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Now, the morazeth women drew their weapons. Lila held a short sword in one hand, a whip in the other, while others held wooden fighting staves, long hooks, tall pikes. Genda, a squarish, stocky fighter, wore metal-studded gloves on each hand and prepared to fight with her fists alone.
Lila called, “There is no excuse for failure. When we attack General Utros and his army, don’t embarrass me by getting killed.” She meant no humor in her statement, though some of the city guard chuckled nervously. The arena warriors did not. “You will fight and you will learn. And if you do well enough in real battle, you may not need to fight Utros again.”
“We’ll make them sting, ha ha!” called a bright young voice.
Bannon turned to see Timothy, whose rough-spun slave clothes had been replaced with a fighter’s girded waistcloth. The scamp wore no shirt and gripped a short sword that looked too big for him. His skin was gray-white from the lingering stone effect, and when he swung his sword, his movements were slow and his joints stiff, but the grin on his face was real.
Lila seemed impressed. “I expect every one of you to be at least as brave and strong as a lowly yaxen herder.”
Some of the fighters affirmed that they were, while others, particularly the haughty city guard members, grumbled at the boy’s arrogance.
“We’ll fight beside you, Timothy,” Bannon said.
The seven morazeth trainers divided the fighters into squads, so that the smaller teams could spar against one another.
“Out in the combat field,” Lila said, “you won’t have a well-mannered arena fight. If you don’t watch your back while battling one enemy, another might thrust a spear through your heart. Don’t expect rules, don’t expect honor.” She strode among them, glaring at those who didn’t show sufficient confidence. “And I don’t expect you to fight with neat rules either. A real battle is not a game, and the winners don’t receive ribbons or trophies, though some of you might receive a pleasurable reward from one of our beautiful morazeth.” She waited, sure she had their attention. “You are responsible for protecting our city and preserving our freedom.”
“And do we have freedom now?” asked one of the household slaves, a muscular man who had volunteered for training.
“You have more freedom than you had before,” Lila answered. “And if General Utros is defeated, you will be in a position to demand more.”
The former slave rested the point of his sword in the sand and stood with his legs spread, facing Lila, who came forward to meet his challenge. He said, “I could have had complete freedom if I’d slipped away one night. Many others ran from Ildakar, and now they have full lives far from here. Some mountain villages like Stravera accept runaway slaves. When my friend Garth ran off, he begged me to go with him, but I listened to Mirrormask instead. I stayed behind to overthrow Ildakar for the freedom of all.” He grimaced. “Now look at us! The entire city is imprisoned. I should have left when I had the chance.”
Lila stepped so close to him that her flesh nearly touched his. “Do you think you could escape now? Why not slip out at night, tiptoe through the thousands of enemy soldiers? Be my guest.”
“I’ll stay,” the man grumbled. “And I’ll fight. I already made up my mind. The sorceress convinced me.”
Lila stepped back. “Good, then you’ll be my first opponent tonight.” She glanced to the side. “Bannon, you train Timothy. Break the yaxen herder if you can.”
Genda let out a loud shrill whistle, and all the fighters stood at attention. Kedra, Lyesse, Marla, Thorn, and Ricia took up their positions, facing groups of opponents. When Genda whistled a second time, the battle was unleashed.
The arena rang with wooden staves striking armor, hardened gloves smacking against flesh, steel crashing against steel. Big Genda struck her opponent in the chest with a steel-mesh fist and knocked him back onto the soft sand.
Without hesitation, Timothy swung his short sword at Bannon, laughing as he attacked. Bannon lifted Sturdy to deflect the blow, and he smiled as well, seeing the scamp’s eager fury. Timothy flailed his sword from side to side with no finesse, and Bannon easily countered each thrust, each parry. He couldn’t help but think of his own clumsy abilities when he had first bought Sturdy from a Tanimura swordsmith. Vowing never to be defenseless again, he’d used his last coins to buy the weapon, but he hadn’t really known how to fight.
Timothy drove at him with such energy that Bannon took a step back. He met every blow, countering the boy’s energy, but all too often the yaxen herder left himself wide open. As soon as Bannon saw a chance, he struck hard, crashing the flat of the blade on the boy’s shoulder. He checked his blow at the last instant, not wanting to injure Timothy, but to his amazement his steel merely glanced off the bare shoulder, as if it had struck a hard surface. Bannon hesitated in surprise, and his young opponent charged forward, smashing Sturdy so hard that Bannon nearly dropped the weapon.
Timothy let out a cry of joy. “I could have killed you, Bannon Farmer! Beware of a worthy opponent like myself.”
Bannon slipped under the boy’s short sword and again struck his scrawny arm with the flat of his blade. “And I could have cut off your arm.”
“Could you? My skin is better protection than any armor you’ve ever worn. Besides, I have two arms, and by the Keeper’s beard, I could keep fighting even if I lost one.”
Around them, the loud combat continued, punctuated with yelps of pain as fighters suffered blunted blows from the morazeth. One arena veteran, a man with scars on his skin and face, seemed uninspired in his fighting. His morazeth opponent, Ricia, knocked him to the ground and placed her sword against his chest. “Aren’t you interested? When you fail, you will die. Remember that when you fight the enemy soldiers.”
The veteran’s face turned ruddy. He picked himself up from the combat sands, brushing himself off where dust clung to his sweat and blood. “I make no excuses, Ricia.” Letting out a growl, he fought with renewed energy.
Bannon kept sparring with Timothy, although perspiration dripped down his face and his muscles ached. The scamp was reckless and full of energy, and after Bannon suffered several bruises, he decided to stop going easy on the young man. “You’re careless,” he warned, and slapped the flat of his sword against the boy’s hardened thigh.
“We need to take risks!” Timothy said. “How else are a thousand of us going to fight tens of thousands of enemies? Or more?”
Bannon didn’t have an answer for that, so instead, he just fought harder.
A man’s voice spoke out from the arched entry at the edge of the arena. “I brought two more for you to train.”
Genda whistled again, and the fighting stuttered to a halt. The grunts, clangs, and clatters faded into heaving breaths, coughs, and groans of pain.
Lord Oron nudged two young men ahead of him. “My son Brock and his friend Jed will do their duty to fight for Ildakar. Lady Olgya and I have encouraged them to volunteer for the upcoming offensive.”
Bannon wiped sweat from his face as he stared at the once-haughty young men. He wondered if his harsh words in the skinning house had had any effect on them. They wore colorful silk jerkins sashed at the waist, Brock dressed in crimson, Jed in forest green. Both wore black pantaloons and polished boots, and each carried a gleaming sword, fresh from the city armory. Clearly, the weapons had never been used in battle or even practice.
As the trainees looked at them, a few snickered or muttered. Jed and Brock stumbled forward, uncertain. Brock turned back to his father. “But we’re gifted. We should be testing our skills in magic. Train us!”
“You could have been doing that all these years,” Oron said, “but it’s also good to learn how to fight for yourselves.” With a brusque gesture, he forced them to join the other sweaty trainees.
Lila came forward. “Those two should strip down if they intend to fight. This isn’t a pleasure party or a banquet, and we wouldn’t want to stain those fine silks.”
Oron made no move to join the two newcomer
s on the training field. “These new silks might protect them. Jed’s mother says the fabric may be impervious to blows.” He frowned at the boys, showing his impatience. “Jed and Brock are pleased to test the garments against your weapons.”
The two young men fidgeted nervously.
Bannon nudged Timothy, and he and the young yaxen herder went to meet the pair. “We’ll train with Jed and Brock, and we’ll go easy on them for now.”
The two young nobles responded with arrogance, as if Bannon and the young scamp were far beneath them.
