This was it.
Beneath the layers of armor and fabric, Khari could feel the film of cold sweat on her skin, giving her whole body an uncomfortable, clammy feel that was a lot like being sick. The churning feeling in her guts seemed to go right with, even though it was moving slowly up into her chest like a plant pushing its way up through soil to sunlight. She'd sown it a long time ago, she figured, when she buried her dream in the deep-down-dark part of herself that she once hadn't shown anyone.
By now the audience was starting to filter in and the competitors gathered at the edges of what had once been the jousting ring. It was cleared of all the equipment, now, reduced to nothing more than a bare, sandy pit for all three hundred of them to try to claw their way out of. The dull hum of the crowd talking amongst themselves was lost in her ears—she was too taken by the vast empty ring and the colorful arrangement of pennants, one for each of the competitors, fluttering in easy reach of the dozens of officiants. By the time the match was finished, only one would still be flying.
She looked for a moment towards the Emperor's box. Lucien wasn't there yet, but she was willing to bet it's where her friends would be sitting when they made it up there as well. Better or worse, they'd see everything. Somehow, that made it both better and worse.
Khari had fought quite literally for her life on so many occasions she was losing track. She'd fought for causes she cared about and for people that mattered to her. But never once had she fought so directly for this. And never once had she been half so afraid of doing it. Her hands flexed in their gauntlets, the molded leather over her palms creaking softly as she squeezed her fist together. Her life wasn't even really at all that much risk here: it would take a terrible, very unlucky accident or a serious effort to kill her for any of the magically-blunted weapons wielded by her opponents to manage much more than broken bones.
But still it felt like if she lost, there'd never be any coming back from it.
She sucked in a breath just as the horn sounded, signaling five minutes remained until the melee began. Pivoting on her heel, she faced her friends, forcing a smile under the helmet so her voice would sound right when she spoke.
“Well, here goes nothing, right?"
"You're going to do great." Stel grinned and stepped in to hug her, the awkwardness of armor apparently not bothering her in the slightest. "Whatever training all these guys have had can't come close to some of the things we've been through, I'm certain of it." She sounded it, too, almost a bit much for Stel, who was usually quieter in her assurances.
Leon's smile was smaller, but when he stepped in close to clap her on the shoulder, he leaned down to speak quietly next to her ear. "No matter what happens today, I'm proud of you. You've earned this. So go get it." Though his grip was weaker than Khari knew it to be, she could feel the squeeze he gave her through the leather at the joint of her mail. When he straightened, his eyes were a little glossier than normal, though the mask allowed no further hint as to why.
She couldn't have seen it even if it did, because her own vision had blurred, hot prickles stinking behind her eyes, though she refused to let the tears get the better of her. Heedless of the armor in the same way Stel had been, she threw her arms around him. As much as her presence here could only be attributed to a whole bunch of people working together to help her, she knew Leon had probably made the most difference of all. Being taken seriously by someone like him was not only one major source of her confidence, but of her skill.
She'd never been alone the whole damn time. Not since these people, at least. No—not since Bear. Whatever else was true, he'd put her on the path to the Inquisition. To her friends and her sense of home.
When she won this thing, it was going to be for all of them, too.
Khari gave Leon one last wordless squeeze and stepped back. “You guys better head up. I'll see you on the other side." One way or another.
"Not getting rid of me that easily," Ves protested, offering her a little grin. His expression soon sobered, however. He stood at a further distance than the others, and didn't offer a hug or a clap on the shoulder or anything of the sort. In fact he seemed only to study her for a moment, standing there in her armor. "You know, it feels right. Seeing you here, doing this. I'm sorry I ever thought you needed to be anything else."
“Don't be." Khari grinned under the helmet. “I figure I needed that, too." Ves and by extension Saraya had pushed her when she needed to be pushed, forced her to really consider her reasons and realize the strength of her convictions. And while she hadn't seen it at the time, she was beyond grateful for it now.
He let that linger for half a second before a smile returned, and he glanced to the others. "But she's right, we should get going. I hear we have good seats for the show."
He led them off, and then only Rom remained. He wasn't hiding his own nervousness so well anymore, though he was obviously trying. Still as a statue and just as quiet, that was his way whenever he felt his emotions needed bottling. Even with the mask they were easy enough to see, spilling over the top.
"Brand's already in the crowd," he said, taking a step closer now that the others were gone. "I'm going to be, too. We've got your back."
“Always making sure I don't get my dumb ass killed, right?" Her voice cracked softly at the end; his emotion was contagious. Shit, she was a sentimental mess; at the worst possible time, most likely.
But damn if she didn't wish the mask and the helmet were gone. She reached up anyway, settling her hands carefully on either side of his face. “The good in me's got this, you know." She swallowed. “And the good in you has everything to do with it. I want—I want you to know that." He probably already did, but it felt right to say it. To acknowledge it.
“That's the difference between us and killers."
He leaned forward, the mask touching against the crown of her helm. He didn't say anything, just letting the moment pass in silence. When he pulled away, he looked less nervous than before.
"Have at them," he said. A thought seemed to occur to him, the hint of a smile touching his lips. "And, uh... have fun."
“Oh, I'm gonna."
Expelling a gusty breath, Khari took a step backwards, then another, giving a little wave before turning on her heel. The participants were entering the ring, now, and already she could tell the beginning of this was going to be a fight for elbow room. While the arena was more than big enough to hold all of them standing and then some, no few of these people had even bigger weapons than she did: swords, axes, spears, big shields—the works.
More than that, though, with their armor enchanted to turn red after they took too many hits, everyone was gonna want something to put their back to, which meant space next to the fencing was especially valuable. People were already jostling for it, about as aggressively as they could while still having some semblance of manners. The occasional clang of metal hitting metal signaled a scuffle or jostle that didn't quite keep it on the right side of the line; the officials were already watching the field like hawks.
Khari didn't push too hard for one of those spots. She figured there was a lot of advantage to having them, but also that everyone who didn't was going to be going there first, making the people in the good spots bigger targets, too. She knew she wasn't as good at holding a position as moving, so she wanted to start off as strong as she could, and try to survive the mess with her head above water, or however the saying went.
The rustling and soft clanking died down pretty quick when the Emperor stood up, though, everyone in the ring turning almost at exactly the same time to crane their necks up at Lucien.
When he spoke, it was with the same pleasant warmth as usual, though admittedly with considerable gravitas added. Probably partly because he had to project enough to be heard by an entire arena full of people, and that wouldn't have been easy for anyone.
"Welcome to the close of the Grand Tourney," he said, spreading his arms a little to indicate their surroundings. "I have to say it's been quite an interesting experience, being here again. I've been both spectator and competitor before, but having one thrown in my name puts it in a much different light." Lowering his arms, he folded them comfortably behind his back, seemingly entirely undisturbed by the sheer number of eyes on him.
"More than anything, it has given me a sense of pride. To see that the young chevaliers of the country I love have so much to recommend them. That they bring so much skill, honor, and will even to an exercise like this reminds me that for all we've lost over the last years, there are still so many talented, hardworking people willing to put blood and life on the line for our homeland. I hope you've been as impressed as I have, because it really is something to behold." He inclined his head to the field of combatants, a motion of deference to their efforts.
"Let us keep them no longer from their last chance to show us what they're made of." He resumed his seat; the motion was a clear signal that the event was about to begin in earnest.
Khari reached back to grip the hilt of her sword, pulling it free from the scabbard on her back. A damn inconvenient place to keep one, but better than having it possibly tripping her up here. The collective rasping of just about everyone else doing the same was more of a rumbling growl than the serpentine hiss of just one, ringing echoes fading several seconds later. She took a deep breath, turning herself slowly around to get an idea of who was where.
Pretty much everyone was surrounded on every side, so strategy just had to be picking a direction and committing to it. And trying to be as conscious of her positioning as possible. When her rotation ended, she came face-to-face with some guy with a huge axe. Everything in his body language screamed his intentions: he was going for the smallest target on the field and he meant to do it right away.
It was actually kind of reassuring.
Bringing Inga around to her front, she took a double-handed grip on it and leveled it outwards, angled slightly up. Firming her feet against the ground, she shifted onto the front part of her feet, bending her knees and dragging one leg back through the dirt so it was braced behind the other. Setting her teeth together, she waited.
The seconds dragged, distended, sharpened, like the string on Stel's lute being pulled too tight. She could feel the start horn through the ground half a second before the sound reached her ears.
The chevalier with the axe didn't even get it all the way up for its heavy downward arc before she was under his guard, swinging her hand-and-a-half for his midsection. It collided with a harsh clang; she used the rebound to help her lunge to the side, under his arm and around to his back.
Her second hit must have been enough; his armor turned red, and she immediately reassessed her positioning. Like she'd figured, it was chaos, the noise alone almost enough to drown out her thoughts.
Really, though, thinking didn't have much to do with it. A flash in the peripherals of her helmet was all she got—she threw Inga up in a hasty block, knocking aside the incoming blade by instinct. The chevalier who'd struck at her wasn't expecting it to be rebuffed; they staggered backwards, trying to regain their balance on the loose sand of the ring. Khari followed them back, sweeping low to take their legs out from under them, and follow up with a cleaving blow to the chest.
Two down. Not that she was dumb enough to be counting.
Already, there was much more room than there had been half a minute before, the initial clashes resolving themselves and nearly halving the field. Most of the people that left did so from the middle—the edge-dwellers had one less side to guard, after all. Khari understood the change only as more space to swing, more strides to run, a few seconds longer to catch a breath between foes.
She was readying a blow for the well-shielded man in front of her when the chevalier's armor turned red. He stumbled to the side, revealing the other who'd stepped up behind him and delivered the finisher. Khari locked eyes with him, registering only that the magnolia flowers on his mask were familiar before he turned away and brought his shield up to counter a hammerblow from some other guy who had to be nearly as big as Leon.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Khari moved on, too, smashing her way closer to the section of the wall she'd picked. It looked a little less stable than some of the others, the lines not as firmly-drawn, and that was her in. She was doing pretty well so far, but this was going to turn into an endurance match eventually, and she was going to need to start conserving some of her steam if she wanted to make it to the very end.
Hitting people from behind wasn't her favorite thing to do, but she did it anyway, taking the first fighter in her way out before he even knew she was there. The second caught on faster; she had to tuck into a roll to avoid the heavy spear that whistled by overhead. The dirt yielded under her, momentum carrying her back to her feet with a bit of a boost from her free hand. She had to strafe aside from the swift arc of a sword right after, lurching to the side and landing hard on her left foot.
A jolt of pain shot up her leg; she grunted and shifted her weight, batting aside the next hit from the sword and stepping in, ramming her helm into the chevalier's chin. The ringing blow dazed him long enough for her to get at the back of his knee, and a blow to the side of his head with her pommel did the trick after that.
Slowly, she pushed her way towards the fence, cutting a swath through everyone else trying to do the same. By the time she reached it, she was breathing heavily through her nose, the thrum of exertion warming her limbs until her sweat was anything but cold. The exhilarating buzz of the adrenaline was normal; the dull ache in her left leg was not.
It sharpened when someone behind her stabbed their spear into it, pulling a pained hiss from between her gritted teeth. The leg gave out, and Khari found herself buckling. She threw herself sideways with her good leg so she landed on her back, sword still ready. It was all that saved her from the follow-up. The spear tip screeched along Inga's blade instead, leaving the ancient steel unblemished but Khari's arms shaking. She kicked out with her legs, tangling the spearwoman's and bringing her to the ground, too.
She didn't land half as well, awkwardly trapping her weapon underneath her arm. That was all it took—Khari pushed herself back up and struck again. Her leg protested with every step she took to position herself against the fence, blinking fiercely to keep the stinging sweat out of her eyes. Her breaths echoed back at her against the helm; her face was sticky, disheveled hairs plastered to her cheeks where they'd fallen loose in the fight.
A disturbance to her right forced her back into it—that guy from before with the flowers was backed up into another section of the fence, three fighters with shields working together to keep him pinned.
Of course, that put their backs in a pretty vulnerable position.
Khari didn't think too much about it—she just took the opportunity that presented itself, bringing Inga back up and striking the one closest to her with a heavy diagonal slash across the back. He must have taken a few already, because his armor turned red after just one. His sudden disappearance surprised the one in the middle, and flower-mask capitalized, slamming their shields together and hacking at his side.
The last in the alliance, a woman with a shortaxe, broke off before she could fall victim to the same, but her attempt to escape was cut off by someone else—the big guy with the hammer again.
Just like that, Khari realized there were only three competitors left on the field. It was her, flower-mask, and hammer-guy. Only the aching of her arms, the hard rasp of her breath and the shooting pains in her leg gave her any indication how long it had taken to reach this point, but as soon as the realization struck, she noticed the hush that had fallen over the crowd. Like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.
She swallowed.
Now what?
By some kind of silent consensus, they all backed the hell up, leaving themselves standing in a rough triangle a good ten feet away from each other. Khari shifted her eyes warily between the other two, not totally oblivious to the fact that one really logical way to go here was to knock out the little one so the two more obvious contenders could have a go at each other unimpeded.
But there was also the fact that she and flower-mask had helped each other—sort of. And even though she was pretty sure she knew who he was now that she had five seconds to actually think about it, there was sure as hell no chance that he knew who she was, or he'd have let that other guy take her down the first time.
For once, she wasn't totally sure what the right play was, and she hesitated.
In the couple of seconds that took, hammer-guy decided to take his chances, and lunged for the bigger threat, charging for flower-mask and hauling his hammer up and over his head in the kind of swing meant to pulverize shields.
With a shout, Khari leaped in, too, faster over the ground than the encumbered giant. He'd committed to his charge, and so when she swung low, he couldn't really do much about it. With a ringing clang, her blade collided with the back of his leg, hard enough to throw off his balance. Flower-mask stepped in, strafing sideways at the last moment and striking decisively at hammer-guy's back, sending him to the ground in an impact heavy enough to throw up a cloud of sand. The whole thing was smooth like they'd done it before, and the silvery plates of hammer-guy's armor flashed red. He was out.
Somehow, it didn't surprise her at all that it had come down to this. Théodore had been sitting pretty at the top of the rankings since the jousting. Much as it rankled her to admit it, a person didn't usually end up that arrogant without something to back it up, either—Khari knew she couldn't afford to let her fatigue overwhelm her for even a moment. Though there was no longer any need to watch anything but him, there was also no room for even a slight miscalculation, no flow of the field to lean on to get herself into or out of positioning.
Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed all the exhaustion and pain to the side, locking it down in the part of herself that ceased to matter at times like this. She'd learned to keep her wits about her even when the Haze descended, but it forced her to let go of some things, too: her doubt, her fear, her weakness. Her instinct for self-preservation and her aversion to pain.
Setting her teeth, Khari charged.
Her first blow clanged off Théodore's shield, but the deflection wasn't perfect. He probably hadn't expected her to have so much left. She forced him a half-step back, trying for a head-blow on the backswing. His pommel caught her in the stomach instead, hard enough to disrupt her footing, and when she stepped back, he went forward. Khari lashed again, Théodore parried, his motions precise and firm. Straight-on seemed to be a dead end, so Khari moved, sidestepping and going in for a different angle, testing his defenses, trying to wear them down and force a mistake. She kept herself fluid, planting whenever she landed but shifting like a bent sapling until she needed to change positions again.
The assault built, more of her weight and strength behind each successive hit. She was baiting him, trying to get a rise, trying to get just a little too much out of one of his reactions, anything that would give her a gap to exploit. But Théodore was stalwart where Khari was mobile, as practiced at resisting such blows as she was at delivering them, and at each moment, each beat, he exerted only as much effort as necessary to protect himself, and no more.
Her frustration built with her strength, and it wasn't long before she was the one leaving unnecessary gaps in her form, sacrificing them for just a little more speed or a slightly different angle, bending and twisting and strafing when parrying became impossible or her positioning too awkward.
Once, she didn't quite manage it, and the punishment was swift: Théodore brought his shield up for a block, and Inga bounced off too hard, leaving Khari exposed. She twisted out of the way of the slash he aimed for her exposed hip, but in doing so, opened herself up to a hard bash from the kite shield. It planted her hard on her back, jarring her helm against the ground.
She was damn lucky it wasn't her head. Scrambling to her knees, Khari braced one of her feet behind her and thrust as she rose. The ferocity of the counter finally caught him unprepared, and her blade met his chestplate and screeched as it was forced to scrape across the steel. She had no idea how many hits either of them had left, but she wasn't counting on any more chances to protect her from the loss.
Following through on the blow, Khari body-checked him, and he staggered back, releasing his sword and grabbing for her arm instead. Her eyes went wide; not strong enough to resist the momentum, she toppled over with him, and they went to ground. Somehow, all of her best fights ended this way.
It meant she was damn well prepared for it. Abandoning her heavy sword, useless at this proximity, she immediately went for the pin. Théodore's leg got in the way; he planted his knee under her sternum and turned the leverage into a roll. Grimacing, Khari went for her sidearm, pulling the knife free of its sheath even as the weight of the armored man above her started to suffocate her, the knee digging into a part of her armor that was chain instead of plate. Sensing the end, both of them scrabbled furiously, raining blows and seeking to find the spots that would count enough to end the match.
It happened much too fast for her to really register at first: Théodore went for a head blow with his free hand, gauntlet curled into a fist. Khari drove the blunt knife for the unprotected side he opened to attack.
Her hit struck first; his armor flashed red.
He didn't pull the blow fast enough.
The hit, right up under her chin, knocked her helmet loose. Loose enough to expose parts of her jaw and lower lip, and she was momentarily blinded by the interior—the eyeslit was pressing into her left brow now, she could feel it.
"You." Théodore's voice was a hard whisper. She thrashed, but felt him grip both sides of the helmet anyway, lifting it off her entirely. His weight disappeared at the same time; he stood rapidly, backing several paces away and tossing her helm to the side.
Well, shit. This was not how this was supposed to go.
Dimly aware of just how quiet the arena was, Khari pushed to her feet, dusting herself off. A strange sort of calm settled over her, evening her breathing and settling the pace of her heart. It was done now, after all. The part she'd been most afraid of. Taken out of her hands, almost literally.
“Me."
Beneath the layers of armor and fabric, Khari could feel the film of cold sweat on her skin, giving her whole body an uncomfortable, clammy feel that was a lot like being sick. The churning feeling in her guts seemed to go right with, even though it was moving slowly up into her chest like a plant pushing its way up through soil to sunlight. She'd sown it a long time ago, she figured, when she buried her dream in the deep-down-dark part of herself that she once hadn't shown anyone.
By now the audience was starting to filter in and the competitors gathered at the edges of what had once been the jousting ring. It was cleared of all the equipment, now, reduced to nothing more than a bare, sandy pit for all three hundred of them to try to claw their way out of. The dull hum of the crowd talking amongst themselves was lost in her ears—she was too taken by the vast empty ring and the colorful arrangement of pennants, one for each of the competitors, fluttering in easy reach of the dozens of officiants. By the time the match was finished, only one would still be flying.
She looked for a moment towards the Emperor's box. Lucien wasn't there yet, but she was willing to bet it's where her friends would be sitting when they made it up there as well. Better or worse, they'd see everything. Somehow, that made it both better and worse.
Khari had fought quite literally for her life on so many occasions she was losing track. She'd fought for causes she cared about and for people that mattered to her. But never once had she fought so directly for this. And never once had she been half so afraid of doing it. Her hands flexed in their gauntlets, the molded leather over her palms creaking softly as she squeezed her fist together. Her life wasn't even really at all that much risk here: it would take a terrible, very unlucky accident or a serious effort to kill her for any of the magically-blunted weapons wielded by her opponents to manage much more than broken bones.
But still it felt like if she lost, there'd never be any coming back from it.
She sucked in a breath just as the horn sounded, signaling five minutes remained until the melee began. Pivoting on her heel, she faced her friends, forcing a smile under the helmet so her voice would sound right when she spoke.
“Well, here goes nothing, right?"
"You're going to do great." Stel grinned and stepped in to hug her, the awkwardness of armor apparently not bothering her in the slightest. "Whatever training all these guys have had can't come close to some of the things we've been through, I'm certain of it." She sounded it, too, almost a bit much for Stel, who was usually quieter in her assurances.
Leon's smile was smaller, but when he stepped in close to clap her on the shoulder, he leaned down to speak quietly next to her ear. "No matter what happens today, I'm proud of you. You've earned this. So go get it." Though his grip was weaker than Khari knew it to be, she could feel the squeeze he gave her through the leather at the joint of her mail. When he straightened, his eyes were a little glossier than normal, though the mask allowed no further hint as to why.
She couldn't have seen it even if it did, because her own vision had blurred, hot prickles stinking behind her eyes, though she refused to let the tears get the better of her. Heedless of the armor in the same way Stel had been, she threw her arms around him. As much as her presence here could only be attributed to a whole bunch of people working together to help her, she knew Leon had probably made the most difference of all. Being taken seriously by someone like him was not only one major source of her confidence, but of her skill.
She'd never been alone the whole damn time. Not since these people, at least. No—not since Bear. Whatever else was true, he'd put her on the path to the Inquisition. To her friends and her sense of home.
When she won this thing, it was going to be for all of them, too.
Khari gave Leon one last wordless squeeze and stepped back. “You guys better head up. I'll see you on the other side." One way or another.
"Not getting rid of me that easily," Ves protested, offering her a little grin. His expression soon sobered, however. He stood at a further distance than the others, and didn't offer a hug or a clap on the shoulder or anything of the sort. In fact he seemed only to study her for a moment, standing there in her armor. "You know, it feels right. Seeing you here, doing this. I'm sorry I ever thought you needed to be anything else."
“Don't be." Khari grinned under the helmet. “I figure I needed that, too." Ves and by extension Saraya had pushed her when she needed to be pushed, forced her to really consider her reasons and realize the strength of her convictions. And while she hadn't seen it at the time, she was beyond grateful for it now.
He let that linger for half a second before a smile returned, and he glanced to the others. "But she's right, we should get going. I hear we have good seats for the show."
He led them off, and then only Rom remained. He wasn't hiding his own nervousness so well anymore, though he was obviously trying. Still as a statue and just as quiet, that was his way whenever he felt his emotions needed bottling. Even with the mask they were easy enough to see, spilling over the top.
"Brand's already in the crowd," he said, taking a step closer now that the others were gone. "I'm going to be, too. We've got your back."
“Always making sure I don't get my dumb ass killed, right?" Her voice cracked softly at the end; his emotion was contagious. Shit, she was a sentimental mess; at the worst possible time, most likely.
But damn if she didn't wish the mask and the helmet were gone. She reached up anyway, settling her hands carefully on either side of his face. “The good in me's got this, you know." She swallowed. “And the good in you has everything to do with it. I want—I want you to know that." He probably already did, but it felt right to say it. To acknowledge it.
“That's the difference between us and killers."
He leaned forward, the mask touching against the crown of her helm. He didn't say anything, just letting the moment pass in silence. When he pulled away, he looked less nervous than before.
"Have at them," he said. A thought seemed to occur to him, the hint of a smile touching his lips. "And, uh... have fun."
“Oh, I'm gonna."
Expelling a gusty breath, Khari took a step backwards, then another, giving a little wave before turning on her heel. The participants were entering the ring, now, and already she could tell the beginning of this was going to be a fight for elbow room. While the arena was more than big enough to hold all of them standing and then some, no few of these people had even bigger weapons than she did: swords, axes, spears, big shields—the works.
More than that, though, with their armor enchanted to turn red after they took too many hits, everyone was gonna want something to put their back to, which meant space next to the fencing was especially valuable. People were already jostling for it, about as aggressively as they could while still having some semblance of manners. The occasional clang of metal hitting metal signaled a scuffle or jostle that didn't quite keep it on the right side of the line; the officials were already watching the field like hawks.
Khari didn't push too hard for one of those spots. She figured there was a lot of advantage to having them, but also that everyone who didn't was going to be going there first, making the people in the good spots bigger targets, too. She knew she wasn't as good at holding a position as moving, so she wanted to start off as strong as she could, and try to survive the mess with her head above water, or however the saying went.
The rustling and soft clanking died down pretty quick when the Emperor stood up, though, everyone in the ring turning almost at exactly the same time to crane their necks up at Lucien.
When he spoke, it was with the same pleasant warmth as usual, though admittedly with considerable gravitas added. Probably partly because he had to project enough to be heard by an entire arena full of people, and that wouldn't have been easy for anyone.
"Welcome to the close of the Grand Tourney," he said, spreading his arms a little to indicate their surroundings. "I have to say it's been quite an interesting experience, being here again. I've been both spectator and competitor before, but having one thrown in my name puts it in a much different light." Lowering his arms, he folded them comfortably behind his back, seemingly entirely undisturbed by the sheer number of eyes on him.
"More than anything, it has given me a sense of pride. To see that the young chevaliers of the country I love have so much to recommend them. That they bring so much skill, honor, and will even to an exercise like this reminds me that for all we've lost over the last years, there are still so many talented, hardworking people willing to put blood and life on the line for our homeland. I hope you've been as impressed as I have, because it really is something to behold." He inclined his head to the field of combatants, a motion of deference to their efforts.
"Let us keep them no longer from their last chance to show us what they're made of." He resumed his seat; the motion was a clear signal that the event was about to begin in earnest.
Khari reached back to grip the hilt of her sword, pulling it free from the scabbard on her back. A damn inconvenient place to keep one, but better than having it possibly tripping her up here. The collective rasping of just about everyone else doing the same was more of a rumbling growl than the serpentine hiss of just one, ringing echoes fading several seconds later. She took a deep breath, turning herself slowly around to get an idea of who was where.
Pretty much everyone was surrounded on every side, so strategy just had to be picking a direction and committing to it. And trying to be as conscious of her positioning as possible. When her rotation ended, she came face-to-face with some guy with a huge axe. Everything in his body language screamed his intentions: he was going for the smallest target on the field and he meant to do it right away.
It was actually kind of reassuring.
Bringing Inga around to her front, she took a double-handed grip on it and leveled it outwards, angled slightly up. Firming her feet against the ground, she shifted onto the front part of her feet, bending her knees and dragging one leg back through the dirt so it was braced behind the other. Setting her teeth together, she waited.
The seconds dragged, distended, sharpened, like the string on Stel's lute being pulled too tight. She could feel the start horn through the ground half a second before the sound reached her ears.
The chevalier with the axe didn't even get it all the way up for its heavy downward arc before she was under his guard, swinging her hand-and-a-half for his midsection. It collided with a harsh clang; she used the rebound to help her lunge to the side, under his arm and around to his back.
Her second hit must have been enough; his armor turned red, and she immediately reassessed her positioning. Like she'd figured, it was chaos, the noise alone almost enough to drown out her thoughts.
Really, though, thinking didn't have much to do with it. A flash in the peripherals of her helmet was all she got—she threw Inga up in a hasty block, knocking aside the incoming blade by instinct. The chevalier who'd struck at her wasn't expecting it to be rebuffed; they staggered backwards, trying to regain their balance on the loose sand of the ring. Khari followed them back, sweeping low to take their legs out from under them, and follow up with a cleaving blow to the chest.
Two down. Not that she was dumb enough to be counting.
Already, there was much more room than there had been half a minute before, the initial clashes resolving themselves and nearly halving the field. Most of the people that left did so from the middle—the edge-dwellers had one less side to guard, after all. Khari understood the change only as more space to swing, more strides to run, a few seconds longer to catch a breath between foes.
She was readying a blow for the well-shielded man in front of her when the chevalier's armor turned red. He stumbled to the side, revealing the other who'd stepped up behind him and delivered the finisher. Khari locked eyes with him, registering only that the magnolia flowers on his mask were familiar before he turned away and brought his shield up to counter a hammerblow from some other guy who had to be nearly as big as Leon.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Khari moved on, too, smashing her way closer to the section of the wall she'd picked. It looked a little less stable than some of the others, the lines not as firmly-drawn, and that was her in. She was doing pretty well so far, but this was going to turn into an endurance match eventually, and she was going to need to start conserving some of her steam if she wanted to make it to the very end.
Hitting people from behind wasn't her favorite thing to do, but she did it anyway, taking the first fighter in her way out before he even knew she was there. The second caught on faster; she had to tuck into a roll to avoid the heavy spear that whistled by overhead. The dirt yielded under her, momentum carrying her back to her feet with a bit of a boost from her free hand. She had to strafe aside from the swift arc of a sword right after, lurching to the side and landing hard on her left foot.
A jolt of pain shot up her leg; she grunted and shifted her weight, batting aside the next hit from the sword and stepping in, ramming her helm into the chevalier's chin. The ringing blow dazed him long enough for her to get at the back of his knee, and a blow to the side of his head with her pommel did the trick after that.
Slowly, she pushed her way towards the fence, cutting a swath through everyone else trying to do the same. By the time she reached it, she was breathing heavily through her nose, the thrum of exertion warming her limbs until her sweat was anything but cold. The exhilarating buzz of the adrenaline was normal; the dull ache in her left leg was not.
It sharpened when someone behind her stabbed their spear into it, pulling a pained hiss from between her gritted teeth. The leg gave out, and Khari found herself buckling. She threw herself sideways with her good leg so she landed on her back, sword still ready. It was all that saved her from the follow-up. The spear tip screeched along Inga's blade instead, leaving the ancient steel unblemished but Khari's arms shaking. She kicked out with her legs, tangling the spearwoman's and bringing her to the ground, too.
She didn't land half as well, awkwardly trapping her weapon underneath her arm. That was all it took—Khari pushed herself back up and struck again. Her leg protested with every step she took to position herself against the fence, blinking fiercely to keep the stinging sweat out of her eyes. Her breaths echoed back at her against the helm; her face was sticky, disheveled hairs plastered to her cheeks where they'd fallen loose in the fight.
A disturbance to her right forced her back into it—that guy from before with the flowers was backed up into another section of the fence, three fighters with shields working together to keep him pinned.
Of course, that put their backs in a pretty vulnerable position.
Khari didn't think too much about it—she just took the opportunity that presented itself, bringing Inga back up and striking the one closest to her with a heavy diagonal slash across the back. He must have taken a few already, because his armor turned red after just one. His sudden disappearance surprised the one in the middle, and flower-mask capitalized, slamming their shields together and hacking at his side.
The last in the alliance, a woman with a shortaxe, broke off before she could fall victim to the same, but her attempt to escape was cut off by someone else—the big guy with the hammer again.
Just like that, Khari realized there were only three competitors left on the field. It was her, flower-mask, and hammer-guy. Only the aching of her arms, the hard rasp of her breath and the shooting pains in her leg gave her any indication how long it had taken to reach this point, but as soon as the realization struck, she noticed the hush that had fallen over the crowd. Like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.
She swallowed.
Now what?
By some kind of silent consensus, they all backed the hell up, leaving themselves standing in a rough triangle a good ten feet away from each other. Khari shifted her eyes warily between the other two, not totally oblivious to the fact that one really logical way to go here was to knock out the little one so the two more obvious contenders could have a go at each other unimpeded.
But there was also the fact that she and flower-mask had helped each other—sort of. And even though she was pretty sure she knew who he was now that she had five seconds to actually think about it, there was sure as hell no chance that he knew who she was, or he'd have let that other guy take her down the first time.
For once, she wasn't totally sure what the right play was, and she hesitated.
In the couple of seconds that took, hammer-guy decided to take his chances, and lunged for the bigger threat, charging for flower-mask and hauling his hammer up and over his head in the kind of swing meant to pulverize shields.
With a shout, Khari leaped in, too, faster over the ground than the encumbered giant. He'd committed to his charge, and so when she swung low, he couldn't really do much about it. With a ringing clang, her blade collided with the back of his leg, hard enough to throw off his balance. Flower-mask stepped in, strafing sideways at the last moment and striking decisively at hammer-guy's back, sending him to the ground in an impact heavy enough to throw up a cloud of sand. The whole thing was smooth like they'd done it before, and the silvery plates of hammer-guy's armor flashed red. He was out.
Somehow, it didn't surprise her at all that it had come down to this. Théodore had been sitting pretty at the top of the rankings since the jousting. Much as it rankled her to admit it, a person didn't usually end up that arrogant without something to back it up, either—Khari knew she couldn't afford to let her fatigue overwhelm her for even a moment. Though there was no longer any need to watch anything but him, there was also no room for even a slight miscalculation, no flow of the field to lean on to get herself into or out of positioning.
Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed all the exhaustion and pain to the side, locking it down in the part of herself that ceased to matter at times like this. She'd learned to keep her wits about her even when the Haze descended, but it forced her to let go of some things, too: her doubt, her fear, her weakness. Her instinct for self-preservation and her aversion to pain.
Setting her teeth, Khari charged.
Her first blow clanged off Théodore's shield, but the deflection wasn't perfect. He probably hadn't expected her to have so much left. She forced him a half-step back, trying for a head-blow on the backswing. His pommel caught her in the stomach instead, hard enough to disrupt her footing, and when she stepped back, he went forward. Khari lashed again, Théodore parried, his motions precise and firm. Straight-on seemed to be a dead end, so Khari moved, sidestepping and going in for a different angle, testing his defenses, trying to wear them down and force a mistake. She kept herself fluid, planting whenever she landed but shifting like a bent sapling until she needed to change positions again.
The assault built, more of her weight and strength behind each successive hit. She was baiting him, trying to get a rise, trying to get just a little too much out of one of his reactions, anything that would give her a gap to exploit. But Théodore was stalwart where Khari was mobile, as practiced at resisting such blows as she was at delivering them, and at each moment, each beat, he exerted only as much effort as necessary to protect himself, and no more.
Her frustration built with her strength, and it wasn't long before she was the one leaving unnecessary gaps in her form, sacrificing them for just a little more speed or a slightly different angle, bending and twisting and strafing when parrying became impossible or her positioning too awkward.
Once, she didn't quite manage it, and the punishment was swift: Théodore brought his shield up for a block, and Inga bounced off too hard, leaving Khari exposed. She twisted out of the way of the slash he aimed for her exposed hip, but in doing so, opened herself up to a hard bash from the kite shield. It planted her hard on her back, jarring her helm against the ground.
She was damn lucky it wasn't her head. Scrambling to her knees, Khari braced one of her feet behind her and thrust as she rose. The ferocity of the counter finally caught him unprepared, and her blade met his chestplate and screeched as it was forced to scrape across the steel. She had no idea how many hits either of them had left, but she wasn't counting on any more chances to protect her from the loss.
Following through on the blow, Khari body-checked him, and he staggered back, releasing his sword and grabbing for her arm instead. Her eyes went wide; not strong enough to resist the momentum, she toppled over with him, and they went to ground. Somehow, all of her best fights ended this way.
It meant she was damn well prepared for it. Abandoning her heavy sword, useless at this proximity, she immediately went for the pin. Théodore's leg got in the way; he planted his knee under her sternum and turned the leverage into a roll. Grimacing, Khari went for her sidearm, pulling the knife free of its sheath even as the weight of the armored man above her started to suffocate her, the knee digging into a part of her armor that was chain instead of plate. Sensing the end, both of them scrabbled furiously, raining blows and seeking to find the spots that would count enough to end the match.
It happened much too fast for her to really register at first: Théodore went for a head blow with his free hand, gauntlet curled into a fist. Khari drove the blunt knife for the unprotected side he opened to attack.
Her hit struck first; his armor flashed red.
He didn't pull the blow fast enough.
The hit, right up under her chin, knocked her helmet loose. Loose enough to expose parts of her jaw and lower lip, and she was momentarily blinded by the interior—the eyeslit was pressing into her left brow now, she could feel it.
"You." Théodore's voice was a hard whisper. She thrashed, but felt him grip both sides of the helmet anyway, lifting it off her entirely. His weight disappeared at the same time; he stood rapidly, backing several paces away and tossing her helm to the side.
Well, shit. This was not how this was supposed to go.
Dimly aware of just how quiet the arena was, Khari pushed to her feet, dusting herself off. A strange sort of calm settled over her, evening her breathing and settling the pace of her heart. It was done now, after all. The part she'd been most afraid of. Taken out of her hands, almost literally.
“Me."