Twenty-Nine #2
Something cannons into Vripiai from the side, slamming him against the wall so hard the boards crack.
It’s another runic, not Star but a big four-legged thing like a horse with an eagle’s head.
Its long beak rips out a chunk of steel and wire from the snake’s neck while its foreclaws rake Vripiai’s side.
The damage isn’t fatal, and the snake wraps its length around the horse-thing’s middle and starts to squeeze.
The two of them strain against each other, metal screaming.
“You fucking coward.” It’s a young woman’s voice, the horse-thing’s master.
She’s standing on an overhead bridge, glaring down at Quech with her hands on her hips.
She has bright eyes and a short blond ponytail, and wears an elegantly tailored outfit that looks made for the occasion.
“Can’t win a fair fight so you’re looking for stray masters to pick off? ”
Vripiai screeches as the horse-eagle takes another chunk out of it, but its coils continue to tighten. Quech looks at the struggling pair, then shrugs.
“Nothing special about a fair fight,” he says. “A win’s a win, however you get there.”
Then he moves, faster than I would have thought possible for such a big man.
He sprints at the wall, jumps, and gets just enough height to wrap his hand around the other master’s boot.
She shrieks and stumbles as his weight pulls her off the bridge.
They land together, Quech in a crouch, the girl badly; her shriek becomes a scream as something in her lower leg snaps.
Before she can move, Quech grabs her face, his hand so big his fingers reach both her ears.
“What I do hate,” he says conversationally, as the horse-thing’s armor starts to crumple under Vripiai’s pressure, “is being lectured.”
Wham, he slams the back of her head against the wall.
Wham, again, leaving a smear of blood. Her scream becomes a keening wail, muffled by his palm, and with an ugly crunch he batters her a third time.
Her eyes roll up in her head, and he drops the twitching body and turns to me, shaking drops of blood from his hand.
“You—” I swallow. “You can’t.”
“It’s not against the rules.” He laughs. “I asked specifically. Masters aren’t a threat to other masters.” He holds up his huge, bloodstained hand. “Because we’re not allowed weapons, you see?”
Behind him, Vripiai uncurls from around the dead horse-eagle and lets out a hiss, sparks flaring from the gaps in its armor.
Shit. Shit shit shit—
[Panic: I’m coming, the ball is dead, I’m—]
A deep bell rings out.
The contestants—the surviving contestants—gather with their runics in front of the judge’s platform.
Several of them need to be carried out on stretchers, with broken limbs or worse.
I’m not sure if Quech accounted for them as well, or if there are others whose sense of honor doesn’t prevent them from taking an easy victory.
The girl who saved me, of course, is carried out as well, under a white sheet already staining red with gore.
Star stands beside me again, a little too close, as though still worried we’re going to be attacked. I pat his metallic flank, and he bumps me with one limb.
[Query: you’re certain you’re all right?]
I’m fine. I reach for a flippant tone. Are you worried about me?
[Retort: obviously I’m worried about me. You’re so fragile. And if you die we lose the tournament.]
Let’s hope we didn’t lose anyway. Two points may not be enough.
[Analysis: if Quech accumulated more points than necessary, it helps our chances.]
I glance at the big man and his runic, who everyone else is giving a wide berth.
Forgive me if I don’t thank him.
“Well fought,” Alzimyth says, taking the stage again. He seems more animated now, as though inspired by the bloodletting. “You have done honor to the Ascent and the Apex. These are the masters advancing and their point totals. Quech, six. Niami, four…”
Most of the names are meaningless to me. I count down, waiting. Six, five, four, three—
“Arbet, two. Taj, two. Githbert, one.” Alzimyth looks up. “Further rounds will be one-on-one duels under the usual rules. Pairings will be announced on the day.”
He turns, abrupt as always, and stalks off.
Hisham hurries back onto the platform and dabs at his forehead.
“Tomorrow night there will be a ball, generously, um, hosted by Councilor Dreikin. I hope all the winners and their sponsors will join us. The second-round fights will commence, um, the day after that.” He turns around to face the stands, which are already emptying out.
“And may I say that it, um, brings me great pleasure to see that our often-divided citizenry can unite when—”
The speech continues, but nobody seems to be listening. Sponsors are filtering back over, and I see Devon Dreikin in conversation with Quech. The big man’s hand is still flecked red.
[Warning: incoming.]
I turn to find the green-haired girl coming over, her tiger remaining behind at a safe distance. She’s small and sprightly, with beaming eyes and a broad smile, and she extends a hand for me to shake.
“Niami,” she says. “You’re Taj, right?”
“Right,” I say, bemused. This was not the attitude I expected from any of my opponents.
“And this is Star?” She looks him up and down, and for once there’s no condescension in the gaze. “I’ve been so curious about him. I don’t recognize his parts at all!”
“I didn’t build him from parts.”
“He’s scratch-built?” She bounces excitedly, leaning closer. “Like you really set every sigil by hand? That must have taken ages!”
I’m not sure how to tell her that it actually took about a week and a half, all told. I don’t have a good frame of reference for how long it usually takes to build a runic.
“Your… runic is very impressive, too,” I venture. “What’s its name?”
“Bitey.”
“Bitey?”
She laughs. “It likes to bite things. I’m bad at names.”
“The way it moves is very fluid. Lifelike.”
“You noticed?” She squeaks with excitement. “I put a lot of work into its core patterns. Grandma says it’s a waste of time, but I think it helps when it’s fighting. Its moves are a lot smoother.”
“I think you’re right.”
“I can show you what I did. Once the tournament is over, I mean, since we might have to fight. Will you show me how Star works?”
“Um. Sure, I guess?” At the moment I can’t even think that far ahead.
“Great!” She catches sight of someone over my shoulder and waves. “Grandma’s here. See you later! In the arena, maybe!”
She bounces away. I shake my head and try to catch my breath.
[Warning: further incoming—]
I turn, hands coming up to defend myself, and stagger backward as Ky cannons into me. She wraps her arms around my neck tight enough that it’s a struggle to breathe, and her weight almost bowls me over.
“You did it you did it you did it,” she says, high and squeaky into my shoulder.
“Fuck I saw Vripiai coming and I thought it had you but you rolled and dodged and then the bell rang and fuck.” She sucks in a breath.
“I thought I was dead. And you, probably. I thought we were both dead. But you did it.”
[Objection: don’t I get any credit here?]
“Star wants you to know that he did most of the work,” I choke out.
“Right.” Ky looks over at the runic, who flutters his legs and gives a little bow. “Thank you, um, Star. You were brilliant.”
“And… do you mind…”
“Sorry.” She hurriedly steps away from me, which is a relief from a breathing point of view, although the feel of her body pressed against mine lingers. “Just… a lot of emotion to process here. Thought we were going to die. But we’re not! Not today, anyway. You won.”
Her energy is infectious. It hadn’t felt like a win, cowering in Vripiai’s shadow and watching as Quech crushed that girl’s skull.
But I had made it to the next round. And Star had triumphed over two of the vaunted Hod runics, for all their slick parts and shiny exteriors.
The Mark 6 is fast and strong, his fighting limbs able to carve through metal with ease with the power of yellow sigils behind them.
And I haven’t even shown off any of his tricks yet. A grin starts to spread across my face.
“I tried to take notes on every runic I could see,” Ky continues. “And I’ll see if there’s any info floating around we can trade for. We should be better prepared for the next round.”
“I’ve got a few tweaks I want to make to Star, too,” I tell her. “We’ve got two days, that should be plenty of time.”
“I doubt you’ll get much work done tomorrow,” she says cheerily. “We need to get ready for the ball.”
“The ball? I thought we didn’t have time for dinner invitations and such.”
“This is different.” She looks at me seriously. “It’s part of the tournament, we can’t skip it.”
“But…” Stumbling around Ky’s opulent house with only her and the servants to see my unfamiliarity with everything is bad enough. The thought of a party with the elite of Hod makes my cheeks start burning with preemptive embarrassment. “Isn’t that all about… dancing and such? I don’t know how.”
“It’s easy, I’ll walk you through it.” Ky grins. “Besides, Alzimyth will be there. It could be your only chance to talk to him.”
That makes my heart lurch. Alzimyth, the visitor from Above. Stars, I don’t need to talk to him. If I can just get a look at his coat…
Ky, watching my expression, gives a satisfied nod. “Now come with me. You’ve got clothes to try on.”