Preserving the Ingenairii (64 page)

“Hey!
 
You gave folks a jolt,” a voice said as a toe nudged his own shoe.
 
“I came looking for you to let you know we noticed.
 
The two blades was a nice stunt; you should have saved that for a later match when you might need it and could catch someone off-guard.”
 
Alec looked up and realized that the Scarle champion, Nabakov, was talking to him.

“Thanks,” Alec said.

There was a long, silent pause.

 
“Crebben said you don’t talk much.
 
That probably helps you stay out of trouble.
 
I talk a lot, but I can fight my way out of trouble,” Nabakov blithely remarked.
 
“You keep fighting like that and stick with me and when I’ve got the princess after all this is over, I’ll find a couple of her friends for you to enjoy.

“I need to head in for my first match.
 
See you in there,” the warrior added as he turned and walked back to the stadium.

Alec sat and watched the stream of people walking past after Nabakov left.
 
It was still early in the day, and already the crowd seemed to be large, larger than he remembered for the early matches in the last tournament he had been in, decades ago.
 
Perhaps the stakes in this tournament were so high that they pulled the population in – it sounded as though the throne of the empire was potentially at stake.

It was time for him to head into the arena and prepare for his match.
 
People were murmuring as the crowd passed him.
 
They weren’t speaking about him individually, but talking about the red robe, the Scarle clan that was widely known to be plotting the restoration of Mikhail to the throne.

Inside the arena, Alec was directed to pen three, where there were two warriors waiting for him to join them.
 
This was the round from which only one man would move on.
 
Alec studied the other two, as they also looked at him.
 
There was an Emeral and an independent warrior in white.
 
In this round there was supposed to be a less capable warrior along with two competitive ones.
 
Alec should have been considered the easy one to beat, since he came from the qualifying match; that meant these other two swordsmen would be competent, and he would need to fight a strong battle.

“Pen Three, you’re next.
 
Move to the door,” an official called.
 
Alec let the other two lead the way, and noticed Nabakov was in the group in Pen Four, as well as a Scarle fighter in Pen Five.
 
The red house members would be cheering for several matches in a row.
 
Alec and his competition stood at the door and had their weapons briefly inspected, then the match in the ring ended, and they were ushered along.

“We’re behind schedule.
 
Make it fast,” an official told the three of them as they stepped into the sandy fighting ring.
 
The three of them looked at each other, then spread out and waited.
 
The bell rang, and the Emeral swordsman automatically came towards Alec.
 
So I am the weak one
, Alec reflected as he raised his sword and advanced away from the rope boundary.

His sword and the green-clad warrior’s sword clashed in a high exchange.
 
Alec competently riposted to a lower position, but the other man successfully blocked him and they returned to a high clash of steel again.
 
The man was heavier than Alec.
 
Alec realized he was going to have to maneuver to manage a successful wound on the man, and he began to turn the exchange to his left.
 
His opponent allowed him to lead the direction, not saying a word, until Alec stopped and suddenly rolled back to his right, swiping his sword across the other man’s thigh as he went.

He had scored the first wound, and he stood to see if the man would retire or remain to fight.
 
The expression on his face made clear to Alec that he intended to fight on, and was angry to have suffered a wound at all.
 
Alec rushed the man and began to maneuver him to the left again.
 
Four steps later, Alec
feinted
another roll to his right.
 
The Emeral warrior reacted to the rightward ruse, and Alec was able to easily drive the point of his sword into the man’s shoulder, an injury that ended the battle.

“Very unexpected,” the white-dressed bystander remarked as he advanced towards Alec.
 
Alec was unwilling to comment, and decided to make this match a faster one, rushing towards his opponent and pressing an active attack that matched up well against the wiry swordsman.
 
Alec had him pressed against the ropes and pinked both shoulders, drawing a graceful surrender.

Alec and his opponent shook hands,
then
walked out of the arena and back into the shadowy maze of columns and pens where fighters were coming and going.
 

“Nice going.
 
Our house is already ahead now – that Emeral fighter was favored to win at least two matches, maybe make it to the finals,” Nabakov said conversationally as they passed.

“Your next match will be in ninety minutes,” an official reported to Alec as he did a post-battle inspection of his blade.
 
“Be back here then.”

Alec went out to a carnival setting nearby, where he watched a man handling horses, and thought about his last tournament.
 
He had been here with Rief, she had supported and encouraged him, and it had made him feel better.
 
Restless, he returned to the stadium, but went up into the stands and walked among the crowd, watching the people, and glancing at the combat below from time to time.
 
The boxes were filling with nobles and high merchants he noticed, although the emperor’s box was still empty.

Two boxes of seats were isolated from the others in the crowd, and they had a heavy contingent of armed guards around them, Alec noticed.
 
There were Scarle men and also men with the gray and black fringed robes he had fought during the attempt to kidnap the emperor at the promenade.
 
Linen screens hid the sight of the occupants, arousing Alec’s curiosity even more.

Whatever trouble was brewing at this tournament would see prominent activity from those boxes he was sure.

Alec had reached the time to return and receive his assignment to his next pen.
 
In this round he faced only a single opponent, a large man wearing Canare colors.
 
They entered the ring to battle, and at the sound of the bell Alec’s opponent advanced and engaged in some testing strokes.
 
His footwork was flawless, and Alec knew he was facing the toughest opponent he’d seen so far.

The man had a long reach, and a long blade.
 
Alec felt his tunic ripple from one nearly-successful slice, and he debated whether to call upon his warrior powers to fight this match.
 
Alec felt pleased that he had avoided any use of his energies for battle so far, other than healing his first round cut.
 
He wanted to save his use of powers for the final match.
 
Alec decided to use finesse and deception to win this match if possible, and to save his energies for the last battle.

Backing up, Alec watched the timing of his the yellow-sleeved attacks, and as a third consecutive chop whistled from left to his right, Alec flipped his sword to his right hand and brought it down savagely.
 
He felt the blade sever the tendons in the wrist of his opponent, and he quickly stepped away as the other man’s blade fell to the ground and he grabbed his arm to staunch the bleeding.

The victory was clearly Alec’s, and a roar went up from the crowd as Alec became the first member to qualify for the finals.
 
He bowed towards the emperor’s stand, where there were now people sitting, and then waved to the crowd in all directions.

“Come on, give it up!” Nabakov said as he prepared to enter the ring.
 
He was looking at Alec in a way that let Alec know he was being sized up as a potential opponent.
 
“Nice trick, but it won’t work in the next match.
 
Have anything else up your sleeve?”

Alec shook his head and walked away.
 
Hands were reaching out to slap his back as he entered the gateway to the waiting area.
 
“You’re the first one to qualify, so you’ve got a good long wait until the final match begins,” an official told him as he walked up to look at his blade.
 
“You’ve given Scarle a boost, haven’t you, taking out two big contenders?” he returned the blade to Alec and walked off.

If he remained among the warriors in the arena, Alec had a notion of what would happen.
 
He’d be told to make sure he lost to Nabakov in the finals; anyone involved with Scarle would pass the message along.
 
He decided his best option was to make himself scarce, so he left the space below the stands and walked up to enter the stands, sitting in a crowded section where his red robes were less visible in a sea of mixed colors.

The crowd was restless.
 
They expected Nabakov to win on behalf of Scarle and the deposed emperor; the word of that arrangement had spread far and wide.
 
But their sympathy was with the new emperor, Sergey.
 
They trusted him to do the right thing for the nation.
 
Alec was at a loss for a way to channel that support in this critical scene.

Nabakov won his match, and after a pause in the action, the match to choose the third finalist began.
 
Alec only watched it half-heartedly as he scanned the crowd, and looked at the covered Scarle box.
 
What
could they
be hiding there, he wondered.
 
Were there a dozen archers set to shoot at the emperor, or some other trick hidden in plain sight?
 
The third and fourth matches were completed, and Alec knew that his time was approaching.
 
The emperor had not yet arrived from watching the archery finals, so the fencing match could not be held.

A distant fanfare of horns sounded, indicating the movement of the emperor.
 
Alec scrambled out of his seat and went around to the outside of the stadium and then back into the pen area, where numerous officials and warriors were milling.
 
“Hustle up, son!” an official told him.
 
“Get over to the gate or you’re out.”

Nabokov was waiting for him along with an Indige and an Emeral warrior.
 
“I thought maybe you would just not show up, which wouldn’t be a bad strategy,” the large warrior told him in a sneering tone.
 
“You take out whichever one of those two you want, and then you fold, got it?”

Alec looked up at the confident warrior.
 
“I will win,” he said, drawling as best he could.

A bell chimed before Nabokov could respond, and together they joined the other contestants and officials to walk out onto the sands for the final encounter of the tournament.
 
The emperor was in his box, Alec saw, surrounded by significant security.
 
The four warriors took their spots, Alec being the youngest in appearance.

A horn blew a triumphant flourish, and the Indige swordsman turned towards Alec.
 
Alec accepted the unspoken proposition, and stepped towards him as well, squaring off as Nabokov and the Emeral warrior paired up.

Alec’s opponent began to probe his defenses, searching right and left, high and low, for a weakness in Alec’s skills.
 
“You’re the first fighter to ever come all the way from the qualifying match to the finals,” the Indige swordsman said.
 
“I salute you.

“I heard you were picked up at the promenade.
 
It’s a shame my own house didn’t find you; you’d be fencing for a much more honorable cause than wanting to kill an emperor,” he continued, and then attacked in earnest.
 
He’d apparently concluded that Alec’s low defenses were weak, as his sword whistled past Alec’s knees repeatedly.
 
Suddenly he reached high and the tip of his blade sliced painfully across Alec’s forehead before the Dominion warrior could defend himself adequately.

“Nice stroke,” Alec said.
 
“But you’re wrong; I’m not going to harm Sergey.
 
I support him,” he said as he moved slightly to his right.