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 over a 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.
The imperial herald gonged for silence, then called Callan and Swordmaster Ranne to the center.
“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 center, I had a clear view of the arena and Ranne’s unrelenting assault. 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 seat, the restraining hands of his neighbors the only thing keeping him from hurling himself over the Rat Dragon mirror toward his candidate. Lord Ido was relaxed, leaning back in his seat, drinking wine, the officials around him silent and upright in subtle disapproval. It was a relief when Callan finally stumbled back to the line, 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 defense. 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-defense 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 to the center. The deep, combined note of their gongs 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 forward—still no pain in my hip. Perhaps the heat of the sands 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. I stared at the patch of churned sand in the center. 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 the 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. But 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, fine-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 armored bulk next to my slight body. Above the mirror, Lord Ido sat forward, any pretense of nonchalance gone. I searched the rows behind him and found my master. He was sitting straight, the pale blur of his face tilted toward me.
“Prepare,” Ranne said, taking a position with the sun at his back. He twirled his swords out and around his body in a mesmerizing 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 right. At least Ranne would not have the glare advantage. Underfoot, the sand was kicked and gouged but tightly packed. The outer edges would be loose and treacherous.
“Swordmaster,” I said, watching his eyes narrow behind the helmet slits. “I have dispensation from the council to—”
“I know that, Eon-jah,” he said curtly. “Get back into position.”
I took a jagged breath. “This is my position, Swordmaster.”
He snorted. “At least I taught you something.” He shifted to face me. “Let’s see if you learned anything else.”