by Paul Chafe
Ftzaal screamed and leapt, swinging overhand and Pouncer moved to block the blow, but it was a feint and the real threat was Ftzaal's hind claws, coming around to rake at his face now that Pouncer's slicewire was out of line. Instinctively he jerked back, although his armor would have protected him from any serious damage. As he did so Ftzaal brought his blade around and down, aiming for Pouncer's neck articulation. Double feint! In desperation Pouncer twisted sideways. The motion saved his life as the monomolecular filament cut into the grooves that protected his neck but didn't penetrate all the way. He didn't get a chance to reflect on his luck. Ftzaal had used the momentum of his swing to carry him into a spin, swinging again as he came around. Pouncer blocked awkwardly and fell back, and again they faced each other.
Ftzaal was breathing deeply and evenly through bared fangs. “I want you alive. Put down your sword and I pledge my honor to your life.”
“I came here to win or die. Pledge your honor to your own life.” Pouncer turned the last word into a scream and leapt, feinting high, slashing low. Ftzaal blocked and spun sideways as Pouncer touched down and turned, his hind claws tearing strips from the lavish carpeting as he stopped his forward momentum with sheer muscle, crouching low to keep himself from tumbling. He slashed again, and his opponent jumped back to avoid the unexpected strike.
“You are skilled, Rrit. I may actually wear your ears.”
“You'll have to collect them first, Ftzaal.” Pouncer spat the words with a confidence he didn't feel. He is better than me and he knows it. With more sthondat drug he could know even Ftzaal's mind well enough to anticipate his moves, but he didn't have the option of taking it now. And dare I face the addiction? Could I bring myself to kill him with our minds connected? Sthondat was seductive, but he had seen what it had done to his brother. I don't want to share Patriarch's Telepath's fate.
And he didn't have the option to take more now anyway. When in doubt, attack. Guardmaster's words came back to him. He screamed and leapt again, swinging his variable sword up and around to catch Ftzaal on his weak side. His opponent pivoted to block the blow, and Pouncer went past, lashing out with his hind claws at the Tzaatz's hip to knock him sideways. The ploy worked, but his claws skidded off Ftzaal's armor. His adversary staggered but didn't fall, and still managed to get in a counterblow as Pouncer came past. The slicewire bounced off the back of Pouncer's helmet. There was little chance it would have hit a weak spot with enough force to penetrate from that angle, but the blow served as a warning. Never leave an opening. The first mistake would be the last when facing the Protector of Jotok in single combat.
He rolled again as he landed, then flattened himself to the ground as Ftzaal's slicewire blurred over his head. He had a split second's respite to scramble clear as Ftzaal brought the swing around to cut him in half from above. He dodged back and forth, flat on his back as a flurry of blows rained down around him, then finally managed to get his slicewire into position to block. He caught the edge of Ftzaal's weapon and managed to flip it out of line, but from the floor he lacked the angle necessary to exploit the advantage, and Ftzaal just stepped back out of range, flipping his ears in amusement. Pouncer rolled to his feet, breathing hard. Ftzaal was relaxed and unruffled. He is toying with me. It was a sobering realization. Pouncer was putting every sinew into the fight. Ftzaal-Tzaatz was not even trying hard. The black-furred killer would end the fight when and how he chose and there was nothing Pouncer could do about it. I too have more power here than I am using; my troops control the Citadel. He pushed the thought away as honorless. He had chosen skatosh to finish Kchula-Tzaatz because he needed to set an example for his followers, needed to demonstrate that he was the kind of Patriarch who fought his own fights. His warriors would come if he called them despite the traditions that said they should not, their loyalty was that strong. It would save his life if he did, but he would lose their respect. He could never rule effectively without their support, and the Patriarchy needed a strong Patriarch now more than ever. No, if my destiny is to die here I will die here, but I will not show cowardice to my followers.
Ftzaal circled him slowly, forcing him to turn to keep his guard toward his enemy. When in doubt, attack, but he was tired now, and his opponent was still fresh, and Guardmaster had also cautioned that attack must come from a position of strength. I am allowing him to set the conditions of battle here, fighting his fight. I need to change that, force him to fight my fight. The problem was, Pouncer's fight was Ftzaal's fight, the single combat form, and Ftzaal was better at it. Nor was he liable to be sucked into the kill rage with a few insults.
Ftzaal lunged forward, slicewire cutting the air, and Pouncer blocked and stepped back. Ftzaal snapped his weapon vertical, avoiding the block and then bringing it down again to slice through Pouncer's arm articulation. Pouncer turned and rolled backward, the only option he had to save himself, and again Ftzaal rippled his ears. “Let me know when you're ready to die, Rrit.”
Pouncer didn't waste breath on a reply. Make a decision fast, time is running out. He flicked his eyes around his father's hall, seeking anything he could turn to his advantage, but there was nothing. So if you can't fight your own fight, at least choose a fight that isn't his either. His eye came over the crimson Patriarchal banners hanging down the carved stone walls and inspiration struck. He screamed and leapt, not at Ftzaal but past him, retracting his slicewire as he did. Ftzaal swung as he went by, but the distance was too large for him to connect, and then Pouncer was at the drapery, claws extended to catch the fabric. It sagged as it took his weight and for a moment he thought it would collapse, but it was heavy woven hsahk, firmly bolted to the vaulted roof, and it held. He scrambled up it, his claws tearing slashes into the precious fabric as he went.
“So the Rrit runs like a vatach.” Ftzaal was enjoying himself. “And you think this is how a Patriarch fights?”
Again Pouncer didn't bother to answer. At the top of the drapery he drew his variable sword again and extended it to full length. Leaning backward he leapt to grab one of the thick stonewood ceiling beams. On his way past he swung the sword, arm fully extended, to cut the support chain of one of the room's huge, ancient chandeliers. The chain parted and the chandelier fell as he grabbed at the beam with his other hand, claws digging in. He pivoted his hind claws around to get purchase, and then levered himself onto the beam. The chandelier crashed to the floor, spraying gemstones from their fittings, but Ftzaal-Tzaatz had managed to dodge out of the way before it hit. His reflexes are incredible. Already the Tzaatz had understood that Pouncer was not fleeing but changing the ground rules, and he was leaping to climb another drapery, choosing one far enough away that he too would be up in the ceiling beams before Pouncer could scramble over to cut it loose beneath him. Ftzaal's reflexes would be an asset in a battle fought in such an awkward and precarious environment, but most of the single combat form would be inapplicable. The assembly below watched, awestruck. Pouncer swung his slicewire through the beam beneath him. The timber popped loudly as it was severed and ancient strains suddenly relieved. He felt it give slightly beneath him, but the two cut faces pressed against each other kept it from collapsing completely. Now I have a trap, if I can lure him into it. A second cut would drop a section of timber to fall to the floor, and if Pouncer could get Ftzaal to stand between himself and the first cut, when he made the second cut the Tzaatz would fall with it.
But he couldn't make it that obvious. His mind awareness surged slightly, perhaps in reaction to the intense emotion of the encounter, and through it he knew Ftzaal, felt his intention to kill him and his complete confidence that he would succeed in it. It was a frightening mind to face. Fear is death. He leapt from beam to beam toward his opponent, who had finished his climb.
“You will not escape me, Rrit.” Ftzaal leapt as well, so they were on the same beam, now facing each other. There would be little opportunity for maneuver here. Confined as they were to the linear space of the beam, they would fight a battle of finesse with the varia
ble sword, with the added tactic of trying to unbalance the other fighter into a fatal plunge to the stone floor below.
Pouncer slashed the beam beneath him, backed up, slashed again so a thick chunk of stonewood crashed to the ground. The remaining segments of the beam sagged, now supported only at one end. Too many beams cut would bring the whole roof down. And that too may be a strategy, if I have to employ it. It would be a last resort.
“You think that gap will stop me?” Ftzaal spat, angry now as he had not been before. He had expected an easier kill. Pouncer backed up further. Let him think I am afraid. He will grow careless.
Ftzaal screamed and leapt the gap, landing with perfect footing and coming up into attack stance, feinting down and swinging high. Pouncer let his guard drop with the feint, but not so much that he left himself vulnerable to the swing. I knew he was going to do that. Pouncer flowed into v'dak stance, and smoothly blocked two more blows. I am gaining something from mind awareness. It was not enough to win, but perhaps enough to survive.
Ftzaal fell back, and Pouncer took the opportunity to cut the support chain for one of the decorative tapestries hanging from the ceiling. It fell with deep rustle of heavy fabric and nearly enveloped Ftzaal where he stood. As it was, he had to leap backward, nearly losing his balance in the process. The black kzin's fangs showed white in a wide gaped smile. He is angry, and rage is death. Pouncer began to think he might win. He held his ground a long moment, waiting for the wild killing leap, but it didn't come. The Tzaatz was too smart a warrior to let hot anger interfere with cold intent. He advanced and Pouncer fell back, a pace at a time, all the way to the wall. There was a wide ledge there, where the beams joined the walls and roof. When he got close to it Pouncer turned and leapt. He had hoped the sudden move would give him room to maneuver, but Ftzaal had anticipated it and leapt with him. Pouncer pivoted as he landed, nearly overbalancing, and found Ftzaal's slicewire already coming for his head. He got a partial block in, enough to deflect the blow, and the weapon slashed chunks of ancient stone from the wall to clatter down into the hall below. Pouncer retreated again as Ftzaal feinted low, feinted high and then swung in the middle, but again mind awareness gave him enough warning to keep his guard where it needed to be when the killing slash came. He fell back until he came to the next crossbeam, the one he had cut. Now we spring the trap. He swung hard, overhand, connected and swung again, beating Ftzaal's guard down through sheer force. It was a short term strategy that would lead to exhaustion without any other result if he kept it up, but it bought him the second's respite he needed to leap backward onto the beam. The position he held was precarious and difficult to guard, but he stayed there long enough for Ftzaal to recover and swing at his ankles. Let him think I have made a mistake, and he will expect me to correct it. He blocked the blow, then leapt down the beam, leaving the way clear for Ftzaal to mount it and follow him. He turned again, adopted v'scree stance in time to see his opponent take the same position. Ftzaal advanced, slowly and deliberately. When he got within striking distance Pouncer began to withdraw. He flicked his eyes to the beam with each backward step, trying to pick up the almost invisible cut he'd already made.
There! He backed up farther, taking each step carefully, as Ftzaal continued to press his guard. The thick timber sagged slightly as Ftzaal approached the cut, less than perfectly stable. Would Ftzaal notice? Pouncer feinted forward to make sure he didn't, which turned out to be a mistake. Ftzaal easily parried the quick thrust and slash then countered with his own attack, taking advantage of Pouncer's overextended position at the end of his slash to beat his slicewire out of line and then thrust for the kill. Pouncer backed up again, but Ftzaal pressed him hard, his slicewire again slamming Pouncer's out of line to expose him for the finish. Pouncer nearly lost his variable sword with the impact, and overbalanced dangerously, nearly falling. He forgot about his trap and concentrated on survival, regaining his balance just in time to get his slicewire back in line to block another swing. For an instant it looked like he'd gotten away with it, teetering precariously but still on the beam, but then Ftzaal slammed his free fist into Pouncer's shoulder, toppling him. He lashed out to save himself, his variable sword flying off into space as he tried to regain his balance. He fell and for a long instant his vision was full of the hard stone floor far below. He grabbed wildly and managed to get his claws into the side of the beam. Wood fibers tore into long scratch marks, then held, and he was dangling. His variable sword shattered on the ground, and for a heartbeat he flashed back to the instant he'd leapt after T'suuz, high on the conduits in the Citadel's power hall on the day of the Tzaatz invasion.
Ftzaal-Tzaatz came and stood above him, looking down. “You fought well, Rrit. Not well enough.” Ftzaal raised his slicewire for the killing blow. In desperation, Pouncer brought his hind claws up and braced them against the beam, then leapt into space as Ftzaal brought his variable sword down. He had swung with enough force to cleave through armor articulation, and deprived of its intended target his swing carried on, cutting through the thick stonewood beam as though it wasn't there. The section he was standing on was between Pouncer's first cut and his own. No longer supported at either end it fell. Ftzaal leapt up to grab one of the remaining beam sections, but he hadn't expected the fall and his leap was slow. He managed to connect with one set of claws but he held on to his variable sword with the other. His claws cut long grooves in the dense wood as Pouncer's had, but with only one paw there wasn't enough purchase to entirely support his weight. They pulled out and he too fell.
Pouncer twisted in midair to land on his feet. His leap aimed for one of the huge conquest drums — its taut drumhead was the only thing in the room that might serve to break his fall. He hit it and the drumhead burst with a deafening boom. He hit the floor beneath it hard on all fours, joints collapsing to absorb the impact. His chin hit the ground, snapping his head back and making the world spin. He stood, steadying himself on the drum's rim and tried to get the scene to focus.
All eyes were on him, czrav and Tzaatz alike. Ftzaal-Tzaatz had not been so lucky in his fall. His body lay bent and broken over the fallen beam section. Ears ringing, Pouncer staggered from the wreckage of the conquest drum and went to his recent adversary, kneeling to pick up the Black Priest's finely carved variable sword. The slicewire was still extended, and he turned to the head of the hall. The fall had hurt and he was exhausted and disoriented, shaking now in reaction to the fight juices. It took a long moment to realize that he had won. He tightened his grip on the variable sword. I will not falter now.
“Kchula!” Pouncer bared his fangs and found a sudden, deep anger welling up that made it difficult to speak coherently. “Your brother is dead. Stand your ground.” Rage is death, a tiny voice said in the back of his mind, but he found it too easy to ignore.
Kchula-Tzaatz rippled his ears and raised a beamrifle from under his cloak. “It was amusing to watch you fight my brother. I'm going to enjoy killing you, kitten.”
He brought the weapon to his shoulder and triggered the aim dot, swung it to target Pouncer. The silence in the room was complete; even breathing seemed to have stopped. None of the czrav were close enough to intervene, and Pouncer couldn't move fast enough to get out of the line of fire before Kchula could shoot.
“You have no honor, Kchula.” Pouncer spat the words, hoping the insult would goad him to leap, but in mind space he saw Kchula's intention to kill form, the command to pull the trigger welling up in his forebrain. The split second's warning might have saved him, if he had anywhere he could dodge, but he didn't and with his eyes he saw his own death arriving in the mirror-bright bore lens of the beamrifle.
There was a piercing scream and suddenly the welding of mind-picture and sight dissolved as a tawny shape flew through the air. Scrral-Rrit-Second-Son had leapt at Kchula, his w'tsai extended to kill. Kchula whirled and fired but the beam went wide, spraying shards of ancient stone from the wall, and then Scrral-Rrit was on him, driving the primitive weapon up through th
e gap between breast armor and belly articulation, up beneath Kchula's ribcage to slice organs and sever arteries. Kchula screamed in pain, falling backward under the attack with arms flailing, and the beamrifle went flying. Scrral-Rrit withdrew the weapon as blood geysered from the wound, then stabbed again, this time up and under Kchula's chin, driving it up into his braincase.
The flailing stopped, and at that instant Second-Son screamed, his back arching as though he'd been scourged, every muscle in his body tensing. He stayed like that for long heartbeats, then pitched forward, face down in his victim's still oozing blood.
The zzrou! “Brother!” Pouncer leapt to Second-Son's side and slashed his robe open with one claw swipe. The zzrou was there, a dull octagon on his brother's shoulder. He tore it loose, ripping flesh as its teeth came free. It was a reflexive act, and it would have emptied the zzrou's poisonous contents into his brother's body, had it not already done so itself when triggered by the cessation of Kchula-Tzaatz's heart. P'chert toxin dripped, oily and acrid, and Second-Son was gasping on the floor.
“Bring a Healer!” Zree-Rrit's command brooked no hesitation, but when he turned back to face the dying puppet-Patriarch, Pouncer's voice was soft. “Breathe deep, brother, help is coming.”
But Second-Son's breaths came quick and shallow, his eyes glazing as his eyelids fluttered. “There is no time… I have paid for my dishonor.”
“A Healer, now!” Pouncer lashed out the order, and Medical Officer of the Tzaatz was running forward, slaves and kzinti alike scattering before him, but Second-Son's eyes were already shut, and his breathing had stopped. P'chert toxin was swift.
“You have earned your name at last.” Pouncer cradled Second-Son's head in his lap, the universe reduced to the still-warm body before him, the last of his family. The sthondat-induced mind awareness was strengthened by the physical contact, and he felt the last glimmer of his brother's consciousness dwindle and fade, until all that was left was an overwhelming emptiness.
