Birthright

by L. Fergus

  The duchess spoke, “My lords and ladies, esteemed guests: Merce Cauzul, Earl of The Coastlands; Robert Armstrong, Earl of Stonywood; and Angus, Commander of the Legion of Yorq, I bid you welcome. Tonight, we hold this banquet in honor of Katrina Marie Logine, daughter of Priatt Logine, Duke of Arbol.”

  How did Mother get Earl Cauzul here on such short notice? Normally, you have to plan a month in advance to see him. Maybe the chance of meeting Angus was worth clearing his schedule. Earl Armstrong sat in the front row next to the aisle. Even the fastest couriers took almost two days to get from Leedings to Arbol. Maybe Earl Armstrong was in the area. Did Mother know what Angus was planning?

  “Katrina is a daughter of two lands: Yorq and Arcone. Tonight, she shall perform the final ritual to become a warrior of the nation of Arcone. Few outside Arcone have seen the Proving Ritual and tonight, we, the people of Arcone, invite you to watch. After the ritual, we shall celebrate her farewell. Katrina leaves tomorrow to start the next phase of her life.”

  The crowd clapped and murmured.

  “Thank you, everyone,” said the duchess. “We’re Clan MhicAoidh from Isle Storme. We serve the estate of Arbol. As is Tradition, the clansmen must vote to approve the initiate for the Proving Ritual. I ask you, members of Clan MhicAoidh: Is the initiate ready for her Proving Ritual?”

  The duchess received a loud round of, “Ayes.”

  Some of those didn’t sound convinced.

  “The initiate may come forth and request her Proving Ritual.”

  The butler looked at Kita. “I believe that is your cue, my lady.”

  Kita stood in front of the doors. Have they always been this massive? She took a couple of deep breaths to settle her nerves, then signaled the butler. The doors swung open, and all eyes were on her.

  Do I march or do the Noble Half Step and shake it all about? She decided on something in between.

  “…What’s she doing in armor?”

  “…I thought she was dead…”

  “…My lord must be mortified…”

  “…What’s on her face? Is that the new style from Champignon?”

  Kita, intent on the crowd, almost walked past the base of the stairs. She stopped and looked up at the stern face of her mother.

  No one told Kita what to say, or that she would need to say anything. I guess it’s part of the ritual. If you want it, you’re expected to take it. Nobody is going to give it to you. “Chieftess Logine of Clan MhicAoidh, I stand before you and my clan to request my Proving Ritual be given.”

  “Do you believe you have the necessary skill, bravery, and honor?”

  “I do. I’ll overcome any obstacle, defeat any opponent, or die trying.” Kita thought several of the clansmen smiled. I must have said something right.

  “Then, we shall begin. Let the guilds rally.”

  The clansman to Kita’s left drew his sword. He grasped the sword with two hands with the tip pointing to the ground. His hands were level with his eyes. The clansman thrust the sword into the floor, yelling, “Eel!”

  Each of the clansmen in the formation repeated the sword thrust and called out their guilds: “Lionfish,” “Sea Urchin,” “Lava,” “Shark,” “Blood Moon,” “Typhoon,” “Sea Hawk,” “Sea Turtle,” “Volcano,” “Starfish,” “Sea Snake,” “Basalt,” “Barracuda.” The duchess went last. She drew her sword and thrust it into the floor, calling out, “Oak.”

  “Guildsmen, before us we have an initiate for the Guild of the Rose, one of our greatest guilds. They are our warrior diplomats. They go forth to our friends, neighbors, and enemies to offer each a rose. Those who accept the rose will experience the beauty, grace, and friendship of Arcone. Those who decline our offer of friendship shall experience our thorns.

  “The rituals for membership to a guild demand all the initiate’s skill and courage. The initiate before us has completed the required rituals and now has requested the Proving Ritual.”

  What am I expected to prove?

  “Initiate, the Proving Ritual will demonstrate your courage and skill. You shall face one of your own clansmen in personal combat. The clan elders have chosen your opponent. It will be Zidin of the Shark Guild. Initiate and challenger, come forward.”

  Kita wrinkled her nose. Zidin’s size put her at a disadvantage in reach, and she’d have to swing up. He has to be the kind that relies on his strength. I’ve been facing that all my life. Taking him down shouldn’t be hard. My footwork is nimbler and faster than his.

  “The rules for the ritual are as follows,” said the duchess. “There will be no killing, decapitation, amputating, or permanent disabling blows. No piercing strikes. Only weapons furnished by the elders may be used. No armor is permitted. Fighters must stay inside the ritual ring. There will be five rounds. The first fighter to inflict a torso cut wins the round. First to win three rounds wins the ritual. Clan elders shall judge all cuts. After each cut, fighters will separate and healing aid will be given.”

  That is an odd set of rules. Kita panicked for a second, she hadn’t fought without her armor in years. On the brighter side, my pretty new armor won’t get dinged up right away.

  “Initiate, you may select your weapons first.”

  “Chieftess, I choose sword and long dagger.”

  “So, you shall have.”

  One of the clan elders handed her a set. The weapons were not sharp, but enough for slashing. Their weight, balance, and fit were not made for her, but she was used to using mass produced weapons.

  “Challenger, select your weapon.”

  “Chieftess, I choose the greatsword,” replied Zidin.

  The clan elder gave Zidin the biggest sword Kita had ever seen. The length of the blade reached from Zidin’s chin to the ground. The hilt was as long as his forearm. The blade at the base was wider than both of Kita’s forearms put together.

  There is no way he can wield that monster—the elder has trouble carrying it. To her dismay, not only could he wield it, he didn’t appear to have much trouble doing so one-handed.

  “Each fighter has chosen their weapon. Guildsmen, prepare the ritual ring,” ordered the duchess.

  The clansmen filed off the stage and formed a ring, waving the guests back. People squeezed in where they could. Not really a ring, more like an oval. The ring stretched almost wall to wall along the front of the stage and was half as wide.

  “Fighters remove any armor you’re wearing, enter the ring, and prepare yourselves,” ordered the duchess.

  On the far side, one of the clan elders motioned for Kita. “Initiate I must ask you to remove your armor.”

  Kita sighed and handed her weapons over. So, this is why Mother made me walk across the castle in a towel and demanded I wear my support bra. Kita undid the straps on one side and slipped out of her breastplate, then unbuckled her greaves, thigh guards, and bracers.

  Kita felt naked standing in her boots, leggings, and bra. The support bra came from Champignon, where only the wealthiest of female fighters wore them. They were far superior to wraps. The support bra was comfortable, and she didn’t have to worry about coming undone. Champignon alchemists created the stretchy material that was spun and sewn into the bras. The only downside was they had a slight odor. It could be worse. I could be wearing another Champignon miracle, a pushup bra.

  Across the ring, Zidin stripped down to just his kilt. With his shirt removed, he was a solid mass of muscle. This guy cooks pastries all day? He looks…looks? He is the proverbial castle wall.

  The elder took Kita’s armor and set it aside and returned with Kita’s weapons, taking a position outside the ring.

  As Kita waited, her stomach growled. Dammit. I fed you. Don’t get distracted. Fine time to think about my tummy.

  Zidin waited by himself, the flat of the large blade rested on his shoulder. He showed no signs of nervousness, made no confidence-building gestures. His face expressionless.

  “Fighters, fight,” commanded the duchess.

  The lack of a count
down caught Kita off guard, but she recovered her focus and moved to the center of the ring to meet Zidin. She assumed a pure Yorqian fighting form and prepared for the dance.

  In tournaments, the two fighters didn’t run at each other and swing away. Instead, they met near the center and circled, waiting to catch their opponent off guard or for a mistake in their foot technique. Most times, the person who won the dance, won the duel.

  Kita waited for Zidin to stop, but as he came closer, he sped up. Uhm…? Zidin swept his giant sword back, planted his feet, and swung the sword forward in a waist-high arc.

  Kita tried to parry and step into him, but the giant sword slammed into her side with a muffled crack. The force of the blow knocked her off her feet. She crashed headfirst into the stage and sank to the floor. The blow left a slice in her support bra. Pain screamed from her bleeding ribs.

  Kita sat trying to regain her equilibrium and let the stars go away. Little help? She staggered to her feet, seeing no one was coming to help her. The stars stopped, but she spat a mouth full of blood.

  “First cut to the challenger. Fighters return to your ends.”

  Kita struggled to walk a straight line. She was sure the crack she’d heard was a rib, maybe two. What in the bloody moons was that? Maybe in their tournaments they don’t circle. This wasn’t her type of dueling and needed to adjust her strategy. She would have to stay out of the blade arc. There would be no blocking or parrying it. She formulated a plan to feint, dodge the counterattack, and then jump closer to strike.

  When Kita arrived at her end, she inspected the cut running underneath her breast around to her back. It would take a long time to heal. Thankfully, it hadn’t damaged her breast. I’m not old enough to have lopsided breasts. How am I ever going to get a girlfriend with one-and-a-half breasts?

  The clan elder helping Kita pulled a small jar from his pouch. Kita knew the stuff and was thankful to see it. It healed cuts in a matter of minutes and dulled the pain. He opened the jar and instructed Kita to raise her arm. She winced as the elder rubbed the blood-red balm into the wound. It worked immediately. Her ribs still hurt but were a dull ache instead of a raging inferno.

  The elder held out a bit on his finger. “Open your mouth.”

  Uh? No! “I’ll do it.” She awkwardly scrapped it off his finger and rubbed on the inside of her lip. The stuff tasted awful. The clan elder left, and she signaled she was ready.

  This time she heard the command to fight and moved forward faster, trying to get a read on her opponent. Like before, Zidin moved faster as he approached.

  Kita moved to his non-sword side to make him change course. She lunged with a feint. Zidin sidestepped and swung. She jumped back. Step, lunge, slash, and tie game.

  Zidin checked his swing and brought the massive sword back above his shoulder while taking a step forward. The pommel of the sword struck her face, knocking her back two steps. Zidin used her stunned state and slashed her stomach. Kita dropped her swords and fell to her hands and knees. The crowd rose to their feet. She rested her head on the cool stone floor, feeling her stomach burn. Help? The duke wore a scowl that said he disapproved of everything. Jeffrey looked morbidly amused. Neither moved to help her. Nice to know everyone cares.

  The side of her face swelled. Nothing better be broken. Her stomach was on fire as blood ran down her skin. The stars from the first round reappeared, but a red aura chased them away. With the aura came an eruption of anger and hate.

  Nowhere was a pommel strike legal by tournament rules. I can’t wait to hear Mother scold him or even better, disqualify him.

  “Second cut to the challenger. Fighters return to your ends.”

  How could they let that pass? It was totally illegal, had HE ever fought in a tournament before? It was as if he was fighting in a street fight or…or combat…

  The epiphany struck her like Zidin’s last strike. He is fighting in combat. That odd list of rules was not in addition to tournament rules—they were the only rules. This wasn’t a fight to show skill. It was the first combat new warriors in Arcone would see. What better way to prepare a new warrior for the battlefield than to make their first fight real combat?

  Zidin wasn’t cheating. Kita handicapped herself. On real battlefields, there were no rules and no tournament rings. From this point on, she would be fighting for her life—if she could stand.

  She got to her knees and gathered her swords. The movement caused the gash on her stomach to spread, and she nearly screamed. Instead, she swore under her breath, “If that scars, I’ll hunt him down and kill him, rules or no.”

  Her eye was swollen shut. Kita used her sword to leverage herself to her feet but sank back to her knees. I…I can’t do it. The anger and hate roiled inside, exploding through her like an electrical shock. I won’t give up. I’ll fight on my knees if I have to. I’d rather die than lose. Determined, she crawled back to her end. She wasn’t sure how long it took, but she made it to the waiting clan elder.

  He applied the balm across her stomach and face. Zidin approached the stage and talked to her mother. When they finished, her mother talked to the clan elders around the ring. Kita ignored it. Whatever was going on, they would tell her when she needed to know. She focused her pain, hate, and anger on the task. When Kita felt ready, she walked back to her starting spot and waited for the signal. Instead, the duchess entered the ring.

  “Clansmen, the challenger requests a stay of the Proving Ritual due to insufficient skill.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Kita’s voice echoed through the hall.

  “Initiate, it’s not your place to speak.”

  “Oh, the bloody moons it isn’t.” She stormed toward the duchess.

  The duchess waved off several clansmen who stepped forward to protect her. Kita stopped inches from her at the base of the risers.

  “What in ten thousand bloody moons are you doing?” Kita hissed.

  The duchess kept her air of superiority. “The challenger and the elders fear for your safety.”

  “What do they know? I’ve spent all damn day dancing to your blazing tune and gone along with it happily. You’re the one who put me here. I didn’t ask for it. You have put my everything on the line, and I’m the only one who can get me out.” Kita bared her teeth. “You can’t pull me now, not after I just understood the rules of the game.”

  “I think your realization has come too late.” The duchess frowned. “I fear for your safety.”

  “When I said or die trying, I meant it. I won’t live with this failure.”

  “That is what I’m afraid of.”

  “You put me here. You knew the risks.”

  “I thought you were better than this. I’m not about to put someone so outmatched back in.”

  Kita leaned in so they were almost nose-to-nose, and whispered. “Mother, I am the greatest. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “It had better be more than what you’ve displayed so far.”

  Kita’s rage exploded. She turned and threw her sword over the crowd’s head, sticking it dead center in the same coat of arms as her mother had earlier.

  “Unlike you, Mother, I don’t miss,” Kita snarled.

  The duchess raised an eyebrow.

  Kita stepped back.

  “Very well, I’ll ask the challenger to rescind his request.” The duchess motioned Zidin over. “Zidin, the initiate objects to your request and asks that it be withdrawn.”

  “She isn’t qualified, Chieftess. She has the bravery, but lacks the skill.”

  “The initiate wishes to preserve her honor by finishing all three rounds.”

  Zidin nodded. “I’ll withdraw my request to preserve the honor of the initiate.”

  The duchess dismissed Kita and spoke to Zidin.

  Kita’s clan elder handed her another sword and Kita returned a vengeful smile. After everyone returned to their places, ready signals were given.

  Kita took a few steps back until she stood at the edge of the ring. She sprinted fo
rward, performed a cartwheel into a backward handspring. Her muscles responded with more strength than usual. She moved faster, and her senses were heightened. Zidin planted his feet and pulled the giant sword back. Kita landed on the edge of his range and used her momentum to launch into a layout over him.

  As Kita passed over his head, she slashed him on his shoulders. She used her swords to pivot herself to the ground, slicing through his back, then slid between his legs on her hip, out of his striking distance. Kita rolled to her feet, keeping her legs far apart and her upper body low. She held her longsword in front and her dagger high and behind, like a scorpion ready to strike.

  “Second cut to the initiate. Fighters return to your ends.”

  Kita stood up. She glowered at the duchess, who returned a neutral stare.

  Kita walked back to her starting position glancing at the sea of shocked and awed faces. How much money did I cost some of them? Too bad she hadn’t known this was coming or she’d have tried to get in on the action.

  Zidin tried to pick up the giant sword but found he couldn’t. He left it and returned to his clan elder for healing before returning to collect it. Kita’s clan elder approached her and asked if she needed anything. She shook her head.

  “Where did you learn that, may I ask?”

  “Trade secret.”

  When Kita was eighteen, she met a girl named Sarah. She was Kita’s only girlfriend and taught her to be an assassin. After Sarah dumped her, whenever Kita was home, she worked in the stables at night making the assassin form her own.

  “Well, whatever trade you learned it in, I wouldn’t want to face any of them myself.”

  Kita was pleased with herself, but the anger hadn’t subsided. What Kita wanted was to watch the bastard suffer on his knees.

  Zidin signaled he was ready. Kita gave her signal. Zidin charged. She sprinted toward him. Zidin set his feet and swung, but Kita slid under the giant blade, slashing Zidin’s anklebones. The pain would be excruciating. Kita popped to her feet and took off at a run toward the stage, Zidin followed. Good, he thinks he has me cornered.

  The stage was about four feet high. Kita planted a foot on the wall, stepped up to the edge and back flipped. As she completed the turn, she kicked out with her legs, striking Zidin’s cheekbones with both heels.