All to the crowd’s exaltations for more.
Unlike many of those in the starting area, Ullie and Merr hadn’t planned for a quick narrative pop at the start of their pamphlet. A commoner and a noble? The noble not yet eighteen? On the Course against her family’s wishes? Did she truly dodge bounty hunters for the better part of twelve months? Did they really travel south to learn from the Shamans of Jubagar? Did they meet when the commoner saved the noble from getting blackjacked and sold off to one of the concubine houses? How did the noble teach the commoner Reservism all alone like that, shouldn’t that be nearly impossible?
No . . . no need for narrative pop—their pamphlet would sell itself as a curiosity. Ullie and Merr hadn’t spent a year planning to sell copies. Instead, Ullie and Merr spent a year planning to finish.
To race.
For all the bloodshed, that’s what the Great Course was.
A race of two-man teams across hundreds of miles of uneven terrain as varied as swamp and desert, with mountains and valleys and . . .
Rivers.
The River Gush.
Ullie and Merr just had to live long enough to reach it.
Merr always went on about how the only way a person won a fight was by not having one. Or by having one so lopsided, no one tried again for many weeks. So an example must be set.
Don’t mess with the Dove and the Crow.
You’ll never catch them and if you do, you’ll just end up coughing on their dust.
Ullie had done her part, behind her Merr did hers.
Throwing knives flew from the smoke cloud. Not aiming for throats or looking to kill, but for ankles and knees and any part of the body that incapacitated would slow someone down. Merr did it all from memory, from that moment before the gongs sounded. The two tall men with the leather skirts and bare chests, foreigners. A pair of men from Berst itself, one of them a six-year veteran missing an eye. Ullie searched her memory of the racing lists, eventually remembering him as the Jackal Lord, Venno Shell. He was a bandit leader once, before turning to the Great Course. Six years and not once had his partner survived the race, but each time Venno Shell managed it—some said he did it on purpose to not split his fame. Heburr and Kort as well, armed in expensive travel-plate like all the top contenders.
Merr sized these six competitors up, imagined their locations in the smoke, and threw . . .
Ullie had seen Merr pull the trick blindfolded as a way to earn coin on the road.
It was very impressive.
More impressive now that the targets numbered six, instead of one. With armor that would defeat all but the surest accuracy. And the clamor of the fighting, so distracting! Ullie could barely think; could barely remember what she was supposed to do next.
It was your plan, you fool!
Six throws of Merr’s murder and six thuds of blades finding flesh.
All six cursed, the Jackal Lord the loudest.
Is that physically possible? Ullie found herself musing, still standing next to her canister. I don’t think it would reach . . .
Merr appeared in the purple mist, grabbed Ullie’s shoulder, and pulled the smaller woman along like she weighed next to nothing.
Right! Run! Fast! Ullie remembered.
Ullie almost flew forward as she returned to the moment. Her weight was gone. She was as light as a stack of Ullie-shaped feathers. She led the way for Merr, quickly outdistancing the other woman. Without Reservism, Merr would be faster, but since Reservism was a fact of life, that didn’t make it cheating, did it?
Anyone can learn it with the proper tutelage . . . Merr proves that.
Not cheating.
So . . . I’m faster than Merr.
Since it was so hard to best Merr at any physical task, this pleased Ullie. She allowed herself a triumphant smirk as she raced ahead towards the Noble Gate.
The Great Course waited ahead. After training and planning and challenges aplenty . . . it waited.
Right there.
So were more of the killers.
Right there.
Left there.
Everywhere.
Not just the noise of it, not just the clanging and the cheering distracted Ullie. But the smell of it. Is that man urinating down his leg? Eww!
And blood, she could smell blood. She didn’t like it. It reminded her of the family kennels after a hunt, of barking dogs and men cutting away at animal flesh. She’d been a small girl then. Six? Seven? Father had sent her away to the Academy by the time she was eight. But she still remembered the smell of blood and the sound of knives cutting animal skin.
Groshin had hit a man with a bola as all those around him had feared. His legs and arms wrapped up and his partner warded off by Yuriel’s dagger, the man couldn’t move at all. He was tied up like an animal, Groshin lifting his head to show to the crowd. A slow slice across the man’s neck sent a gush of blood down to the sand floor of the starting area, a cheer of approval echoing at the show.
It’s a race, Ullie reminded herself, and you only care about your team finishing it.
Pulling out a second Baymerry Arms canister, she created another cloud of lavender smoke for Merr to follow behind.
Ullie surveyed the field as she kept running. It wasn’t risky at all. She felt so light, no one could catch her. If they did she’d just fly above their heads. Wouldn’t that be something to learn with Reservism? But no man yet understood the mechanics of flight . . . only the birds did.
And bats.
And insects.
A moth can manage it, but something as amazing as Ullie Jor Nabenne can’t . . . this world is just backwards, isn’t it?
Backwards, Ullie skipped backwards, almost drifting around a sword cutting in towards her face as she exited the second lavender cloud. In addition to being so fast, having such a low mass made it very easy for her to reverse course. Like a hummingbird, stopping in midair and then zooming away in the opposite direction. Again a creature that can fly! Cruel, mocking analogies that come to my brain in times of panic!
That sword blade had been close.
Almost hit her nose.
She had a lady-like nose.
One of her better features the maids had always said.
Is it any wonder I turned out as odd as I did when my point of pride is something as absurd looking as a nose? Three mounds, a ridge, two holes . . . what a horrible feature to be known for!
Merr had very pretty hair, dark and curly and thick, now that was something to work with.
If she didn’t cut it like a man.
The sword almost cut Ullie’s hair in addition to her nose. She had absolutely refused to trim it like Merr had hers. She’d done the exercises, she’d let herself be bruised and poked and all sorts of callous things, but she was not cutting her hair like a servant boy.
She had it in a thick braid.
A braid that whipped forward when she stopped.
A braid that almost got cut by the sword aimed for her head.
Ullie looked into Alean’s eyes as he cut at her head again. His wife stood behind him, her own sword on the defensive in case another team tried for them. She had a shield as well. Standard tactics, almost classical: an Expertise Stratagem with one offensive and one defensive member of the duo.
Just like Ullie and Merr, only Alean and Ithena were obviously trying to fight their way through the Great Course. Not race it. Very classical. So classical they wanted the action scene at the start of their pamphlet.
And with his two-handed sword, Alean slew the noble girl, daydreaming head popped right from her delicate shoulders.
Ullie thought not.
She might not be able to fly, but she only weighed about thirty pounds at the moment.
She could jump.
This kind of active Reservism had been forbidden to her at the Academy. She’d still tried it in secret, but there were no formal classes—those were open only to boys expected to be warriors and hunters and all manner of fun. Ullie had been trained to Res
erve health and fertility and . . . let it be said: far too many of her classes revolved around her womb for her liking.
Only in finding and training with Merr, in beginning her plan for the Great Course had she begun to experience the wider and wonderful world of Reservism. She’d known what she could do, but now she finally did it.
She found that she was very good at it.
She shot up into the air like a cat jumping for a ledge, only there was no ledge, only Alean’s shoulders. Her boots thudded against them and off she hopped, flipping around to study the man’s confusion about how she had accomplished the acrobatics.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Ullie warned him. “I wasn’t a threat.”
“No, you’re an easy target,” Alean rebutted, advancing with his sword. Ithena had yet to engage herself, her threatening pose holding off a trio of teams from entering their area. “Look at them, girl, they all want a piece of you: easy sells waiting to be claimed.”
Ullie shrugged, stepping away from Alean even as he kept after her. He turned his back on the lavender cloud. “I see your guild trained you to kill, but not to think,” she teased. “Horrible oversight in a racer, isn’t it?”
“Try to jump me again, little rabbit,” Alean warned.
Ullie shook her head, braid flipping back over her shoulder. “I’m a dove, not a rabbit.”
Ithena turned to stab at Ullie. Like Ullie hadn’t noticed her stepping closer. Really! When will I become old enough that people stop assuming I’m some stupid little child? It’s insulting! Ullie hopped over the sword again, rolling her whole body—pack and all—across Ithena’s shield.
She landed on her feet, facing the woman’s backside. Why isn’t mine that shapely?
Ithena’s portrait would sell a great many pamphlets.
Unfair world! Ullie jokingly thought again, bringing her foot up next to said backside. Just as she did, she released all the weight she’d stored in her Basin over the last few hectic moments. Suddenly, she didn’t weight thirty pounds but hundreds and hundreds of pounds.
Ullie pushed.
Ithena shouted as she was thrown forward into her husband, both of them tumbling into the smoke cloud.
With Merr.
The shout turned into a scream.
Ullie frowned at the smoke, unsure what was happening in there. Merr was very violent, but she wasn’t a killer. The woman had killed, Ullie was sure of that, but didn’t go looking for the opportunity like many of the other racers.
Like Groshin. The trapper had found another person to wrap with ropes. The crowd cheered. Even some of the other racers had taken the time to stop and cheer him on. Racers . . . it’s a race.
It used to be a race . . . now . . .
You have a job to be about, little dove, Ullie told herself in Merr’s voice.
Ullie checked her Basin, finding most of the weight she’d Reserved was gone again. Not that it had taken up much room to begin with. Ullie had a very large Basin, filled with all manner of fun tricks, weight-switching the least of them. Child’s play, a First Year could do that weight-switching.
Merr could too.
Weight-switching was easy. In your body, easy to understand and control. The farther out of your body you went, the more difficult Reservism got. But weight . . . weight was you. You felt it every day. Knew it at all times. Ullie took her weight and put it into her Basin again, becoming light.
The supplies were harder, but everything in them was pre-weighed before the race. She subtracted two gas canisters worth from the total and put most of that weight in her Basin too.
A pair of thuds echoed before Merr popped out of the second gas cloud. She didn’t even seem winded.
“Did you kill them?” Ullie asked.
“I warned you it would happen, little dove,” Merr said in that stone-like voice of hers.
“But not so soon . . .”
Merr rolled her eyes at the guilt Ullie felt. “I didn’t kill them. I doubt they’ll be having children, however.”
“Merr! That’s even worse!” Ullie studied the woman’s unresponsive face for clues and found just the smallest twitch in her lips. “You’re joking with me!” she accused.
A playful shrug in return. “Might have used up two of our sleep needles,” Merr admitted.
“Not funny,” Ullie complained to laughter.
“No time to talk, little dove,” Merr pointed out, “Time to run!”
Ullie growled at being the butt of another joke, but she did her job, running towards a small grouping of teams that headed for them. Halfway there, she thought, studying the Noble Gate as it loomed overhead.
Two more gas canisters did the job. As easy as that. No more fighting, mostly thanks to Groshin and Yuriel’s expanding show on the opposite side of the starting area. What must the other areas be like? Ullie asked herself. The Common Gate would be a mess; the King Gate very organized outside of the quick butchery of the unseeded teams. But probably less bloody all around.
It was in the middle of the pack where you found those looking to improve their lot in life. The Common Gaters just wanted to survive. The King Gaters wanted to all remain on top. Ullie and Merr had been placed in the most dangerous spot to start the race and yet . . .
They left the killers behind, the Great Course in front of them.
Miles and days to the finish line.
Who knew what was waiting for them out there?
“We made it,” Merr shouted, surprised. “We actually made it!”
Of course we made it, Ullie thought, we’ve come too far to stop at the starting line.
About the Author
Richard Raley was born and raised in Fresno, California and even still lives there on account of the city being an evil vortex you can’t escape. He grew up on Star Wars, Transformers, Legos, and Everquest—he never escaped them either. The Pit of No Return is the sixth novel in The King Henry Tapes; it will not be the last. Keep an eye out for King Henry updates at:
http://richardraley.blogspot.com
www.twitter.com/richardraley
[email protected]
The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6) Page 88
