Page 101 of Court of Talons
Rihad now stands at the head of the line, Fortiss at his side. He rides in procession down the long line of men, shouting to them.
“Men of the Tournament of Gold, we salute you,” he cries. “May you fight honorably and well. The melee will continue until the blasts of trumpets and fireworks signal the end. If you cannot hear the one, you will see the other. Look and listen for my command! We want no foolish injuries here.” He reaches the center of the line, where Kheris and I are positioned. I gaze stonily at Rihad, whose sly grin fills up his whole face. Beside Rihad, Fortiss refuses to look at me at all. “Though there will be injuries and there may be deaths. Such is the nature of war.”
He raises his left hand to the sky, his right fist curled to his heart. All the men who are warriors except Kheris and myself do the same, then Rihad drops both hands back to his bridle.
“Kheris of the Third House, Merritt of the Tenth. I command you to battle!” Rihad shouts. Behind us, a huge swelling roar of excited men erupts, made ever greater as the crowd joins in.
Rihad and Fortiss turn and gallop back to the stage. As they ride, a growing clamor of shouting men and rattling weapons sounds from all sides of the wide field, while spectators strainforward to see above each other and search the skies for the first appearance of the Divhs.
Now Kheris and I lift our hands to our hearts and the sky as well. The big man glares at me with far too much hate for any one face. I return his stare, my mind strangely clear once more, the anger within me bright and true. The sun is behind me in the western sky, which puts it in the face of Kheris’s line. I will fall back, I decide, feigning weakness as Kheris comes on, then as his own focus sharpens with the eagerness of an easy kill, I will plunge Darkwing forward full force. This is the strategy to win in the first rush. After that, it will be the Divhs’ battle to fight.
A horn blasts through the air.
As one, we drop our arms.
The sky booms with the force of a thousand cannons, and men scream all around me, flush with the fire of war. I can hear Gent’s roar of excitement before I feel his connection sharpen to crystal clarity in this plane, and though I don’t turn back to see where he’s landed behind the converging warriors, I know the truth.He’s here!He’s with me. For a brief, blessed moment, I immerse myself in his waves of joy and pride that he has come to fight by his warrior’s side?—
Then the madness of the battle consumes me.
Kheris launches himself at me with the fury I expect, and I fall back, forcing my men to cleave around me and spin to the right and left. I can almost feel Kheris’s glee, and I wait one, two, a third moment longer before I surge forward. I see him, yes, but I also see through Gent’s eyes, his head swinging from right to left as he races forward at the head of the line of monsters to all his foes beyond. I thought I would be able to see both above and below, but I can’t focus on Kheris. I see only the creature right in front of Gent, not Kheris’s huge serpent but the giant spider-legged beetle of a Seventh House warrior, every inch of her body dripping poison.
Gent swings his hands close together like a battering ram and collides with the creature head-on. I feel my Divh’s surprise at the ferocity of the hit, and the satisfaction of it as well, and I realize—he doesn’t truly understand this fight, doesn’t seek it, but he will do anything I ask. Whatever it takes to protect me. And that bond has brought him here, huge fists flying, horns bristling, his howl shattering the sky. I don’t know whether to laugh in exultation or weep in shame.
The battle on the ground rages forth as well. Kheris races his horse directly by me—byme, not into me, and I pull Darkwing to the left in time for it to be a clean pass. Kheris doesn’t swipe his arm to knock me off my horse, however, and he doesn’t turn to plow me over with his much larger steed. Instead, his eyes hold the near-and-far gaze I suspect I also project, his body twitching at the neck and shoulder and arm. He pulls his sword, and—attacks a man at my right.
My right! Kheris isdefendingme.
Belatedly, I jerk my own sword out of its scabbard as well and instantly realize the truth of our situation. We can’t fight effectively like this, not simultaneously on the ground and in the sky, in the minds of our Divhs. A hot burst of pain blossoms on my shoulder, and I blink back into focus.
Hantor is before me, attacking and slashing, and I allow both mind and spirit to snap together and take him in the quick attack after a sudden slash. I am neither bigger nor stronger than Hantor, but he’s not expecting me to pull my short sword with my left hand even as I heft my long sword with my right. I cut in, sharply, and clip his shoulder just at the neck. He wheels away, his horse staggering against his sudden cut of the reins.
Around me is chaos. The fighting men have split, as Caleb directed them to do, drawing their enemies into two clusters of battles with the long sword, the boys at the periphery and theseasoned guardsmen cutting down their foes with bloodthirsty glee.
The warrior knights, though, are slowing, steadying, their minds torn in two with the need to both protect themselves and guide their Divhs as well, in perfect point and counterpoint. One of the great lions falters and falls, and an attacking bull leaps for its throat, the two of them tumbling end over end as their warriors on horseback wheel and jerk in their saddles, their weapons going wide as their minds are consumed with the heat of another battle.
My own gaze fractures. Gent crashes his fist hard into a spitting lizard’s jaw, sending it spinning, and pain bites through my gloved hands as the poison eats into an open wound on Gent’s paw. The flash of agony clears my head and centers me, but the moment of distraction exacts its price.
A warrior of the First House breaks through the field and pounds up to me on a horse as white as snow, even in the churning dust. He does to me what I would have done to him if I’d been quicker, attacking down the long sword, the angle of his blade pressing forth, and I realize he’s stopped controlling his Divh; his mind is no longer split.
He’s fully in the moment, his Divh left to its own battles even as I struggle to balance my sight between Gent’s multifaceted gaze and the world directly before me. The blade of the man’s sword slices along my arm, skidding away from a direct cut at the last minute but laying open a deep cleft of flesh and muscle that jolts me to my core. I’ve never been injured like this—I’ve never felt such pain.
Somewhere high above me, Gent screams.
Another of the First House is approaching in direct assault from my side, and my first thought is Darkwing. Beautiful, valiant Darkwing, who rears and darts away, his hind legs bunched for flight. The stallion springs in rapid movement asthe short sword—a dagger, really—comes out of nowhere and plunges into my right thigh. I feel the sudden surge of lifeblood spew forth and know that this, I cannot stanch. This cut is thick and deep and true.
The way of the warrior is death.
My vision swims, and I see what Gent sees—Gent, as he swings two small Divhs together and tosses them both aside like garbage, then turns and lumbers toward me, furious and panicked, but nearly blind when it comes to seeing fine detail. Blind! I’ve forgotten his sight in this plane.
His pain isn’t at all physical, but it swamps him, swamps us both as if it is.He can’t find me.No matter his might and strength, his overwhelming need is to keep me safe. Only, he can’t reach me. No one can reach me.
I’ve learned the way of the warrior. But in the end, I am no warrior.
I don’t have the strength. I haven’t had the time.
A flash of gold and black bursts before me, and the nick of a blade against my collarbone adds a spray of blood to coat my face and black my eyes. Darkwing spins beneath me, confused and terrified; I don’t know how I stay astride him. My sight careens wildly between what I’m seeing and what Gent sees, and I barely note the sand-colored flash that comes upon me next. It’s not Kheris, but?—
Another stripe of pain lances my fingers. My sword falls away.