt needed to be addressed. “I’m sorry,” she said, visibly embarrassed. “But it’s sort of a tradeoff. You’re also very strong.” In a lot of ways, he was Nald’s opposite—stronger and stouter, yes, but he would never match his speed. “The way I see it, you’re almost never going to strike first.”
“Again, your idea of encouragement needs work,” he replied dryly.
“No, listen to me. All I’m saying is that we have to make some adjustments to your technique. Just like anybody else, you want to play to your strengths and protect your weaknesses.” Again, she wasn’t completely sure where her own logic was coming from. Was it from one of her books, or was she simply recalling one of Thatra’s many lessons? Either way, the answer was obvious to her. “Show me ‘towering mountain,’” she said.
With an unsure look, he widened his stance. Inching his back foot away, he lowered his blade, readying it down near his chest. This was mostly a protective stance used when you were outnumbered or forced to deal with a superior opponent. “All right. Now what?”
“All your attacks are going to come from this stance,” she explained.
“But this is not an offensive stance,” he reasoned.
“That’s right,” she agreed. “Your opponent is going to strike first more often than not. You’re already conceding that fact, so it is your job to make them pay for it. When I attack, you block and counter. Are you ready?” He shrugged, still not sure about any of this.
“Attack one counter two.” She stepped in with a stabbing thrust. His sword already well positioned by his stance, he slapped her thrust aside and countered with two side slashes. She blocked the first, ducked the second.
“Good,” she said. “This style will help cover your weakness, but now let’s work on going with your strength. You’re stronger than most of us, so when you counter, I want you to put everything behind it. With enough force, even if they block it, you’ll put them back on their heels. Understand?” He nodded slowly, now seeing where she was going with this.
“Again!” She stepped in, thrusting hard. Positioned perfectly, he slapped her blade aside and returned with a sweeping side strike. She got her blade up in time, but the force of the blow rattled down through her arms. Because her balance had been thrown off, there was no chance of a return strike.
Shaking out one hand, she began to circle to his left. Showing no attempt to pursue, Kalmton simply pivoted in place with his weapon up and ready. She was right. He was better suited to counterstrike than to chase around a faster, but weaker enemy. She lunged from different angles, striking both high and low. Yet the result was almost always the same: a well-timed block due to efficient positioning, followed by a hard counter that sent her stumbling back. The short two-strike combinations came so natural to him it was like teaching a fish to swim. It was second nature.
Again she was reminded of the weakness in Ozryn’s teachings. Over the years he had developed a one-size-fits-all mentality when it came to training combatants. It never occurred to him that some fighters might need customized styles to perform at their best. Or perhaps...he just didn’t care. It the end they were all dead men walking anyway.
“That’s enough,” Ozryn called out, bringing their session to a halt. He motioned everyone towards the center of the pit. They gathered round, a few leaning on their weapons for support. It had been a hard session so far today. Saying nothing at first, Ozryn’s glare lingered for an uncomfortable while. Was he angry with them? He was always sort of angry.
“You have all done well today,” came a rare compliment from the gruff veteran. “Your progress has been impressive so far, but it’s going to take more than grit and skill with a blade to survive the horrors of the pit. You have taken my instruction and grown each day, but there is only so much I can do. I can make you stronger, faster, and improve your abilities. But when that gate closes behind you, I will not be at your side. You will be alone. And it is only then that you discover what you’re truly made of.
“I’ve seen men who thought themselves to be gods soil themselves like babies in the face of danger. I’ve also seen cowards rise up to the challenge, refusing to crumble once it sank in that their lives were on the line. But in the end, they all had one thing in common: They were only as strong as the man or woman standing next to them.
“I cannot do it for you, therefore one of you must step up and lead this group.” Confused, they glanced at one another.
“When the terror
grips you and there is nowhere left to run, there must be a single voice that unites you when all appears hopeless. Otherwise, you shall all perish as individuals, each in his own private hell. I cannot, nor will I, be that voice.” He turned, his eyes falling on the warrior. “Umoro, step forward.”
The others groaned softly to themselves, but their combined effort was quite audible. The warrior grinned, flipping his hair as he stepped up. Hands on his hips, he turned to face the others. His eyes gleamed with a look of triumph. “You’ve chosen wisely,” he said, head bobbing as if agreeing with himself.
“I’ve chosen nothing,” Ozryn growled. The grin dropped from the warrior’s face. Ozryn pointed. “You, step forward.” All eyes turned to Viola, shocked expressions all around. Her jaw dropped.
“Respect is not something that is given. It must be earned. We will have one more match this evening. The winner shall represent that voice I spoke of. In order to be a leader, your people must be willing to follow you through fire! Now is the chance to prove yourselves.” He eyed both Umoro and Viola. “Earn it! I will not choose for you. Show me who wants it more.” He stepped away.
“Viola, you can do this,” Salina whispered in her ear. “I know you can beat him.”
“I will not follow him,” said Kalmton, not showing the same discretion as Salina. His words were clear for all to hear, including Umoro. “But I will follow you.” Shaken by everything happening so fast, Viola looked to him questioningly.
“I will,” he repeated, nodding for emphasis. Nald stepped forward, placing his hand on Kalmton’s shoulder. He said nothing but didn’t need to.
“Traitorous dogs!” Umoro roared. “How dare you side with this...thing...instead of standing by one of your own? Look at her. Just look at her! That skin, those bloody dead eyes. She’s more monster than human! We don’t even know what color she bleeds.” He twirled his sword once before hammering the tip into the sand. He spit on his palms, then rubbed them together. “But I guess we shall see when I paint the sand with her blood.”
“He is unstable,” Salina said. “He is driven only by anger and violence. If we are to answer to him, death is the only possible outcome. You are the only one who can stop that now.”
Viola didn’t want to fight Umoro, and she certainly didn’t want to lead them either. But seeing the looks in their eyes, she knew she had no choice. Her wooden practice sword felt heavy in her hand. It might as well have been made of iron. Head down, she dragged it across the sand, each labored step a monumental chore. She felt tired, weak...frightened. She could see his face again, the man she’d killed being dragged away. Those wide-open eyes, accusing, judging.
I won’t let it come to that, she thought.
“The rules are simple enough,” said Ozryn, standing beside the other three. It was strange seeing him as a spectator with no vested interest in the outcome of this contest. Relaxed, mostly disinterested, it was clear he would not intervene in any way. “The fight is over when one combatant has been incapacitated or is unable to continue. It may also end by verbal submission. I don’t imagine I need to remind either of you what’s at stake. Begin!”
The combatants just stood there a moment, glaring at one another. Viola lifted her weapon, sand trickling from its tip. So heavy. So very, very heavy.
“I don’t intend to drag this out any longer than necessary,” Umoro said, rocking back on his heels with his blade held high. “The sooner you’re lying face down in the sand, the sooner these peasants will know which direction they should be kneeling.” He lunged, the distance between them closing in a heartbeat. It was hard to believe that a man that size could move so fast.
Viola threw up her blade, a reflective flinch intercepting his weapon at the last second. Her sword exploded from the impact. Splintered shards sprayed the air in a bloom of chips and cream-colored dust. Her palms blazed with heat as if they had been dipped in lava. She had little doubt she would have lost part of her skull had that thunderous blow landed. Even as it was, she was already in trouble.
Roaring in frustration at the missed opportunity, he backhanded a return swing carrying similar velocity. A rush of air whooshed over the top of her head, the sword edge kissing the ends of her hair as she dropped flat to the ground. Panic filled her to the brim. This was not just going to end with a severe beating, he was trying to kill her! Taking her life would be the ultimate retaliation for challenging his position if front of these humans.
She rolled to her back, only to see Umoro straddled over her with his blade high above his head. She rolled again, the tip of his sword sinking into the sand where her face had just been. “Viola!” Salina shouted, tossing her sword. Viola failed to snatch it with one hand as it bounced off her fingertips, but she did manage to knock it down.
As she scrambled towards it on all fours, her instincts screamed a warning of incoming danger. Blindly rolling again, she mostly avoided Umoro’s blade as it snapped down and grazed her ear. On her back looking up, she rolled left as it slammed down again near her other ear. With his massive legs pinned up against each shoulder, she could not roll again. She was trapped. Eyes gleaming with an uncontrollable blood rage, he raised his blade to deliver the killing blow.
Paralyzed with fear, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Time seemed to stop altogether. Faces flashed through her mind—Liam’s, Xavier’s, Thatra’s. She saw herself laughing, crying; nearly every experience she had ever had seemed to blur before her eyes. She didn’t want to die.
A large body sailed over her head, crashing into the warrior’s midsection. A surreal experience that had been creeping in slow motion suddenly revved up to full speed. Her head spun. Everything was happening so fast. “Kalmton, no!” she screamed, scrambling back to her feet.
Completely caught off guard, the warrior stumbled back several feet under the weight of the heavy man. But even that solid impact hadn’t brought him down. With Kalmton’s arms wrapped around his waist, head flush against his side, Umoro brought down the pommel of his sword, smashing the man in the back of the head. Kalmton’s grip loosened, his own weapon slipping from his grasp. The warrior smashed him a second time, dropping him to one knee. Still, he clung to Umoro’s upper leg, determined to buy Viola as much time as he could.
“How dare you choose that thing over your own flesh and blood? Traitor,” Umoro growled, bending the man’s head back by his hair. “You chose wrong!”
“No!” Viola screamed.
The warrior brought down his blade one last time, it shaft fraying with a crackling sound as it broke over the top of Kalmton’s head. The big man toppled over, a line of liquid red trickling across the sand as his head leaked profusely. Without so much as a last twitch, his body lay perfectly still. With his blade held together by only a few clinging fibrous strands, Umoro tossed it aside and picked up the good weapon. Kalmton appeared to be finished, but Umoro moved in for a final blow just to be sure.
“Don’t you dare touch him again!” Viola shrieked, her eerie hissing voice echoing around the pit. Deafening, yet little more than a hissing whisper, the unnatural sound came from everywhere at once. “Your fight is not with him, it is with me!”
All her fear and anxieties vaporized like smoke. This human had just given her a second chance by paying with his own life. It was all so clear to her now. This wasn’t about her. It never was. How could she be so selfish, so greedy? She had read tales of soldiers in service, falling on their swords in the name of their kings, their leaders, those who had gained their unwavering trust. Leaders didn’t just command, they inspired. Kalmton had given up everything so she could be awakened.
And awakened she was...
Kicking Kalmton’s lifeless body aside, Umoro turned his attention on Viola. “For once we agree,” he said, twirling his new blade. “My fight is with you. You’ve been a distraction for far too long now. These fools seem to forget where their loyalties lay.”
“You are the fool,” Viola hissed. “What do you know of loyalty? I come from a worl
d of complete isolation, yet I still know more about people than you do! The way you see the world is laughable even to me. No mother has ever forced a child’s love, but it happens naturally with no effort at all. No friendship has ever been bought, yet you are so naive as to think you can bully folks into being loyal to you? Your narcissism blinds you. You have more in common with a jungle animal than any human I’ve ever met!”
“Shut up!” he roared. “I’ll kill you where you stand!”
“Perhaps,” she admitted coolly. “But it will change nothing. No one respects you. No one will follow you. To them...you are already dead.”
She was perfectly aware of the crippling handicap strung around her neck. Her speed and ability to transform had all been restricted. Even if she could access her innate abilities, she still couldn’t match his strength. But the collar didn’t control her mind, her rage. With her fury focused like a sunbeam, all she could see was the man who had just killed her friend. A friend that died trying to protect her. Umoro would pay for that.
He rushed her like a charging bull, murder in his eyes. She sidestepped as his thrust sailed past her cheek. She was furious, more enraged than ever before. But she was still in control. She had to be against this dangerous opponent. He whirled back, his sword speeding towards her head. She leaned back, feeling the rush of air zip past her neck. Every swing was a killing blow, a fully committed attack with all his strength behind it—powerful, deadly, but clumsy and void of all technique.
He went into a flurry, an all-out assault of chaotic, hacking swings. Viola picked them off one at a time, her weapon intercepting each strike with perfect precision. Focus, she thought. Keeping the beast at bay was her only objective here. If one of those heavy shots landed, her eyes would never open again. Patience. Weather the storm. Ozryn had been watching the whole time and not once did he attempt to interfere. It was clear his plan was to let the prisoners decide their own fate. He looked on with disinterest, his blank expression unreadable.
