Beacon

by Kyle West

  Even in Treeform, I felt outmatched. Treeform was a strong defense, but it was direct. Using it against an Initiate or Apprentice of the Sanctum was one thing, but against a giant of a man like Sarien, it would just shatter me, no matter how perfectly I executed it. I needed breathing room to switch my form, but Sarien wasn’t giving it to me – and combined with the unfamiliar shape of the court, I found that I was quickly running out of room to maneuver. The Silence in my mind threatened to slip away as I realized I had grossly underestimated Sarien.

  It was, perhaps, more than a fair fight.

  The other Dragons began to cheer Sarien on, even as Isaru shouted encouragement for me. I felt bad for that; I had essentially used Isaru as bait to get in an easy hit. It hadn’t been a bad plan, but it had been hasty.

  Sarien smiled almost gleefully as he batted my sword away from my body. I stubbornly held on, despite the fact my hands were ringing with pain. And that was when Sarien kicked…hard. I stumbled backward, only barely keeping my feet. The only thing that allowed me to ignore the sharp pain was the deepness of my Battletrance.

  However, the damage had been done. I now stood in the corner of the court. One more step, and I would be out of bounds and disqualified.

  Sarien had me where he wanted me. “Yield, little girl. It’s all but over.”

  If anything, that taunt gave me the fire to continue. His hesitation at finishing the job gave me the chance to switch forms. I needed something I could attack and defend equally well, and something that would be highly unfamiliar to Sarien. Waterform would do perfectly; it was a manner of fighting that was bewildering to look at, something that seemed to not make sense on the surface, because it often left one open to attack. It was also a form that was exceedingly difficult to execute, and was energy-intensive because it necessitated constant movement. But like Flameform, it was a form that strengthened the longer it went on, eroding an opponent’s strong position as a river might erode rock.

  One false move, however, would be my end.

  I lifted my blade completely above my head, exposing my entire chest to attack. It was a cheap trick, but it was a trick that Sarien had probably never seen. It was a move taught to Initiates to illustrate just how illusive Waterform could be – it was often called a form of opposites that, performed quickly enough, was designed to utterly confuse one’s opponent.

  Those unfamiliar with the overflow sequence did one of two things – they saw the opening as an opportunity to strike, or they grew suspicious of a trap and held back needlessly. Sarien did both, hesitating a long moment, before shrugging and swinging wide with his club, horizontally so that I had no chance to step out of its way or to even duck since my sword was high above my head.

  That was exactly what I wanted. Aided by the concentration of Battletrance, I picked the exact right moment to leap as high as I could, grabbing onto Sarien's thick wrist with my left hand, even as it moved in front of me. I was effectively standing on him, except gravity had yet to pull me down. Even as the mace continued to swing, my sword came down from overhead – the overflow – even as my feet vaulted over his wrist on the other side of his arm.

  The wooden blade was now held at the back of his neck.

  It took a long moment for anyone to react or recognize what had happened, all save Isaru, who was now whooping and hollering. Sarien’s eyes were wide with disbelief. When he recognized his defeat, his eyes became clouded with fury, and he pushed me, hard, to the ground, which caused me to drop my sword.

  But it was over. No one could have not seen what had happened. In a real battle it would have gotten me killed, but the point here was simply to win.

  And I had won.

  Isaru ran toward me to help me up, even as murmurs broke out from the sidelines, and as I looked around, everyone was looking at me…other members of the strike team, as well as the duelists from the other courts. Their eyes were suspicious more so than impressed, and for a moment, I wondered if I had broken some unspoken rule.

  The only exception was Valan, who looked at me with a delighted countenance, as if I were a circus dog who had just performed a backflip.

  “Impressive!” he said. “Your style of fighting is…unorthodox. But of course, there is no doubt. I declare the Seekers the victors.”

  Sarien flashed an angry look at him. “I grounded her!”

  “Ah, but the blade struck you first, Sarien. You know it, and so does everyone else.”

  Sarien ground his teeth, growled, and stalked away for the sidelines toward Pashte; he was also looking at me as if I had cheated.

  Nael walked up to me. He spoke quietly. “He doesn’t lose often, Champion Alara. In fact, I can’t remember him ever losing. He regularly defeats two or three people at a time, so this must come as a shock to him. As it has for us.”

  “The Seekers are unequaled in combat,” Isaru said. “There is nothing for him to be ashamed of.”

  “You do not understand Sarien’s pride. He prided himself on being the best, and now, he knows that is no longer true.”

  I looked over at Sarien, who was all but pouting, staring at his mace as if it were to blame for his loss. Pashte was trying to placate him, but it didn't seem to be doing any good.

  “Everyone,” Valan called out. “To me.”

  Everyone walked toward where Valan stood on the court, Sarien and Pashte last of all. Sarien stared at me balefully, while Pashte didn't seem to do much better.

  “We can be assured of the skills of these Seekers,” Valan said. “They are who they claim to be, and I now find everything Nael told me a bit easier to accept. It is easier to believe what one sees with his own eyes.” He next fixed Sarien with a steely gaze. “There will be no sulking, Sarien. I did not expect you to lose, for you are still the greatest warrior I know. You have killed more Suns than any of us standing here today, and no matter how many the Seekers kill tonight, that will still remain true. And on the battlefield, that is where mettle truly matters.”

  Sarien’s face nodded, and softened just a bit, though his features were still like stone.

  “Come,” Valan said. “Let us eat, and discuss our plans with the Seekers. After that…it will be time to begin.”

  We followed Valan out of the training room.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WE WENT TO A MESS hall where long tables had been set up, filled with men eating their meals. The tone was somber, which was to be expected for the eve of an important battle. Mixed in with the Dragons were those from other gangs, bearing different tattoos and even types of clothing. Dragons seemed to favor the color red, but there were also shades of yellow and orange. Almost all of the warriors bore three marks upon their foreheads, while the white-robed slaves serving them all had one.

  After we sat, slaves brought our meals and scurried away.

  “How are slaves taken here?” I asked. “Are they born into it, or are they taken from outsiders?”

  Sarien and Pashte smiled, apparently amused that I didn't understand something so simple. Nael took it upon himself to answer me.

  “They come from many places. Yes, some are born into it, but it is not a permanent status, unless one has committed a crime.”

  “How long does it last, then?” I asked.

  “It depends,” Nael said. “Slaves have one brand on their foreheads. Freedmen have two, while warriors have three. A warrior that is taken a slave has his three brands crossed by yet another, and he must be released after one year and one day to join the gang which captured him. He must do this, or lose his honor and die. This man is marked by having three brands and two crosses on his forehead.” Nael looked at me levelly. “Here, in the Ruins, almost everyone begins as a slave…though the children of warriors or freedmen begin at that stage. There are other brands, as well, universal to all the gangs. Except the Suns, who have their own version, who seek to upset the natural order of things. But as to your original question…it is common for a child slave, should he show an aptitude or skill, to be released as a
freedman at his master’s discretion to pursue that skill, or to become a warrior if he grows strong.”

  “What about women?”

  “Women cannot be warriors,” Nael said, without apology. “They are to be protected. They are slaves and freedwomen, and can never bear more than two marks.”

  “There was Ashael,” Sarien said, with his deep voice.

  “Ashael?” I asked.

  “A woman warrior,” Nael said, “with a skill equal to a man's. She died with three marks, but she is the exception. A woman must work twice as hard to prove herself.”

  “That's not fair.”

  Nael chuckled. “Perhaps you would be accepted, but I doubt you wish to take the brands. For if anyone challenges your brands, you are obliged to duel them. Honor is gained in this way.”

  “To the death?”

  Nael nodded. “We do not fear death, as most men do. If you are a warrior and you fear death, you are not worthy of the name and are no better than a slave. That is why most men aspire to be nothing more than freedmen; not all are born with a warrior’s heart, and such is the will of the Sphere. But freedmen, no matter their skill, will never have the honor of even the least warrior. Likewise, for a slave to earn his or her freedom, they must prove themselves worthy. Until then…they remain slaves.”

  That would explain why I had gotten so many strange looks. If it weren’t for our swords, or our ability to fight, someone would have been glad to make slaves of us. Anyone who came to the city ignorant of its ways would have found themselves a slave to the first gang that came across them.

  “Enough of this,” Valan said. “We must discuss tonight.” The table grew quiet as it waited for Valan to continue. Valan looked at Isaru and me. “What has the Dragonlord told you? Explain quietly, that none but us may hear.”

  The hall was fairly loud, so there was little danger of anyone overhearing, yet all the same, Isaru spoke as softly as he could to still be heard by all. He mentioned the ladder, the three walls, and entering the Sphere. Before he could get too far, though, Valan held up a hand.

  “That will suffice. You know as much as we do.”

  That surprised me. “Are you saying that you don’t even have a plan? Does the Dragonlord expect this to actually work?”

  “The Dragonlord expects his orders to be carried out to perfection by the Dragonguard,” he said. “We are but a fraction of that group, but were chosen because we are the most capable.”

  If Pashte and Nael came anywhere near Sarien’s skill, then I could believe that.

  “But tonight will be our greatest test yet. Both of you are replacements for two fallen warriors. That he esteemed you both above two of my own choices speaks much for his faith in you. Perhaps that faith is not misplaced after your performance in the practice court.”

  “Is there anything we must know before we set out?” Isaru asked.

  “Only follow my orders. The ladder is hidden in the Ruins, and the journey to the north wall of the Sphere will take some time. After that, you know as much as we do. Find Mithras. Kill Mithras.” He took a bite of his food and chewed pointedly. “If the Sphere favors us, it really will be that simple.”

  We ate the last of our food, and Valan looked at each of us, signifying that it was time to go.

  He stood, and there was nothing we could do but follow. For better or worse, we were about to risk our lives just for the promise of some food.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WHEN WE LEFT DRAGONHOLD, IT was evening. The central square was far fuller than it had been yesterday, but mostly with triple-branded men preparing for battle. The scene was one of organized chaos – the men were gathered into groups of twenty or thirty, all listening to their commanders, who were most likely relaying orders from above. It was hard to get a sense of the scale of the attack, but there were probably at least a thousand men, and perhaps even more. A lot of the men were eating, and a lot of the tents I’d seen from last night were, in fact, the lodgings of the members of other gangs. Banners flew in the wind; a golden serpent that slithered in the breeze, a black eagle with red eyes, the twin dragons of the host gang.

  We were let through the gate without preamble, exiting on the long, deserted street. Seeing it forge ahead into emptiness was a bit surreal after all the commotion of the square and Dragonhold. After the thick wooden gates shut behind us, the silence was almost absolute.

  Valan set a quick pace, not sticking to the crumbled streets, but rather finding a path through decaying buildings, over collapsed walls and fences, and through long ditches half-filled with rubble. As darkness came, there were no torches used. He knew his way even in the dark. Perhaps he had walked this path many times in preparation of tonight, and for all I knew, so had the other chosen members of the Dragonguard.

  The sun set as we entered a maze of alleyways. From time to time, we’d hear screams – even the clash of sword on metal, incredibly distant. Wherever we were, it was far from the actual fighting. I had lost all sense of direction shortly after leaving Dragonhold, and part of me wondered if this operation was some elaborate ruse just to kill us somewhere out of sight. It certainly would have been easy for the others to do that, if the others were similar in skill to Sarien.

  However, we made a final turn and, lying at the end of the alleyway, was a long ladder built from thick wood, about thirty rungs tall.

  Without comment, each of us lifted it up, five rungs apart. Even with us all, it was quite heavy, until we lifted it onto our shoulders. I was of little help since I was so short, but I did what I could to help, even if the five men bore the majority of the weight.

  By the time we got moving again, it was very dark. I might as well have been blind, as I couldn't see anything more than five feet away. When the moon became visible above the buildings, it helped a bit, but not much.

  No one spoke. There were no breaks, and any time someone tripped, they got right back up and continued to march on.

  I could only wonder how long it was until we reached the wall, but I didn’t want to ask.

  The buildings came to an abrupt end, to be replaced by a wide, dusty field, where bricks and the metal frames of buildings lay half-buried. The space was wide open, and the perfect spot to get surrounded. I didn’t know why that thought entered my head, because the city was completely empty. At least, it appeared so. Walking became easier, and for the first time, I wasn't tripping or stubbing my toe on any obstacles.

  But it was only a temporary reprieve, because we were back in the ruined city once again. My arms were beginning to ache, and I could hear the heavy breaths of the men around me. If anything, Valan set the pace to be even faster. Maybe we were behind schedule.

  And then came a veritable mountain of rubble, dark against the night sky, halfway between two buildings. It couldn’t have gotten there from buildings collapsing naturally; it had been purposefully placed there. When the Dragonlord had said “wall,” this was hardly what I'd had in mind.

  But, as soon as we were halfway up and secure on one of the rubble mountain’s “ledges,” if it could be so called, Valan waved his hand, prompting the rest of us to heave the ladder up, laying it on the rubble mountain’s side. It was just long enough to reach the very top.

  I peered into the darkness, looking for any human shadow standing out against the star-filled sky. There was nothing. If everything was going according to plan, the other side was being attacked, and this side was mostly empty. It almost seemed as if we had gone to the very perimeter of the city, just to go right back in, though not being familiar with the Ruins, I couldn’t have said for sure if this was the case.

  We started climbing. Valan held onto the bottom of the ladder, and Sarien went first – apparently this was part of the plan, while Isaru and I went last. When we joined the others at the top, they were lying prone so as not to be seen. As I joined them, I looked out ahead, getting my first sight of the Sphere itself.

  It was far larger than I had imagined, even if the Dragonlord had told me
exactly how big it was. It shimmered pink in the night, letting me know immediately that it was made of solidified ichor – or ichorstone, as Isaru had called it. There was no doubt that it had been built by the Elekai long ago. It was true to its name, a perfect sphere, to the point where it looked as if it might roll away were it pushed hard enough. But obviously, there was something keeping it firmly rooted to the ground. Beyond the mountain or rubble we found ourselves on, there were two other wooden palisades that looked to have actually been built. Even in the darkness, I could see people below scurrying around like ants, yet there was far too much in the distance and in the way to see anything happening on the Sphere’s opposite side, although the sounds of horns blaring sounded in the air.

  “The battle’s begun,” Isaru said.

  Sarien put a finger to his mouth, staring daggers at Isaru.

  Valan appeared at last from the ladder, and with his arrival, Sarien rose to crouch, along with Nael. Together, they heaved the ladder up. Even as strong as they were, it was clear it was a tough job for them. When it had come up enough for us to lend a hand, Valan motioned us to keep it as low to the wall as possible. A ladder high in the night sky would not only be easy to see, but might become unbalanced.

  Slowly, we lowered it to the other side – a flat strip of land that looked empty from up here. But for all we knew, there were men patrolling down there and watching it closely from the walls above. No one had seen us – not yet— but the longer this went on, the more likely we were to be spotted.