‘You should know that there’s a special danger from Hob in Arena 13. My father doesn’t always tell his novices, but I think you should be warned. Every so often, Hob visits and challenges a min combatant there. He places an enormous wager and the gambling houses are forced to accept it. These days, Hob always wins . . . Dead or alive, the loser is taken up to Hob’s lair and is never seen again. One day that could be your fate . . . Still want to fight there?’
If anything, what Kwin had just told me made me even more determined. ‘Yes, I still want to fight in Arena 13. The danger from Hob doesn’t put me off.’
‘I feel exactly the same way,’ said Kwin. ‘I wish I could fight there.’
7
A Bit of a Disappointment
The stack is the term for a sequence of Nym code.
A patterner might add to or subtract from it.
New code is always placed at the summit of a stack.
The Manual of Nym
We left the heights of the Wheel but didn’t descend as far as the steps. Kwin led me out through a different door.
‘We’re now on the roof of the thirteen arenas,’ she said, pointing across the great circular hall: I saw a huge wooden post that rose vertically from the centre, to be lost in the dark shadowy vastness of the dome somewhere far above our heads.
‘That is called the Omphalos,’ Kwin said, indicating the great post. ‘It’s the centre of the Wheel – some say that it’s the very centre of Midgard.’
Fastened to the great post were a series of notices covered in names and numbers.
‘Are they the Lists?’ I asked as we walked towards it. I remembered Tyron telling me that they were on this floor.
‘Yes,’ answered Kwin. ‘New ones go up every week. Up there now is the order of combat for this week – the first week of this year’s Arena 13 season. Some are challenges made publicly; others have been placed there by those in authority who decide who should fight who according to their rankings. Look at that one . . .’ She pointed to one which bore just two names on paper that had a thick black border. ‘That signifies a grudge match; one that’ll end with someone losing his head or being cut to ribbons!’
‘I saw one earlier,’ I told her, shaking my head. ‘I can’t believe they do that. It doesn’t make sense!’
‘Some people are stupid!’ she hissed. ‘It happens two or three times a season. Someone who fights in Arena 13 takes a dislike to you and challenges you to a fight to the death. Accept, and your life’s at risk. That’s another thing my father doesn’t allow. None of his combatants are allowed to fight grudge matches. I think that’s one of his good rules.’
I smiled and nodded, and we returned to the steps. A few minutes later we were back at ground level, emerging in the shadow of the huge Wheel, its high wooden walls curving away before and behind us. The night air was cool.
‘You’ve been a bit of a disappointment,’ Kwin told me as we walked. ‘You’re not what I expected at all.’
‘What did you expect?’ I asked angrily, taken by surprise. I thought we’d been getting on well: Kwin had seemed to open up to me at the top of the dome, but she was totally unpredictable.
‘I expected someone fun who’d take risks and make life in this godforsaken place more interesting,’ she said. ‘But you were too scared of my father to take even one sip of wine. Well, boys who keep to the rules are boring!’
I simply shrugged and left it at that.
Why get into a petty argument and say things that I’d regret later? What would it achieve?
Groups of people still loitered here, and I now saw a number of large wagons parked nearby. The mood between us soured now, Kwin hurried across the cinders and I followed in silence, my shoes crunching as I walked.
Suddenly, out of the shadows between the wagons, a figure stepped into our path, heading for Kwin. I wondered if she knew him, but the tense set of her shoulders made me doubt this. Though the man’s face was in darkness I could see that he was large. He began to sway a little as he moved closer until he was standing right in front of Kwin. Even from behind I could smell the sour ale on his breath. This did not seem like a friendly approach.
I began to move forward, intending to put myself between him and Kwin. But I didn’t get the chance.
As the man lurched towards her, I saw something glitter in the moonlight. Kwin was holding a knife in her right hand.
There was a quick flurry, and then it was over. Kwin lunged towards him and the man fell sprawling back on the cinders. He groaned and clumsily got to his feet, and I saw the dark blood running down his forehead into his eyes. Kwin took another step towards him, threatening him with the blade.
‘You’ve made a big mistake,’ she hissed. ‘Either make things worse or back off! It’s your choice!’
He held up both hands and backed away, quickly fading into the shadows.
‘You cut him!’ I blurted out in astonishment.
Kwin shook her head, smiling grimly. ‘No, I just hit him on the forehead with the hilt. Head wounds bleed a lot. They look far worse than they are – as a stick-fighter, you should know that.’
‘Do you always carry a knife?’ I asked.
‘Always! This is a Trig blade. I’d feel naked without one.’
I watched as she slipped the knife back up inside the long sleeve of her dress.
‘Carry one yourself,’ she advised. ‘One day you’ll need it.’
‘I have to take an oath,’ I told her, ‘never to use a blade outside the arena.’
‘Well, I don’t need to worry as they won’t allow me to take that oath,’ Kwin said bitterly.
We walked back to Tyron’s house in silence. I followed Kwin up to her room, then used the connecting door into my own. As she locked it behind me, I heard laughter from the darkness to my right.
‘Well, you’re back soon,’ Palm jibed. ‘I wouldn’t hope for a second invitation!’
I ignored him and climbed into bed. It was a long time before I managed to get to sleep.
‘This room smells of sweaty socks. It’s time to get up!’
I opened my eyes to see the curtains being pulled back, flooding the room with daylight. Then the window was opened with a bang, and I felt cold air on my face.
Teena’s face smiled down at me. ‘Good morning, Leif,’ she said. ‘I’ve put a change of clothes at the foot of your bed.’
Before I could wish her a good morning in return she had swept out of the room, closing the door behind her.
‘She never knocks,’ Palm grumbled, crawling out of bed. ‘There’s no privacy at all in this place.’
I didn’t know why he was grumbling. Teena was really nice – it was good to have a woman like that being pleasant and taking care of you. I felt a sudden pang as I remembered my mother and how she had loved and cared for me. Sometimes I thought I’d come to terms with her death, but then the grief came from nowhere with an intensity that was almost unbearable.
‘Where did Kwin take you last night?’ Palm demanded.
‘To the Wheel,’ I answered.
‘What did she show you?’
‘We went to a bar where people were dancing. Then, after we’d been right to the top of the dome, she showed me the Omphalos.’
Palm made no comment, simply stared at me, a look of astonishment on his face. Maybe he hadn’t had the same initiation as me.
I dressed in the clothes Teena had left me. They were on the large side, but at least they were clean and fresh. My own dirty threadbare clothes had vanished. They probably weren’t worth washing.
Before I could fasten my shoes Palm had left. I’d never seen anyone dress so quickly.
‘What’s the rush?’ I asked Deinon.
There was a long silence. I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he spoke.
‘You don’t get long for breakfast. And if you’re late down, you don’t eat . . .’ Suddenly he gave a little smile. ‘You’ve just upset Palm,’ he said. ‘Kwin takes every new trainee out to show them th
e Wheel, but neither Palm nor I got to go to the top of the dome. She must have used one of her father’s keys.’
Tyron was standing by the door as I followed Deinon into the dining room. If the food was as delicious as dinner last night, then I wanted to make sure I had my fill.
‘I’ll see you all on the training floor in ten minutes,’ Tyron announced. ‘Don’t be late! You’ll need to take your shoes and socks off before you enter, Leif. Bare feet will give a better grip. I’ll get you Trig boots at the end of the month – if you’re still with us.’
With that he was gone.
Palm, already seated at the table, didn’t bother to disguise his delight at Tyron’s parting shot to me, and a wave of anger flooded through me. I’d been reminded that I was only here on trial – that was fair enough. But I suddenly realized that Palm wanted me to fail.
Breakfast was merely toast and a couple of boiled eggs, but I was hungry and every mouthful tasted good.
Palm wolfed his down and rushed out without a word. ‘He likes to be down first to keep in with Tyron,’ Deinon said. ‘But it makes no difference – Tyron is fair. As long as you don’t dawdle over breakfast I don’t think he cares who’s first down.’
I smiled at Deinon and nodded. He’d spoken without being prompted. Perhaps he was shy; it would just take time to get to know him.
The training floor had no windows and was lit by torches high on the walls rather than a candelabrum. Nor was there a gallery – or the two huge doors through which combatants entered. Apart from that it was an exact replica of Arena 13: fifty paces long by twenty-five wide, taking up the whole first storey of Tyron’s house. It was seriously impressive and I was filled with excitement about what awaited me.
Tyron and Kern were standing side by side. Palm was facing them with his hands clasped behind his back. In one corner I saw a lac standing perfectly still with its head bowed. Its armour was scratched and dented as if it had seen a lot of fighting, possibly from the losing side. There was a particularly deep gash in the helmet just above the eyes, as if somebody had used an axe to try and cleave its head in two.
I followed Deinon across the floor to stand beside Palm.
‘This is the best training floor in the city,’ Tyron told me proudly. ‘You’ll put in a lot of hard work here; work that’ll pay off later. My days are very busy and I spend a lot of time at the Wheel training my adult combatants and patterners, and at my office in the administration building. So Kern will be your primary trainer here. You’ll have the pleasure of my company on Thursdays. Now, Leif,’ he went on, ‘I have a question for you. What are the rules when fighting in Arena 13? You saw the Trig in action. Now tell me succinctly what it’s about.’
‘Three lacs fight together against a single lac . . .’ I chose my words with care, replaying in my mind the fight I’d seen last night. ‘A human combatant stands behind the three lacs in the “mag” position, and his opponent is defended by the lone lac in the “min” position. After five minutes, signalled by the gong, the combatants must move in front of their lacs and fight from there instead. To draw human blood means victory. Usually this is achieved at the end of the contest, a safe ritual cut to the defeated combatant. But in a grudge match the aim is to kill.’
‘That’s a good explanation, Leif,’ Tyron said. ‘Now, have you any questions for me?’
‘Why do we need the lacs at all?’ I asked. ‘Why don’t the human combatants just fight each other face to face, as in stick-fighting?’
There was a long silence, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Palm smirking. I felt the heat rise to my face. My question suddenly seemed foolish. It was just the way things had always been done. Maybe Tyron would think me an idiot.
But his reply was unexpected. ‘Why don’t you give some careful thought to it, Leif, and arrive at your own answer. At the end of your month’s trial, before I decide whether or not to keep you on, you can tell me your conclusions and I will share mine with you. Now, your training will begin!’
He walked towards the door in the corner of the room, but instead of leaving, he leaned back against the wall, watching us. He obviously wanted to see how my first training session went, I thought with a stab of anxiety.
What happened in the next few minutes would play a big part in deciding the outcome of my month’s trial.
8
The Bow
The wurde is the basic unit of the ancient patterning language called Nym.
Wurdes contain other wurdes.
To call one wurde is to call all that is embedded within it, both manifest and hidden.
The Manual of Nym
Kern smiled at each of us in turn. Finally his eyes settled upon me. ‘Welcome, Leif. Most of what takes place in this first session will obviously be new to you, but for Palm and Deinon it will be revision. I’m sure they won’t mind.’
He went over to face the armoured lac. ‘Awake!’ commanded Kern, and the lac raised its head, eyes flickering behind the horizontal slit in the face armour.
I felt a slight stirring of unease, but less than when I’d first encountered one. That was good. I needed to feel comfortable around these creatures. I’d be working with them a lot.
Kern turned back to face me. ‘That command – Awake – was just one wurde of Nym,’ he explained. ‘Nym is the name of the language we use to pattern the lacs. Note the spelling, w-u-r-d-e, not to be confused with w-o-r-d, which refers to units of ordinary human speech. Now that the lac is awake and responsive, I’ll command it to check its own readiness for combat and then report back on its condition.
‘Selfcheck,’ Kern ordered; and a few moments later, ‘Report!’
‘Ready,’ said the lac.
I’d never heard a lac speak before – I didn’t even know they could – and the voice that came from behind the metal mask was harsh and guttural.
‘Combat Stance!’ Kern said.
The lac obeyed, and Kern turned his back and went over to the assortment of weapons and pieces of armour that hung on the wall. He reached up and drew two short-bladed Trig knives from their leather scabbards.
He strode past the lac, holding the blades with their points down towards the floor. With an almost careless gesture he dropped the blade in his left hand. The point buried itself in the wooden floor and vibrated in the flickering torchlight. The lac didn’t move.
‘Get Weapon!’ Kern commanded softly – but as the lac bent to obey, with his foot he slyly pushed the handle of the blade down until it was bent over, almost touching the floor. He suddenly withdrew his foot, causing the knife to spring back up and oscillate wildly. Three times the creature’s fingers fumbled for the blade. It had almost come to a stop when, at last, the lac was successful.
Kern turned towards us. ‘As you can see, its reactions have been deliberately slowed. This is for training purposes – to make it easier for you. But not that easy,’ he added, smiling grimly.
I saw that Palm was smirking again. Deinon was grinning too. They knew what was going to happen in this training session and were no doubt waiting to see how I coped. Tyron was still standing there watching. He would be judging me as well.
Kern turned back to face the lac, raising the blade in his right hand towards it. With the bunched fist of his left hand, he struck himself hard on the chest.
‘Seek Target!’ he commanded. ‘Cut Flesh!’
As the lac lifted the blade and advanced menacingly, Kern shuffled two steps left and then two steps right. It was like the steps of a dance.
Now he began to retreat, moving diagonally right, his boots drumming rhythmically on the floor. The creature attacked suddenly, lunging with its blade towards Kern’s chest. But even as it moved for him, Kern had already reversed direction. There was a sudden flash as his own blade reflected the torchlight.
He thrust upwards and buried his blade in the lac’s throat-socket. It immediately collapsed in a cacophony of clattering metal, its heavy fall reverberating across the wooden floor.
/> ‘Endoff,’ said Kern, turning back to face us. ‘Endoff is a wurde that renders a lac unconscious. It is called automatically once a blade is inserted into the throat-socket. As I said, boys, this is a lac patterned for practice. Anyway, watch again what I did . . .’
Alongside Palm and Deinon, I copied Kern as he took two steps to the left and two to the right, executing them slowly, aware of Tyron’s eyes on me.
‘This sequence allows you to keep your options open. The reverse diagonal can be made to the left or the right, but I’ll do it to the right again, the same as before . . .’
Once again, Kern’s boots thundered on the boards, we three trainees copying. Then he reversed, brought himself back almost to the same point and stabbed upwards with his blade.
‘In Arena 13 combat, your opponent and the lac or lacs who defend him know these patterns; they will attempt to predict which ones you will use next and precisely where that will position you on the combat floor. Dancing with your own lac, you will attempt to deceive and out-think them. Your aim is to be elsewhere when they attack. Then you counter, positioning your own lac where it can do most harm. The steps are very old, Leif . . .’ He looked directly at me. ‘They are the basic building blocks of much more complex patterns. You’ll practise these until they’re perfect, even if that perfection takes a long time coming. Your fellow trainees know this to their cost.’
I saw from the looks on the faces of Palm and Deinon that Kern had made them go over and over this until they were sick of it.
‘Now,’ Kern continued, ‘we’ll play a little game. There’s no chance of getting seriously hurt. View it as a bit of a challenge.’
He bent down and withdrew the blade from the throat-socket of the lac. It still didn’t move. ‘Awake! Stand!’ he commanded, and as the creature lumbered to its feet, he replaced the dagger in its scabbard on the wall. He returned carrying a leather ball about the size of a human head.
He threw it towards me without warning. Snapping into action, I caught it, my hands sinking into the leather. It was soft but heavy, and I noticed that it had a strip of leather sewn to it, designed for a hand to slip inside.
Arena 13 Page 6
