Eon: Dragoneye Reborn

CHAPTER 4

We knelt on the floor for two hours. For the first hour, I carefully tensed and relaxed my muscles from toes to scalp — a method my master had taught me to keep my body warm and flexible. By the second hour, the cold was overcoming my efforts, locking my joints. Even my fingers felt taut, as though the bitterness had driven heavy liquid into the knuckles. I made tight fists, and released, welcoming the sting of warmer blood.

To my right, Quon was shifting against his haunches, his face twisted into a grimace. On the other side, Lanell was working his hands like creeping caterpillars up and down the front of his thighs, bunching the silk.

Suddenly, at the top of the ramp, a ball of excited voices unravelled into a single, harsh shout.

'Get out of my way'

A group of officials burst out of the rampway and clustered into a grey barricade, halting the progress of a tall, solidly built man. An older official stepped forwards, his large ruby pin of rank catching the light. He bowed low.

'Lord Ido, no further! Please.'

What was Lord Ido doing here? It was against tradition for the ascending Dragoneye to have contact with the candidates. I had only ever seen him from afar playing his part in official ceremonies, his features smudged by distance. Now he was just lengths away. Along the row, the other candidates stirred, heads lifting at the disturbance.

I squinted, trying to distinguish more detail against the bright glare of the ramp opening. He wore his oiled black hair in the double queue of the Dragoneye, looped high into a knot at the crown of his head. I caught the planes of his face as he moved, broad strokes painted by light and shadow: a high scholar's brow, a long nose like the foreign devils the Emperor had allowed into the city, and a heavy jaw made pugnacious by a jutting dark beard. But it was the menacing power in his body that made the officials scatter before him. Lord Ido did not move like a Dragoneye. He moved like a warrior.

He swept a way through the officials, using his forearm to knock the slighter men aside.

Every move was decisive, with none of the careful conservation of energy that marked the other Dragoneyes. Although he wore the traditional robes of the Ascendant, they did not obscure the line of his body; the cutaway coat of deep blue silk — the costly fabric barely discernible beneath heavy gold embroidery — showed the breadth of his shoulders and chest, and the pale blue trousers, cross-bound from ankle to knee, accentuated the muscular shape of his legs. I dropped my gaze to the ground.

'Move,' he ordered. 'I will see the candidates.'

I straightened, and knew that all along the row every candidate filled his chest and lengthened his spine as Lord Ido approached.

The old official scurried ahead of him. 'Lord Ido,' he announced to us, trying to wrest back some protocol.

Beside me, Quon hurriedly dropped into a deep bow. I followed, holding myself a finger-length above my swords,

wide eyes reflected in one polished blade, bloodless lips in the other.

'Greetings, Lord Ido,' we chanted.

'Sit back,' he said. 'Show me your faces.'

Obediently we all rose from our bows, eyes properly lowered.

His feet, in gold-painted shoes, passed by me. I chanced a quick look up at him, expecting to see his back. Instead, our gazes met, and I saw the strange pale amber of his eyes.

'Who are you, boy?'

'Eon, lord.'

He studied me for a moment. It was like being staked out, naked and helpless, under the burn of the sun.

'Brannon's cripple,' he finally said. 'Be ashamed. You rob an able-bodied boy of his chance.'

I heard the intake of breath along the line of candidates, but my own air was gone — knocked out of me like a blow to the stomach. Even if I was to win the attention of the Rat Dragon, Lord Ido would never accept me as his apprentice. I shrank back, curling into a smaller target, but he was done with me. Slowly he paced along the row until he stopped in front of Baret in tenth position.

'You are Kane's candidate?' he demanded.

'Yes, lord,' Baret said.

A yelp of outrage and the sound of scuffling snapped us out of our stiff obedience. Quon shuffled forwards to peer down the line. I hesitated, but then rose onto my knees, craning above Lanell, who was bobbing around to find a clear view.

The old official was pulling at Lord Ido's arm, trying to release the Dragoneye's hands that were cupped around Baret's head.

'Lord Ido, you go too far,' he cried.

Away, fool.' Lord Ido shook off the old man's grip, 'You answer to me now'

'No. The Council is still Lord Meram's.' The official ducked back and grabbed at Lord Ido's arm. 'You shall not influence the ceremony'

Lord Ido swung his free hand and there was the wet crack of knuckles hitting flesh. The official fell to his hands and knees, his cheek split over the bone. He shook his head, spraying blood into the air like a dog shaking off water. Lord Ido glared at the lesser officials who had gathered behind their colleague.

'Lord Meram stepped down in my favour last night. I am the Ascendant, and the Council leader. Do any of you stand against me?'

One after the other, the officials cowered into bows.

Lord Ido grunted and jerked his head at the prostrate official. 'Take him away'

Two men hurried across and helped the old man to stand. Lord Ido spun back to face us.

'Get in line,' he ordered.

We scrambled into our positions, the row subtly curving as everyone shifted to watch Lord Ido. He placed his hands on Baret's head. What was he doing? Uneasy whispering rippled through the ranks of officials. Lord Ido took a deep breath and seemed to draw himself upwards as though dragging energy from the earth. Then I was slammed back against my heels by the power that burst from him.

It was as though his flesh had become glass. I saw the seven points of power in his body, pulsing in their own colours from spine to crown: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and purple. All of them connected by silvery-white streams of Hua surging through him from ground to hands and into Baret. ln all of this bright rushing glory, my mind's-eye was drawn to the green heart-point in his chest. The centre of compassion. It was smaller, duller, its flow of Hua thin and stuttering.

And then it was all gone.

I slumped forwards, sucking in air, feeling the puzzled eyes of Quon and Lanell on me. Lord Ido was doubled over, gasping, his face ashen. He looked up and for a second our gazes met, his shrewd eyes widening as he saw that T had been affected by his power. Then his attention was caught by the arrival of two men at the opening of the ramp.

Quon grabbed my shoulder, his fingernails digging through the silk.

'What did he do to him?' he hissed. We both looked at Baret, who was rocking and moaning, his head buried in the cradle of his arms. 'What did you see?'

'I think he marked Baret with his own Hua.'

Quon let go of me. 'Surely that's not allowed. It must be against the rules.'

He turned to the officials, but they were all on their knees staring at the floor. His body sagged.

'It's not fair,' he said, his voice tiny with defeat. 'He's stacking the odds.'

Quon was right. If Lord Edo had marked Baret with his own Hua, then Baret had a much greater chance of being chosen by the Rat Dragon. I felt my own hope wither. In one bold act, Lord Ido had secured the support of Heuris Kane, Baret and their powerful families, asserted his authority over the Council, and cowed us, the other candidates. No wonder my master called him treacherous. The ruthless efficiency of his tactics made me shiver. But at least I was not crying, like Quon.

Lord Ido straightened, his body and breath back to normal. He glanced at Baret.

'Be still,' he snapped.

Immediately, Baret stopped rocking, a whimper of pain escaping as he lifted his head.

'Last night, the Dragoneye Council ruled that the ceremony has become too removed from the traditions of our esteemed ancestors,' Lord Ido said, and from his tone it was plain that it was his ruling and the Council had just fallen into line. He started to pace along the row. 'It was decided that there will be a return to ceremonial combat rather than exhibition.'

It took a moment for his words to make sense. Ceremonial combat? Fighting. I would have to fight someone? I felt my body lock into icy panic.

'You can't do that,' Quon sobbed, desperation making him rash. 'We haven't trained for it.'

Lord Ido rounded on him. 'Mewling coward,' he snarled. 'You are not worthy of the Rat Dragon.'

Quon dropped into a kowtow, his forehead hitting the floor with a crack. Lord Ido eyed him for a moment then resumed his pacing.

'According to a very popular historical scroll, the ascending 1)ragoneye can invoke ceremonial combat if the Council agrees.' 1 lis eyes swept along the row and found me. An old variation in the Chronicles of Detra.'

I looked away from his malicious smile.

He motioned to the two men standing at the ramp. Although they were clad in head-to-toe armour, I recognised the arrogant swagger of the stockier figure.

Ranne.

My innards cramped in familiar fear. Were we going to fight Ranne? But he was a master.

Then it all made terrible sense. Baret was Ranne's favourite. Lord Ido was leaving nothing to chance.

'I am told that you have all trained with Swordmasters Ranne and Jin-pa,' Lord Ido said as they approached him and bowed. 'They will share the honour of sparring with you for the pleasure of the Rat Dragon and our most Heavenly Emperor.'

Ranne turned to look at us, a gloved hand on his hip. Instead of the usual lacquered leather he wore during training, his armour was made of metal scales, the helmet edged with a curtain of mail to protect the neck, the polished breastplate engraved with the character for valour.

'This will be similar to the combat training we have done all year,' he said. 'However, the sequences will not be in order of

ascendance. They will be random. Do you understand? Swordmaster Jin-pa and I may start with the Rat sequence, or the Ox sequence or the Horse sequence. It will be different for each of you. All of the twelve sequences will be used, but not in the order of ascendance. A good test of reflexes and anticipation.'

A low murmur of apprehension rolled along the row. Most of our training had been directed towards a solo exhibition of the sequences in strict order. Not in combat training. Not in random order.

Jin-pa stepped out from behind Ranne. His breastplate bore the character for duty. I had only ever worked with him once; a fair man who had shown me how to adapt a kick for my lame leg. He took his helmet off, tucking it under his arm. The padding had made indentations on his long face, giving him the look of a kindly death's-head.

'Boys, do not be alarmed. You know all of the sequences. It is now just a matter of trusting your training and letting your movements flow from your Hua,' he said bracingly 'The rules of ceremonial combat are just the same as training combat — contact with the flat of the sword or the butt of the handle only. And remember, this is about showing your technique and stamina. Concentrate on recognising the first forms of each sequence, then —'

Ranne shifted irritably 'They're as prepared as they're going to be,' he interrupted, ignoring Jin-pa's dark look. 'Now it is time to meet the challenge and do honour to their masters and ancestors.'

'Well said, Swordmaster Ranne,' Lord Ido said, waving Jin-pa back. 'Will you spar with the odds or the evens?'

Ranne stared down the line as if considering his decision. I saw his gaze flicker over Baret through the eye slits of his helmet. How early in our training had Lord Ido planned all this?

'Evens,' Ranne said.

Foul acid rose into my throat. Number four — the number of death. Had Ranne drawn it for me knowing I would be at his mercy?

Lord Ido turned to us. 'Those with even numbers will spar with Swordmaster Ranne. The odd numbers will spar with Swordmaster Jin-pa. Is that clear?'

'Yes, Lord Ido,' we obediently chanted. I heard Quon's voice break with relief.

The sound of distant drums and trumpets sent the senior officials scurrying to the ramp. Quon and I exchanged knowing glances: the Emperor had started the short journey from palace to arena. It would not be long now.

Last year I had stood beside the roadway, one of the crowd watching the long procession that escorted His Imperial Majesty to the ceremony The marvellous sight was still bright in my mind. I knew that, outside, the wide boulevard would now be filled with ranks of drummers and trumpeters playing a march composed especially for the day Behind them would come rows and rows of armoured mace-wielders, swordmen and lancers with silk flags flying from the blades of their weapons. There would be twelve men on matched black horses riding in rows of three and carrying the huge fluttering banners of the dragons, followed by lines and lines of eunuch footmen in the dark blue livery of the inner household, each carrying an incense burner releasing spicy perfume into the air. One hundred lantern-carriers would be next, their carved lights swinging on tall gilded sticks. Then the young noblemen currently in favour would stride by in their finery, calling the royal presence with chants of their family's fealty. The crowd would drop to their knees in the swirling dust as the handsome heir, Prince Kygo, rode his horse past. Then the Emperor, grave and majestic on a white stallion bridled in gold and pearl, would pass by surrounded by one hundred Imperial guardsmen in tight formation, all armed with a pair of wicked seriated blades held in crossed salute.

It would take at least one half bell for the Emperor to enter the arena and ascend the throne set above the darkened mirror of the Lost Dragon. Then another half bell before the ceremony began. One hour before I bowed to the Heavenly Master. Before I faced Ranne's swords.

The Mirror Dragon sequence! Fear twitched through me. Did Ranne know I had permission to replace it with the Reverse Horse Second?

An official wearing the ruby rank ran up to Lord Ido and dropped to one knee, delivering a low-voiced message.

I had to get to Ranne. Make him understand that I didn't have to do the Mirror Dragon.

Lord Ido nodded to the official, the predatory lines of his face tightening in anticipation.

'Candidates, go now with your Council official. Listen carefully to his instructions,' he said.

'You will have a short time to prepare before Swordmaster Ranne and Swordmaster Jin-pa call you into position. I wish you all good fortune.'

He sent one more searching glance down the row then strode towards the ramp.

As if given a signal, the twelve officials hurried over to us in a neat line, their bodies bending into bows like wind-blown wheat as they passed the Dragoneye. Van stopped in front of me and squatted, ducking his head in a quick courtesy

'Candidate Eon, please come this way' he said. 'Do you wish for water now, or later?'

I pushed myself upwards, every muscle resisting movement. 'I must speak to Swordmaster Ranne.'

Van stood gracefully, brushing down his long grey robe. 'It is my duty to make sure you know the Imperial protocol,' he said. And then you will have time to prepare for the ceremony. Do you wish for water now or later?'

'Please, I must speak to him,' I said, scanning the room. Dillon, Quon and Baret were waiting to drink at a large water

barrel while the rest of the candidates were following their officials to practice areas. Jin-pa was talking earnestly to the ruby official. Ranne was nowhere in sight. 'I must speak to him now,' I repeated. 'It affects the ceremony'

'The Swordmaster has accompanied Lord Ido to the arena,' Van said, shrugging his helplessness. 'I doubt there will be any chance to speak to him before the ceremony'

The weight of the last few days made me sway. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.

Surely Ranne would know about my change to the sequence.

'My master? Can I speak to my master?'

'He is not allowed to return,' Van said.

I groaned.

Van's soft fingers touched my arm. 'Could Swordmaster Jin-pa assist you?'

I looked up at his polite sympathy 'Yes. Yes, I could speak to him.'

'Wait here.'

Van crossed the floor to Jin-pa, waiting as the swordmaster finished his conversation with the senior official. I quickly picked up my swords and tucked them under my arms, blunt side up.

I did not want Jin-pa to think I had no care for my weapons. Van bowed and relayed my request, his narrow shoulders elegantly lifting to show his mystification. Jin-pa waved me over.

I hurried to them, my steps awkward and stiff.

'What is it, boy?' Jin-pa asked as I bowed to him.

'Swordmaster, I've got permission from the Council to change the Mirror Dragon sequence for the Reverse Horse Dragon Second,' I said breathlessly. 'Because of my leg. I'll be sparring with Swordmaster Ranne. Does he know, sir?'

Jin-pa nodded. 'Be at ease, Eon. Both Ranne and I know of the dispensation.'

I felt some of the tension drain from my body.

'Lord Ido informed us this morning,' Jin-pa continued, his words tightening the coil in me again. 'Now go and get some water. It will be hot in the arena.'

He nodded his dismissal. I followed Van to the water barrel, my unease increasing with every step. Ranne may know of the dispensation, but would he honour it?

In the next hour I drank water, bowed to an imaginary Emperor over and over again under the critical eye of Van, and practised the forms until my clumsy cold-ridden movements were worked into smoothness. No doubt the minutes passed normally, but it felt as though each was a second, rushing towards the call to the arena.

And then it came.

'Candidates,' Ranne bawled from the bottom of the ramp, 'get into position.'

For a moment everyone stopped still in the room, and then from above the trumpets sounded the arrival of the Emperor onto the throne, thrusting everyone into frantic action.

'You remember the order of events?' Van asked hurriedly, herding me to the ramp. 'You will all bow to the Eternal Lord first, then kneel at the base of the Mirror of the Lost Dragon and wait until you are announced by the Imperial herald.'

I nodded.

And hold that first bow for the count of ten.' He pushed me into place in the line behind Ranne. 'Don't look up.'

'I won't.' We exchanged quick nods. 'Thank you, Van.'

He patted my arm. 'Good fortune, Eon.' Then he was gone, one more grey robe heading out of the room to the spectator seats.

Across from me in Jin-pa's line, Dillon smiled awkwardly. Although his betrayal was raw, I returned the smile. We may all be pitched against one another, but the real threat was Lord Ido.

I glanced at Baret, three places down our row. His body seemed strangely lax and his eyes were still glazed with furrows of

pain creasing his forehead. The red silk around his throat was dark — someone must have doused his face in the water barrel. Fie looked exhausted. Had Lord Ido miscalculated? Or did he know the effect of his power and had brought Ranne in to coddle Baret through the ceremony?

'Draw into salute,'Jin-pa called.

I crossed my swords in front of my chest, the soft whir of the thin blades multiplying into a hiss as the others swung their weapons into position. An official wearing a red sash over his grey robes emerged from the ramp. He bowed to Ranne and Jin-pa.

'It is time,' he said.

My bowels clenched, sending a sickening rush through me. Another fanfare sounded from above. Then a clipped shout of command from Ranne. Bodies moving — beside me, in front of me. I followed, unable to think beyond the march, my feet keeping time from the memory of endless drills. Each step closer to the top of the ramp; the air warmer, light brighter, trumpets louder.

I stepped out of cool shadow and squinted against the dazzle of morning sun. We had entered a great circle of white sand. All around the edge, twelve huge mirrors faced inwards, each of them surrounded by a heavy gold frame carved with the twelve animal signs and inlaid with jewels and jade. All of the mirrors were dark and dead, except one: the Rat Dragon mirror. It reflected rows and rows of men, the cloth and colours of their robes ranking them — the rich silks of the nobles in the nearby seats, the gold embroideries of the eleven Dragoneyes above their mirrors, the grey-garbed officials in clusters, and the bright cottons and duller roughs of the city merchants and workers in the high seats — thousands of men watching us as we marched towards the Emperor's throne. The slow beat of drums and the climbing call of trumpets were matched by the rumbling of the crowd. As we passed the Rat Dragon mirror, it caught the sun, flaring into eye burning light.

At its crest was a gold ruby-eyed rat, and sitting above it was Lord Ido, a large bright figure amongst the grey robes of the ceremony officials. Even from the ground, I felt his power. Or perhaps it was the mirror.

Sweat was catching my tunic against the small of my back. Ranne called the halt and we stopped before the Emperor, who was dressed in the royal yellow and enthroned above the darkened mirror of the Lost Dragon. I dropped to my knees, the sand hot through the silk.

Van's voice echoed in my head. Count to ten. Don't look up. Don't look around.

I lost the count. Panicking, I raised my eyes, looking for a cue to move. My gaze was pulled into the dull mirror in front of me. No reflection, just a dark blank that swallowed the day's brightness. Beside me, Quon tensed, preparing to stand. I followed his lead, pushing myself upright. For a moment, the sun rippled across the mirror's black surface, making it buckle and heave. A strange trick of the light. We marched in our two lines towards it, to wait underneath its dark expanse. A gold dragon undulated across its top, a pearl held in its ruby claws. I stared into the inky glass, but nothing else stirred.

At Ranne's command we turned, facing the arena, and dropped once more to our knees, swords held in crossed salute. I narrowed my eyes to soften the glare that bounced off the sand. It felt as though every bit of moisture in my body was being sucked away Another fanfare. This time for the Imperial herald. They emerged in a neat line from the rampway, a chorus of eight men matched in voice and height, crouching into bows as they ran to the centre of the arena. The crowd stamped and roared. The herald, their short blue tunics like wedges of summer sky, positioned themselves into a royal octagonal, smartly turning to face the audience. They raised small bronze gongs over their heads and, as one, sounded a deep resonating note. Immediately the crowd quietened.

'The cycle of twelve turns again,' they chanted in perfect unison. Each voice blended with the others to create one penetrating herald call that reached every section of the arena. 'Pig turns to Rat. Apprentice turns to Dragoneye. Candidate turns to apprentice. The cycle of twelve turns again.'

The crowd whistled and stamped their approval. The men lifted the gongs again and sounded another note. It ricocheted off the mirrors, cutting through the crowd's noise to leave a sudden silence.

'The Rat Dragon seeks a new apprentice. Twelve await to show their worth. By His Imperial Majesty's approval and order of the Dragoneye Council, worth will not be found in exhibition this cycle. Worth will be found in combat!'

For a moment, there was no response. Then the crowd screamed, the hammering of feet on the boards like the fury of the thunder gods. The show had suddenly become a lot more exciting.

I licked my lips, feeling rough cracks with my tongue. Somewhere in the Heuris seats, behind Lord Ido, was my master. I tried to distinguish him in the two rows of dark-robed figures set apart from the crowd by their shocked stillness. Then he moved, a familiar squaring of thin shoulders. A defiance of unbeatable odds.

The gong sounded again.

'Candidate Hannon, approach the mirrors,' the Imperial herald chanted. 'Face Swordmaster Jin-pa and show the Rat Dragon your worth.'

The crowd clapped and yelled as the eight men bowed gracefully then reformed into a line to run to the edge of the arena.

Although we were all kneeling at salute, there was a soft shifting of position as Jin-pa and Hannon started their walk to the combat area. It was our chance to watch the competition, gather information, gauge our chances. I pushed my left knee deeper into the sand and followed the momentum until I leaned

into a better view Even as my weight transferred, I realised my hip no longer ached. No catching or jerking of movement. Had it gone numb from so much strain?

In the centre of the arena, Jin-pa and Hannon bowed to the Rat Dragon mirror and then to one another over their sword hilts — the formal combat courtesy The crowd subsided into expectant silence. Hannon swung his swords into starting position, his side presented to Jin-pa, weight on the back leg, one sword outstretched, the other drawn back above his head. Jin-pa mirrored the stance, then with a twist of both wrists lowered his swords into two whirring figure-eights of blade. The Ox Dragon. Hannon recognised the sequence and stepped into the first form. The easiest of the three. He broke through the defence with a neat swinging back cut, but Jin-pa blocked his blade easily in the crossed hilts of his swords.

Hannon pulled his sword free and retreated, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Jin-pa shifted into the second form of the Ox. The offence. He pressed forwards, the rotating blades moving towards Hannon's head. The Ox was all about walls — solid walls of blade that pushed a defender backwards and off balance. Hannon needed to block with his right sword and swing his left into the less protected gut area. He managed the block, but his lower cut was too wild, the weight of the sword dragging him onto the wrong foot for the third form; the most difficult. Jin-pa lunged, making the most of Hannon's imbalance, forcing him to stop an overhead blow with a clumsy block, the blade at the wrong angle. He nearly recovered, but Jin-pa countered his desperate twirl and low cut with a block and head attack that landed the flat of his sword against Hannon's cheekbone. The slap of the blade was like the crack of ice on a frozen river. Hannon shook his head as the crowd groaned, their excited commentaries rising like the hiss from a nest of snakes.

It did not improve from there. Hannon struggled to keep up with Jin-pa, although the swordmaster subtly slowed the pace of

each form and pulled his blows. I couldn't help flinching as Jin-pa brought the flat of his blade down on Hannon's body time after time. What was wrong? Hannon was as good as Baret in the approach sequence. He knew each form perfectly and had spent hours refining each move.

Was that the problem? Had he learned by rote and now couldn't translate the moves against an opponent?

In the very last form, he managed to hold his technique together. Dropping to the ground on all fours, he kicked backwards, disabling Jin-pa's left sword, then twisted around and swung his own right blade across Jin-pa's body, nearly breaking through the swordmaster's hurried defence. A creditable Mirror Dragon Whips Tail. The form that I couldn't do. I glanced up at Ranne. He was rolling his shoulders, warming up for the next candidate. Would he honour my dispensation?

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 through a stark 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. Perhaps they sensed our panic.

The Imperial herald gonged for silence, then called Callan and Swordmaster Ranne to the centre.

'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 centre, I had a clear view of the arena and Ranne's unrelenting assault on him. 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 scat, the restraining hands of his neighbours the only thing keeping him from hurling

himself over the Rat Dragon mirror towards his candidate. Lord Ido was drinking wine, every line of his body relaxed, the officials around him silent and upright in subtle disapproval. It was a relief when Callan finally stumbled back to the Une, 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 defence. 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 defence 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 out into the centre, holding their gongs up. The deep note 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 — still no pain in my hip. Perhaps the heat of the sand 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 for the walk to the centre. I stared at the patch of churned sand. 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 that 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. 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, thin-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 armoured bulk next to my slight body. Above the mirror, Lord Ido sat forwards, any pretence of nonchalance gone. I searched the rows behind him and found my master. He was sitting straight, the pale blur of his face tilted towards me.

'Prepare,' Ranne said, taking a position with the sun at his back. He twirled his swords out and around his body in a mesmerising 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.'

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 arm bones, 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, stabilising my grips. 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, starting my swords twirling in front of me for the attacking move of the Second Goat Dragon. Instead, Ranne accelerated towards me, his swords high above his head. It wasn't the Second Goat. He was going into Third Horse. 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. I lis face was a finger-length from mine, his rank breath hot on my skin.

'That's not the Goat,' I gasped. My back foot was slipping in the loose sand.

'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 backwards, 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 twilling in a tight crossover. The Dog Third. No more pretence of keeping to the sequences. He was going for the Dog's

punishing hits and withdrawals. I hauled myself to 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 secbnd was at the wrong angle, the jarring hit making my hand convulse against the grip. The deep knowledge was gone. I gulped for air. His third attack forced me to block with a back-twisted grip. The heavy down stroke hammered my weakened hold, bending my wrist back until it was useless. For a moment Ranne was a dark blur in a grey 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 soughed across 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 Second Tiger 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.

My body tensed. Even as my mind fought to stay upright, I was dropping to the ground and swinging my good leg towards 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 back-pedalled away from his reach, the drag of my own sword sending up a spray of grit.

Dragon Whips Tail.

No!

My hip —

Ranne dug a sword into the ground and pulled himself upright. He lowered his head and charged at me, holding his blades out either side. He wasn't 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 backwards, 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.