Mistress of the Empire (64 page)

Lujan’s levity faded. He sprang into the circle, barely aware of the red flare of heat at his back that spelled the activation of the death ward. The cho-ja warrior came on with all of the speed he had anticipated, and he barely completed three steps before his guarding blade clashed into chitin. Against this foe his peril was doubled, for cho-ja possessed two forearms with which to sally and chop at him. He, with his longer blade, had the better
reach; and that humans were more naturally inclined to two-legged stance meant he could sometimes snatch the advantage of height as well.

But the cho-ja was superbly armored. Only a lunge with the point or the most hefty of two-handed chops could wreak any damage through chitin. Their joints were their sole point of vulnerability, yet too often their speed precluded tactics. Lujan parried and parried again. His footwork stayed light to deflect the cho-ja’s double-sided attack. He squinted, circled, and spun his blade in the tight-knit forms proven over time to best defend against a cho-ja opponent. Blade clashed with chitin as he tested: the creatures usually had preferred sides. The right limb might tend more to guard, while the left was cultivated for attack. Sword and bladed forelimbs whirled in deadly dance. Lujan became aware of a stickiness to his grip; exertion had set him sweating. Inwardly he cursed. Once the leather wrappings of his sword hilt became saturated, they would loosen. His hold might slip, making his bladework sloppy. And against a cho-ja adversary, even the slightest change of angle must be fatal. The strength behind their blows was such that a direct hit on the outer curve of a laminate Tsurani sword could shatter its cutting edge.

Lujan beat back another attack, snapped straight as the guard limb of the cho-ja effected a stroke that would have severed him at the knees. His leap back saved him from harm, but a burning sensation in his heel as he landed warned how near to the edge of the ward circle his evasive maneuver had carried him. He feinted, used a disengage that Kevin the barbarian had taught him, and was nearly fatally surprised when his stroke rasped across chitin and snicked the edge of a leg joint.

The cho-ja warrior hissed and clattered back, its claws stiffened with alarm.

And Lujan was nearly taken in the neck by its return
stroke, so unprepared for his small success that he had dangerously overextended. He half turned on reflex and caught a glancing slice in the shoulder that peeled through armor and grazed enough flesh to sting cruelly. The parry he barely brought up to deflect the guard limb jarred him down to his sandals.

It took the spinning leap of an acrobat to escape from being cornered. He ducked away from the milling whirl of the cho-ja’s attack, desperately aware of his peril. He needed to catch his breath. The fight would give him no chance. As his toughened hide blade crashed together with chitin again, he used his bracer to deflect the guard blade, while the attack blade whistled for his throat. He lunged, trusting impetus to carry him inside the arc of the cho-ja’s main thrust. He hit its jointed forelimb on the unbladed inside of the elbow and it folded, its sharpened side deflected harmlessly against the back plate of his armor.

The blow still had force enough to wind him. Lujan danced back a half-step, to bring his blade back in play, while the cho-ja warrior huffed in astonishment. Lujan followed with the classic riposte, and his curved sword stabbed in at the juncture where a mid-limb joined its thorax. The cho-ja scrabbled back, wounded. Its mid-leg was no longer neatly folded, but dragged, limp at its side. Caught in wonderment that his attack had gone through, Lujan felt the dawn of revelation: these cho-ja were unexperienced at fighting humans! They were well enough schooled to combat the ancient forms of Tsurani swordsmanship that they had faced in ages past. But the shutdown of information across the borders must have prohibited any experience with the innovations that had followed the Tsurani treaty. The newest refinements of bladework introduced by the wars with Midkemia, and styled on their barbarian way of fencing, had never been encountered by the hives outside the Empire. Chakaha’s
warriors held to the old ways, and despite their superior speed, despite their double-bladed style, a Tsurani human held an advantage: his newer techniques were not predictable, and Lujan had drilled against cho-ja warriors in the past.

Thought during battle slowed the warrior; Lujan took a cut to his calf and another to his forearm behind his left-hand bracer. Despite his wounds, he realised that the cho-ja was holding back. Perhaps it was the tiniest bit hesitant because of Lujan’s unorthodox attack patterns, because either one of its blows could as easily have lopped off a limb. Something had caused it not to follow through with its full strength and capability.

Lujan paid special heed to his footwork, which was paramount to the Midkemian style. He slapped the cho-ja’s next stroke aside as he might have dispatched a practice stick, then tried another disengage. To his gratification, the cho-ja retreated, proving his theory that it did not understand Midkemian fencing tactics.

Lujan grinned in a wild, adrenaline-sharpened exultation. He had crossed practice sticks with Kevin the barbarian many times and, better than most of his peers, had mastered the foreign technique. More suited though it was to a straight sword than to the broader blade his own culture favored, there were forms a Tsurani swordsman could execute with good effect. The cho-ja was now disadvantaged and uncertain, and for the first instant since Lujan had claimed his right to challenge, he entertained the hope of victory.

He feinted, lunged, and felt his next stroke connect. Grinning wider, he saw a spurt of the milky liquid that served the cho-ja as bodily fluid. His opponent dropped briefly to its unwounded mid-limb as it counterattacked; but four-legged posture was sure sign of a cho-ja prepared to retreat. Lujan lunged for his opening, a clear stroke
to his foe’s neck segment. Never mind that its dying follow-through would take him in the heart. His would be the victory, his the first lethal strike. He would gain the time-honored Tsurani reward of death in battle by an enemy’s blade.

Yet even as his trained body responded and on ingrained reflex began the stroke that would end all contention, his mind shied away.

What was such a death, if not futile?

Had he learned nothing in his years of service to Mara? Would killing this cho-ja, against whom he had no quarrel, achieve one single bit of good toward her goal?

It would not, he saw in a rush of cheated anger. Nothing would be served, except to confirm Tsurani ways in the hive mind of the cho-ja of Chakaha.

What is my life or my death worth? Lujan thought, trapped in a split second between motion. To become the victorious warrior, no, to kill his opponent out of hand, would serve no living thing: not Mara, not this hive, and not the captive nation of cho-ja within Tsurani borders.

Gods, he raged in a moment of lacerating inner anguish: I cannot live by the warrior’s code alone; and neither can I die by it.

His hand followed the heresy of his thoughts. Lujan pulled his stroke.

The move was awkwardly timed of necessity, and it cost him. He gained another slash in the thigh, this one deep enough to cripple.

Back he stumbled, hopping on his good leg. His cho-ja opponent sensed his weakening resolve. It reared up. A whirling forelimb sliced down from above, and Lujan deflected the cut, barely. His forehead was laid open to the bone, and as blood ran down his face and blinded his eye, he was aware of Mara’s stifled outcry.

He stumbled back. The cho-ja pursued. He felt hot
pavement beneath his heel, and knew relief: he had reached the outermost edge of the circle. If he crossed over, he would die.

He would perish anyway, but perhaps not entirely for nothing. His end could still make a point. Even as his opponent scuttled to finish him, he parried furiously, and cried out to the looming figure of the cho-ja mage who stood yet in judgment over him.

‘I did not come here to kill! You cho-ja of Chakaha are not the enemies of my mistress, Lady Mara.’ Chitin rang against his blade as, desperate to be heard, he parried again. ‘I will not fight any longer against a being she would have for a friend.’ He parried again, lunged to drive his opponent momentarily back, and in that half second of respite, threw down his sword in disgust. On his good leg, he spun, turning his back to the killing stroke.

Before him glowed the scarlet line of the circle. He was grateful, in that arrested moment of time, that he had got his positioning right: the cho-ja warrior could not cross in front of him without violating the ward spell. If it killed, it must use the coward’s stroke, the murderer’s cut, and butcher him from behind.

He drew a shuddering breath, eyes raised to the cho-ja mage. ‘Strike my back, who would be your friend and ally, and see your unjust execution done.’

Lujan heard the whistle of the air parted by the cho-ja warrior’s bladed forearm. He braced himself, prepared for the bone-rending finish to its descent. The end was foregone conclusion. At this point, a man with a sword could not curb inertia and snatch back the stroke as it fell.

But the reflexes of a cho-ja were not human.

The blade stopped, soundless and motionless, a hairsbreadth from Lujan’s neck.

The cho-ja mage reared back, its sail-like wings upraised as if in alarm. ‘What is this?’ it rang out in what plainly
served as astonishment. ‘You break the tradition of the Tsurani. You are a warrior, and yet you give up your honor?’

Shivering now in the aftermath of nerves and adrenaline, Lujan managed a steady answer. ‘What is tradition but habit?’ He shrugged stiffly, feeling the sting of his wounds. ‘Habits can be changed. And as any Tsurani will confirm, there is no honor in killing an ally.’

Blood dribbled into his left eye, obscuring his vision. He could not see to tell whether Mara approved of his gesture. A moment later, it did not matter, for the blood left his head in a rush. His wounded leg gave way, and he fainted and fell with a grinding crash of armor to the floor. The red circle died in a fizzle of sparks, and the great domed chamber hushed.

Lujan wakened to a sharp tingle of pain. He gasped, opened his eyes, and saw the head of a cho-ja bent within inches of his own. He lay on what felt like a couch. Pointy, claw-like appendages gripped the wounds in his forearm and thigh, and by the prick of what felt like a needle, he realised he was being sewn up by a cho-ja worker physician.

While the medicinal skills of the creatures were exemplary, and they did neat, careful work, they had spent little time in the art of practicing upon humans. Lujan stifled a second grimace of discomfort, and judged that their knowledge was decidedly lacking in the area of anesthetics. Even on the field, he would have been given spirits to dull his awareness of the pain.

So it was that he took a moment to notice the secondary, more pleasant sensation of small, warm fingers gripping the hand of his unwounded arm.

He turned his head. ‘Mara?’

Her smile met him. She was close to weeping, he saw, but with joy, not sorrow. ‘What happened, Lady?’

Belatedly, he realised they were no longer in the domed chamber of judgment, nor restored to confinement, but were installed in a beautifully appointed chamber high up in a tower. A window behind Mara showed sky and clouds, and left the Lady awash in bright sunlight. She squeezed his hand in youthful excitement, though in truth this trial had aged her. The grey shot through her dark hair had grown more pronounced, and her eyes showed deep crow’s-feet from prolonged exposure to the weather. And yet never before had her face seemed more beautiful; maturity had given her depths and mysteries impossible to the trackless face of youth.

‘Lujan, you have won for the Acoma highest honor,’ she said quickly. ‘By your act in the circle, you proved to these cho-ja of Chakaha that Tsurani tradition is not the all-consuming way of life they believed it to be. For ages they have seen Tsurani demonstrate a lie. They understood all I said, even knowing through their magic that I believed in my convictions, but their own past taught that such displays of peaceful ways were but preludes to more violence and betrayal.’

She took a deep breath of relief. ‘You have won us reprieve, through your courage and innovation. Your actions lived as one with my words and convinced them that perhaps we are different from our ancestors. The cho-ja mage in attendance was astonished by your act, and was convinced to review the memory stone left to us by Gittania. On it were records of my meeting with the hive Queen on the old Acoma estates, and her entreaty made an impression.’

‘Our sentences are rescinded? We’re to go free?’ Lujan gasped out, as he could when the cho-ja physician paused in its labors.

‘Better than that.’ Mara’s eyes glowed with pride. ‘We are to be given safe passage through Thuril to our ship,
and with us when we return to Tsuranuanni will travel two cho-ja mages. The city-state of Chakaha has decided it will aid us, in the hope that the liberation of the Tsurani cho-ja may be accomplished by the Emperor. I have pledged to use my office to intercede; I am almost certain that once I explain to Ichindar the truths we have learned, he cannot say no.’

‘Gods!’ Lujan exclaimed. ‘Everything we could have asked for has been granted.’ He was so excited he forgot his hurts and attempted to move.

At this, the cho-ja physician said, ‘Lady Mara, this warrior’s wounds are severe. Excite him not, for he must rest for several weeks if his leg is to heal as it should.’ Black, faceted eyes swiveled toward Lujan. ‘Or would the estimable Force Commander prefer to limp?’