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THERE IS NO SUCH THING as dishonor in battle; do whatever it takes to win. Nothing honors the king more than victory.
—Luros, teacher at Dragonbane Academy
* * *
THE SEASONS TOUCHED the Heights with a light hand, coming and going quietly with few theatrics. Onin wondered if the altitude had something to do with it. The sun created delicious summers with abundant cool breezes. Cold and snow accompanied winter but held no comparison to the soul-crushing experiences called winter in the Midlands. Spring, by far, was the best. A variety of flowers, grown in pots and stone planters, released breathtaking colors in the various blooms.
Every spring the sleepy quiet of winter gave way to a sudden bustle of activity with the first thaw. While the melting snow swelled the ducts and pipes throughout the city, people emerged from their homes, like bears out of hibernation, and began the many preparations for the spring festival. The major celebration of the year, to honor the new growing season, hosted every manner of diversion made available to the people of the Heights. From confections to specialty sausages, marionettes to grand theatrical performances, everyone in the city had something that stirred anticipation.
With the festival came the tournament. Each year, the academies selected the most promising last-year students to test one another in martial contests from jousting to swordsmanship. The contests culminated in a mock battle between the eldest students of the three academies. The popular event filled the stadium to capacity.
The years passed at their own pace, until Onin and his friends found themselves in a flurry of last-minute preparations for the tournament. Last-year students participated, though not all would see the field. Rabbash was clever but lacked the stature to contend with the best warriors. Onin and Hangric were obvious competitors, due to imposing size.
Fargin also seemed a natural choice. The soft-spoken young man was skilled in combat; he took the patient approach in any challenge. His quiet nature led him to keep his composure while in the thick of things.
Despite his own disqualification, Rabbash showed equal excitement for his friends. He continued to drill with them and used his cunning mind to devise strategies and defenses for them, help them shore up their weaknesses, and take best advantage of their strengths.
The tournament was the highlight of the festival, the culmination of the day’s events. Most of the Great Families would be attending. The rest of the seats would go to those who could afford the cost of admission.
While several lesser events were held before and after the tournament, the grand melee had the most bragging rights attributed to it. There was no official prize or winner’s purse associated, and no academy benefited from it outside of perceived reputation. The matter of victory didn’t hold much weight for anyone but the academies themselves, but that did not deter the institutes from striving to outdo one another, and the crowd enjoyed the spectacle.
As the afternoon began to draw to a close, and the shadows lengthened, the peal of horns rang from the high walls of the arena.
At long last, the time for the tournament had arrived.
* * *
THEY WERE ALL TENSE and fidgety in anticipation of the coming competition. Onin absently paced back and forth over a strip of dirt outside the arena. His comrades stood ready, each one preparing themselves in some manner for the contest ahead.
"Keep shield formations tight," came Rabbash’s voice from the darkness to the rear. "Fill in behind the van as it progresses through the enemy ranks." The slight lad had been indispensable in planning the strategies they employed. While preparing for the contest, Rabbash had become a sort of honorary captain for the team. He understood their strengths and how to use them effectively. His ideas formed the backbone of their strategy. "The van will assault the enemy formation where they are tightly packed."
Rabbash strode up and down the three-score ranks of the Scaleback students. He next indicated the group to the back, about a dozen fighters led by Fargin. Each wore light armor and carried sword and shield as armament.
"Skirmishers," said Rabbash. "Stay back from the main body, we will need you to guard against assault from the other enemy." All three academies would be fielding a force. Onin knew from stories told by the teachers, poor choices from commanders had led two of the teams to cause heavy casualties to one another, only to allow the third, unscathed team to swoop in and claim victory with ease by wiping out the two weakened armies. This usually led to a period of stalemate, where each team waited for the others to make the first move, and hence the first mistake.
Rabbash studied the written accounts of previous years’ contests. Each team from Scaleback wrote detailed accounts of each battle afterward, and Rabbash had used them to come up with a sound strategy. Rabbash seemed about to go on but horns interrupted.
So it began.
The door before Onin opened, and the sudden light blinded him. His ears were met by a cheering crowd. He blinked several times to adjust his vision, and the arena came into focus around him. They were in a circular stone pit, perhaps thirty yards in diameter, with a sand floor. Encircling the pit were towering stone walls topped with sets of bleachers filled with High Folk.
Onin and Hangric stepped through the door side by side; they formed the vanguard. They set themselves shield to shield, and the rest of the Scaleback fighters poured out of the entrance to form up on either side of them. The lightly armored skirmishers formed a line in the rear.
Across the arena, the two other academies, Gemtooth and Stoneclaw, fell into formation as well. As he had in previous years, as a spectator in the stands, Onin noticed a fourth door to the arena left unused. The unused door was to the right of the Scalebacks, placing Gemtooth directly across the field and Stoneclaw to their left. Officials in black robes were scattered about the arena, ready to call out when a warrior was struck a mortal blow and removed from the contest.
Onin and Hangric led an immediate charge to the left, heading directly for the center of the Stoneclaw formation. The ranks fell in behind them, and in seemingly just a few strides, the Scalebacks clashed against the Stoneclaw students. The crowd let out a roar as the initial exchanges were made and the first casualties inflicted. The Stoneclaws were tough but unable to hold up under the onslaught by Onin and Hangric. The formation neatly split in two, and the Scalebacks filled in behind them, keeping the Stoneclaw force divided.
As soon as the Gemtooth fighters realized what had happened, they attacked the Stoneclaws from the opposite direction. Early into the fight, the Stoneclaws found themselves split into two groups and fighting on two fronts. The spectators in favor of Stoneclaw vented their outrage, while the fans of Gemtooth and Scaleback were exultant. The Stoneclaws fought heroically, never giving an inch, but their numbers dwindled. As tournament rules dictated, the fallen contestants dropped where they stood and lay still.
While the Scaleback vanguard executed the frontal assault, the skirmish line moved to flank the Gemtooth fighters. Fargin and the other skirmishers were on them in an instant, covering the intervening distance with long strides made easy by the light armor they wore. The Gemtooth force melted under the attack at first, and many of their fighters fell, but the force recovered quickly, driving the skirmishers back. The noise of the crowd escalated with the strikes, and the Scalebacks fell back to regroup. The Gemtooth fighters followed, disrupting their attempts to form a defensible line.
Onin found himself driving the Stoneclaws before him into the waiting arms of the Gemtooth line. The divided Stoneclaw force suffered heavy casualties from both sides, and the group caught in the vise fared the worst. Onin pressed the attack, and before long, there were no Stoneclaws left in front of him; he was directly engaged with the Gemtooths now.
He smashed at them, hammering away at their shields mercilessly. Many of the students on the receiving end of his blows stumbled even when struck on the shield. When his attack breached the guard of a Gemtooth, the target went down in a heap, only to be called out by the judges. In the chaos, he lost all sense of his allies' locations.
The Gemtooth formation proved solid and hard to breach, the line of shields like the wall of a citadel as they continued to advance, driving the Scalebacks and remnants of the Stoneclaws up against the wall of the arena.
Finding themselves sudden allies, the Stoneclaws and Scalebacks formed a line with one another to hold back the assault of the Gemtooth fighters. The attack was highly disciplined and relentless. Man after man fell as the defenders were pushed against the wall; only a few were Gemtooths.
Onin found himself once again side by side with Hangric, and the two strong young men strove to beat back the Gemtooth fighters. Their blows were telling, sending opponents stumbling backward or down to one knee, but the Gemtooth men gave as good as they received. The Gemtooths were not just disciplined fighters; they struck with terrific force. The blows were so strong, Onin thought his shield would fly into pieces under them. Hangric went down, felled by a resounding blow to the helmet.
Something snapped within Onin, seeing his friend fall. Unbidden memories of blood and pain, of lost friends and helplessness, swept over him, and his vision swam with red at the edges. With a roar, he rushed forward, shield first, his rage and bulk sending the fighters in his path scattering like toy figurines. He lashed about with his sword, making no note of his targets, just smashing armored figures with every ounce of strength he could muster. He burst through the Gemtooth formation to find himself among Fargin and the remaining skirmishers.
Onin, his vision still red with rage, fleetingly met eyes with Fargin, and both young men turned and plunged back into the enemy lines with determination. The rest of the Scalebacks were not far behind, and the remaining Stoneclaws joined in the counterattack. Working in concert, they had the Gemtooths surrounded. The crowd cheered the exciting turnabout.
Still the Gemtooths were vicious, and their blows, powerful. The light armor of the skirmishers had the Scalebacks at a disadvantage, and one by one, they succumbed under the mighty strikes of the Gemtooths. Onin paid no heed to the casualties and continued to press the attack with all his strength. He received multiple hits but never flinched, immune to the pain. His own attacks were not so easily ignored, and he felled Gemtooth after Gemtooth as they squared up against him.
Suddenly no men stood before him. The battle ended and with it, Onin’s rage. He drew deep breaths as he looked about for his companions, but none were left standing. The arena was littered with bodies, and all of the Gemtooth fighters were eliminated. Besides Onin, only a half dozen fighters remained—all Stoneclaws. The crowd screamed, swept away with imaginary bloodlust.
Onin stepped to the center of the arena, one of the few clear spaces remaining since so much of the battle had happened near the high stone walls. Fatigue gripped Onin and his arms felt heavy. He wanted so much to lay his sword and shield down and just rest. But instead he set his jaw and saluted the six Stoneclaw fighters.
The crowd went wild. Onin had no chance. It would be easy for them to surround him and strike him down.
The six made no move to do so, however. Instead, they looked at each other, and something passed between them. They all nodded in consensus, and turned to face Onin again.
The Stoneclaw closest to him stepped forward and returned the salute. He attacked Onin while the other five remained disengaged. The crowd applauded uproariously to show their approval. Onin met his attacker head-on and struck him down with the first exchange.
The next Stoneclaw stepped forward and saluted. Onin returned the salute wearily. They circled one another for a moment, each probing for an opening. Onin found his first, driving home a short, quick strike that removed the opponent from the tournament.
The next fighter engaged Onin immediately, forgoing the salute. Onin retreated several steps before striking a lucky blow to his opponent’s helmet, sending him to the ground. A nearby judge called the Stoneclaw out.
The final three looked at one another again, rethinking their honorable approach. Onin neared the limits of his endurance. His shield sagged with fatigue, and he struggled to keep it raised. He had to choose his attacks carefully and make the most of the strength left in his limbs. He could only hope the remaining Stoneclaws were as tired as he.
One of the Stoneclaws stepped forward to salute. Apparently honor had won out among them. Onin traded several blows with his adversary. He felled his opponent with a powerful overhand chop, although he took a painful shot to the knee in the process.
Now limping, Onin wasted no time before engaging the next fighter. He lurched forward, slamming his shield against the Stoneclaw, sending him reeling back. Onin’s follow-up strike knocked the lad’s helmet sideways. Behind him, a judge cried, "Out!"
The last Stoneclaw squared off with Onin. The crowd alternated between screaming and cheering. Onin took a deep breath and focused all of his attention on his opponent. The sounds of the crowd grew distant in his mind. His opponent closed the distance in a sudden rush, and their shields collided with a crash.
Onin cried out with the pain as his knee buckled under the weight of his adversary. Twisting to the side to divert the charge, Onin dropped his sword and smashed his gauntlet-covered fist into his opponent's helmet. The ferocious blow clanged against the Stoneclaw’s helmet and brought him to one knee. Before he could recover his footing, Onin’s fist sent him to his back with a crash.
A judge cried, "Out!" As one, the crowd rose, roaring with applause. Flowers rained down into the arena as the spectators cast them out in handfuls.
Onin, limping painfully, saluted all four directions of the arena. The rest of the contestants, done playing dead, came to their feet and did likewise. In a show of sportsmanship, the students clasped hands with one another and offered congratulations. They then walked or limped to the doors they had entered from. As Onin approached, Rabbash poked his head through the door.
"Hey! Grab that sword!" said Rabbash, trying to whisper and shout at the same time. Onin looked where he pointed and saw a practice sword with the Gemtooth symbol on it. He gave Rabbash a puzzled look.
"Just get it! I’ll explain later."
Onin stooped to grab the weapon and limped through the door.
* * *
NOT EVERYONE WAS RIVETED by the spectacle of the tournament. While the prospective Guards were testing their mettle against one another, sharp minds conspired in the silent halls of Scaleback Academy.
Sensi rushed from the library with a stack of scrolls in his arms. The scrolls he had put in their place were a set of old recipes, on similarly aged parchment, so they should pass a cursory inspection. Getting them out proved easy since the halls of the academy were virtually empty on festival day. Returning them to the correct place unnoticed would be more challenging, especially with recent developments.
Still, he had no choice. For his own reasons, he needed the coin provided, wherever the twins got it from. Over their years at the academy, Sensi had been able to see the financial accounts tracking the allowances of the students bequeathed by their parents. The twins indeed came from a wealthy family, but the amount of coin the two spent far exceeded their allotment. Sensi had received a fair portion himself, and most of the other academic students were paid for some service or another, and the twins had passed coin to numerous arms students as well. Sensi had no idea what they could be up to with their old books and clandestine meetings or where they secured the money they were using so lavishly.
Sensi found them in their customary seats in the student hall. As usual, they sat quietly, thumbing through various texts or scrolls and scribbling the occasional note on a nearby parchment. The twins always covered what they were researching when Sensi approached, slamming books shut or piling items to conceal parchments, but this time he seemed to have caught them off guard. Sensi caught a glimpse of the book Altavus studied, and the page contained a picture of a woman dressed in robes holding two scales in her hands. He knew which books and scrolls he fetched from under the librarian’s nose, and he always pored over the contents of the ones he could read but discovered nothing useful. If the twins had a goal in mind, Sensi couldn’t fathom it.
Sensi dropped the pile of scrolls unceremoniously in front of them. They hardly looked up and seemed completely disinclined to speak to him. Once it became apparent Sensi wasn’t going to leave, Lornavus broke the silence.
"Is there something else?"
"Yes, there is," said Sensi. He felt about to step onto ice that may be thin. "That little fighter named Rabbash was poking around in the antiquities department. He was looking for some text on a historic battle, and he noticed one of the books he wanted was missing: Testament of the Augur."
"Why does an ox want the Testament?" asked Altavus. Both of the twins always referred to the fighting students as oxen. "There are no accounts of historic battles; it is a book of prophecy."
"Who knows?" said Sensi with a shrug. "But he has raised the text's disappearance with the librarian, who is now searching all over for it. If it doesn’t reappear soon, suspicion will fall on me in due time. That is, if it hasn’t already."
The twins shared a long glance.
"We have what we can glean from it," said Altavus. "We need the original, not this modern translation." Sensi puzzled over the comment. The manuscript was rumored to be more than a thousand years old.
"I am still concerned why an ox would want it," said Lornavus. "I’m surprised they even know the text exists. I can’t imagine why he would need to study it himself."
Sensi shrugged again. "Perhaps he’s a follower of the Old Faith."
The twins looked at one another again then at Sensi. It was disconcerting to have the full attention of both of them at the same time. After a long moment, Lornavus fished a pouch from inside his robes, and it made the familiar tinkling sound as he tossed it to Sensi. Altavus produced the Testament from the pile of books they hoarded and gave it back to Sensi.
"After this has been returned, we’ve another task for you, Sensi . . ."