'Candidate Hannon, approach the mirrors,' the Imperial herald chanted. 'Face Swordmaster Jin-pa and show the Rat Dragon your worth.'
The crowd clapped and yelled as the eight men bowed gracefully then reformed into a line to run to the edge of the arena.
Although we were all kneeling at salute, there was a soft shifting of position as Jin-pa and Hannon started their walk to the combat area. It was our chance to watch the competition, gather information, gauge our chances. I pushed my left knee deeper into the sand and followed the momentum until I leaned
into a better view Even as my weight transferred, I realised my hip no longer ached. No catching or jerking of movement. Had it gone numb from so much strain?
In the centre of the arena, Jin-pa and Hannon bowed to the Rat Dragon mirror and then to one another over their sword hilts — the formal combat courtesy The crowd subsided into expectant silence. Hannon swung his swords into starting position, his side presented to Jin-pa, weight on the back leg, one sword outstretched, the other drawn back above his head. Jin-pa mirrored the stance, then with a twist of both wrists lowered his swords into two whirring figure-eights of blade. The Ox Dragon. Hannon recognised the sequence and stepped into the first form. The easiest of the three. He broke through the defence with a neat swinging back cut, but Jin-pa blocked his blade easily in the crossed hilts of his swords.
Hannon pulled his sword free and retreated, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Jin-pa shifted into the second form of the Ox. The offence. He pressed forwards, the rotating blades moving towards Hannon's head. The Ox was all about walls — solid walls of blade that pushed a defender backwards and off balance. Hannon needed to block with his right sword and swing his left into the less protected gut area. He managed the block, but his lower cut was too wild, the weight of the sword dragging him onto the wrong foot for the third form; the most difficult. Jin-pa lunged, making the most of Hannon's imbalance, forcing him to stop an overhead blow with a clumsy block, the blade at the wrong angle. He nearly recovered, but Jin-pa countered his desperate twirl and low cut with a block and head attack that landed the flat of his sword against Hannon's cheekbone. The slap of the blade was like the crack of ice on a frozen river. Hannon shook his head as the crowd groaned, their excited commentaries rising like the hiss from a nest of snakes.
It did not improve from there. Hannon struggled to keep up with Jin-pa, although the swordmaster subtly slowed the pace of
each form and pulled his blows. I couldn't help flinching as Jin-pa brought the flat of his blade down on Hannon's body time after time. What was wrong? Hannon was as good as Baret in the approach sequence. He knew each form perfectly and had spent hours refining each move.
Was that the problem? Had he learned by rote and now couldn't translate the moves against an opponent?
In the very last form, he managed to hold his technique together. Dropping to the ground on all fours, he kicked backwards, disabling Jin-pa's left sword, then twisted around and swung his own right blade across Jin-pa's body, nearly breaking through the swordmaster's hurried defence. A creditable Mirror Dragon Whips Tail. The form that I couldn't do. I glanced up at Ranne. He was rolling his shoulders, warming up for the next candidate. Would he honour my dispensation?
Jin-pa and Hannon bowed to each other, then to Lord Ido, the crowd's stamps of approval and ululating calls following them back across the sand. Hannon bowed shakily to the Emperor then returned to his place in the line. His movements were slow with fatigue and defeat. As he dropped onto his knees, I saw dirty tear tracks running through a stark red welt on his cheek.
The crowd was chanting the herald's call for the next candidate, eager for more entertainment.
It was like the baying of blooded dogs. Perhaps they sensed our panic.
The Imperial herald gonged for silence, then called Callan and Swordmaster Ranne to the centre.
'Good fortune,' I whispered to Callan, but although I was directly behind him, he didn't seem to hear. He had sunk into some kind of stiff-limbed terror.
With Callan in the centre, I had a clear view of the arena and Ranne's unrelenting assault on him. There was no subtle slowing of pace, no holding back on the stinging slap of the blade.
Callan was hit so many times, and so hard, that I feared he would fall and not get up. His Heuris was out of his scat, the restraining hands of his neighbours the only thing keeping him from hurling
himself over the Rat Dragon mirror towards his candidate. Lord Ido was drinking wine, every line of his body relaxed, the officials around him silent and upright in subtle disapproval. It was a relief when Callan finally stumbled back to the Une, kneeling with his head down over his swords, his breathing ragged.
Quon was called.
It would not be long now before I was out there.
Quon's opening moves in the Horse Dragon sequence were good, assured. His second form was a faultless defence. I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on the faces of the darting, twirling figures. Was Jin-pa calling the forms to Quon? It was hard to say, the helmet obscured any detail. The cheers from the crowd acknowledged Quon's deftness as he swung out of the difficult low defence move of the Monkey Dragon Third and into the form's offensive volley of angled neck attacks. He was making a good show. The eruption of approval at the end of his sequence made the dark dragon mirrors shiver against the stone barricades. As he and Jin-pa bowed to the Emperor, I caught a glimpse of the broad smile on his face. His ancestors must have heard his prayers.
The Imperial herald ran back out into the centre, holding their gongs up. The deep note sounded like a death knell.
'Candidate Eon approach the mirrors,' they chanted. 'Face Swordmaster Ranne and show the Rat Dragon your worth.'
The cheering was ragged, covering a low hum of interest. Here comes the cripple. I stood, glad there was no food in my stomach to rise and choke me. I took one tentative step — still no pain in my hip. Perhaps the heat of the sand had eased it. I sent a silent prayer to Charra and Kinra, my ancestors, for strength, skill and endurance. Everything I lacked. A twist of each sword brought them home under my arms, ready for the walk to the centre. I stared at the patch of churned sand. One step at a time and I would get there. Ranne moved in beside me, matching my pace, but I did not look up. One step at a time. The arena was quiet — no stamping, no calls. Only that heavy anticipation before the prey was brought down.
Surely Ranne would not ignore the Council's dispensation.
'Swordmaster, I have —'
'Silence,' he hissed.
For a moment, the arena disappeared into white panic. I stumbled, my focus snapped back by the sudden flare of the moonstones and jade on my hilts. Each gem seemed lighted from within, drawing my eyes into their translucent depths. Something rolled through me.
Power, rising from steel and silver. A lifetime of fighting. An old knowledge.
My mind cleared into pinpoint purpose.
Keep the sun at your back, in his eyes. Distribute your weight evenly. Never cross your feet.
Gauge the combat terrain and look for advantage. Keep your grip open to allow your Hua to flow. Close it, block the Hua, to make a hammer fist.
I looked down at my tightly curled hand. We had never been taught the hammer fist.
Ranne stepped into the combat area, turning to face the Rat Dragon mirror. I followed, my gaze caught for a moment in the shock of seeing my whole self in the glass. Lopsided, thin-boned, with the smooth oval face of a child. Did all these men see a girl-boy standing in front of them? A Moon Shadow? Everyone knew that castration melted the bones and muscles of manhood into soft curves. Yes, this creature in the mirror would pass. Still, it was fortunate that most people glanced away from a cripple.
Except when he was fighting a swordmaster.
Beside me, Ranne bowed. I quickly matched his movement, our reflections showing the absurdity of his armoured bulk next to my slight body. Above the mirror, Lord Ido sat forwards, any pretence of nonchalance gone. I searched the rows behind him and found my master. He was sitting straight, the pale blur of his face tilted towards me.
'Prepare,' Ranne said, taking a position with the sun at his back. He twirled his swords out and around his body in a mesmerising display then dropped the points into the vertical salute.
Keeping my swords tucked under my arms, I shuffled across the small combat area until the sun was to my
