Kwin looked beautiful, and I knew that her soul must be singing with joy.
Although women had previously been forbidden to fight in Arena 13, the brave and spirited Kwin had fought one of the lacs, blade against blade, in her father’s cellar. She had won, but she had also been cut. Now, her hair was cut short on one side to reveal the scar because she looked upon it as a badge of honour. She was also proud of the 13 she’d had tattooed on her forehead. That fight had demonstrated her courage. Now the recent political turmoil and shifts of power had turned custom on its head. History was about to be made.
My friend Deinon, who was also a trainee, was seated on my left. He was staring down into the arena, his face full of concern. Kwin was his friend too and he really cared about her. But she was much more than that to me.
Pyncheon held up his hands and gazed at the gallery. ‘Let it begin!’ he called out, moving towards the mag door. There he paused and lifted the trumpet to his lips. There was a high, shrill note, and then the two doors rumbled shut.
This was the signal to begin, and the combatants rushed towards each other.
For a moment my heart was in my mouth. As they came together, I suddenly became aware of a faint odour, almost hidden by the perfume worn by the women in the audience. It was the stench of blood.
The floorboards below us were stained with it – both old and new. Only this season, four combatants had been slain. Three had been accidental deaths; one the result of a grudge match – which were fought to the death. My blood had also stained that floor. I had fought the djinn, Hob, and defeated him. But he had cut off my right ear.
You got accustomed to that smell, but it reminded you that combatants sometimes died in Arena 13. Now Kwin was down there, and blades were seeking her flesh.
There was a clash of metal against armour, the glint of blades as lac fought lac, human combatants dancing behind them. Attack and retreat, attack and retreat – this was the pattern as Kwin launched her single lac against her opponent, with his three.
My fear faded and I smiled with satisfaction. She was slowly driving Rubico’s tri-glad backwards. This was no mean feat; although no older than thirty, he was a veteran of the arena and was ranked in the top third of magus combatants, those who fought with three lacs.
For five minutes they would fight behind their lacs. Then a gong would sound and, after a short pause, they would move in front. This was much more dangerous, and Kwin would then be vulnerable both to the blades of her opponent and to those of his three lacs.
I hoped she’d win before that stage was reached.
I licked my lips nervously and looked at Tyron, who was sitting on my right. He was staring down into the arena, watching his daughter fight. He couldn’t keep still – fidgeting in his seat and rapping his fingers against his knees. He was the best artificer in Gindeen, and I was a trainee in his stable of fighters. Tyron had also replaced Pyncheon as Head of the Wheel Directorate. He was now one of the most important men in the city.
Just to his right sat Ada, who had patterned Kwin’s lac. She had once been the High Adept of the Imperial Academy and was twice-born: she had died hundreds of years ago and was reborn into the false flesh from which all djinn are formed, still retaining her brilliance as a patterner. She had been the first woman to pattern a lac to fight in Arena 13 – and her skills were such that she made it sentient. She’d named that lac Thrym, and we’d fought together to defeat one of Hob’s selves in the arena.
The lac that now defended Kwin was not sentient. Still, I hoped that Ada had made it good enough to ensure Kwin’s victory.
I began to feel nervous again, my concern for Kwin growing. The aim was not to kill one’s opponent, merely to draw blood, but accidents did happen. I gritted my teeth and thrust that thought from my mind.
There was a roar of approval from the gallery. Kwin and her lac had driven her opponents right back against the arena wall and they were struggling to escape. The women began to cheer and stamp their feet, and there were shrieks of delight. Kwin was very fast: she was using Ulum – signalling to her lac by drumming her boots on the arena floor – and positioning it perfectly so that it could use its blades effectively.
‘Good girl! Good girl!’ I heard Tyron exclaim as we heard that metallic sound, signifying that a blade had struck the iron collar of an opposing lac, almost entering the throat-slit. Any moment now Kwin must surely prevail. The five minutes were almost up. Soon the gong would sound for a pause in the fighting. Then the human combatants would reposition themselves, fighting head to head, with their lacs behind them. They would both be more vulnerable. Both could be cut badly.
Tyron was leaning forward, drumming his fingers on the rail now, his face anxious. ‘Now, Kwin! Finish it now, girl!’ he said.
At first he had been against his daughter fighting in the arena. It had taken Ada weeks to persuade him to allow it. No doubt he was now regretting that decision.
Suddenly there were jeers from the front row of the gallery. They came from that group of boorish men. Then there was a flash of red, and Kwin’s lac appeared to be covered in blood.
My heart leaped with fear. Had Rubico been cut? Or was it Kwin?
The audience was stunned into silence, but then there was a burst of raucous laughter. I glanced across and saw that one of the men was holding a metal container that dripped a red liquid.
It was paint, not blood, I realized. He had thrown it in protest against a female fighting in the arena. It had caused serious damage to Kwin’s lac, penetrating the horizontal slit in its helmet and blinding it.
It staggered backwards, almost colliding with her. The creature couldn’t see well enough to defend itself.
The contest should be halted, I thought. How could it be allowed to continue? I listened for the trumpet, but Pyncheon was unmoved – though he was watching and surely knew what had happened.
In a second a blade would call endoff on Kwin’s lac; she would lose and be forced to accept the ritual cut to signify her defeat.
What happened next brought Tyron to his feet.
It was so quick that I almost missed it. Kwin stepped in front of her lac and dived forward, still holding her blades. She did a forward roll between the legs of the opposing tri-glad.
My heart was in my mouth as blades stabbed down at her. I didn’t want to watch but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. What Kwin had done was incredibly brave, but she had taken a terrible risk.
Somehow she avoided those blades. Then she was past the opposing lacs, still rolling. With the blade in her left hand, she struck at Rubico’s legs and cut him below the knee.
A second later a blade found the throat-slit of her own lac to call endoff. But Kwin had already drawn blood. She had won her first contest – though at great risk to her life.
The applause was thunderous. I was on my feet, clapping and cheering at the top of my voice. Deinon and I slapped each other on the back in amazement and relief – but Tyron shook his head, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He had probably aged ten years in the last few minutes.
Assistant marshals were already striding down the far aisle to arrest the group of men who had thrown the paint. I hoped they would be fined and banned from the gallery for a very long time.
We went back to Tyron’s house for a small celebratory end-of-season party. Deinon and I were still living there while our training continued. We shared the accommodation with Tyron and his two daughters, Kwin and Teena, and Teena’s son, Robbie.
‘You are to be congratulated, daughter, on winning your first contest in Arena 13,’ Tyron said, raising his glass in a toast. ‘But don’t you ever dare do that again! I have enough grey hairs already!’
There was a chink of glasses and cries of approval and congratulation. But, despite his apparent joviality, I could see the tension in Tyron’s face. His hair was already grey, shaved to little more than stubble; the lines around his eyes were deepening and advancing towards his cheeks.
I
knew how he’d felt. My heart had lurched when Kwin rolled through the legs of the lacs. I thought I was going to lose her.
She had performed what was known as the Mihalick Manoeuvre, commonly known as the Death Gambit. It was named after the man who’d first used the tactic. Mihalick was the only one who survived and won. Five other combatants had attempted the manoeuvre since. Four had died, cut to ribbons by the blades of their opponent’s lacs; the fifth had been badly maimed. He now hobbled along with a stick and had lost the use of his left arm.
I knew that Kwin had been desperate to win her first contest, but she shouldn’t have taken such a risk. I was annoyed with her for putting her life on the line, but even more annoyed with Pyncheon, the Chief Marshal. He should have stopped the fight the moment the paint landed on the lac’s head. No doubt he wanted to see Kwin lose.
Tyron would be having a word with him. He’d also given his daughter a private telling-off. But Kwin was Kwin: she always did what she wanted. There was no way she would allow herself to be defeated in her first contest in Arena 13.
I looked around the room. There were about thirty people at the party: artificers like Tyron, including the bushy-browed Brid and the lanky, awkward Wode, who were close colleagues, each with his own stable of combatants. They had put their lives at risk in our failed attempt to destroy every one of Hob’s selves after I’d defeated him with Thrym.
That was a threat that Kwin, fortunately, hadn’t had to face tonight. Hob, the djinni who lived in a thirteen-spired citadel on the hill above the city, could visit at any time to challenge those who fought in Arena 13. Normally a lottery decided which human combatant would fight him. So Kwin might have been chosen.
But things had changed. Generally I did not summon Thrym to fight in the arena, but it had been agreed that, should Hob visit, I would be the one to face him. Thrym would wait below, ready for such an eventuality.
Together, we had beaten Hob once, and we could do it again.
Following the removal of the Protector, who had been put in place by the djinn who dwelt beyond the Barrier to rule over Midgard, people had waited fearfully. Some believed that hordes of monstrous djinn would charge through the Barrier to slaughter us all. A city militia had been formed to complement the Genthai army, but nothing had happened.
People were also afraid of Hob. He had preyed upon the city for centuries – though since the fall of the Protector he’d killed nobody; nor had he visited the Wheel to issue a challenge. We’d thought that the djinn had appointed the Protector as sole ruler. But after his fall it had been revealed that a dual authority had governed Midgard; Hob had been the other ruler.
So why hadn’t he intervened in some way? I wondered. His silence and inaction were unnerving. People believed that he possessed terrible weapons of destruction; many feared that he might use them against Gindeen.
At first the fearful inhabitants had stayed indoors as much as possible, but the city needed food, and soon farmers started to deliver their produce and bring their cattle to the slaughterhouse again. Life had returned to an uneasy routine.
My eyes searched the room. A few combatants had come to the party; some of them I’d fought in the arena since defeating Hob. I’d ended the season in the top third – which wasn’t bad considering I’d had so few contests. Next year I hoped that Tyron would allow me to fight twice a week right through the season. Then I’d have a real chance of coming first in the rankings.
My father, Math, had been Arena 13’s best fighter. My aim was to match his achievement and, if I got the chance, to defeat Hob over and over again.
I was watching Tyron’s guests when Deinon came across to join me.
‘I’m off very early tomorrow, Leif,’ he said with a smile. ‘I won’t even have time for breakfast. I have to go and help on the farm.’
‘So soon?’ I asked.
‘I’ve little choice, I’m afraid. My family need an extra pair of hands.’
The farm had been going through a bad patch. This season Deinon’s father had been unable to pay for his son’s training, but Tyron had generously waived the fee. He really believed in Deinon, who showed great promise as a patterner, using wurdes of Nym to shape and improve the lacs. I had speed, quick reflexes and strength – skills that were good for the arena; Deinon had brains, and would one day make a great artificer, with his own stable of combatants.
‘What will you do, Leif?’ Deinon asked.
Last year I’d gone to visit the Genthai, but I had no plans to do so again. I was half Genthai, half city dweller, but increasingly I had felt the tug of my father’s people. They were warriors who dwelt in the forest and had no fear of Hob. One day they hoped to cross the Barrier, defeat the djinn and reclaim the whole world for humans. It seemed a hopeless task, but they truly believed that it could be done.
Since then some of the Genthai had left their forest. Their leader, Konnit, and many of his warriors were now based in the east wing of the Protector’s palace, where the Ruling Council met. Others patrolled close to the city. As time passed, it seemed less likely that the djinn would attack, but defensive strategies were being drawn up.
‘Tyron’s asked me to stay here and carry on with light training right through the autumn and winter. It sounds good to me. And it means that I’ll be close to Kwin,’ I said with a smile.
‘Lucky you!’ Deinon laughed.
I was lucky – very lucky – to have Kwin. I was looking forward to spending time with her during the long winter. I was looking forward to the training too. I wanted to perfect my performance so as to be ready if Hob came to fight again. The djinni possessed one mind but many selves. Defeating and killing one of them in Arena 13 would not only diminish the threat he presented, it would give me great satisfaction. It was Hob who had brought about the deaths of my parents. I wanted to hurt him as much as I could.
We both glanced across at Kwin. She was talking to Ada, who was now an artificer in her own right, although she shared Tyron’s training facilities and lived here. So far she only had a stable of one – Kwin – but she was also helping with Deinon’s training as a patterner.
As I watched, Teena, Tyron’s elder daughter, joined them. They chatted briefly and then went off to talk to the other guests. I felt a twinge of disappointment. I wouldn’t get a chance to be alone with Kwin until the next day.
However, I consoled myself with the thought that we would be together for the whole autumn and winter.
But it was not to be.
A DANGEROUS INVITATION
I began to feel as if I was the expression of a higher power, an aspect of Nym, the goddess of all pattern, movement and dance.
The Testimony of Math
LEIF
Early the following morning, soon after I’d waved Deinon off, a visitor called at the house.
It was a warrior with a summons from the leader of the Genthai. Konnit wanted to see me right away. Breakfast would have to wait.
I walked across the city to the east wing of the palace. I found Konnit alone, sitting at a long table. I sat down opposite him.
While Tyron had aged during the last year, Konnit looked younger. His moustache was a rich brown – the same colour as his long hair – his face was decorated with the full Genthai tattoos, and he radiated strength and purpose.
He welcomed me with a smile. ‘First, Leif, I must congratulate you on the part you played in bringing the negotiations between the Genthai and the City Directorate to a successful conclusion so that we now have a joint Ruling Council.’
‘Thank you, lord,’ I said, bowing to him.
‘I would like to invite you to join a small expedition we are planning. Note that I “invite”; I do not command you. It will be very dangerous and you and the other Genthai warriors will be away for at least three months – maybe longer. The purpose is to carry out some reconnaissance beyond the Barrier.’
I looked at Konnit in amazement. Everyone considered the Barrier to be an insuperable obstacle. Even to approach i
t drove some men insane. That high, swirling wall of mist and fear kept us confined. Only the Trader crossed it with impunity – and he did so by ship. Moreover he was not a prisoner of the Barrier; his home lay somewhere beyond it.
‘You look astonished, Leif!’ said Konnit.
‘I am!’ I replied. ‘I thought it was impossible for anyone to leave Midgard.’
‘There is a way, but it is dangerous, and not everyone survives. Even when you’re across, you run the risk of encountering djinn; no one has ever ventured that far. But this time it will be different. This expedition will probe further.’
‘Will we go by sea, lord?’ I asked.
Konnit shook his head and smiled. ‘The journey will be overland.’
‘What’s it like, lord – beyond the Barrier?’ I wondered.
‘In terms of landforms, flora and fauna, everything is very much the same as here. But who knows what may await us further afield? Up until now our warriors have not encountered any djinn. This time things may be different – though we hope to learn more about the djinn without being detected – and to find the route that best suits our army when the time comes to attack them.’
‘Will there not be djinn guarding against humans who try to escape Midgard?’ I asked.
‘Indeed there might be, Leif. There are none close to the Barrier, but further out – who knows? However, any knowledge we gain about the djinn will help us to defeat them. Even Ada knows nothing of them as they are now; she fears that they may have advanced both in number and in the technology at their disposal: we must find out if this is so. And think of this, Leif: any such knowledge might well help us to defeat Hob.’
My mind was in a whirl. I’d been looking forward to spending the winter with Kwin, and to developing my combat skills. Yet this was too good an opportunity to miss. I’d always wondered what lay beyond the Barrier – as did anyone who was confined within it. Now I had the chance to find out. It was an adventure that called out to me – and might also bring me closer to destroying Hob and avenging the deaths of my parents.