“Well, there’s a fucking nightmare,” Jularra mumbled.
Korden didn’t hear what the queen had said, but still had to work to keep from laughing at the scene.
Fists whipped in the air like dandelions in a tornado. The queen’s ears rang with cheers. The Bedrock’s champion had emerged.
The towering seven-foot slab of humanity burst out from the front row of Bedrock. Once the Spire identified the Bedrock’s champion, their own cheers were injected with a fresh wave of hysteria, causing the entire training yard to resemble a gargantuan orgy of friendly bloodlust and spectacle. Vischuno was the Bedrock’s equivalent to Wona.
Vischuno shot a fist into the air, causing the throng of his comrades-in-arms to explode into a new series of chanting and shouting. After stoking the crowd's fire, he reached back and drew a formidable greatsword from a scabbard strapped to his back. With his second arm, he drew a matching greatsword from a crossing scabbard, which left his third arm free for defense.
His third arm.
Vischuno’s lowest arm of the two on his left side—at about the level of his navel—was fitted through thick leather straps attached to an enormous pavise. The shield was made of vertical oak planks on the front, and reinforced by thin, horizontal strips of wrought iron in the back. It was almost as tall as Vischuno, and nearly three-and-a-half feet in width.
He walked towards the sparring square wearing a gaping, toothy smile. His solid legs and arms were massive, and though they showed no discernible definition, there was no jiggling of any loose flesh. Vischuno was pure mass and force.
Upon stepping into the sparring square equidistant from both Wona and Jularra, he stopped and sheathed his swords. He then refreshed his smile, and threw his gigantic shield into the air. As it came back down, he grabbed the shield with the higher of his two left arms and impaled the ground with it, where it remained standing. Vischuno wrapped his two sword hands and his now-empty fist around the shield, and began banging on it in rhythm with the chants. Jularra clapped politely with a slightly upturned nose.
Wona was no longer paying attention. Shortly after Vischuno appeared, Jularra saw her turn towards the nearest wall and close her eyes. She looked to withdraw into herself to focus and prepare. Jularra noticed she had allowed a slight grin to remain.
While Jularra took in the whole scene, she had a fairly good idea of what Wona was doing to prepare. She assumed it was the same practices she had been taught as a Spire. Before a battle or fight of any kind, a Spire should run her most important principles through her mind. Her training. Her mental conditioning. But as with any of her fights, in a training context or not, she should consciously make an effort to take prolonged, deep breaths. A Spire should focus on her best self; memories of her best fights, and the voices of her teachers.
***
Wona’s fight with the Cupilian from the southeastern coast projected in front of her. She opened her eyes and bounced gently from one foot to the other, replaying the movements that had given her the advantage over the Cupilian's relentless spear. Her light armor—mostly leather, with small sections of mail—allowed her and her similarly-armored Spire to remain nimble. They were unencumbered, unrestrained, free to sprint, dart and land a killing blow before their opponent could track them.
Another memory slipped in front of her. This time, it was the image of her scaling the walls of the Engritori castle from the Center Horn. The mortar in the old eastern castle walls had eroded and fallen away, leaving perfect handholds for Wona and a small group of Spire to climb and carry out their assassination of the corrupt King Lugreith.
Using only a fraction of the energy, Wona mimicked the moves she made on that night. She was reminding her muscles. She was stirring their memory, and summoning their experience and wisdom once again. To any onlookers, she was merely stretching, or psyching herself up. But it was so much more.
The braids of her hair—a rare blonde—jumped and whipped as she warmed up. She loved having long hair, but kept it braided for practicality. Feeling the weight of the braids swinging in combat helped her stay focused. It helped her keep a feel for her body’s momentum and kept her more in tune with her movements.
And, while not as advanced or deep as Jularra’s, Wona, like many others in the yard, knew a bit of magic.
Wona turned back to her opponents and, with a violent jerk, shoved her sword out in front of her. As she did, a sound like a large stone block sliding along gravel tore through the air. Once her arm was fully extended, she let go. The sword remained, floating in mid-air for only a moment, then began morphing.
***
Jularra didn’t have a chance to see what Wona’s sword originally was, but felt an impressed smile slide into place.
The weapon changed forms every half-second. Wona nonchalantly scratched her cheek as she waited for it to reach the one she wanted. After about seven changes, she reached out and grabbed a short sword. The energy surrounding the morphing blade dissipated, and Wona held her new sword out in front of her, tossing it between each hand to get a sense of the weight. She nodded at it and then brandished it properly with wild crosses, tosses, spins, stances, and tricks. Between her magical sword selection and dramatic display, she had wrestled the bulk of the yard’s attention away from Vischuno.
But Wona wasn’t done. After choosing a weapon, she decided she needed a shield as well. Naturally.
Jularra smiled again as Wona dropped to one knee, scooped up a handful of dirt from the yard, and threw it out just in front of her as she stood. Before it had a chance to fall back to the ground, Wona shoved her open hand towards the flying dirt and trapped it inside a
