Chartomancy

Looking at the kwajiin arrayed to the south, I began speaking a challenge, using the same formula and archaic words I’d heard from the first kwajiin I encountered far to the east. I kept my voice even but loud, allowing the barest hint of contempt to enter my words.

“I am Moraven Tolo, jaecaiserr. For years beyond your counting I have defended the people of the Nine. I have opposed tyra

I knew my words would slowly spread back through the kwajiin army, though I had meant them for only one pair of ears. Whether or not their leader deigned to meet me in combat was important, but my fighting others would suffice to accomplish my goal. Making his people wait meant they would become hungry and thirsty, hot and tired. Every minute I gained was a minute in which they worsened.

A kwajiin commanding the vhangxi prodded one with his sword’s wooden scabbard, then pointed at me. The beast began to gallop in my direction. Its powerful shoulder and chest muscles heaved as knuckles pounded into the ground. It didn’t even head for the bridge, but made to leap the gap and, in another jump, pounce on me.

I exhaled slowly and set myself. As I did so another mask and armor settled over me. Jaedun flowed, filling me, strengthening me, and altering the way I saw the battlefield and my enemy. Even before the beast made the first leap to the island, I knew how it would die.

I strode forward quickly, drawing the sword from over my right hip. As the vhangxi began his descent, claws raised high, mouth gaping, I reversed my grip on the sword. The blade stabbed back along my forearm, the tip touching triceps. I leaned forward, letting its left hand sweep above my head, then I twisted my wrist.

The blade’s tip caressed the vhangxi’s armpit. Blood gushed, steaming, splashing silver grass. It pulsed scarlet over the stone, spraying out in a vast arc as the vhangxi spun to face me. It took one step, arms raised, letting blood geyser into the air, then it collapsed. It clawed at the green grasses outside the circle. More blood jetted from the severed artery, then it lay still, grunting, as its huge lungs emptied for the last time.

In one fluid flash of silver, I resheathed my sword and turned to face the kwajiin again.

“Am I mistaken for a butcher that you send a beast at me? Or have you less courage and less honor than this lifeless lump?”

I had actually hoped that the kwajiin in the front rank would send several more vhangxi at me, in a group this time, but he saw the consequences of doing that. If I defeated three, he could send five, and if I killed five, he could send nine, but none of that would show his courage or honor. He had only one option.

He stepped forward and bowed. He wore the crest of the bloody skull and raised his voice for all to hear. “I am Xindai Gnosti of Clan Gnosti. I have fought for years beyond my own remembering. I have slain many here, and slew many of my kinsmen to earn the honor of leading troops…”

I interrupted him. “You are a beastmaster, not a warrior.”

He stared at me, startled, and faltered as faint rumblings of displeasure filtered back from the kwajiin line. He began again. “I am Xindai…”

Again I interrupted. “Your name, your lineage, and history bore me, herdsman. If you have courage, come, meet me.”

He drew his sword and began to run.

I turned my back on him and moved to the center of the circle as I awaited him. His footsteps thundered over the bridge. They thumped more softly as he sprinted toward the circle. They chimed metallically in the grasses, then stopped six feet from me. He leaped into the air, his sword raised high, both hands on the hilt, already bringing the blade down for the blow that would split me from crown to breastbone.

I took a half step back. Raising my arms, I crossed my wrists and caught his wrists firmly. Bending forward, I shortened his leap’s arc and smashed him into the ground. He bounced up, grunting, but before he had hit the ground again, I tore the sword from his grip, reversed it, and stabbed it through his throat, pi

I turned, not wanting to watch him thrash out his life, and let the din of the grasses describe his final agonies. When the ringing faded, I opened my arms and looked to the south.

“I see now why you let the beasts fight for you.” I seated myself on the circle’s edge. “Is there no one among you who is a warrior?”

More came, fifteen in all. The young came swiftly and foolishly, and died quickly. Some came cautiously and fought formally, but their fear hobbled them, and their ancient forms served only until they met an attack they had not learned how to counter. The most dangerous came nonchalantly, without a care in the world. His blade cut me beneath my right eye, and he took great delight in watching my blood flow.

So I blinded him, such that the beauty of that vision would never be eclipsed.

Finally, their army split as a wedge of ba

I decided to bow in return, deeply and respectfully. The warriors on Deraelkun’s battlements cheered.

The kwajiin shook his head. “I am Gachin Dost. This is my army.”

“I am Moraven Tolo. I do not need an army.”

My enemy smiled slowly. “I know what it is that you are trying to do.”

“It is what I am doing.” I let my eyes half lid. “Stop me if you are able.”

“I am more than capable.” He drew both of his swords and held them out to the sides, their points raised to heaven. He brought the right sword down in a slash. Drums began to pound to the east and that wing of his army marched forward. The other blade fell, and that half of the kwajiin force began its assault.

He crossed the bridge, then paused. Flaming arrows sailed from behind his lines and ignited that bridge. Grey tendrils of smoke swirled forward and around him. He advanced to the circle’s edge, then crossed his blades over his chest. “I have dueled with gods and won.”

I shrugged. “I’ve had dreams I thought were real, too.”

He shook his head. “Enough of this. If you want to kill me, try. Succeed or fail, it will not change the outcome of the battle.”

I opened my hands. “Let your steel talk.”

On either side of us, the battle unfolded. Arrows darkened the sky. Men pitched screaming from battlements. Swaths of blue-ski

Above it all, with smoke rising in a dark grey swirl, the wounded bear ba

And below the fortress, Gachin Dost and I dueled.

Twin blades flashed and rang as we parried. Swords whistled through empty cuts and grasses pealed as we landed from leaps. The sting of pain, the flow of blood, minor cuts that but for a twist or slip would have cost a limb or opened an artery. A hard parry with two swords trapping a third, which whipped away through the smoke. Another sword plucked from a corpse, slashing, tracing a red line above a knee, and another clipping inches from flowing locks or harvesting an ear.