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After their repast, Killen and the recruits made their way west of the camp.
They all stepped into a sprawling, pitch-sized open arena that roared with the industrious orchestra of a fine-tuned force readying itself for battle.
‘Just like the Keste Nihb archers and Kaxuaraí lancers master their arrows and spears, you must soar like predators. To decimate the enemy and blade them before they’ve even figured out where the weapons came from is the Sab?r hawks calling. You must dominate with your koyas. In fact, as the most elite wing of the army, we cannot never fail.’
Kione added. ‘We have to spin like a thousand sandstorms and race like a million white-throated needletails.’
One of the recruits raised a hand. ‘How so?’
Kione froze, whirled to face the young man, then squatted on the low, his sab?r held above his head.
With a growl, he leapt, vaulting himself high into the air, spinning like a whirlwind, with his sab?r thrusting left and right so fast. He was covered in a flurry of silver energy that infused the atmosphere with electricity, a display of his menacing potential.
With a final twist, the warrior floated back down to earth, his soles touching the ground without a sound.
His daunting leap had attracted the nearby squads in training, and they cheered profusely. Kione bowed his head in acknowledgement.
‘We begin our assessment by seeing how you handle your weapons.’
The commanders divided the forty-odd recruits into four groups and paced between them, studying how they used their koyas and positioned their wings, rachís, hands, and feet.
Kaxim worked with Killen’s quartet.
After watching Killen for a few minutes, the King’s armourer stepped in, clasping the Kíríga’s arms and shifting his body. ‘You extend the sab?r koya toward your adversary and obstruct strikes from the opponent. You can use your íkan to elongate the long blade of the koya or for stabbing and slashing at the enemy’s chest and head.’
‘One quick strike from your sab?r, using the shotel to block, is then followed by alternating the movement. Striking and impaling the sides, thighs and lower trunk while fending off the enemy. It’s a graceful dance between all limbs – both fore and back. The warrior who has mastered this technique is regarded as superior.’
‘Should be easy, right?’ Killen said with a small smile.
‘Is it? Perhaps we need a demonstration of your skills then, Killen of Kíjí Sable.’
Killen’s eyes narrowed at the open provocation. ‘Bring it on.’
Kaxim raised a brow. Are you sure, Kíríga? Before this multitude?
Killen’s eyes shuttered for a moment before he nodded, the older man appearing for a split second behind his eyes. The hawkstone demands it, but I am not sure why.
Kaxim jerked his chin in comprehension.
His face coalesced into disdain. ‘A kujaa has sought to oppose the Commander in a rattling of sab?rs. The challenge has been accepted!’
His baritone echoed like thunder across the valley.
The cry caught the attention of everyone within range. The sand pit emptied in seconds.
Word went round fast, and the crowd grew as warriors from all ends of the kambí soared in.
To witness an unprecedented match between the Commander-In-Charge and an unknown.
Kione stepped up as referee and ringmaster. ‘Let the clash begin!’ he bellowed.
Killen and Kaxim half-transmuted, keeping their human legs and upper body but transforming only to allow their wings to sprout on their backs.
Kione called. ‘Remember the basic rules of sab?r hawk soaring. Try to stay at the centre of the sky. Do not go near its rim. The edges of air can be recognised by the appearance of ground, structures, sea, and trees. It is much more difficult to fly through such elements.’
Killen turned and subtly lifted his middle finger before turning back to his opponent.
He and Kaxim pulled their koyas from their napes and circled each other.
