Shadow Of The Mountain (16 page)

Putting the glass to her lips, she tilted her head back, consuming two weeks of sleepless nights in one swallow.

“This is a nightmare,” she repeated, dropping the vial to her feet.

Talia returned to the bed and slid under the covers. The Garik extract was already taking effect. Closing her eyes, she saw him then, her husband. Beautiful, strong, gentle Kreiden. The man who was to be the father of her children.

“
I’ll be back in your arms as soon as I can.
”

“You better be,” she said sleepily.

Kreiden smiled at her, and Talia smiled back.

Chapter 9

With their packs in the shade, the students from Orantak lined up in three columns. They waited in a large clearing of tall grass. The afternoon sun warmed them from its cloudy, blue perch above, and beneath brown cloaks they now wore thick leather breastplates and battered iron helms, with dulled sparring blades at the hip. Their Kessland opponents were similarly garbed for the tourney, assembled in five columns on the distant side of the field with their shields in the grass, waiting for the call that would release them from their lines.

The rules were simple: strike your opponent with the blade in the helm, and they’re out. Strike them in the chest piece or back, force them to the ground or disarm them, and they’re out. Knock out a tooth, break two of their fingers, and make them drop their weapon after eight minutes of exchange, and they’re out.

Draz gritted his teeth as the nervousness began to twist and spark within his belly.

Orantak would go out in lines of three, Kessland five. If one of your line is knocked out, they sit in the grass, and next round you go in with only two. If you win, you pick your rock back up and wait for your next revolution. This would be repeated until one side had no one left to fight.

He looked around at his brothers, wishing more were there. They were outnumbered roughly three to one, though this was just a fraction of their usual count. At full muster Draz’s class held over two hundred, but many of the students were missing, permitted a ten-day leave to head home due to the coming battle.

King Healianos had called nearly all of his soldiers into action, even instructors, and the academies spread throughout Amoria were mostly barren by now. This Kessland class hadn’t made the cut to attend the battle, much like Orantak.

The lucky few that remained from Draz’s class were either too far from family to take advantage of the time off or had opted out of it entirely. Now those who remained behind stood in an open clearing west of Corda, utterly exhausted, gripping large stones in blistered and bleeding hands.

The Kessland students across the grass didn’t have the added weight to contend with and looked quite fresh compared to Draz and his brothers. They were going to be a handful. Two of the opposing academy’s green-clad instructors could be seen speaking with their students, words too distant to hear, while another two were spaced out in the center of the grass as judges.

For the first time all afternoon, he spied Cal Stradlin, one of Orantak’s surgeons. The older man stood alone in the tall grass near the tree line, hands clasped before him and face unreadable behind circular, wire-rimmed glasses. Men of his skill set would be common to have during these tournaments. While the points were rounded and the edges dulled, their sparring blades could still inflict a tremendous amount of damage to each other. Boys had been maimed during these exercises, some even unintentionally killed.

Draz scanned the Kessland lines, trying to pick out Kole. A low breeze blew across the field, carrying with it a pinch of the coming winter’s chill to throw their brown cloaks about them. They would be running headlong into it, wind in their faces.

“Stones up,” Trobe said bitterly, as if he’d been coddling them long enough.

Over fifty stones were lifted into the air.

Trobe walked down the columns.

“Protect yourself,” he told them. “And, if you’re not alone out there, then protect each other. Working together will get you anywhere you need to go. When things start to go bad, stay close.” He continued down the lines. “I ran you hard the last few days. You’re pissed. I can see it in your faces. I like that.” Draz was three rows from the front and kept his eyes straight as the old instructor passed. “Your legs tremble with fatigue and your hands are worn raw. You would find it hard to wipe your own ass right now, much less hold a sword.” He wove his way through the ranks, among trembling arms with stones held high.

“You want a break, a reprieve?” he asked. “No such paradise exists in battle. I look forward to watching these Kessland boys toss you to the ground like dry stalks of corn.” The wind blew through them once more, and Draz stood a little straighter. He tightened his shoulders and locked his arms above, noticing other students around him doing likewise.

“Or maybe,” Trobe went on. “Maybe this will be yet another moment to help you understand that you will be required to go beyond the abilities of the average, to overcome any obstacle, and to achieve where others fail.
Impossible
…” He said the word as if it were poison upon his tongue. “Impossible does not exist for you. It
cannot
exist.”

Instructor Trobe’s stare washed over them, his gaze finally landing on Draz. For a long while nothing could be heard except the wind rustling the leaves of the surrounding tree line.

“Now show me.” He turned and whistled sharply.

Orantak’s first row of three dropped their stones and ran out into the clearing. In a moment their dulled short swords were drawn on the move.

Vextis the tracker was amongst them, as was the boy’s close friend, short and squat Persus. The third was a bony youth named Herkle. Full of good spirit and great intentions, Herkle was often bringing up the rear, but everyone liked the lad. For all his shortcomings, he always gave everything he had. For some, not much more could be asked.

Draz saw the Kessland instructors release five boys, and they raced out into the clearing at a full sprint, well rested and eager to get the tournament underway. Herkle almost immediately fell behind the rest of his line, but after a thirty-yard dash the eight of them met in the middle and the crashing of swords rang out across the clearing. The bout was over quickly.

Vextis had his blade in the weak hand and blocked a slash from the first opponent to reach him, following it with a right uppercut that slammed into the boy’s chin. As he stumbled back, Vextis cracked his blade against his helm, taking him out of the match.

Herkle was set upon by two opponents. He managed to block a thrust and slam his blade against one of their breastplates before he was thrown to the ground by the other, whose blade hammered him in the stomach. Vextis and Persus quickly linked up and fought as a team, with Persus swiftly taking two out of the match and Vextis closing out the last, hooking him behind the knee with a boot and tripping him up.

Even before they could make it back, Trobe whistled again, and the next line of Orantak students dropped their stones to rush out. Jornan was amongst them, alongside the twins Yuri and Rendell.

Again, five Kessland youths from the circle raced to meet them. This time the bout was even shorter. The twins were strong swordsmen, but with Jornan on their team it was over in a few moments.

Vextis and Persus jogged back to the column. They both tilted their helms back.

“I spied Kole out there, Draz,” Vextis said quietly, bending to retrieve his stone. “Second column from the left, sixth row.”

“Thanks, Vex.”

Trobe’s high-pitched whistle split the wind and for the first time all day, Draz released his grip on the stone and it thudded into the grass next to him. He ran off into the open space of the circle, watching five Kessland students break from their line to meet him.

***

Everything he had was tired, every part of him sore. Draz’s legs felt ungainly as he raced out into the open. The hand clutching the hilt of his sparring sword was cramping up, feeling more like a gnarled claw than a supple grip. It was that damned stone! Even after leaving it in the grass, still it was causing him trouble!

His blood was pumping hard now, making him almost dizzy. Blinking away blurring vision, he tried to level out his breathing, pulling in deep and even breaths as his boots hammered across the grassy clearing. He eyed the five approaching Kessland youths through the narrow slits of his iron helm, still twenty yards out.

Flanking either side of him from Orantak were Sedrik Idlebac and a tanned youth named Bailen Kent. Sedrik was broad and strong, quick with the blade. Bailen was a lean boy more skilled with the bow than anything else, but he’d proven a strong swordsman on more than one occasion. Even dead tired, Draz could feel the fire of competition coursing through his body, feeding him a little strength from hidden reserves.

“Behind me and break right,” Draz huffed as he ran.

Sedrik and Bailen dropped behind him.

The five Kessland boys clustered together in confusion as Draz picked up speed and charged towards them, the rest of his line following behind.

As the two groups neared each other, Draz swung out to the right, avoiding several opponents that were heading straight for him. He batted aside a clumsy strike from a Kessland student, the boy still surprised by their shift in direction. Draz shoulder-slammed him off his feet.

Sedrik and Bailen fought back-to-back, already taking one out of the fight and exchanging blows with another. Draz ran wide, circling the group and drawing out the remaining two. They raced after him across the grass.

He turned and saw one pursuing closer than the other. Stopping, he reversed directions and charged. Their swords crossed three times before Draz could create an opening. He struck the flat of his blade against the youth’s helm and tossed him to the grass, just barely bringing his sword up to deflect a slash from their last opponent.

He deflected two angry blows from the boy before Sedrik ran in unopposed from behind and rang his helm with a backhand strike.

Just like that, their first round was over.

They ran back to their stones, saying nothing. The first bout was always the easiest. They were fresh, relatively speaking. But as the tournament progresses, those who remain watch with keen eyes, remembering moves and styles, strengths and weaknesses. There would be many rounds.

Draz hauled his stone above his head and watched the next line race out into the circle, awaiting his turn. Kole was still out there.

***

Trobe’s whistle sent them out, round after round, sprinting into the field as the sun slid towards afternoon. Fewer Kessland youths were sent into the circle as the tourney whittled down the number of contestants. This meant more rounds for those who remained standing from Orantak. More sprints through the grass against the wind, more bouts with opponents and more chances to be knocked out.

Despite losing Bailen in their third round, Draz and Sedrik fought on fiercely, winning the next five bouts before Sedrik was overwhelmed and took a thrust to his lower abdomen. Draz had fought his way clear, but just barely. It had taken him a long minute of frantic running and hacking, but he managed to finish his remaining two opponents and end the round in victory. The next whistle would send him out alone.

The tournament was nearing its end. There was less than a handful of Orantak students remaining and around a dozen opposing them from Kessland. Larkin, big and strong, was dropped by a sword pommel to the back of his neck and a knee kick. Kole lost a partner several rounds in, but he and one other were putting on a fine show. They’d already knocked out several Orantak lines on their own, but Draz had yet to meet them in the grass.

Jornan lost Yuri during their second round, and his brother Rendell was felled by a lightning-quick riposte two rounds after. Jornan fought the next three bouts alone, each time returning victoriously against three opponents. He was always a sight at sword tourneys. Smooth and fast, his footwork would have them stumbling over each other. For someone so young, he was truly incredible.

Trobe whistled and Draz dropped his stone, drawing his sword and racing out alone into the open.

He cursed, seeing Kole and another run into the wide circle made up of eliminated students.

“
Keep moving
!” Jornan yelled behind him.

Kole slowed to a trot, letting the other student reach Draz first.

The two of them met. The boy was fast, his blade streaking out quick combinations as he circled left. Draz met them all with ease while pushing forward, slowly gaining momentum. He followed a block with a swift thrust that the youth barely leapt away from. Draz pursued him, his attack speeding up. After a quick exchange that put him off balance, Draz leapt into the air and slammed a boot into his opponent’s stomach, sending him to the ground.

The boy rose to his feet with a muttered curse and headed back to his lines. Draz watched Kole approach.

He seemed bigger than Draz remembered, like a grown man, tall and muscled with shoulders broad as a bench. Draz saw a gap-toothed smile cross his face as he raised the hand he’d injured previously. One of the fingers was missing above the center knuckle.

“Great,” Draz muttered to himself. He’d lost one of the damaged fingers.

Kole charged.

Draz blocked once and cut to the right, distancing himself from the angry student. He backpedaled as the larger youth came down on him with blow after blow. No longer sore or tired from their run through the forest, Draz found new strength in the field.

Kole was fast for his size, but Draz was more interested in the youth’s stamina than anything else. Their last bout had taxed the Kessland student and he’d all but run out of wind by the end, with Draz taking the moment.

Ducking underneath a swing, Draz rammed a fist into the side of his leather chest piece and spun away. Kole shrugged it off, but to Draz it was like punching the side of a horse.