'The Swordmaster has accompanied Lord Ido to the arena,' Van said, shrugging his helplessness. 'I doubt there will be any chance to speak to him before the ceremony'
The weight of the last few days made me sway. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.
Surely Ranne would know about my change to the sequence.
'My master? Can I speak to my master?'
'He is not allowed to return,' Van said.
I groaned.
Van's soft fingers touched my arm. 'Could Swordmaster Jin-pa assist you?'
I looked up at his polite sympathy 'Yes. Yes, I could speak to him.'
'Wait here.'
Van crossed the floor to Jin-pa, waiting as the swordmaster finished his conversation with the senior official. I quickly picked up my swords and tucked them under my arms, blunt side up.
I did not want Jin-pa to think I had no care for my weapons. Van bowed and relayed my request, his narrow shoulders elegantly lifting to show his mystification. Jin-pa waved me over.
I hurried to them, my steps awkward and stiff.
'What is it, boy?' Jin-pa asked as I bowed to him.
'Swordmaster, I've got permission from the Council to change the Mirror Dragon sequence for the Reverse Horse Dragon Second,' I said breathlessly. 'Because of my leg. I'll be sparring with Swordmaster Ranne. Does he know, sir?'
Jin-pa nodded. 'Be at ease, Eon. Both Ranne and I know of the dispensation.'
I felt some of the tension drain from my body.
'Lord Ido informed us this morning,' Jin-pa continued, his words tightening the coil in me again. 'Now go and get some water. It will be hot in the arena.'
He nodded his dismissal. I followed Van to the water barrel, my unease increasing with every step. Ranne may know of the dispensation, but would he honour it?
In the next hour I drank water, bowed to an imaginary Emperor over and over again under the critical eye of Van, and practised the forms until my clumsy cold-ridden movements were worked into smoothness. No doubt the minutes passed normally, but it felt as though each was a second, rushing towards the call to the arena.
And then it came.
'Candidates,' Ranne bawled from the bottom of the ramp, 'get into position.'
For a moment everyone stopped still in the room, and then from above the trumpets sounded the arrival of the Emperor onto the throne, thrusting everyone into frantic action.
'You remember the order of events?' Van asked hurriedly, herding me to the ramp. 'You will all bow to the Eternal Lord first, then kneel at the base of the Mirror of the Lost Dragon and wait until you are announced by the Imperial herald.'
I nodded.
And hold that first bow for the count of ten.' He pushed me into place in the line behind Ranne. 'Don't look up.'
'I won't.' We exchanged quick nods. 'Thank you, Van.'
He patted my arm. 'Good fortune, Eon.' Then he was gone, one more grey robe heading out of the room to the spectator seats.
Across from me in Jin-pa's line, Dillon smiled awkwardly. Although his betrayal was raw, I returned the smile. We may all be pitched against one another, but the real threat was Lord Ido.
I glanced at Baret, three places down our row. His body seemed strangely lax and his eyes were still glazed with furrows of
pain creasing his forehead. The red silk around his throat was dark — someone must have doused his face in the water barrel. Fie looked exhausted. Had Lord Ido miscalculated? Or did he know the effect of his power and had brought Ranne in to coddle Baret through the ceremony?
'Draw into salute,'Jin-pa called.
I crossed my swords in front of my chest, the soft whir of the thin blades multiplying into a hiss as the others swung their weapons into position. An official wearing a red sash over his grey robes emerged from the ramp. He bowed to Ranne and Jin-pa.
'It is time,' he said.
My bowels clenched, sending a sickening rush through me. Another fanfare sounded from above. Then a clipped shout of command from Ranne. Bodies moving — beside me, in front of me. I followed, unable to think beyond the march, my feet keeping time from the memory of endless drills. Each step closer to the top of the ramp; the air warmer, light brighter, trumpets louder.
I stepped out of cool shadow and squinted against the dazzle of morning sun. We had entered a great circle of white sand. All around the edge, twelve huge mirrors faced inwards, each of them surrounded by a heavy gold frame carved with the twelve animal signs and inlaid with jewels and jade. All of the mirrors were dark and dead, except one: the Rat Dragon mirror. It reflected rows and rows of men, the cloth and colours of their robes ranking them — the rich silks of the nobles in the nearby seats, the gold embroideries of the eleven Dragoneyes above their mirrors, the grey-garbed officials in clusters, and the bright cottons and duller roughs of the city merchants and workers in the high seats — thousands of men watching us as we marched towards the Emperor's throne. The slow beat of drums and the climbing call of trumpets were matched by the rumbling of the crowd. As we passed the Rat Dragon mirror, it caught the sun, flaring into eye burning light.
At its crest was a gold ruby-eyed rat, and sitting above it was Lord Ido, a large bright figure amongst the grey robes of the ceremony officials. Even from the ground, I felt his power. Or perhaps it was the mirror.
Sweat was catching my tunic against the small of my back. Ranne called the halt and we stopped before the Emperor, who was dressed in the royal yellow and enthroned above the darkened mirror of the Lost Dragon. I dropped to my knees, the sand hot through the silk.
Van's voice echoed in my head. Count to ten. Don't look up. Don't look around.
I lost the count. Panicking, I raised my eyes, looking for a cue to move. My gaze was pulled into the dull mirror in front of me. No reflection, just a dark blank that swallowed the day's brightness. Beside me, Quon tensed, preparing to stand. I followed his lead, pushing myself upright. For a moment, the sun rippled across the mirror's black surface, making it buckle and heave. A strange trick of the light. We marched in our two lines towards it, to wait underneath its dark expanse. A gold dragon undulated across its top, a pearl held in its ruby claws. I stared into the inky glass, but nothing else stirred.
At Ranne's command we turned, facing the arena, and dropped once more to our knees, swords held in crossed salute. I narrowed my eyes to soften the glare that bounced off the sand. It felt as though every bit of moisture in my body was being sucked away Another fanfare. This time for the Imperial herald. They emerged in a neat line from the rampway, a chorus of eight men matched in voice and height, crouching into bows as they ran to the centre of the arena. The crowd stamped and roared. The herald, their short blue tunics like wedges of summer sky, positioned themselves into a royal octagonal, smartly turning to face the audience. They raised small bronze gongs over their heads and, as one, sounded a deep resonating note. Immediately the crowd quietened.
'The cycle of twelve turns again,' they chanted in perfect unison. Each voice blended with the others to create one penetrating herald call that reached every section of the arena. 'Pig turns to Rat. Apprentice turns to Dragoneye. Candidate turns to apprentice. The cycle of twelve turns again.'
The crowd whistled and stamped their approval. The men lifted the gongs again and sounded another note. It ricocheted off the mirrors, cutting through the crowd's noise to leave a sudden silence.
'The Rat Dragon seeks a new apprentice. Twelve await to show their worth. By His Imperial Majesty's approval and order of the Dragoneye Council, worth will not be found in exhibition this cycle. Worth will be found in combat!'
For a moment, there was no response. Then the crowd screamed, the hammering of feet on the boards like the fury of the thunder gods. The show had suddenly become a lot more exciting.
I licked my lips, feeling rough cracks with my tongue. Somewhere in the Heuris seats, behind Lord Ido, was my master. I tried to distinguish him in the two rows of dark-robed figures set apart from the crowd by their shocked stillness. Then he moved, a familiar squaring of thin shoulders. A defiance of unbeatable odds.
The gong sounded again.
