Sword Fight

by Nathan Van Coops

  The rooms were filled with cozy blankets and warm, autumn colors. It was certainly lived-in but had the look of a place you could settle in with a book and a cup of tea and not be disturbed for hours. In that way, it was nearly the opposite of the tavern.

  Ann led her down a short hallway to a bedroom that featured a four-post bed, an overstuffed armchair, and a thick rug. On the bed was a long case. That alone was gorgeous. The rich wood was inlaid with intricate metalwork, and the lock was highly polished. Ann plucked a key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock, twisting it until it clicked.

  She opened the box.

  The sword was a feast for the eyes. It had a pleasing, tapered shape with hints of deep, iridescent colors in the blade. The hilt was magnificent. A twisted-steel guard set off the handle, which itself had a symmetrically grooved length—a hand-and-a-half of an almost purple wood—before being capped with an elaborate silver pommel.

  Ann pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket and donned them, then reached inside the box and extracted the sword. The blade caught the light in its fuller groove, reflecting on the walls as she turned it. She held the sword up so that the edge was toward Valerie. “Look.”

  It took Valerie a moment to notice what she was signifying, but then she saw the magic of it. The edge of the blade was so sharp that she couldn’t see it. Even light found nothing to hold on to. As Valerie stared at the sword in wonder, her eyes could only pick up the wider inner diameter of the blade while the sharpened edge refused to reveal itself.

  “That’s incredible,” Valerie said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Let’s hope the Guild judges feel the same way,” Ann replied, gently placing the sword back in its case.

  “I had no idea you and Janet were so close to becoming a Guild family,” Valerie replied.

  “We’ve been saving and hoping for this chance,” Ann said. “With the extra tavern money coming in from tournament visitors added to what we’ve had in reserve, we’ll finally be able to make the move up. It’s a dream come true.”

  “Where will you go? Are you moving away?”

  “Hard to say. Still feels like a fantasy, you know? Once I have the certificate in hand and we’re a named family, then I guess we’ll decide. I’d love to open my own forge somewhere. I’ll make my own line of noble swords if I can find the right spot.”

  “Sounds amazing,” Valerie said.

  “I’ve heard about your quest too,” Ann said. “An audience with the Pendragons? Restore your title?”

  “It’s my only chance to set things right.”

  “Then you’ll do it,” Ann said. “You’ve got the drive. I can see it in you. It’s that spark that keeps you going when nothing else will.”

  Valerie looked down at the sword in the case. “Let’s hope my quest doesn’t take twelve years.”

  Ann closed the box with a gentle click. “When you have a good dream, the time to build it doesn’t seem so bad.”

  Valerie knew her own quest could never be construed as good, but she was happy that at least Janet and Ann had a way out.

  She followed Ann back downstairs to the bar.

  Once Janet saw that the staff had things in order, she and Ann disappeared into the night, no doubt to celebrate somewhere that came with less responsibility.

  When her shift ended, Valerie headed out the door of the tavern, expecting to make the walk to Damon’s garage, but she was surprised to find him lingering outside, leaning against a beat-up Lark sedan she had seen collecting bird droppings behind the warehouse.

  She eyed the car, which was comprised of multi-colored panels pulled from different vehicles, all dappled with primer. “Heading to the car show uptown? Trying to win least improved?”

  Damon smiled and opened the door. “Get in. We’re going for a ride.”

  “Will this hold together until we get where we’re headed?”

  “We’ll see,” Damon replied.

  Valerie walked around and climbed into the passenger side. The seat was missing much of its upholstery, and the springs were protruding from several points. She did a double take as she reached for the shoulder harness.

  “You know your car is missing the back-passenger door?”

  Damon started the ignition without explanation. He drove them up the winding streets to the city gate but turned right at the bridge, crossing the bay and heading into the open country. One headlight was loose and variously lit the undersides of tree boughs and passing houses as they drove. A herd of cows they passed looked up and blinked sleepily as the wonky headlight illuminated them.

  Valerie didn’t know the countryside well enough to recognize where they were headed, but it seemed they weren’t the only ones going. After Damon turned onto what ought to have been a lonely dirt road, Valerie was surprised to see a line of taillights. There were rugged-looking trucks, cars, and several motorcycles.

  Damon reached across her and opened the glove box. He pulled a lump of purple fabric out and tossed it onto her lap. “Put that on.”

  Valerie lifted the lump and found it was a ski mask. Damon pulled a similar green mask from his pocket and donned it.

  “Are we robbing a bank?” Valerie asked.

  Damon rolled down his window as they crept forward. Up ahead, a man in an elaborate, metal mask with welded horns was slowly admitting cars through a gate. When Damon pulled up, the man leaned over and looked inside. His mask had reflective lenses that made it impossible to see his eyes. “Competing or betting?”

  “Little of both,” Damon said. He canted his head toward Valerie. “She’s driving. I’m betting.”

  The man consulted a clipboard. “You can have round two, spot five. 12:30 start time.”

  “Got it,” Damon said and pulled through the gate.

  “What did you just sign me up for?” Valerie asked.

  “Practice.”

  Damon followed the dirt road and line of vehicles until the area opened up into a well-lit clearing. Fuel-powered generators were running electric lights on portable poles. They illuminated a relatively level area that stretched for roughly a mile. Valerie recognized it as a shallow, dried lakebed.

  It was also a homemade derby arena.

  Vehicles of all shapes and sizes were spaced around the lakebed. Figures moved in and out of the zones of light cast by the pole lamps. All of them were masked.

  The lot next to the lake was filled with cars. There were a few models she recognized—Stingrays and Scorpions, Ridge Runners, and a Vulcan or two. But many of the custom builds were like nothing she had ever seen—strange amalgamations of engines and steel that sometimes barely resembled cars. There were mono-cockpit speedsters melded with all-terrain frames. Lifted sand rails bore armor plating and grappling turrets. One beast of a vehicle was made from at least four roadster bodies cut and welded onto a truck chassis.

  “Who are these people?” Valerie asked.

  “Your competition. Got wind of a melee going down and wanted to have a look. It’ll be a good sparring session. We’ll get a feel for what you need to work on before the real tournament.”

  Valerie let her eyes roam over the odd collection of vehicles. “Some of these people are basically driving battering rams. And you’ve got me competing in a car that doesn’t even have all its doors. This seems like a stupid idea.”

  “You have to learn to deal with these problems sometime. May as well be here where it doesn’t count for much.”

  “Unless I get smashed to bits and die,” Valerie said.

  “Yeah, well, there’s that.” Damon reached into the back seat and pulled a pair of hand-held radios from a duffel bag. He pocketed one and put the other in the cup holder. “I’ll be talking to you the whole time. I’ll keep you advised of what’s creeping up on you. It’s time to learn some strategy.”

  They pulled into a spot with a flag labeled 5. Another vehicle was already lined up at the front of the bay, waiting for the starting signal.

  Damon opened th
e door and exited the car. “Come on. We’ll find a spot to watch this round. There’s a fighter that we need to look for. They say he’s the best contender the commoners have put up in a decade.”

  Valerie climbed out of the sedan and followed him, walking up the berm to a spot between starting positions where they would have a good view of the action. She’d seen melees before, but that had been when she was young. Her father had competed in tournaments all over New Avalon, and she had occasionally been allowed to follow along. But the ones she had witnessed were grand affairs with waving ceremonial flags and bleachers filled with spectators. At the time, she had been more interested in the snacks than the actual sport. She’d never encountered the sort of raw energy she was feeling now.

  Engines revved all around the lake. Sparks flew from someone’s vehicle as they attempted a last-minute welding repair. Someone was blasting boisterous guitar music from a speaker, and the air was ripe with the scent of gasoline. Even the sky was chaotic, punctuated by the chirps and squeaks of bats as they darted in to snatch disoriented moths from the arena lights.

  Valerie’s heart was racing even before the starting bell rang. But then it did ring, and a dozen vehicles roared out of their positions.

  The crowd let out a collective shout.

  Melee games varied, but this arena was set up for Helter Skelter. Valerie knew the basic rules.

  Flagpoles were set up all around the arena space. Each was clearly marked with a point value. Knocking down the pole would earn a driver the designated amount of points. These usually fell to the participants who drove the fastest vehicles.

  In this round, a contingent of caged, four-wheeled motorcycles sprang into the lead, their riders taking out several poles in short order.

  But speed wasn’t the only asset. If a vehicle could be disabled by another vehicle, the survivor would claim all the points held by the victim. Thus, a second wave of slower but heavier-duty vehicles made their way across the arena. Many had chosen cars, but several larger vehicles were at work as well, trucks and ramming vehicles capable of crushing or demolishing competitors. These drivers typically held the advantage the longer the match lasted. As the lighter and faster vehicles accumulated points, a lucky attacker could swoop in and disable them, claiming the reward.

  The third and most dangerous method of acquiring points was to earn the pedestrian prizes. This required exiting your vehicle entirely and retrieving one of the items only reachable on foot. Exiting a vehicle left it vulnerable. While it was generally considered poor form to disable a vehicle while unoccupied, the rules did allow it, along with piracy. If a contender’s vehicle was disabled and they had not retreated to the lists for safety, they could attempt to steal an unattended vehicle and continue the competition. Sometimes drivers would deliberately abandon their vehicles in an attempt to commandeer a competitor’s. If successful, they were entitled to keep it, or would sometimes sell it back to the original owner for a premium after the event.

  Some contenders were more famous for their abilities as car pirates than as drivers. Skilled racers could continuously upgrade vehicles that way and amass enviable collections.

  “There’s Kane,” Damon said, pointing out a heavy-duty truck with oversized tires and orange flames up the fenders. It was parked a few stalls down from theirs. “Looks like he’ll be in your round.”

  “I’ve met him,” Valerie said. “He bought a fuel pump off Rico the other day.” The muscled sailor climbed into the cab, and the truck started with a roar.

  Valerie returned her attention to the arena, watching with interest as the vehicles maneuvered for position. What one would imagine as a straight race for points wasn’t nearly as simple when the arena was dotted with barriers and obstacles.

  “Keep an eye on that red Eagle,” Damon said, pointing to a car with red doors that was navigating the barriers closest to them. “I’d bet anything that the driver is Mervyn Doyle. The silver Lantern Fire is likely to be one of the Patel sisters. I can’t tell from here, but I’d wager that’s Nikki. There are more than a few undercover nobles gauging the competition here.”

  The silver car slammed another lighter vehicle into a piling. The victim’s car started to smoke, and the driver was forced to bail out. Several points went up on a board mounted to a makeshift wooden tower at one end of the arena. Referees watched from on top with binoculars, shouting to the scorekeepers.

  The numbers began to accumulate rapidly once all the vehicles reached the center of the arena. Crunching ensued as many cars went head to head, attempting to outlast one another in brutal collisions.

  “When you’re out there, keep your foot on the gas, and don’t let anyone pin you into a corner. The name of this game is stay moving. Nothing good ever happens to a car sitting still.”

  The first round ended far sooner than Valerie would have liked. As she walked back to the car, she eyed the board. The leader had knocked down five points poles and disabled three other vehicles. One contender had managed to disable five other vehicles but had been knocked out themselves before being able to claim victory.

  Damon popped the trunk of the sedan and pulled out a white, open-faced helmet. He handed it to Valerie. “Remember to keep your mask on. We don’t want anyone knowing who they’re up against. Don’t get injured. As far as we know, nobody wants to kill you out here, but I’ve known a few people who like to increase their odds in the tournament by taking out some of the competition in practice. Keep your head on a swivel.”

  Valerie donned the helmet and strapped herself into the car. “You sure this is a good idea? What if I get taken out in the first five minutes?”

  “Then you’ll learn from your mistakes,” Damon said. He checked his watch. “Look alive. I think they have the arena reset already.”

  Valerie took a deep breath and tried to dispel the growing tension in her chest. Damon clicked on his radio and depressed the mic button. His slightly scratchy voice emanated from the walkie-talkie in the cup holder. “Good luck, Alley Cat.”

  Valerie muttered curses under her breath, trying to figure out how she had gotten herself into this.

  “Okay, no problem,” she said to herself, turning the ignition key. “If these people can do it, I can too.” She shifted into first and waited with the clutch in, revving the engine a few times to get the feel of the accelerator. She eyed the nearest points pole with a flag waving from the top, then made a mental map of the rest of the arena and the other visible flags.

  She tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

  Moments later, the starting bell rang. Around the lakebed, vehicles launched into action. Valerie released the clutch and flew into the arena.

  Once in motion, the lakebed seemed a lot less level than it had appeared from the perimeter. The ground undulated with little rises, and the obstacles, which had appeared small from a distance, now loomed large in her view. It would be hard to track the competition.

  She’d counted twenty-five starting positions, though she wasn’t positive they were all filled.

  However many cars were competing, they were kicking up enough dust for twice that number. The perimeter of the lake disappeared in a cloud of brown.

  She bore down on the pole with the first points flag and centered the car on the target. It would be embarrassing to miss it in the wide open. It was a straight shot now, less than fifty yards.

  Forty.

  Twenty.

  The radio crackled in the cup holder. What had he said?

  Contact.

  The pole went down with a satisfying clang, and Valerie grinned beneath her mask.

  She was on the board.

  She checked her rear-view mirror, saw the downed pole disappearing into the dust cloud she had raised behind her. She reached for the radio, picking it up and keying the mic.

  “What did you say?”

  She slammed sideways into the door, her helmet ricocheting off the window mesh.

  The car was airborne.

  Up. Over.


  It landed on its roof with a crunch, and Valerie jolted against the shoulder straps. The roll continued, and she was tossed around the roll cage, this time with dirt and grit flying in the windows.

  The momentum of the car carried it over once more, and the sedan thudded back onto its tires.

  Valerie clenched the wheel and tried to orient her mind to what had just happened. Out her right window, red taillights from the massive truck disappeared into the dust. Connor Kane.

  “He’s coming back around!” Damon shouted from somewhere on the floor amid a blast of static.

  Valerie spit sand from her mouth and reached for the ignition. The sedan fired back up.

  “Which way?” She shouted the words, but she had no way to key the radio.

  The dust and darkness around her revealed only distant and disorienting flashes of headlights.

  “Fifty yards!” Damon shouted.

  The bastard didn’t have his lights on.

  Valerie shifted into reverse and stomped on the gas. The car launched backward just as the armored truck careened past the front bumper. Valerie slammed on the brakes and brought the car skidding to a stop again.

  “Hey! You okay?” Damon shouted into the radio.

  She shifted into gear again and revved the engine.

  “Oh, hell yeah. It’s on.”

  17

  Demolished

  When Valerie rolled back through bay 5, the sedan’s wonky headlight had gone completely missing. The roof of the car was concave, and there was a layer of dirt a quarter of an inch thick on the back seat. There were handprints back there too, from the incident where a masked man had leapt into the car and attempted to take her hostage.

  Valerie’s deft execution of a hard left turn had seen him exit again nearly as quickly, but it was a lesson nonetheless. In the real tournament, she wanted to be driving a vehicle with all of its doors.