Dragonfly Falling

‘I shall not ask again!’ he bellowed. ‘Silence now, or this match shall not take place!’

At long last the crowd quieted, under threat of its entertainment being removed. Kymon nodded heavily and passed the swords out. They were, in the hands of these fighters, graceless things. Those two were meant for swords more slender and crafted of true steel.

‘Salute the book!’ Kymon directed, and they turned to the great icon carved at one wall of the forum and raised their blades.

‘Clock!’ barked the Master of Ceremonies and stepped back hurriedly. Neither of them moved even as the ponderous hands of the mechanical timepiece ground into motion. For a long moment, to the hushed anticipation of the crowd, they merely faced each other. Tynisa studied Piraeus’s face and knew that, while she was seeing just what she had seen before, he could tell how she had changed.

But he was proud, and he was a blur of motion as he now came for her, his ersatz blade swinging in tight arcs to trap her.

She gave before him, barely parrying, making the fighting-circle her world, backing around it so the darts and sweeps of his sword clove empty air. She thought he might get angry, since she had seen him provoked before, but he retained his icy calm and his moves became tighter and tighter, and she was going to have to do something soon.

In a sudden flurry she had taken his sword aside and in that instant she was on the offensive. She did not keep it long, but after that it was anybody’s. She and Piraeus circled, stopped, circled back. The air between them rattled with the clash of their blades. The audience were on the edge of their seats but the two combatants had forgotten them. Their world had contracted to that duelling ring. The Prowess Forum with its clock and book had ceased altogether to exist for them.

He never gave up pressing his attack, for he knew the natural order of things was for him to advance, his foe to give way before him. He tried and he tried to turn the fight back to that familiar territory. He had done it before when, not so very long ago, he had beaten her two strikes to none. Now she was holding him off, constantly turning his attacks into her own. Her guard was iron. He could not breach it, no more than she could break his.

And the thought came to Tynisa, If these were live blades, I’d have killed him by now. Her own Mantis blood was rising in her and she saw Piraeus then as his own kind would. Look at this coward playing with children. He was all skill and poise, but the pride of his heritage had died within him.

So let’s call it real. And she gave her blood full rein. The orderly, calculated exchange of the Prowess Forum fell in pieces around them. She cut straight through, his blade passing inches from her face, and the point of hers rammed into his stomach.

He doubled over, hit the ground shoulder-first, and it took all of her will’s work to hold back a second strike that would have broken his neck in lieu of opening his throat. She stepped back carefully with the slight, sad thought that she could not return to this place. Her skills, once made here, had been reforged in blood, in the outside world. The reflexes and instincts honed between life and death were not tame beasts for her to teach tricks to.

Piraeus was slowly getting up, trying to catch his breath. She waited for him, motionless, and amongst the crowd not a word, not a fidget.

He lunged at her, as swift a move as they had yet seen, and it would have caught her if she had been a mere duellist. She had moved before her eyes had registered his strike, the point of his sword missing by inches. She struck him a numbing rap to the elbow that sent the blade tumbling from his hand.

After she had left, with the crowd baying her name, standing on the seats and cheering, few had eyes to watch Piraeus stand up again. His face was thunderous as he rubbed his injured arm. He made to leave by another door but a voice stopped him. The doors to the Prowess Forum were left open always, and there was another Mantis-kinden lounging there, a man older than he in an arming jacket of green.

‘An interesting fight.’

Piraeus narrowed his eyes. ‘The fight isn’t over.’

‘Yes it is.’ The older man pushed himself off the wall, and Piraeus noticed that he had a claw over his right hand, a glove of metal and leather with a blade that jutted a foot and a half from the fingers. It was the weapon of choice for Mantids from the old days, and Piraeus recognized the stranger’s sword-and-circle brooch a moment later.

‘Weaponsmaster,’ he stated, and it was obvious he had never met one before.

‘We live yet,’ the man acknowledged. ‘You’re not going after her, Piraeus.’

‘She’s a Spider.’ Piraeus’s face twisted. ‘I’ll have her in the next pass, don’t you worry, and I’ll have her with steel.’

‘No, you won’t.’

The young duellist shook his head, missing something, he knew. ‘Are you protecting her? She’s Spider-blood. She’s our enemy.’

‘She’s my blood, boy,’ the old man said, and let that sink in.

Piraeus’s look of bafflement slowly decayed into horror. ‘But she-’

‘What, boy? You’ve a problem with me? Want to call me out, I’ll wager?’

‘I don’t even know who you are.’

‘I am Tisamon, and I earned this badge and this claw, and she is of my blood. You should keep that in mind before you say anything else.’

The name bit into the youth’s memory, Tisamon saw. Piraeus had heard of him, even it was just through Collegium’s duelling circles. There had been a time when Tisamon, too, had played with his skills just like this young man.

‘So it would be unwise of you to take this further with Tynisa,’ he said. ‘Lick your wounds and learn from them, but if you come after her with a real blade in your hands-’

‘You’ll be there,’ spat Piraeus, disgusted.

Tisamon smiled slightly. ‘I won’t need to be. She will.’

‘Why all the hurry?’ Che complained. Almost as soon as she had left the Prowess Forum, hastening to congratulate Tynisa, she had run into one of her uncle’s agents. The big Ant called Balkus, who in Helleron had seemed just a part of that city’s gritty tapestry, looked woefully out of place amidst the understated order of Collegium.

‘If you move quick, they can’t follow you so easily,’ was all he said, so Che was forced to jog after him.

It was strange to be back after seeing what she had seen. Collegium, with its peace, its petty one- upmanship, its learning, all seemed like a mummer’s show where the backcloth could be torn down at any moment to reveal the chaos behind. She knew that Stenwold wanted to speak before the Assembly, who were currently snubbing him, but he had not let his plans wait on them. He had not told her what they were, either, or what role she might play in them. Instead he had closeted himself away with Scuto, or else he had gone on rambling and random hikes about the city with Balkus or Tisamon watching over him. It was probably all to confuse their watchers but it served to confuse Che just as well.

Was she herself under surveillance? With the thought she began scanning the faces, but Collegium was a diverse city and the native Beetle-kinden played host to people from all over the Lowlands and beyond. Even here, making her rapid progress down the Haldrian Way that led to the metal market, she could pick out every kinden that called the Lowlands home, together with a mix of halfbreeds, and a few others that might be other kinden entirely, from distant lands. Any one of them could be an imperial agent, and she knew it was more likely to be some innocuous-looking Beetle wood-seller than that Wasp-kinden man on the street corner perusing a bookseller’s discounted stock.

It was a strange feeling, exciting and uneasy, to think that she could be important enough to be watched.

Balkus abruptly turned into the shop beside the bookseller and, when she moved to follow him, he signalled for her to continue on down the Haldrian. With no idea of where she was going, she kept wandering, with less and less enthusiasm, through the bustle until he caught up with her again.

‘Wanted to see if we were being followed,’ he explained, his thoughts obviously on the same tracks as hers.

‘And were we?’

‘No bloody idea,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not so good at all the sneak stuff. A fighter, me.’