Chapter 3
Most settlements had some kind of arena these days. The Society had built or renovated them where needed, with the Tournament becoming the highlight of the summer for many. They’d made the Tournament a generally accepted substitute for the small wars that had occasionally disturbed business. As the guilds gained power they'd used it to divert martial impulses from such costly ventures towards a more profitable form of controlled aggressions.
So the summer saw fights held throughout the kingdoms, with contestants expected to travel to different cities to compete – such travel usually filling guild coffers at some point. Those who won at least seven bouts in different venues, or more if there were too many winners, would go to the finals. Any defeat would bar them from the finals, although they could continue to fight in the arenas – gambling on the Tournament had become a major business.
Akar's arena was among the largest, but not so different from others Augni had visited. The guilds’ influence had eroded so many differences between countries. It was relatively busy for so early in the day, with many still registering. The Tournament offered him an opportunity to look for potential recruits, and registration gave him an idea of which fights to watch.
Even having seen no sign of Snaenjar’s boys he wouldn't hang around longer than necessary. But this being the largest arena for a few days meant it’d draw the more confident fighters, so he should check them out before leaving.
The queue didn’t look promising. Too loud and full of swagger to be of much use. Despite being a vicious thug, Hadlaug had been capable. And not prone to the hollow boasts audible here.
The only one to catch his eye – and he was sure it was due to her potential as a fighter – was engaged in discussion with an unhappy steward.
Lean compared to those around her, she was too broad-shouldered to be considered ladylike, and her short blonde hair seemed cut for functionality rather than appearance. It was her stillness that stood out; a confidence in her stance which didn't seem interested in shouting her skill.
The steward's irritation grew as her face remained calm, and Augni moved closer to hear over the noise of the idiots behind her.
'The rules are quite clear,' said the steward, his tone strained with irritation.
'I believe you're misinterpreting,' she said. 'I have less than the allowed number of glyphs.'
'The rules clearly state contestants must have no more than three glyphs about their person, arms, or armour while competing.'
'Yes.'
'So they must have a glyph.'
'That would not be my interpretation,' she said. 'And since my entrance fee has already been taken it would...'
'I'm not involved in that, only in applying the rules. To fight with no glyphs against an opponent who has them would place you at a serious disadvantage.'
A glyph could skew the fight, and Augni didn't think he'd heard of anyone entering without one before. Even a farmhand could probably afford a minor glyph if he saved for a few months. The quality of her armour and weapons spoke of a degree of wealth, so her resistance indicated a decision to avoid them.
She seemed unlikely to sway the steward's opinion. His stance appeared as much from concern for her welfare as for the rules. Being a woman wouldn't help. While women competing in the Tournament wasn’t unheard of, neither was it common.
With the delay causing unrest behind her – and the steward's position obviously intractable – she had little choice but to leave the queue, irritation beginning to edge aside her calm.
Augni followed at a distance, curious. He'd approach her after seeing what she did, and whether she'd spot him. While their main need was for muscle, muscle guided by intelligence was preferred. Or at least guided by guile.
She walked the streets as though lost in thought, but he was sure she'd spotted him around a block from the arena. Her course deviated, and she made a few stops.
After a couple of minutes she used the thickening crowds to try hiding her movements as she ducked down an alley. She was competent, if untrained, and her movements wouldn't have aroused the suspicion of other pedestrians. She was dressed in armour though, and while her leggings were only leather, they still made her movement stiff. And he was good at this.
He doubted she'd use the opportunity to run. She didn't seem the type. She'd try to follow after he passed by, but probably hadn't thought it through beyond that.
Approaching the alley, he leaned against the wall a couple of feet before it. Taking out his handkerchief, he waved it by the alley entrance.
She stepped out, hand on hilt, keeping distance between them.
'You followed me,' she said. Her eyes flicked to check he was alone.
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'I wanted to offer you this token.' He waved the handkerchief again, still extended.
She eyed the offering briefly. 'Why?'
He flicked it over to display a sewn glyph. 'It automatically cleans itself.'
'You’re questioning my hygiene?'
'You need a glyph to enter the Tournament, yet seem averse to ones which would aid you.'
Her fixed expression seemed to confirm it. 'You followed me from the arena.'
'Yes.'
'What's it to you whether I fight or not?'
'Nothing. I was just curious.'
'About?'
'Why someone who appears able to afford glyphed arms and armour chooses to fight without. The value of your sword alone should be enough to trade for quality glyphed substitutes.'
Her stance stiffened, her neck muscles tensed, and her eyes grew hard. 'Maybe I'm attached to these.'
'Possibly, but that's not the only reason.' He held her gaze a long moment.
'Your name?' she asked.
'Augni.'
'I'm Aemere.'
He offered a slight bow.
'You haven't said why you followed me.'
'Yes I did. Curiosity. I’m curious why you want to enter the Tournament without glyphs.'
'No, that doesn't explain why you followed me so long rather than approaching me.'
He considered a flip response, but doubted it would be appreciated. 'I was also curious whether you'd spot me.'
She stared at him a moment. 'You seem possessed of a dangerous curiosity.'
'It can be a problem.'
'They're dishonourable.'
He took a moment to catch up. 'Glyphs?'
'Yes. The Tournament used to be a test of skill, before the Society took over. It was about who was the better fighter. Now it's who can afford the best glyphs. Can you name the last champion who didn't come from wealth?'
'So you're intending to show they're wrong by winning without a glyph?'
'Ideally.'
'And maybe unlikely. Given they'll have glyphs and you won't.'
'I am a good fighter,' she said.
'So are some of the others.'
'I'll be better.'
'I'm sure you will,' said Augni. He waved the handkerchief again.
Aemere regarded the offering a moment. 'It's still a glyph.'
'Not one which would affect the fight.'
Despite her reluctance, he could see in her eyes that she accepted the necessity of the compromise. She still didn't move to take the handkerchief. 'What do you want in exchange?'
'Nothing. Consider it a gift.'
'It appears of good quality. An expensive gift, without expectations.'
'I may wish to make you an offer later, but the gift has nothing to do with that. Consider it a token of gratitude for addressing my curiosity. Both the question you've answered, and those you will by letting me witness your skills in the arena.'
She held his gaze. With some reluctance, and a nod of gratitude, she took the handkerchief.
Bowing again, Augni took his leave, heading for the arena without a backward glance. Staying longer would only increase her suspicion.
Besides which, he had no way of knowing until she fought whether she was as goo
d as she thought, and there were other contenders he should consider.
Most proved unsuitable. Those with actual skill were usually too loud. Those skilled and competent were too expensively equipped, obviously having little need of extra income.
The hours dragged on with a series of uninteresting bouts, many uneven this early on. Most contenders started early, to allow time for travelling to other arenas, and the less skilled would be weeded out before the fights got interesting. That was why the sizable audience this morning was so unusual, even if the crowds started to die off by midday.
He held out, if only to watch Aemere fight.
It was mid-afternoon when she entered the arena. The sun was high above, beating down on their armour.
Her opponent looked like he'd offer a decent challenge. His armour was close to hers in quality, and somewhat shinier. His strut was more contained than that of some of the idiots.
The steward blew the horn for the bout to commence and the pair circled, carefully watching each other's moves and ignoring the calls from the crowd to charge in and hack at one another.
Her opponent attacked first. A probing strike, not intending to hit. Her deflection treated it as such. She didn't counter, still sizing him up.
He took the offensive with a series of slashes, pushing her this time. She stepped back before darting forward to thrust from low while his sword was wide. He skipped back from the move, returning his sword to a defensive position.
He moved fast. Unusually so. Something seemed odd about the movement. His body took a moment longer to recover than his feet, as though his feet were faster. Examining his boots, Augni spotted patterning on the sides. Glyphs.
He attacked again, this time sliding past with a flurry of blows, his feet skidding longer than they should on the compressed sand and mud of the arena. The glyph allowed the boots to move without the normal resistance from the ground. They gave him mobility, which could be a liability if the rest of him didn't move as fast.
Aemere fended off his attack, forced back a step as she reacted to his speed. She knew what his glyphs did now, evidenced by her low slash as he darted in again. He avoided the blow, at the cost of aborting his own attack, and let himself slide a short way before coming to a halt. They circled each other.
He charged, stopping short with a thrust which would have caught her left leg had she been an instant slower. Her counter missed his helm by more than that as he darted away.
He was trying to wear her down. His movements only needed an initial push and his boots took care of the momentum, whereas she had to devote her full energy to each action.
After another couple of minutes of thrusts and feints, no flurry lasting more than a few seconds, Aemere seemed slower. She was the more skilled fighter, since his style was focussed on his glyphs – a limitation among many of the better fighters who'd won today. Glyphs gave an unavoidable edge to a fighter, meaning she had to overcome two opponents. Could she?
He charged to Aemere’s left, and she stepped back to the right as she brought her sword around to counter a slash which never came. He reversed direction as soon as she'd committed herself, darting to her right.
She kept turning, moving faster. Her sluggishness vanished as her sword swept low, aiming at his feet.
Seeing he wouldn't stop in time he leapt over the sword, his own attack abandoned. He narrowly avoided the sweep, but her shoulder slammed into him while he was off the ground, sending him rolling. She was on him before he could recover, her sword at his throat.
The fight was done. She'd won.