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Kaniz got the hint. ‘You’re an enigma wrapped up in mystery. I can’t wait to see what you’re all about. On that note, if you’re finished with your chow, let’s start in the arena.’
After the meal, Kaniz led her towards the outdoor coliseum, where a small crowd had gathered.
At one end of the vast amphitheatre was an enormous fire, its flames dancing and crackling while smoke rose to the sky.
The billowing smoulder rolled over a cantilevered sculpture of an immense eagle, its talons clawed and wings spread as if in mid-flight to capture its prey.
It’d been cast from bronze and silver, and its fierce gold eyes glowed with pure lodestone.
Sana’a glanced at it, raising her brow. ‘Fascinating.’
The fighting pit was a stadium-sized circle.
Its sandy ground was marked with a series of lines and grids.
Surrounding it were steel poles and electrified nets to stop weapons from sailing over the fence and hitting onlookers.
The shafts themselves were burly enough so one could grab them and shove off to get more speed into their attack and winged flight.
In the centre of the arena was a second circular level platform made of synth plex where the main kavaliers squared off against one another. Surrounding the central hollow were smaller fighting cages occupied by other cadets.
Sana’a wore flat shoes, and the hot sand beneath her feet ground grit and sharp pebbles into her skin through the thin filament of her metsai slip-ons.
The ring’s surface was smooth and worn into a glossy finish from all the battles it had seen.
Despite the open air, the place reeked of sweat, rust, blood, and iron.
A cloud of dust hung in the sky, kicked up by fighters in their training rings dotted throughout the corral.
Inside each of them emanated the sounds of steel on steel, the clank and grind of sparring.
A series of terraces facing the arena were walled in and lined with stone benches where spectators could sit and watch matches.
Clusters of trainers, masters and observing combatants sat scanning her and judging the stranger who dared to challenge the kavaliers.
Sana’a sensed several eyes on her as she brushed the hilt of her shotel, wishing once more she could unsheathe her blades instead.
They vibrated in response against her back. They kept vigil in their barely visible pouches, snug, ready, and waiting in case things got out of hand.
A figure swaggered toward her, chest puffed out.
He was a tall, sinewy male with a shaved head, a striped gold and white krest mohawk and a thick beard.
He wore only a loincloth, his body dusky, oiled and glistening in the hot, pale sun.
Eyes tracking his approach, Kaniz woman leaned in and whispered to Sana’a. ‘He’s one of our most able koya fighters with the ability to control his sab?r with only his mind’s íkan flow. He can guide it through the air, telekinetically move it in and out of his hand, and even combine it with other arms like íkan-guided blades, spears and arrows. He’s been instructed to be lenient with you today and won’t use other weapons. Mind you, in a real battle, you take one of his koya if you win. If he takes the bout, he is allowed to slice off what he wishes from your body. From your locks to your krest feathers or even a finger. Most take the hair or krests, making it hard for bald and xkénos fighters to book another fight, given they’re now seen as losers. Only winners advance in this arena.’
Sana’a was about to tell Kaniz to ask the kavalier to bring on all he had when she stopped herself.
There was no need to show off when she knew who she already was.
She flicked her eyes over her opponent with disinterest as he chanted to himself, pacing the ring.
His colossal black and gold streaked krest rocked back and forth, his arms pumping at his sides.
With a turn of his colossal head, the man smirked, sizing her up with a glance.
Sana’a tried to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn’t help the twitch of her mouth.
