Wood and Silver

We closed.

Circling left and right, Regneus approached warily, trying to gain my flanks. I advanced with large, swift steps. Near the middle of the battle-ghortos, with my left foot forward and body twisted to the left, he stepped to my left and thrust at my face.

I wrenched to the left even more, batting the staff aside. But now my legs were crossed and threatened to betray me. I stepped my right leg forward and counter-thrust. The uncrossing cost me a moment, long enough for him to duck.

I thrust and thrust, driving him back and back. I went high, I went low, denying him a pattern. Then I faked low and thrust high.

He turned into the blow, his entire body rotating to the right, trying to block.

Too late.

The blunt end of the stake thumped his breast.

Still he turned, bleeding off the force of the blow. He hissed. When my stake reeled back in, his staff came out.

He unleashed a barrage of lightning-fast blows. The first two I ignored. They were out of range, meant only to probe and provoke. The third lashed at my right hand. I beat the staff aside, swinging upwards into the Boar’s Tusk. Now the stake was by my temple, point aimed at him. Before I could counter-thrust, he thrust at my side. Swinging my lead leg back, I rowed the stake, clearing the staff.

He circled the staff and voided the sweep and thrust.

Hurriedly I rowed the other way.

Too late.

The staff struck my belly. Pain burst through me. An instant later, the stake smashed the shaft aside and my body rolled off the blow.

I changed grips and swung the stake like an axe. Regneus nimbly leapt out of the way. I caught the shaft before it struck the ground. Then I stepped back and regarded him.

“Who taught you how to fight?” Regneus taunted. “A babe hits harder than you!”

I ignored him.

He was still fresh. His breath had not changed, and neither had his color. He was strong, he was fast, and worse yet, he was skilled.

My only advantage was reach. And even then, his shaft was a little longer than mine.

Circling around him, I sent Breath to dull the pain. Then I thrust and thrust, keeping safely out of his reach, penning him into a corner. He kept his wards tight and his lines closed. Whenever I struck for an open line, he moved out of the way.

Then a thought occurred to me.

I thrust again. This time I held it out for a beat too long, long enough for him to parry. As soon as his shaft moved, I swung mine through a tight circle, getting behind his weapon. Then I snapped the stake up to my side, blasting his staff away. I stepped in and swung at his head.

He stepped right, arced his shaft from right hip to left shoulder, and warded my blow. Then he stepped his left foot forward, brought his staff down in line, and thrust.

I slipped the blow. He stole out of the corner and claimed open space. He thrust and thrust again, and again I gave ground before him. A third time he thrust. As I warded the blow, I brought my stake up to the Boar’s Tusk. This time I thrust down for his face.

Again Regneus snapped up his staff, slapping my stake aside. Again he lowered his staff to his hip. Again he thrust.

I pulled my stake back. His weapon nipped my hand. I barely noticed. I had seen something far more important.

He fought like he was still on the wall.

He bladed himself towards me, reducing his target area. His movements were tight and compact, the better to protect his profile—and to avoid crashing into his fellows on the wall.

He had no fellows here.

There were other, faster, more efficient ways to answer the downward blows I had thrown. He had fallen back on his training and experience. He was not wrong. But this was not the battlefield.

This was the lists.

I probed him a few times, testing him. He reacted exactly the way a man on the wall would react, keeping his spear low and close. Always he returned to the same stance, the same ward.

I thrust for his face. He raised his staff to deflect the blow. I reeled in the stake and thrust again, aiming for where he would be.

He snapped his staff down and took the butt of my stake square on his forearm.

He snorted.

Then he blew in like a storm, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting again. I backed away from him, retreating through a spiral. When a line opened, I thrust into it. Then he backed up—and discovered that I had led him into a corner once more.

He had rage. Pride, too. As much rage and pride as me, or more. I wouldn’t have been able to lead him like this otherwise.

From the Middle Iron Gate, I faked a blow at his face. Then I pulled it back and opened my right side. He took the bait and thrust. I stepped my right leg forward and turned into it, beating aside his staff. He flowed with the blow, bringing it back around, and thrust.

This time I was ready. Uncrossing myself, I turned left and punched the staff out with both hands, smashing the staff aside. Then I raised the stake to the Boar’s Tusk and thrust the point at his face.

He reared away, bumping against the barrier.

Swiftly he recovered, coiling himself down, snarling at me. He was a trapped rat, I realized, waiting for me to attack so he could claw his way out.

I swung my left foot back. Peering over my right shoulder, I presented my exposed right leg and arm. I lifted my heel and angled my staff, entering the Guard of the Cross.

He did not move.

So I shuffled and changed grips and swung.

Instantly he moved to parry. But I pulled my swing short of the mark. Shifting grips once more, stake held across my chest, point aimed at the earth, I held fast in the Full Iron Gate.

“I know what you’re doing!” he shouted. “You’re making me attack you! It’s not going to work—”

I shrugged and turned my right fist downward. “Okay.”

Then I swung the point up and leaned forward and jabbed at his face.

Again he arced his spear, parrying my stake to the right. Again he reset at his hip. Again he thrust.

I had flowed with his parry, winding myself up. Now I uncoiled with greater force, crashing into him, and swung the butt of my stake from right to left.

The blow cleared away his staff. I came in with a thrust to the face. He raced to parry.

I reeled in the feint and changed my grip and swung from high to low.

He brought his shaft around, trying to block.

Too late.

Wood crashed into bone. Wet cracks carried through the field. With a pained cry, his right hand sprang open. The shaft fell away, opening his line. I brought my stake to my hip and stepped and thrust—

Did he have to die?

—left.

The stake hurtled past his face. I jammed the shaft against his neck. Then, walking through a circle, I bent over and levered him down.

Automatically he curled himself up and took the fall on his back. His broken right hand slapped the earth. He screamed again. I came up to him and aimed the stake at his throat.

“Yield,” I demanded.

“I yield! I yield!”

He let go of his staff. Circling around him, stake still ready for the thrust, I kicked his weapon aside.

“Victory is sealed and witnessed,” Neunos declared.

Noise burst from the stands. Cheers and curses and jeers poured forth, each warring with the other. Arsek shouted for order. Few heard. Fewer obeyed.

It was such a close thing, I knew. If our weapons had been steel, surely I would have been defeated. As it was, he was the one lying at my feet, curled up around his wounded hand, sucking in breath through his teeth.

“The defeated shall now pay his ransom,” Neunos announced, his voice carrying through the field.

“I… can’t,” Regneus admitted.

I glared at him. “You what?”

“I can’t pay,” he admitted. “Not now. I haven’t… the silver.”

My stake found his throat.

“I’ll pay you!” he shouted. “After the journey! I swear it! Binder take me if I don’t!”

My hands threatened to tremble. Pains ripped through my hand and belly once more, feeding the fire in my chest. It was so, so easy to let the stake rip through him and take what I could.

He had started this! He had mocked me! Muddied my klewos! Dragged me into this fight! And all this time, he didn’t have what it took to see it to the end!

And yet…

I, too, did not have three pekuna of silver to my name. Had he defeated me, I could not pay the ransom. He could do whatever he wished to me, and no one would speak for me.

I looked down at him once more. His hand was broken, his will shattered. Would slaying this man add to my klewos?

Would it serve the will of the One?

“Apologize,” I said.

“I’m… sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For singing… the insult-sekwa.”

“You agree it is false?”

“Yes!”

“Then the matter is settled.”

“…What?”

I turned around and walked away.

By the barrier of the battle-ghortos, I raised my stake into the sky and slammed it into the earth.

Then I cast it aside.

“The false sekwa has been undone,” I spoke. “The matter is settled.”

Gasps rang through the crowd.

“What about your ransom?” Neunos demanded. “Silver? Goods? His life?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I drew in a breath.

I spoke.

“The ransom has been paid.”

Pain burst through me. It began in my belly, roared in my chest, and exploded from my mouth. Behind it was a blast of white light, setting my whole body a-shiver.

The raven croaked and took wing.

Neunos shook his head. “So be it, Taran Barak-sonu. With Sky and Earth as witnesses, I declare that the fight is over.”

The wind sighed. Clouds drifted across the sun, and the light dimmed once more. The air lightened. I felt something sink and lock into place.

Then the world was only the world once more, and not.

From the stands rose a figure cloaked in green. She spread out her arms and sang.

Son of lightning

Victory-bright

Open hands cast

Wood and silver

The silence that followed was a thunderbolt.

It was not the ransom I had hoped for, but it was more than what I had expected.

The healer breached the barriers and tended to Regneus. I picked up my stake and recovered my things. Other armsmen took charge of Regneus’ belongings. As I tied my pouches back on, Megiklews approached.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” the merchant said. “Regneus is well-meaning, but hot-headed.”

I shrugged. “He is a skilled fighter.”

“All the same, the Labos House has standards to uphold. We will dock his pay against the healer’s fees and the delay we incurred.”

“I see.”

I wondered if I should ask him for the three pekuna of silver. I knew how he would answer.

He held out his arm. “Welcome aboard. We are glad to have such a mighty warrior with us.”

I clasped his forearm. “Thank you.”

He walked away, and so did I.

[You should check the Tree and Web,] Arta whispered.

I blinked. Then I called them up.

The Tree had dimmed. Leaves were scattered along its roots. A dark spot gnawed at its heart. Yet the numbers remained unchanged.

[What happened?] I asked.

[As I said, you turned your face from the One. This was entirely of your doing.]

[What does this mean?]

[It means you have weakened your bridge to the One. What Breath that comes through would also be weakened.]

[Then what do I do? What is the remedy?]

[Turn once more to the One. You can start by turning to the Web.]

I did.

And gaped.

The Face-stones of the Weaver and the Binder glowed bright.

[How?] I asked.

[You wore their Faces during your fight. You acted as they would act,] Arta replied. [Acknowledge your wrongs, live by truth, and the Tree will heal again.]

[I was defending my klewos!]

[What does the Law say about klewos?]

[Nothing.]

[Exactly.]

I sucked in a breath. And let it out.

[I call on the One to hear. I confess my wrongdoings to You. I see now the foolishness of my words and deeds. I seek to mend the wound in the Tree. I will strive to make things right.]

Light flashed through me. Again I shivered in it.

The Tree flashed also.

When the light cleared, the dark spot was gone. Yet the Tree remained dimmer than before.

[That’s all?] I asked.

[It is easy to fall. It is so very difficult to rise again.]

I sighed. [Don’t I know it?]

[You will have your chance.]

[How?]

[Look at the Skill-stones you have unlocked.]

There were only two.

Breath-Bind: Bind Breath to a non-living thing.

Life-Weave: Restore a living being to the Weave of Life.

[The more you work the will of the One, the more you return to him,] Arta said. [These skills help you do that outside of battle.]

I rubbed my chin.

[Breath-Bind sounds like Storm-Blow, but where the latter binds the Storm to a weapon, the former binds Breath to any object.]

[The principle is similar, yes.]

[So I can bind Life, or Sun, or Earth, or anything I can think of?]

[If you know how to touch those Faces, yes.]

[What about Life-Weave? Is that what the Hands of Hagra do?]

[Yes.]

I really should have paid more attention to the healers at Her temple.

[I don’t know how they do it,] I said.

[Then,] Arta replied, [you should learn.]