by Licia Troisi
At first, they left her alone. Apparently, Raven didn’t take her seriously. After ten hours, though, two guards appeared. They tried to carry her off, but Nihal wouldn’t let them move her an inch. After a brief fight, she bested them both.
Every once in a while, someone would try to remove her, but every time she would disarm him with a single move.
Nihal lost her patience after the fourth attack. She jumped up onto the leg of a large warrior statue, then climbed up to its head where no one would be able to bother her.
Raven came into the hall shortly before midnight. “Are you still up there, little girl? We’ll see what happens when you get hungry.”
“You’ll see how serious I am about this,” she called down.
It was true, though: food might prove to be a problem. Her stomach had been grumbling now for some time. Nihal rested her back against the wall, drew her legs to her chest, and nodded off.
A strange noise woke her. It was rhythmical and insistent.
Wary, she peered through the darkness that filled the Great Hall. She found the source of the noise: a little hawk was flying around the room.
Nihal rubbed her eyes to clear her vision, but the little hawk was still there. In fact, it was headed straight for her. When it neared the statue, it dropped a bundle into her lap and disappeared again.
Nihal unwrapped the bundle and found bread, cheese, fruit, and a little flask of water, along with a scroll.
Dear Warrior,
When I heard about your speech to the Supreme General I couldn’t stop laughing—I can just imagine the look on his face! I’m rooting for you. Stand your ground and you will win!
Your darling Fen was impressed by what you did. I’m only telling you this because I know it will make you happy, seeing as you’re so crazy about him. Soana, on the other hand, didn’t say a thing; she didn’t seem too pleased. Looks like I’m the only one who really understands you.
Since they’re going to try to starve you out, here are some provisions to see you through the siege.
Bon appetit and good night from your sorcerer.
In place of a signature, Sennar had made a funny drawing of a sorcerer. Nihal couldn’t help but smile and feel grateful for her friend. She would have been even more appreciative had she been aware that Sennar had plenty of other things on his mind.
Soana appeared before the Council the same day that Nihal presented herself at the Academy. The majority of the Council members attempted to dissuade her from resigning. Soana had not anticipated any objections to her decision, but she was adamant all the same. Over and over again she explained that she no longer felt capable of sitting on the Council and that the search for Reis was of great importance. Finally, she proposed that her pupil take her place. The assembly of sorcerers reacted with bewilderment. Dagon, the Elder Member, asked her for a few words in private.
“Sennar is too young, Soana. His magical powers are indeed remarkable, but he must mature. He’ll have all the time in the world to become an extraordinary sorcerer and serve the Council. You know as well as I that it can be fatal to act in haste when introducing a new element.”
But Soana insisted, “Sennar may have time, but the Overworld does not. We have to use all our strength in this fight, and Sennar is one of our best weapons. The young half-elf is the other. Accept Sennar as a councilor and give me leave to seek Reis. She’s the only one who can help solve the mystery behind Nihal’s life.”
Dagon pondered Soana’s words for some time. “So be it. All the members of the Council, including me, will test your pupil. He will be accepted only if we’re all satisfied with his abilities. And as for you,” he paused, “it is with great reluctance that I relieve you of your duties.”
Sennar began his interviews that very afternoon. Only two councilors had examined him, but he was exhausted all the same when evening came. They had asked questions about his background, his expectations, and his motivations. They tested his knowledge—the result of hours of study—in great detail. He was required to demonstrate his magical powers by casting spells of all kinds. He was drained by the end of the day.
Tired as he was, Sennar thought of his friend. He wrote a letter and cast a spell on the little hawk before collapsing into a deep sleep.
The three days that followed were difficult for both Sennar and Nihal.
Sennar underwent trials non-stop, while Nihal remained perched atop the statue’s head, knocking away the arrows the guards shot at her. She ached all over, but she held out. She was determined to get what she wanted at any price.
Word spread quickly throughout Makrat: a girl with blue hair and big ears had planted herself on top of a statue at the Academy to make a stand against Raven—and no one could get her down. A crowd of curious onlookers began to assemble out on the square in front of the Academy, demanding to see the spectacle for themselves.
On the fourth day, there were signs that something was about to happen. Toward mid-day, Raven, lapdog in his arms, entered the hall, elbowing his way through the crowd.
“You have demonstrated great determination, child. I have decided to reward you. Tomorrow morning in the Academy training yard, you will undergo your trial. Now come down from there. That’s an order.”
Nihal did not budge. “What are the conditions?”
“You’ll have to beat ten of our most valiant cadets. All ten of them, not one less.”
A murmur spread through the crowd. It was an impossible task.
The half-elf’s reaction surprised them all. She nimbly descended from the statue, walked over to Raven, and looked him straight in the eyes. “I accept. But I want you to swear in front of all present that if I beat them, I may become a cadet at the Academy.”
Raven smiled mockingly. “You have my word.”
Nihal spent the rest of the afternoon alone in her room at the inn. She lay stretched out on her bed and gazed at the ceiling, her sword beside her. She didn’t feel like wandering around the crowded streets of Makrat. She would have liked to spend time with Sennar, but he was still busy with his interviews.
She thought about the day to come. She thought about Fen, how he would see the trial and finally stop thinking of her as a little girl.
She rolled over and pulled out the scroll Sennar had given her. She studied it with such intensity that it felt as though she were inside the scene it portrayed. She wished with all her heart that she could find another half-elf somewhere with whom to share the weight of her people’s legacy.
She had never felt so alone. It was sad to know that nothing remained of her people, nothing but a crumpled scroll and a lost girl in a foreign land.
Her dreams compelled her to seek revenge, to make war, and to hate. And Nihal did feel deep hatred—she hated the Tyrant for exterminating her people, the Fammin for taking her family from her, and, maybe most of all, she hated herself for having survived.
Sennar and Soana returned late that evening. They informed her that Fen had gone. He had to return to the battlefield. Nihal’s heart sank.
Sennar looked the worse for wear but, luckily, his torture was to end the next day, after his final inquisition by Dagon.
“Fighting must be pretty tough, sure, but sorcery ...” he stopped, realizing Nihal was in no mood for jokes.
Sennar had a sense of what was going on in Nihal’s heart, but he also knew there was nothing he could do for her. Bringing herself out of the darkness was something she had to do on her own. When the time came to say goodnight, he hugged her. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks. And thank you for all the things you’ve done for me.” Nihal smiled softly. “Oh, and good luck to you, too.”
She was infinitely grateful to him, because he understood her, because he helped her, because he was there. He was her friend; he was one of the few things she had left.
Nihal had no trouble sleeping that night. When she awoke early the next morning, she felt well rested and confident. She grabbed her cloak and her sword and walked to t
he Academy.
She was amazed to see how many people were trying to get in. She was the only one the guards allowed through, but an hour later, the crowd swarming the outside gate had become so great that Raven gave the order for the doors to be opened.
The Supreme General himself had selected the ten warriors to challenge Nihal. They had completed their training and were due to become bona fide knights very soon. Raven was confident the men would finish the girl off quickly.
Nihal was already dressed for battle when she stepped into the arena. It was an enormous circular space with a packed-dirt floor. A rack at one end held an array of weapons. The spectators were crammed all around. The Knights, clad in glistening armor, occupied the first row of seats. They were surrounded by a mob of boys dressed in brown tunics. Behind them stood the common folk who had come out of curiousity. Nihal saw the challengers make their entrance. They were tall and muscular, more imposing than the kids in the tunics—Raven had made sure every one of them was stronger than Nihal.
The Supreme General entered slowly. The crowd cheered when he stood at the dais. He grinned wanly in return. He turned to Nihal, who stood at the center of the arena.
“As I promised, child, I am granting you a chance to demonstrate what you can do.” Addressing the crowd he said, “Let it never be said I turned away an aspiring knight.” He fixed on Nihal with a stern gaze. “I hope you are mindful of the concession I am making.”
A mocking smile and a quick bow were Nihal’s only response.
“The rules are as follows. Each contender will fight with the weapons he or she now carries. The duels will take place one after the next, without any pause for rest. The winner of each duel will be the one who manages to wound, disarm, or cause to fall the other. You are not allowed to kill your adversaries.”
It was obvious that Raven was trying to scare her. Fighting ten men without rest and armed with only her sword and no armor would be very difficult.
Nihal removed her cloak and answered in a steady voice. “I, Nihal of the tower city of Salazar, accept your conditions, Supreme General.”
The audience fell silent.
The first contender was practically a giant. He walked commandingly into the arena. wielding a sword. A suit of light armor covered much of his body.
Raven raised his arm, then let it fall. And thus the fight began.
Right away, the giant came at Nihal with a downward blow designed to shatter her sword. He missed his mark. Nihal dodged with a sidewise leap and immediately launched her attack. The giant did not let her take him by surprise. He swung to land a blow on Nihal’s side, but Nihal ducked. The man paused for a moment as he raised his arm for the next blow and Nihal, with a swift series of movements, struck his side with her sword. The armor on his chest slid to the ground. Nihal had slashed the leather laces. The giant man dropped his sword, surprised. He stood there a moment, stunned, staring with bewilderment at the thin red line forming across his chest.
Nihal drove her adversary’s sword into the ground. “One down!”
A buzz of admiration made its way through the crowd. The fight had lasted less than a minute.
Raven concealed his displeasure. He hadn’t expected Nihal to be so skilled, but he was willing to chalk up her victory to a stroke of good luck.
The second contender was also armed with a sword and protected by armor. Having watched his predecessor’s fight, he decided to rely more on technique and speed than on strength. He began to fight as if he were reading moves straight from a textbook. At first, it appeared he had made the right choice. Nihal was so busy responding to the steady series of strikes that she did not have enough space to launch an attack. What he did not know was that she was actually studying his strategy. After a few minutes, she was able to predict his moves. When he made a dramatic downward strike to end the fight, Nihal jumped into the air and landed on his sword, pushing it down onto the ground with one foot while raising her own sword to his neck. She kicked his weapon up in the air and caught it in her free hand like a trophy.
A round of timid applause rose from the crowd.
Raven was displeased. There was little to be said. Nihal knew what she was doing. She had already beaten two skilled warriors when everyone believed she would be incapable of besting even one.
There was nothing different about the next fight, nor about the three that followed. Nihal beat her adversaries without difficulty. Six swords stood in a line in the arena, their points driven into the ground. The fervor of the crowd had gradually increased, until the arena resounded with shouts of encouragement, bursts of applause, and clamorous admiration. Nihal heard none of it, though. Her thoughts were only of fighting.
It wasn’t until she came to her seventh adversary that she realized she hadn’t factored in the possibility of fatigue. This contender was almost an adult, and there seemed to be no kinks in his technique. True, he was hardly fleet-footed, but by now Nihal was no longer able to keep moving so quickly herself. The contest continued in what seemed to be a perfectly balanced series of parries and thrusts. Then, suddenly, Nihal made a wrong move. She took a bad step and lost her balance. That was when she saw a flicker of light and a dagger moving rapidly toward her stomach. The dagger left a wide tear in her leather corselet. Her tenacious opponent continued attacking with both dagger and sword. Nihal realized there was no way she could continue as she was. She reached the line of swords stuck in the ground and grabbed one. This would be her first time fighting with two swords at once, but she had trained using her left hand on numerous occasions.
She didn’t do half bad. The audience watched her in silence; she seemed to be dancing, and the whirling motion of her swords hypnotized them. Not even Sennar, who had finally reached the arena, had ever seen his friend fight so well. She looked strong and more beautiful than ever. She parried and attacked, parried and attacked, her body tense with the effort. Sennar gazed at her, mesmerized.
Nihal’s opponent had relied too much on his dagger. It was useless against Nihal’s second sword. He started retreating. When he dropped his dagger, Nihal threw away her second sword and attacked until she was able to disarm him.
The crowd roared when Nihal gathered up the two swords and stuck them in the ground.
Raven’s voice thundered through the arena. “This trial is over. You have been wounded, girl. You may go.”
Whistles and yells of disapproval filled the air.
Nihal maintained her composure. Sword in hand, she moved toward Raven’s chair and showed him the tear in her corselet. “Have a look, sir. Not a mark.”
Raven was furious. This strange creature was making his cadets look ridiculous. She knew every trick in the book, it seemed.
The eighth adversary was armed with an axe.
Nihal looked him straight in the eyes with a challenging air. “The last time I fought someone with an axe it was a Fammin. I sliced his head off.”
The young man refused to be intimidated. “I guess I’ll have to finish you off quickly, then.”
The fight began. The warrior struck to kill. He was endowed with incredible strength and lacked nothing in terms of technique or agility. Nihal knew she could not counter many axe blows, so she concentrated on dodging them instead. Her adversary refused to give up. Rotating his arm in all directions, he forced her to remain constantly on the move. Nihal soon realized she wouldn’t be able to hold out for long. Again and again, the axe blade whistled past very close to her body. The first drop of blood would put an end forever to her hopes of entering the Academy. Then she got an idea.
Nihal studied her opponent’s moves very carefully. At just the right moment, she closed her hands around her sword and struck the axe handle with all her remaining strength. The recoil was hard on her wrists, but she gritted her teeth and tightened her grip. Then she ducked.
The axe blade spiraled wildly through the air and fell to the ground a few meters away. Her left wrist hurt, but the crowd continued to cheer her on, chanting her name.
The umpteenth fighter wore sturdy armor and carried a shield. He sprung at her before she could get her bearings. He came at her again and again, fierce and relentless. There wasn’t a moment’s relief.
The crowd was silent. Nihal retreated constantly, incapable of making a counterattack.. Realizing that she was about to back into the weapons rack, she decided to make a desperate move. She rested against the rack for a moment. Her opponent, certain he had won, put all his strength into a final blow. As he swung, Nihal bent over and raised her sword to the sliver of the man’s abdomen that his armor had left exposed.
The trick was unsuccessful. The man ended up driving his sword into the weapons rack and Nihal’s sword was caught by the man’s shield. They were in a deadlock. When her opponent bent to remove his weapon, Nihal kicked him as hard as she could. He fell to the ground, losing his shield and freeing Nihal’s black crystal sword. The second-to-last sword joined the line to the sound of wild cheers.
Nihal was exhausted. Her last reserves of strength were used up and her mind was beginning to fade as well. She slowly became aware of the crowd and realized that the sound she’d taken for a confused murmuring was actually rhythmic encouragement. The entire crowd was chanting her name.
She was strong, unbeatable. Nothing could stop her. This was what the crowd was shouting, and she believed them. She raised her sword high, and the crowd responded with a clamorous yell.
Nihal caught a glimpse of Sennar as she made her way back to the center of the arena. Her friend was there; everything would be all right. She smiled at him and for a moment it seemed he might even say something to her.
Her final opponent advanced resolutely. Nihal felt a pang of fear. He wasn’t the most impressive looking of the bunch, but his expression was discomfiting. His eyes were so pale that the irises seemed almost non-existent.
