I released my swords, pulling them up into salute. We bowed over our hilts, eyes locked together. Leaning my weight back onto my good leg, I lifted the right sword above my head, stretching the left before me in a straight line aimed at his throat. Ranne mirrored me, his smooth grace fearsome. Both of us poised, watching for a sign: a blink, a glance, an indrawn breath.
It was a blink—a reflex as his outstretched blade swung above his head to twin the other in a wide arc.
The Goat Dragon.
His two swords, angled for slicing, came whirring at my chest. My block was simple: a step of the back leg, a shift of weight, my right sword joining the left in front of me, cutting side slanted down. Ranne’s blades hit mine. The impact resonated through my arms, the strain forcing a swarm of bright dots across my vision until his steels slid along my angled edges. I pushed down with his momentum, the pain spreading from bones to muscles. He was not pulling his blows. My left sword lifted, freed from engagement. All I had to do was flip the edge and swing at his throat, but the shock of contact made me slow. I missed the chance—he’d already blocked. I backed away, stabilizing my grip. For a moment, the chant of the crowd rose through my concentration. Eon. They were calling for me. I took a deep breath, buoyed by their cheers.
I sidestepped, twirling my swords in front of me for the attacking move of the Goat Dragon Second. Instead, Ranne accelerated toward me, his swords high above his head. It wasn’t the Goat Second. He was going into the Horse Third. I braced, raising my swords just in time. The crashing force of steel against steel pushed me back into the soft edge. Ranne’s hilts locked into mine. I dug the side of my foot into the sand, stopping my slide. His face was a fingerlength from mine, his rank breath hot on my skin.
“That’s not the Goat,” I gasped. My back foot was slipping.
“My mistake,” he said.
He jerked his body closer, his whole weight on my hilts, making my hands and arms shake with the pressure. Through the pound of my heartbeat, I heard the crowd start to shout down Ranne. I didn’t have enough strength to push back. Any moment my arms would give way. He’d slam his elbow into my face.
Rat drops to ground.
It was not a voice. It was a deep body knowledge. Somehow my muscle and sinew and bone knew what to do. I fell backward, pulling my swords with me, turning them in a backhanded sweep that cleared them of Ranne. As I hit the sand, I saw his mouth gape in surprise, a mirror of my own shock. The crowd howled with excitement; the cripple was fighting back.
Snake coils to strike.
I rolled over, then scrabbled onto my knees. Ranne had already recovered and was bearing down on me. His swords were twirling in a tight crossover. The Dog Dragon Third. No more pretense of keeping to the sequences. He was going for the Dog Dragon’s punishing hits and withdrawals. I hauled myself onto my feet, swords up, watching for the break.
My first block was clumsy, the blunt of my sword bouncing back too close to my face. The second was at the wrong angle, the jarring hit making my hand convulse against the grip. The deep knowledge was gone as quickly as it had arrived. I gulped for air. His third attack forced me to block with a back-twisted grip. The heavy downstroke hammered my weakened hold, bending my wrist back until it was useless. For a moment Ranne was a dark blur in a gray haze of pain. Then I felt him flick the end of his blade, sending my left sword spinning across the sand. The crowd’s gasp filled the arena.
I staggered back, pressing my wrist against my chest. At least it wasn’t my right hand. Ranne was closing in, one sword raised, the other with the hilt held ready for the Tiger Dragon Second attack—a series of fast cuffs using the heavy butt as a cudgel. I squinted, trying to focus through the pain. One sword—one block. He’d attack high. I raised my sword, ready to protect my head.
Rabbit kicks out.
The ancient knowledge. Even as my mind fought to stay upright, I was dropping to the ground and swinging my good leg toward his knees. My shin connected. I felt him fold, hit the sand. He looked across at me, his eyes bulging with fury.
Dragon whips tail.
No!
Ranne lunged over the sand with a sword, just missing my foot. I backpedaled from his reach, the drag of my own sword sending up a spray of grit.
Dragon whips tail.
No!
My hip—I can’t—
Ranne dug a sword into the ground and pulled himself upright. He lowered his head and charged at me, holding his blades out on either side. He wasn’t even using the forms. He was just fighting. I struggled onto my knees, caught between two possibilities: conduit or cripple.
I was a cripple.
Before I could raise my sword, Ranne swung at my head. I jerked backward, feeling the stir of air a moment before his blade vibrated past my face. I was off balance. Nowhere to go. I saw a blur of hand. A flash of metal angled at my head. Then a sickening wave of agony crashed over the light, and I was falling through black air.
CHAPTER FIVE
I OPENED MY EYES. Everything was white glare, pressing more pain into my head. I squeezed my eyes shut again, tears running over my nose and cheek into the rough sand.
“Eon?”
It was a distant voice, too far away. I licked my lips. Dust and salt.
“Eon.” A weight on my shoulder, shaking me.
I blinked, letting the piercing light push its way into my eyes again. I was lying under the emperor’s mirror, behind the two lines of candidates.
“Master?”
His face came into focus. Frowning.
I had failed him.
“You need to get up, Eon.”