Second Kiss (18 page)

The Bout with Montither

S
tanding
at last before his old tormentor, Xemion was suddenly afraid. He recalled the description of the spell he had spoken —
Spell to Make a Sword Which May Never Be Defeated
. May? Why hadn't it said
can
never be defeated. There was a definite difference. And Vallaine had said the written magic was so literal. Did it mean
may
as in
maybe
? Why had he been so certain of this sword's powers?

Montither, sensing the sudden fear in Xemion, smiled sadistically. His sword was new, forged of solid steel, and finely honed. He could make quick work of that piece of dull iron but taking it slow would be much more enjoyable. For a time the two circled each other, staring intently into one another's eyes. The crowd occasionally hooted or yelled for some action. The sword felt empty, powerless in Xemion's hand.

“Hold up your sword,” Montither commanded.

Trembling despite himself, Xemion did just that. Montither smiled. Then he struck Xemion's blade forcefully, knocking it to one side. Quickly, Xemion brought his blade back into position. There followed a whirlwind of slashes and clangs and hacks rarely seen in a proper sword fight, for these two were both full of mutual hate and would do anything, whether proper or not, so long as it meant they got in another hack.

At first Xemion's sword held up well under the barrage of Montither's much harder and heavier weapon. But he was still weak from the after-effects of his spellwork. Without the help of some supernatural agency he would not last long. Even as he had this thought, Montither caught him with the flat side of his sword against the side of his head. So great was the force of the blow that it knocked Xemion right off his feet and down to the ground. The crowd cheered, glad to have some action. Xemion rose as quickly as he could, but he was disoriented and stumbled a little, prompting some in the crowd to laugh. Nevertheless, Xemion succeeded in raising his sword again just in time to meet Montither's next assault. Somehow he managed to deflect the swing to one side but it shook him to his bones. One more like that and he would surely be shattered. But another came and somehow he still stood. And then another and another and he began to hear a slow rising cry of approval from the crowd.

Xemion dropped to one knee, took the hilt of his sword, and banged it straight down to the ground with a shout. He sprang up anew, reenergized. Once again the two closed face-to-face, and just before he struck, Montither said, “You were right about one thing. When I finish with you I'm going to skewer that girl right through.” After that the two of them hacked and hewed at one another for a long time, but Montither never once succeeded in striking Xemion's body. He kept trying and trying but Xemion was mounting a defence that seemed always to find itself at the right angle with the right power to send Montither's blade skidding away harmlessly.

Montither doubled and redoubled his whacking and slashing but each blow was ever more skillfully returned by the increasingly confident Xemion. Suddenly, Montither stumbled. It was only a small misstep, but in that second when he was off-balance Xemion's blade crashed into Montither's helmet with such force it almost toppled him. There was a hushed moment and then the crowd erupted in ecstasy.

Enraged, Montither charged at Xemion, but it was now Xemion who was on the attack. He hated Montither, and the deeper he felt that hate, the more power he seemed to acquire. Montither continued to parry and block what he could, but Xemion kept cutting inside Montither's defences and poking him hard, leaving little dents in his shiny new armour. Alternately, he unleashed quick sideways whacks against Montither's helmet. These in particular made the crowd rapturous, but one of them was so violent Veneetha Azucena, as was her prerogative, commanded them to pause in their conflict. This time she asked, “Do you wish the fight to continue, Mr. Montither?”

Montither, despite a mounting feeling of panic, gathered his courage. “Yes!”

But Veneetha was obviously worried. She had only recently restored her business relationship with Montither's father. It would not help their future dealings if his son were to be wounded here today. “There is no need for anyone here to be seriously injured,” she shouted. “There is no need to take this to the limits. Our greater goal is to have you both in good form for the defence of this—”

“I said
yes
!
” he bellowed.

Once again, Veneetha Azucena had no choice but to allow the match to continue.

As their blades met for a third time, Montither leaned in again to speak to Xemion. He was panting from his exertions and his breath stank of blood. His voice was hoarse and strained. “Whatever you do to me, I swear by my ancestors — I will kill her for you.”

But Xemion feared him no longer. He had no self-doubt now. He felt only one thing — devout and unwavering hatred. Dancing in and out of Montither's flailing guard he unleashed a flurry of blows on his helmet, occasionally hacking off little bits of metal as he did so. All the while, Montither weakly waved his blade and screamed like a trapped animal. But he wouldn't surrender. “Gnasher!” he yelled, with what little was left of his energy. “Gnasher!” But Gnasher had been violently taken out of action by some disgruntled kitchen Thrall who'd seen what he'd done to Imalgha with his mirror. “Gnasher!” he shrieked.

“Yield!” Xemion demanded, and with that he severed Montither's sword at the hilt.

Montither's scream of outrage could not be heard over the noise of the roaring crowd. But Xemion was still not seeing what he needed to see in Montither's eyes. With a final, contemptuous swipe he knocked the hilt out of Montither's grasp. The crowd roared again, but then drew to a hush as Xemion swept his sword up to Montither's thick neck and inserted the point between his helmet and breastplate. The scared face that had looked at Xemion from the end of the same sword on his very first day in the city again stared back at him. He had never felt such a surge of hatred as he felt gazing into Montither's unsurrendering eyes. It would be so easy, so
perfect
, to slide the sharp point slowly forward and put this disgusting piece of vermin out of everyone's misery. The crowd watched and waited silently.

“Do it!” someone yelled. Xemion gazed into Montither's eyes. Another surge of malice rushed through him and into his sword arm as though from some well of endless hatred deep in the Earth. His hand flexed. Montither closed his eyes.

“Do you yield unto me?” Xemion roared in his highest and mightiest tone.

Montither wished he had something smart to say in return, but all he could do was shake his head. Xemion's vision went dark for a moment. His sword arm drew back quickly in his hand, ready for the necessary blow. Just as he might have brought the blade down, a voice cried out. “All right. It's over. I will not see such blood quarrels here under my command. Both of you stand away.”

Xemion sneered, still propelled for a moment by the forward motion of his hate. Finally, though, he nodded in compliance with Veneetha Azucena's command and backed away. A few people jeered, but when Veneetha officially pronounced Xemion the winner, a loud cheer went up from the crowd. Shamed and broken, Montither stalked off into the crowd. “Gnasher! Gnasher!” he kept yelling, enraged.
“Gnash-errr!”

“And now,” Veneetha Azucena announced, turning to face Zero, who had all this time been watching through narrow, angry eyes, “if there are no new challengers, we have come to our final bout.”

Somehow, it hadn't occurred to Xemion that when he defeated Montither he would have to fight …
her.

Sword-Crossed

Z
ero
was deep in concentration. Xemion, fresh from his first taste of glory, was half-terrified, half-thrilled. What little he could see of Zero's face behind her helmet was brightly painted with streaks of sun­-yellow, just like a battle Thrall. He was almost certain it was Saheli, but she was focusing her gaze in a way that slightly frightened him. It was as though she'd found a way to insert the edge of that gaze into whatever was weak or exposed in him. There was a sick feeling in his heart, a cold churning in his belly. His strongest urge was to throw down the blade now and kneel before her in surrender.

Zero saw a faceless opponent. There were only points of potential impact and entry — in particular that thin line at the neck where the helmet met the breastplate. It made her hand twitch almost automatically, and in her head she heard Lighthammer's voice: “Cut! Cut!” But before the match could begin, Xemion lowered his blade and said “I yield to her.”

Someone in the crowd yelled out, “I want to yield to her, too.” But there was no laughter at this. This was a serious moment.

Zero's voice broke in anger. “You can't do that!”

Even as the murmuring in the crowd rose in support of this, Xemion shook his head. “I can and I must.”

Zero was clearly enraged at this. “You think you can cheat me of this which I've worked so hard for?”

“She's right,” Veneetha Azucena added sternly. “What kind of victory would it be for her or for any of us if it happens like this?”

Xemion bowed his head, the sword hanging down from his hand at a slight angle. “I'm sorry. I yield. I have to. I believe she is my—”

“Well, I have to do this.”

Zero suddenly snapped her blade toward his, hitting it with a quick whipping motion that caused it to vibrate so hard he nearly dropped it. The crowd cheered in approval. Xemion showed no response. Again Zero struck Xemion's sword. “Come on!” she shouted fiercely. But still Xemion resisted.

“I can't fight you. I only fought him to save you. Don't you recognize—”

Until then, Zero had struck Xemion only with the flat of her blade. But this time she thrust it forward quite hard, aiming the metal tip straight at Xemion's chest. Xemion felt his sword move quickly to block the blow. She struck again and once more the magical sword defended him.

“No!”

Zero's next strike was lightning fast. A surge of power jolted into Xemion's body with the impact, and without thinking he struck back. In an instant there was a flurry of clashes and clangs that made the crowd cheer ecstatically. But Zero was a far better opponent than Montither had been. Her concentration was immaculate, her footwork supreme. She landed several more whip-like blows against his armour. She blocked, parried, thrust, and returned, and nothing Xemion's blade did seemed able to breech her defences. The next time the crowd cheered it was for Zero not Xemion.

“No pity!” Lighthammer yelled from nearby.

In all of his fight with Montither, Xemion had not been hurt once, but Zero managed to get around his defences and land a solid blow against the armour plate that protected his lower ribs. The force of it sent a sharp pain up into his side. He felt his sword dart toward her neck, but he pulled it back at the last moment. Even so, it came so close to its target that it severed Zero's chinstrap, causing her helmet to hit the ground with a dull ring. There was a unanimous gasp from the crowd.

For the first time in a long time Xemion beheld her un-obscured face. It
was
her! He already knew that she was taller and broader than she'd been before, but he wasn't prepared for the changes the last few months had wrought in her face. Her cheekbones seemed more defined, harder than before. There was a new fullness to her lips and there it was — the diagonal scar over her left eyebrow. But this was not the child he had rescued from the torrent on the mountain. This was a full-grown woman, a woman so beautiful it hurt him. The crowd quieted; all eyes were on the two of them as he swallowed his feelings.

“Are you injured?” Veneetha Azucena asked Zero with concern.

Zero felt her neck where the strap had been. “No.” She was not even shaken. She had no fear of this young swordsman. The line between his shoulder plate and his helmet was wide enough for ten blades thicker than hers. She knew she could end this any time she wanted.

“Do you wish to continue?” Veneetha Azucena asked.

Zero stared back at her competitor. He was gazing at her with such a strange, almost imploring look on his face, just like Fargold did. It sickened her. She gritted her teeth and let her blood grow colder. “By all means,” was her answer.

The crowd remained quiet as Veneetha Azucena turned to Xemion. “And you?”

Xemion wanted to say, “No, this is my beloved,” but the words that came out of his mouth surprised him. His voice was deeper, nastier than he'd ever heard it. “By all means,” he replied.

Zero's sword arced through the air quick and hard. Automatically, Xemion's blade rose to block it. With the force of that impact, more of the dark energy erupted into his body. Thrice more she brought her blade down on his, and with each impact the urge of the sword — the urge to win at any cost — flowed into him stronger and colder, silencing the voice of protest within. Still Zero came at him, connecting here with his shoulder, there with his forearm. In the last exchange they came face-to-face and Xemion saw close up the utter, unrelenting coldness in her eyes. It froze something in his spirit that shattered and exploded with her next blow. He suddenly saw her with that vision he'd had in the Nexis. He saw her under-self and her over-self. He saw all of the fanned out, contrary versions of her that there were or ever could be in all the worlds. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, on every sword in every world. Spell and spellbinder shifted. The dark energy reversed its polarity and began to flow from him into the blade. He no longer needed to be fooled and subdued by these shallow facets of her face, this wisp of grace that fluttered so falsely before him. She was a dream-thief. She had taken his dream and made it her own. She had betrayed him entirely. And if she had to, she would kill him.

How foul she looked to him now as he closed in. His last shred of reluctance fell away and, as he hacked closer to her, the cheers of the crowd seemed to die down. That larger self, that myriad self he had experienced inside the Great Kone, merged into him now. He drew on that snakelike, hideous part of himself that wanted nothing more than to destroy, and he swung at her with all his might. Zero stared right into Xemion's soul just as his sword cut its terrible arc through the air on course for the narrow of her neck. At the last second a shiver went through him and into his blade and he pulled it off course.

But his blade had not completely avoided its target. Zero hardly felt the wound at first. On the upper left side of her face, just above the brow, there was a small cut — only the very point of the sword had caused it, but it crisscrossed exactly that straight, diagonal scar that was already there. In the very instant that the first trickle of blood ran down her cheek, a vision flashed before her, a scene that seemed to spring from every cell in her body. The thin, sharp edge of a large, wide blade, like that of an axe, coming straight at her, striking her. Someone's eyes looking eagerly on. A pain like she was being cut in half. In that moment all that had been spelled away by the waters of forgetfulness and the touch of Vallaine's red hand outside the Great Kone began to come undone.

Zero touched her fingers to the wound on her brow, looked at the fierce face and upraised sword of her opponent, and let out a kind of screaming sob. Shocked by the pain in that cry, Veneetha Azucena held her open palm out to Xemion to signal him to stop. She then asked Zero, “Do you yield?”

“No!” Zero pressed her palm against her cheek and signalled with the other hand that she wanted to hold. She hunched over, frozen for an instant. When the crowd saw this, many of them began to boo and hiss and urge her sarcastically to fight him.

“Zero, you must answer me. Do you yield?” A visible shudder shook Zero's body as she tried to regain control of herself. But more memories were breaking free from the sea bottom of her amnesia, clear and fresh and raw. A red sky. A red river. Those eyes again, red and even redder at the centre. So many, so quickly, she could barely even see.

Even through the shouts of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” even through the dark energy, which coursed up the sword and into his arm, Xemion could see the agony in her eyes as she finally answered “I do.”

The crowd bellowed with disapproval. But Veneetha Azucena wouldn't be swayed. She stepped in quickly, raised Xemion's arm over his head in a signal of triumph, and loudly declared him the winner of the Tourney. The horns blared, the crowd reluctantly accepted the verdict and cheered, and as Xemion sheathed his sword he was lifted by the kitchen Thralls, who began to pass him from hand to hand overhead. As soon as he had taken his hand off the hilt of his sword a great wave of exhaustion hit him. Just as the spell he'd said in the Nexis had drained him, this second spell was taking its toll now. His body went limp in their arms and only for one fading instant did he see her as she fled the arena, a look of shock deepening in her face.

“Xemion! Xemion! Xemion!” they cheered. “He is victor
.
He is lord. Hail, hail the shining sword.”