The usual lights shone in the windows, but I sensed the emptiness even before I unlocked the door. Three of my father’s servants should have been on the premises – the cook to prepare the evening meal and the two armed guards who were always in attendance after dark. I knew that Teena and her son were spending the night at the Respite House, but Deinon and Ada should also have been home.
I went into the kitchen – to be greeted with silence. Unnerved, I called out loudly, ‘Ada! Deinon! I’m home!’
There was no reply.
A stew was simmering on the stove, but there was no sign of the cook. I went upstairs and knocked on the door of the bedroom Deinon shared with Leif – the long room that, until those two became permanent residents, my father had always given his youngest trainees. There was no reply, so I eased open the door. The room was empty.
I went to Ada’s room. That was empty too. Now I was becoming anxious. I looked through the window, down onto the yard, and drew in a sharp breath. Something was moving in the darkness.
At that moment the moon came out from behind a cloud to illuminate a cloaked figure crawling slowly across the flags, heading for the back door.
It was a tassel – one of Hob’s servants. They were cannibals and killers. Did it intend to enter the house? I wondered.
I allowed my blade to slip down my sleeve into my left hand and listened carefully as it halted with its forehead almost touching the door. What was it doing? Was it trying to break in?
To my surprise, the tassel turned and crawled away from the door, heading towards the far wall of the yard. Then the moon was covered by cloud again, and I could see it no more.
Holding the knife, I crept slowly downstairs, not knowing what to expect. Then I saw a sheet of paper on the floor. It had been pushed under the door.
I carried it to the light of the nearest candle and examined the writing. It was crude, and appeared to have been scrawled in blood.
Ada is my prisoner. I offer her one chance of life. Come to the Wheel tonight and face me in Arena 13. She will be my target. You will defend her. If you refuse to fight, I will cause her extreme and prolonged pain before I finally slit her throat.
I knew that Hob often lied and realized that Ada might already be dead.
But I couldn’t assume this. I had to go. I had no choice.
I am preparing to fight Hob.
I will do so in the hope of saving Ada’s life.
I begin my ritual. I stare at my face in the mirror and concentrate. I mouth the first command:
‘Paint it black!’
The girl in the mirror obeys immediately, tracing the contour of her top lip with swift, precise strokes.
I mouth the second command:
‘Paint it red!’
Once more my reflection in the mirror obeys, painting her bottom lip the rich red of arterial blood.
I scowl so that the girl in the mirror looks fierce.
Her dark hair is longer on one side, reaching down to the edge of her jaw; on the other it barely reaches her eyebrow, which means that the scar is clearly visible. It is a thin diagonal line that extends from just below the left eye to the edge of the mouth.
I am already wearing the traditional Arena 13 shorts and jerkin, so that my arms and legs are bare, ready to be cut. Now I move away from the mirror and sit on the bed, reaching down to pick up my left boot. It must always be the left boot first. I tug it on and begin to lace it up. I tie a triple knot. Now it is the turn of the right boot. Once again I finish with a triple knot.
These are the special red Trig boots that Leif bought for me. They are the same colour as Hob’s blood.
It is now time to ask the important question. I face the mirror again and lean forward so that my forehead is almost touching it. Then I speak:
‘Girl in the mirror on the wall,
Who is the fastest of them all?’
She stares back at me and we mouth a single word in unison:
‘Kwin!’
Once again, the ritual is complete, and now we are one.
I am Kwin, and I am ready to fight my enemy.
I left the house and crossed the city alone, hastening through the dark streets. None of the lanterns were lit – Gindeen was deserted. People were cowering behind bolted doors, fearing reprisals. The attack on Hob’s lair was supposed to be a secret, but secrets are difficult to keep in this city.
I feared for Leif and my father. They were down in the tunnels deep below the citadel. I wondered if they had slain Hob’s other selves? Or had Hob triumphed? Were they already dead?
But Hob had threatened to kill me in front of Leif. A truly dark thought entered my head. Perhaps the attack had failed and Leif was already his prisoner. I pushed the thought out of my mind and hurried on towards the Wheel, through the streets of a city lit with the silver light of the horned moon.
At last its wooden mass reared up above the surrounding houses, obscuring the stars and moon. The last people had long since left the building. I let myself in with my father’s keys. The place was not in total darkness: a few torches were still lit so I could find my way to Arena 13.
I went down under the spectators’ gallery and entered the Green Room. Here I saw a body lying next to the table. I approached it slowly, my heart racing, hardly daring to look in case it was my father or Leif.
It was neither of them, but it was somebody I knew.
The dead man was Wode, an artificer who had been my father’s friend ever since they’d trained together as boys. His neck was broken, and the sight of his open, staring eyes reminded me of what had happened in the museum – the moment when the lights came back on and I found Goodwin dead at my feet.
Shuddering, I took a deep breath to calm myself and headed for the far door. Beyond it, a short corridor led to the arena itself.
Here I saw another body, and this time I let out a wail of grief; tears began to run down my cheeks.
For I saw that it was poor Deinon.
His had not been the quick death meted out to Goodwin and Wode. Kneeling down beside him, I saw that his face was contorted with pain, the front of his shirt covered in blood, which pooled around his body. Now I realized that his fingers had been broken and were twisted at impossible angles.
Time seemed to stop as I stared down at him. He’d had such promise, such talent. He would have become one of the greatest patterners the city had ever seen. Leif and Deinon were close friends. If Leif survived, I’d have to break the terrible news to him.
Now I thought of Ada, who I hoped was still alive, and tore my gaze away. I got to my feet. Once again my whole body was trembling. I stepped round the body, avoiding the pool of blood.
The min door was open, so I moved cautiously into the arena, drawing the two Trigladius blades from the sheaths at my belt. There was no sign of Hob, and the large mag door was closed.
But Ada was there – and she was alive! She stood with her back to the far wall, staring at me.
She was dressed for combat in Arena 13, clad in the traditional leather shorts and jerkin so that, like mine, her flesh was open to the blade. She wore black Trigladius boots too. But the lower part of her face was fitted with a brown leather mask. It was moulded tightly to her flesh so that she was unable to speak words of Nym to our enemy.
Tears started to stream down her cheeks. For a moment I thought she was afraid of what she was about to face, but then I realized the truth: she already knew that Deinon was dead. She had liked the boy and they had grown close as she trained him in the use of Nym. Hob had made her witness his death.
My first thought was to remove the mask so that Ada could speak. I moved closer and raised a blade towards her, wondering how to cut it away without injuring her.
However, before I could do anything, her eyes widened in fear and I heard the deep rumble of the mag door.
I turned as Hob stepped through into the arena.
His huge figure was shrouded in darkness. This was the creature feared by everyone in Ginde
en: the bogeyman that children were warned against. He filled their nightmares with horror. His shadow moved across cot and bed. He lurked within wardrobes, stared up at windows and sent shudders through the night.
A terrible unreasoning fear filled me, making my heart pound so that I gasped for breath and felt faint. The arena spun about me and darkness grew in the corners of my eyes.
I took a deep breath and focused upon what had to be done. Once more I recited the words of the ritual in my head:
Girl in the mirror on the wall,
Who is the fastest of them all?
‘Kwin!’
My heart thudded with a deeper and steadier rhythm as both doors began to close. Far above, the thirteen-branched candelabrum flared and started to descend. Now the arena was flooded with light. I stared at my enemy and moved between him and Ada.
Hob was also dressed for the arena, but he wasn’t wearing his usual bronze mask. His head was larger than that of a man and was completely bald. His nose was hooked, like the beak of a predatory bird. But it was his eyes that drew my attention. There were large areas of white below the dark pupils, and as he stared unblinkingly at me, my legs suddenly felt weak.
I remembered what Leif had told me about their contest – how Hob had exerted some strange power so that Leif had felt powerless, in thrall to the djinni’s will. I attempted to look away, but it was difficult. His eyes were fixed on mine. With a supreme effort, I broke the connection, staring instead at his mouth.
It was then that Hob spoke.
‘Your father is dead, though the boy you love still lives.’
Tears sprang to my eyes. Hob could have been lying, but something told me that this was the truth. I felt a tremendous sense of loss, which threatened to overwhelm me.
‘That is why I have summoned you here,’ Hob continued. ‘I intend to kill you – and the woman who stands behind you. I will do it slowly. Piece by piece I will cut away your flesh until you are almost unrecognizable as human beings. The woman tried to destroy me, and for that she will die. But my purpose in killing you is different. I want the boy, Leif, to see what I have done to you. When he arrives, despite your terrible injuries, you will still be breathing, still be conscious. I want him to hear you plead for death. I made him a promise long ago, and now I intend to keep it.’
He drew his blades from the scabbards at his hips and took a step towards me. I raised my own blades, ready to defend myself.
He towered over me, and I felt very small.
Hob paused, and the expression on his face was difficult to read. It was a mixture of contempt and hatred.
‘The boy has changed since our first encounter,’ he said gloatingly. ‘He dared to threaten me and I was about to slay him on the spot. He sought revenge for the deaths of the humans who begat him. He was ready to die. Ready to sacrifice his own life in a hopeless attempt upon mine. But I saw how I might punish him. “Whom do you love?” I demanded, and he admitted that he had friends but loved no one. I saw that, like most humans, he would one day be subject to this weakness – he would love someone. I knew that if I were to kill the one he loved, it would hurt him more than death itself. You are now the object of his love, and that is why you are about to die.’
Without warning, Hob took two rapid steps towards me and lunged with the blade in his right hand. I wasn’t fast enough to avoid it completely, but instead of cutting my shoulder to the bone, it sliced away only a small piece of flesh.
The pain seared through me, but I danced away, blood trickling down my arm, aware that Ada was moving with me, keeping me between her and Hob.
Having to defend Ada worried me. She was the greatest patterner who ever lived, so adept that, had it not been for the intervention of the Protector’s Guard, her wurdes would have destroyed all Hob’s selves. But she wasn’t trained to fight in Arena 13. She knew the patterns of the combat dance, but wasn’t practised in executing them herself.
I was slim and fit, my body perfectly honed for combat here. And I was very fast – faster than Leif, although I wouldn’t say this to his face. But Ada carried more weight than me. She would struggle to dance close to my back, as she had to. So I would be forced to avoid Hob’s blades while, at the same time, defending Ada.
Even without that, I think it would have been difficult to triumph over him.
Hob attacked again, and I moved backwards rapidly, bumping into Ada. At least she had anticipated my sudden retreat, and we managed to recover from that momentary clumsiness. Even better, I reacted quickly enough to strike Hob, cutting him on his left forearm. It was nothing – a minor wound – but it boosted my confidence. I was fast enough to cut Hob, but next time the cut had to be deeper.
I danced away to the right, retreating towards the wall of the arena. I could hear Ada moving close behind me. So far, so good.
Now Hob attacked me with both blades, but I avoided them.
Again I cut him – this time on the other arm; again the wound was minor, but it showed what I was capable of.
Could Hob know fear? I wondered. Would he be concerned by what I had already achieved? Could he imagine losing, even dying, at my hand?
But now, suddenly, he attacked again, pressing me back. I could hear Ada breathing heavily. The longer I was forced to defend her, the more difficult it would be for her to stay safely in position behind me.
We were hard against the wall now. Ada must have been touching it. I drummed with my boots on the boards of the arena, using the sound-code Ulum, signalling to her the move I was about to make. It was fortunate that she’d worked with me in training. Each code was private, known only to a combatant and the lac or lacs working for them. An opponent didn’t know what was being signalled.
Together we danced away to the left, but Ada was slower than me. I tried to protect her by blocking Hob’s blades, but I was only partially successful.
I heard a muffled cry of pain and, as we danced clear and returned to the relative safety of the centre of the arena, I glanced back. There was blood trickling from Ada’s fingertips, and I saw a cut on her forearm – though it didn’t look too serious. Fortunately Hob had missed the artery.
He came at me again, but I held my ground, blocking his blades and then slicing back at him. I avoided his eyes and looked only at his body, attempting to predict each of his moves.
Then, very suddenly, it all went wrong.
Hob lunged forward with even greater ferocity, and I struggled to defend myself. Had he been holding back until now, just playing with me? I wondered.
He forced me to retreat, and again Ada didn’t move fast enough. She was thrown backwards onto the ground. I stumbled and went down on one knee.
Hob ignored me and went straight for Ada, stabbing with both blades.
I’d always thought I was fast – the fastest and the best. Now I proved that it was true.
Somehow I got between Hob and Ada – though there was a price to be paid for this move.
Hob’s blade cut my cheek open from eye to earlobe. The wound was deep and I felt the blood gush out. Now I would have two scars, but this one would be much deeper.
Hob took a couple of steps backwards and gave me a superior smile. ‘Now I will take another piece of your flesh!’ he gloated.
But I knew what I had to do, even though it carried a terrible risk. Hob was so fast I knew I might not manage it without losing my life.
I dived and rolled forward between Hob’s legs, cutting upwards with both blades, committing myself to the Mihalick Manoeuvre – the Death Gambit.
THE WHEEL OF REVENGE
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
The Compendium of Ancient Tales and Ballads
HOB
There was pain and darkness. But then, within that darkness, consciousness began, like the first flicker of candlelight illuminating a crypt.
The pain increased as awareness grew, and finally a muscle convulsed.
With a supreme effort, Hob opened his eyes.
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At first he could see nothing; all was silent. But he could feel the cold wind upon his face and sense a movement somewhere above him in the darkness. He gathered what energy he could to create some light.
The horizon was sharply curved, as if he was standing on a small hill – an artificial mound like those once used by the ancients to inter their dead. Beyond its rim he could see points of light.
He seemed to be a little way above this mound, and he tried – and failed – to make sense of it. He searched his memory, but it was fragmented. However, he did remember an enemy, a formidable enemy. Not merely one. There had been many enemies.
There was memory of defeat; memory of pain; memory of dismemberment.
He realized then that he had neither arms nor legs; not even a torso. He turned his gaze inwards, searching down into his innermost being, searching for the gorestad, the high mind.
Then he knew the ultimate pain – the pain of final defeat. There was no gorestad. He was just one self; he was all that remained. He had been mutilated and scattered so widely that he could no longer be regenerated.
It was then that Hob recognized the dark shapes wheeling far above him …
The vulture moved closer to the carrion. It was a scavenger, and would normally have waited for its prey to die. But this prey was helpless and almost immobile. It took three strides forward, spread its wings wide and fixed the sky with a hard stare. It raised its ruff of feathers, signalling dominion – claiming ownership of the meat below.
The other scavengers were already gliding closer in long widdershins spirals. They were not daunted by this display. They would all taste this flesh.
Seeing the intent of its fellows, the vulture flapped its wings and half flew, half hopped onto the head, which was impaled on the sharp broken flagpole. Its claws pierced the bald crown, and the ravening beak came down, seeking the flesh within the left eye-socket.