Avondale (34 page)

“I could get our horses back,” Lexi said. “Probably some supplies too.”

“No, I’ll take my chances fighting,” Rafe said.

“This is insane,” Lexi said.

“Look,” Rafe said quietly. “I get it. You know how to get stuff. You know how to survive on your own. You could probably escape from these people and survive a long time out here. But fighting is what I know. I’ve been doing it since I was a child. My father is the Sword Master of Avondale. I’ve trained with every weapon in the Earl’s armory. I can fight on foot, on horseback, from positions of strength and weakness. I know how to turn my enemy’s strengths into weaknesses. I fight with a rapier because it takes much more skill than just hacking and slashing with a traditional sword. I’m an expert at using speed and swordcraft to nullify my opponent’s superior strength, whether it is physical strength, or a heavier weapon than my own. Yes, this Ummar is strong, but I’ll bet he’s slow too. I’ll bet that just his appearance intimidates most of his opponents. He’ll be overconfident, but he’s never fought anyone like me.”

“What about the chief and his dark magic?” Lexi said. “What if he casts some spell on you?”

“That’s Ti’s job,” said Rafe. “Make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Tiberius nodded. He already had his little scroll out and was busy searching through the spells that Princess Ariel had given him. The tribesmen came back and brought a tub of water.

“To wash with, before the toscogee,” they said.

Rafe took off his tunic and washed his face. The water was warm and he splashed it over his body. Tiberius looked worried and Olyva was passed out again. Rafe doubted that anyone could wake her. On the one had, he felt like his life was spinning out of control. On the other hand, he finally felt like he was facing something he was prepared for. His father’s words echoed in his mind as three more tribesmen approached carrying the white body paint in a small crock, and a gleaming sword.

Don’t limit yourself to just one weapon,
his father used to say.
Everything around you is potentially a weapon. Use whatever you can to end the fight as quickly as possible.

Rafe examined the sword. It was short, only about three feet long, sharp on one side and curved slightly. The blade was golden, with nicks up and down the sharpened side, which ended in a point.

“Looks sort of like a cutlass,” Tiberius said.

Rafe nodded. Then he said, “Paint me up.”

“What? With symbols and stuff like the Hoskali?”

“No, just a thick layer all over my body,” he said.

Tiberius and Lexi took handfuls of the white pasty ocher and began spreading it over his chest, stomach, and back. In his mind, Rafe was already battling the big warrior Ummar. He could imagine the different ways the larger man might attack, so he mentally prepared a defense for each tactic.

Drums began to pound, and voices chanted in a language Rafe didn’t recognize. He chalked it up to part of the ceremony. He’d heard of ancient indigenous tribes that lived off the land. They were warrior cultures with leadership being earned in battle. It made sense that some of the people who survived the cataclysm would have been people who had once lived out in the wild places of the world. And it also seemed reasonable that they would revert to the old ways of living. The tribesmen of the Holsaki looked normal enough. Their skin was a little darker, but Rafe guessed that came from being out in the sun day after day. They shaved their heads, and wore white paint on their bodies, but who’s to say that if they put on proper clothes and washed off the paint that they wouldn’t fit right in among the people of Avondale. They spoke the same language, although with a heavy accent, which Rafe guessed stemmed from being separated from the Nine Cities for so long. In fact, it might have been the people in the cities who developed an accent while the tribal people maybe spoke more like the people of Valana before the cataclysm. Either way, it all pointed back to a common heritage. These people didn’t just suddenly spring up in the void left after everyone else fled the blighted lands.

He picked up the sword. It was heavy, but there was a balance to it as well. It was forged by someone who knew what they were doing. Rafe swung the sword in the traditional four step pattern that every novice swordsman learned. Grentz had trained his son so hard that Rafe knew the pattern by heart, his muscles carrying it out without any input from his mind.
Swipe, parry, block, and thrust.
Rafe repeated the pattern over and over, letting his body get used to the weight of the blade. He moved his feet, stepping forward and back, first in the complicated stance he used with his rapier, then making some adjustments to make the most efficient use of the heavy bronze sword.

The only thing he couldn’t anticipate was the effect of his opponent’s strength. The big warrior would rain down heavy blows, and even using what he knew about angles to deflect his opponent’s sword strikes to minimize the impact and thus the strength it took to parry the attack, he knew that fighting the bigger man would be difficult. Rafe decided that speed would be his greatest asset. He took the sword in two hands, one on the grip, which was made of bone wrapped in leather, the other hand he held on the blunted edge of the blade, just where the curving was thickest. If he moved fast enough, he could dodge most of the bigger man’s attacks, which would maximize Rafe’s strength. He decided it would be best to keep moving, let the bigger man wear himself down chasing Rafe, then, when the bigger man was winded, Rafe would move in for the attack.

“It is time,” said a tribesman.

Rafe glanced at Tiberius and nodded. His friend gave him a thumbs up and followed him toward the circle of warriors, who were jumping and shouting in excitement.

Lexi slipped her hand into his as they followed Rafe toward the arena. Tiberius felt a ball forming in his gut. He was terrified for his friend and frightened of what would happen to himself and Lexi if Rafe lost. He felt weak. He’d gone through the list of spells over and over: Fire, Far Sight, Find North, Find Water, Calm Minds, Hiding Spell, Shielding Spell, Summon Wind, Sleep Spell. Only two of the spells seemed useful during a fight, and Tiberius really had no idea how they would work. He had memorized the spells for Hiding, which he hoped meant a spell that would make Rafe invisible to Ummar, and Shielding. Still, he feared what might happen during the duel. The large warrior who was Moswanee’s champion was enough of a threat, but if the Chieftain used magic to tip the odds in his favor, Tiberius feared he wouldn’t have the knowledge or skill to keep Rafe safe.

“Are you afraid?” Lexi whispered.

“Terrified,” Tiberius said. “I don’t know enough to really help him.”

“You can do it,” she said. “I believe in you.”

Tiberius squeezed her hand, unable to say how much he needed to hear her say that.

“I’d feel better if you disappeared until this was all over,” he said.

“What about Olyva?”

“I don’t think she’s in any real danger at the moment. Just make yourself scarce, just in case.”

“Are you sure? I could stay, maybe help?”

“No, I’d feel better knowing you were somewhere else.”

She brushed her lips across his cheek, then she let go of his hand. It was more painful than he expected. The tribesmen paid her no attention. When Tiberius glanced back, she was gone. The camp was lit by fires here and there, but the darkness encroached all around. Tiberius didn’t think it would be hard for Lexi to disappear in the dark, especially with everyone occupied by the Tuscogee.

Tiberius put his hand on Rafe’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. He wanted to impart all his strength and love for his friend, but Rafe was already completely focused on the fight. He looked straight ahead, his jaw set, the muscles in his shoulders and back rolling as he stretched to stay loose.

They were led into the circle, where Moswanee was already waiting. He wasn’t a big man, in fact he was shorter than Tiberius and so thin that he looked half starved. His beard was oiled, and the spikes coming out of his back had been coated in the white paint. Tiberius tried to see if the spikes were actual bones or if they were some type of ceremonial dress. It was hard to see in the flickering light of the small fires around the circle. The Chieftain was not handsome. Tiberius thought he looked horrific, and surprisingly young. Tiberius guessed Moswanee wasn’t much older than Rafe or himself.

Then Moswanee’s champion appeared. He was wearing only a small garment around his waist, and his body shone in the firelight. Tiberius guessed that the big warrior was covered in some kind of oil, which made the powerful muscles even more pronounced. Tiberius hoped it was just a scare tactic. He knew that fighting such a large powerful man would frighten most people. If that were to happen to Rafe, the fight would be over before it began.

“You ready?” Tiberius whispered to his friend.

Rafe nodded, never taking his eyes off of Ummar.

“Good, I’ve got your back.”

The shouting and jumping around the circle suddenly went quiet as Moswanee raised his hands. The group of tribesmen fell silent at the signal from the chief. Tiberius noticed that none of the women or children were present.

“Now is the time of the Tuscogee,” he said in a loud voice. “Now the gods will choose who leads the Hoskali. Let it begin.”

Tiberius wasn’t sure who to watch. Ummar stalked forward, the bronze sword looked small in his huge fist. Moswanee cackled with laughter, as if the Tuscogee were merely a game and his own life didn’t hang in the balance.

Rafe began to circle slowly, keeping his distance from the bigger man. The crowd was silent, almost as if they were holding their breath in anticipation of the first clash. Tiberius felt sick to his stomach. He hated seeing Rafe all alone against the hulking warrior, but Rafe looked calm and determined. After circling each other for several moments, Ummar finally attacked. He moved faster than Tiberius had expected, but not fast enough to catch Rafe. He slashed down with his sword, the bronze flashing gold in the firelight, but Rafe danced to the side. Ummar followed his first attack with a level blow that would have severed Rafe’s head from his shoulders, but the young warrior dropped to the ground, rolled over his back and came up smoothly on his feet, his sword held ready, eyes on his opponent.

Tiberius glanced at Moswanee, who still looked elated by the fight. Tiberius guessed that the Chieftain wouldn’t use magic unless he had to. He wanted the fight to last, to be a real show for the tribe who saw the Tuscogee the same way people in Avondale saw a holiday.

Rafe began to circle again, but Ummar jumped forward, raining down another overhanded blow. This time Rafe raised his own weapon, holding it diagonally, with one hand fully extended and supporting the upper part of the blade, the other hand held lower. The two swords clashed violently, with a loud clang that made Tiberius want to cover his ears. He’d grown up hearing his father’s soldiers drill, their swords clashing together over and over. He’d trained with the city Paladins using swords and spears, but he’d never heard anything like the two bronze weapons clashing.

Rafe was forced back a step by the blow, while Ummar was carried forward by his momentum. Rafe could have struck, but instead he spun away from the larger man. Ummar turned, bellowing a war cry that made the hair on Tiberius’ neck stand up. He was in a blood rage now, striking blow after blow with the heavy sword. Rafe dodged first one way, then the other, blocking the bigger man’s strikes only when necessary. It was impossible to tell how tired the big man was, but Tiberius could see sweat breaking out across Rafe’s chest and shoulders. Ummar, covered in oil, his hair already wet, seemed relentless. He fought like a wild animal, charging forward, chasing down Rafe until finally the smaller man fell. It was the combination of a massive blow by Ummar, and simple trip as Rafe’s feet brushed into one another. Rafe fell onto his back and for an instant Tiberius feared the worst. His breath caught in his throat and his body went rigid with fear.

Ummar slammed his sword down hard, but Rafe rolled slightly to avoid the blow. The heavy bronze sword bit hard into the spongy turf and at that same moment Rafe rolled back, putting his body weight on top of his opponent’s weapon while thrusting his own up into Ummar’s bulging bicep. Blood gushed out, splashing down on Rafe, turning the white paint on his chest and stomach pink. The big warrior jumped back in pain, but didn’t release his sword. The sudden movement caught Rafe off guard and sent him rolling away. He used the momentum to regain his feet.

Tiberius looked at Moswanee, and for the first time the Chieftain looked uncertain. Ummar swapped his sword into his other hand, as blood continued to drip down his wounded right arm. He bellowed again, but this time his charge was slower. Tiberius looked at Moswanee and saw the skeletal chief’s mouth moving.

“
Scuti Incantatio
” Tiberius said loudly.

The magic swirled around him. He could feel the wall of magic in front of him, it was so powerful it felt almost solid. He thrust it out, throwing his hands up as if to push the magic forward. He willed it to move in front of Rafe, who was backing up before the furious Ummar.