these days. He held his own easily enough. Loclon was unable to get through his guard, but he was fighting defensively. It was Loclon who had the initiative.
“Why doesn’t he just attack?” the captain standing next to Tarja muttered impatiently.
“Georj never rushes into anything,” Tarja replied, although R’shiel could tell he was wondering the same thing. “Give him time.”
Loclon suddenly launched himself at Georj. His blade moved so fast it was a silver blur in the twilight. Georj held off the younger man, but he was being pushed backward, step by step. The roar of the crowd was thunderous as Loclon pushed the captain. The sound of metal on metal was lost in the din of the three thousand or more spectators who had gathered to watch someone shed blood. Their cries irritated R’shiel. They didn’t really care who won. They just wanted to see a man bleeding.
Georj held off the attack well enough, but he appeared to be struggling a little. Loclon suddenly pulled back and turned to acknowledge the adulation of the crowd, a gesture that sent them wild. Georj recovered himself quickly, however, and the moment Loclon turned back to face his opponent Georj was on him, using his superior height and weight to push the younger man back. Loclon might have had speed, but Georj was as unstoppable as a rock in an avalanche. Loclon’s face lost its smug expression as Georj bore down on him. The blows from the bigger man obviously jarred his sword arm every time he blocked a stroke.
R’shiel could feel the tension draining out of Tarja and his friends as Georj attacked.
And then, so quickly R’shiel hardy even saw it happen, Georj overextended himself and left Loclon an opening. With a startled cry, Georj lowered his sword and glanced down at his left arm where a long, shallow cut marked his forearm. Blood dripped slowly onto the sand. He looked stunned that Loclon had gotten through his guard. Loclon bowed to Georj raising his sword in salute.
The fight was to first blood.
And Loclon had won.
The crowd was quiet for a moment, shocked into silence, before it erupted into a thunderous cheer for the young lieutenant. Around R’shiel, Loclon’s friends were laughing and congratulating each other as Loclon turned a slow circle, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd. R’shiel watched him with a frown, then glanced at Georj. Her stomach lurched as she saw the look on his face. She read murderous intent in his eyes.
“Tarja!” she cried, but it was too late. Georj raised his sword as Loclon turned his back to him, accepting the adulation of the spectators. With a wordless yell, Georj charged.
Perhaps he heard Georj’s cry over the roar of the crowd, or perhaps he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but Loclon turned at the last minute, bringing his sword up to deflect Georj’s blow. The crowd fell silent as the fight resumed, sensing the change in the combatants. This was no longer a fight to first blood, no longer an argument between two officers trying to prove a point of honor. This was deadly.
Loclon defended himself with the same blinding speed that he had shown the first time he had attacked, but he was no longer playing to the audience. Georj was intent on murder as much as victory. R’shiel’s stomach cramped as she watched the men trade blows, watched cuts appear on both men go unnoticed in their frenzy.
“I think we should put a stop to this, Tarja,” a quiet voice said behind her.
R’shiel glanced over her shoulder and discovered Garet Warner standing behind her. She wondered for a moment where he had been but found her eyes drawn back to the Arena. Both men looked tired and bloodied, but neither was willing to concede victory as blade struck blade hard enough to throw sparks.
“Georj will never forgive us if we stop this before it’s resolved,” Tarja replied, although to R’shiel he sounded more angry than concerned.
“Someone is going to get killed,” Garet warned. “I’m sure Jenga would rather have a couple of peeved officers than lose a good man. It’s gone on long enough. Besides, Georj lost. He should know better.”
Tarja glanced back at Garet and then nodded. “You’re right.”
R’shiel held her breath as they stepped into the Arena, wondering if Garet’s rank and Tarja’s authority would be enough to overcome the bloodlust consuming both men. The crowd began to jeer as they realized what the appearance of the two officers meant. They were enjoying the spectacle. They didn’t want it to stop. Not when it had just got interesting.
The Arena was huge, and Tarja was still about twenty paces from the pair when Georj stumbled and fell backward. Loclon was on him in an instant, swinging his sword in a wide arc, slicing his blade across Georj’s throat in a spray of blood.
The crowd fell silent in horror as Georj screamed. R’shiel’s stomach cramped again as she watched Loclon standing there, gloating. Tarja and Garet broke into a run, followed by the men who had been waiting in the tunnel entrance. Almost faint with disgust, R’shiel clutched at the cold stone wall of the tunnel as she watched Tarja run toward his fallen friend.
But he scooped up Georj’s discarded sword, left his friend to the ministrations of his seconds, and turned toward Loclon. Garet was calling for a physic, in a voice that carried surprisingly well, considering how soft-spoken he normally was. As Tarja neared Loclon, the young man raised his sword again, preparing to take Tarja on. R’shiel bit through her bottom lip as another cramp seized her. Her fear was bitter enough to taste, mingled with the salty taste of her own blood.
Loclon crouched expectantly as Tarja walked toward him. The crowd held their breath. Georj had refused to cede the fight, and Loclon’s act was unforgivable, but it might not be over yet. The only sound that filled the Arena was Georj’s screams.
Tarja stopped just out of Loclon’s reach. The young man was panting heavily. He was waiting for Tarja to move. Tarja hesitated for a moment then brought up his sword. Loclon blocked the blow easily, but before he could recover his balance, Tarja struck again. Lulled by Georj’s deliberate movements, Loclon was unprepared for Tarja’s speed or strength. This was no ceremonial Citadel captain fighting for his honor. This was an angry, battle-hardened veteran. Loclon was disarmed before he knew it. The sword flew from his hand as Tarja contemptuously flicked his blade, opening a savage cut from Loclon’s left eye to his mouth. The lieutenant dropped to the ground screaming, clutching at his ruined face. Tarja left him there, turned on his heel, and walked back toward the tunnel, where Georj was being rushed out by his seconds and a blue-skirted physic who had run to his aid from the crowd.
R’shiel stood back against the cold stone wall as they hurried past her. Georj had stopped screaming. Carried by four of his comrades, he was unconscious now – from shock or loss of blood – and his head lolled backward as the blood spurted from severed arteries. Another crippling cramp seized R’shiel, and she realized that it had nothing to do with seeing so much violence. So much blood. Something else was wrong.
As Tarja approached the tunnel, she shrank back from the anger in his eyes. He did not appear to notice her as he strode past, too consumed by rage to notice anything. Another cramp, even worse than the last one, twisted her belly and she cried out. The sound must have cut through Tarja’s fury. He stopped and glanced back at her.
“I warned you to go home,” he told her.
R’shiel didn’t answer him – couldn’t answer him. Pain ripped through her like a gutting knife. She held out her hand, as she felt a warm rush between her legs. She looked down and was surprised to find herself standing in a puddle of bright blood.
“Founders!” Tarja rushed toward her as she fell. He caught her and scooped her up into his arms. The last thing she remembered before falling into a swirl of blessed darkness was Tarja holding her. Running. Calling for help.
part two
TRUTH AND LIES
chapter 7
