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(Vol 6) Chapter 27: The Point of a Contest
🕑 Added 2024-08-24 15:15:44 +0000 UTCAt the play and the hesitation, the Guru raised an eyebrow in apparent surprise. “That does not seem mathematically sound, High Alchemist. There are better plays in the midst. Are you sure? You understand the rules? You haven’t removed your finger just yet.”
Azure suppressed her urge to take it back and gave a little shrug. She kept her back straight. “How could we be sure, Guru Vantemore? It is always the intention of hope we cling to for a better future, without the capacity to know or dictate.
“When things get too muddied in the midst, we take a step back and begin from the outside looking in. To learn a more sensitive and intricate approach that will open its way to us, in proper opportunity and time. It is not necessary to sweep away a structure of successful calculation to build something new when you can forge a bridge to it. In short, there is no need to fix what isn’t broken.” She removed her finger from the card.
Come on! If I judged this right in his weird, indirect way of broaching it, he is negotiating the maintenance of the Commonwealth’s culture in a hypothetical alliance. He wants assurance I understand the intricate moving parts in play, and have the intellectual capacity to play this particular ‘game.’ Come on, I’m right, I’m right, I’m right!
The Guru studied the board placidly for too many tense moments, giving away nothing and casting doubt in Azure’s heart like a dagger. He drew a card. Discarded one and drew another.
I can’t be wrong, here! No way!
Finally, he played. On the opposite side from the Queen, he placed the Sage of Circles, barely connected. In fact, it was less than a useful play — through the math of interactions, it had almost cost him the entire board and a loss, because he’d slammed himself with numerous zeros that wiped out values arcing in every direction. The total points had even dropped below 144 again.
As Azure held her breath, the Guru still held his eyes on the board. “Oops. It seems I made a mistake with the card I’ve chosen to hang my hopes upon. I wonder how I might correct it.” He lifted his eyes and met those of his ‘opponent.’ He smiled the first genuine smile he had since Tanjhere had entered the palace.
Reality warbled and faded into a void that spelled the interim and gap between challenges. All Azure could do was mentally cheer in glee.
I win! I got it! I fucking did it! Yes!
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At the customary First Touch of Dusk, Deikmorn Brakka stared across the distance between him and his foe on the dueling ground — a ring of ripped-up, dry earth. Ogdellos was a fine specimen of Naugite power and physique, muscular and, if the duel were wrestling, among the most difficult to face. Fortunately, that was not the case.
The duel was decided by the challenger, and the necessity of first blood made the ritual aja kopa logical — short swords with a flat point to take away running someone through. The kit was a short sword, buckler, gauntlets, forearm and shin guards, neck wraps, groin protection, and little else. The goal was to land a cut on bare, primarily exposed flesh on the upper arms, legs, or torso.
The face was exposed, but attacking that was one of the worst insults. ‘Second Blood’ was the worst of all, where one held the other in power enough to follow through with a second strike after conducting a winning stroke already, usually on the face, possibly even to take an eye. Legal, though after first blood, allies could rush in to break things up. The window was such that it was only feasible on the follow-through.
Deikmorn’s goal was a debilitating, embarrassing, deep cut on a limb. By rule, supernatural healing other than assurance against bleeding out or disease was forbidden. Essentially, one had to own their injury and the shame and pain of being hobbled. Unless of course they wanted to be seen as even weaker and more pathetic as a loser, to refuse to absorb a failed test’s instruction. Deikmorn had paid his own dues in that regard in the past and had the natural scars to prove it.
A crowd was gathered all around the circle, sitting on the bare ground, as dictated by custom. To his eyes, there were maybe two-thirds young women in the front, fascinated by the ongoing, rapidly developing drama. But most leaders had shown up for this, too, generally with their eyes watching on soberly. Some cast hateful eyes his way, though. No small number of fierce Ogdellos loyalists were there.
Is this going to work? Bah. You silly, beautiful, ambitious woman. He glanced over at the only soul of the spectators made to stand. The ‘honored’ in question, Nyomel, was covered entirely in heavy ceremonial robes with a shawl over her face. It would only be revealed when she accepted the results of the duel.
Which she did not have to do. If by some magic Ogdellos won — which he wouldn’t — she could just turn her back and leave, showing disdain, whether for the winner or the fighting. Which one was sometimes a matter of epic drama in the stories.
When Deikmorn won, after the crowd quieted, all would be spellbound waiting as she finally flipped up her shawl, smiled, and ran to embrace and kiss him. That would ‘work the crowd,’ or so she intended. He knew it would to some degree, as befit a rare legendary scenario playing out, as well as a duel that had bets going (him 3 to 1). The question was how many would not be worked.
The judge between them blew one quick note on a little horn that was strapped in such a way as to stay between his lips. Then he gestured both hands out for the two fighters to approach.
Ogdellos, usually as jovial as a trumpet, was somewhat uncharacteristically furious and hateful in his countenance as he sauntered forward, glaring murder at Deikmorn. But quite characteristically, his heart was on his sleeve. Deikmorn couldn’t particularly blame the lad. In addition to the matter of Nyomel, which he likely didn’t give a shit about anyway, there was the fact he was being cock-blocked on a promising social and political climb seemingly out of nowhere.
It also happened that Deikmorn had insulted his mother and his family in general, to add to the feud and ensure acceptance of the duel with animosity. This was Deikmorn’s idea to hype things up, even if he made some permanent rivals and he branded himself the villain. This was not only no real detriment to ambitions among Naugites, it was no different from Deikmorn’s rise to the top.
Especially among his own people, the tactic would realistically even make them a bit more confident in him after the near-death injury.
“You’ll pay dearly for this particular whore, Shalkan,” Ogdellos taunted with a snarl, as he flexed his muscles and rolled his neck. “You’ve already tainted your legacy with base acts and insults. My ancestors will ruin it further with their revenge. My blade is blessed and cursed to taste your flesh.”
Deikmorn shook his head. “I’ve already paid — as in, the bet I made on myself. This is just the return, lad.” There was a brief gaggle of laughter from some in the crowd. “As for base acts, well, I’ll be performing more of those in the victory tent in just a little bit, with the price merely another’s deep pleasure.” This got more than a few chortles.
Meanwhile, Ogdellos sneered hatefully.
The judge tooted his horn, raised his hands, and called, “The duelists have spoken words! Now is the time of prayer and meditation. Take measure and be silent, and let the next exchange in the night be with steel! Any who protest, be warned: our ancestors and the spirits now watch.”
The interim hush persisted, the judge still holding his hands up. Deikmorn took the silent moment to study his bullish foe — his body, anatomy, and posture.
A charger. His stance holds a reminder from others not to, though. To restrain his approach. Good advice, as he’d just embarrass himself. He’ll try to overpower regardless and block counterattacks with the shield. His only saving grace, his shield work. He’s overspecialized on that stupid axe.
Anyone even slightly in the know already knew Ogdellos was Level 12 because he was a blustering braggart. Deikmorn’s gap was annoyingly within a snowball’s chance in hell thanks to the malus he was stuck with, but only in an ideal measure. In that particular duel, Deikmorn was at least a chunky three levels higher sword-to-sword, probably four, and maybe even five.
He is the one who has to either gamble or mitigate loss. Judging from his attitude, and how he has zero subtlety to fake it, it seems he is going to gamble. Stupid. But good for me, considering how badly I need to hurt him…
It was then Deikmorn noticed something he immediately struggled to pretend not to. It nonetheless filled him with an ice-cold rage. The sheen of the blade in Ogdellos’s hand, and particularly when a bit of light caught the edge. Very, very, very few Naugites would notice the difference in a blade that would logically be well-oiled.
Poison. You fucking little stupid shit. I’m going to absolutely ruin you, now.
It was a bit shocking to even see of the man in front of him. Ogdellos, using poison? Unthinkable. But the reason confused Deikmorn even more. First Blood, so how did it help him at all? He was so confident and wanted Deikmorn dead or more debilitated?
He took another glance at the blade. Oil. Mixed with oil. Almost like…
Gureiji slug oil. Shit. It was a contact poison needing very little to have an effect. The sword was meant to be blocked or parried, causing the oil to flick or spray on skin, absorb, and soon begin causing sluggishness. Ironically enough. Depending on the concentration, possibly paralysis, but if they wanted to be less obvious, the mix would be differently cultivated…
It’s a real fucking problem, either way! He’d have to dodge attacks completely instead of parrying or blocking, or risk the poisonous oil hitting him.
Sadly, there was no more time to ponder the puzzle, as the judge had backpedaled away, dropped his hands, and tooted his little horn.
Both of them darted forward, Ogdellos being his usual self, but Deikmorn did so only because he couldn’t afford to ply his way to a counterattack any longer, with the threat of a defense being literally poisonous to his chances.
Deikmorn feinted to go for a sudden, aggressive counter at the last moment, to bait his opponent, but the whole counter charge threw Ogdellos enough that he aborted his whole maneuver, and so he retreated at precisely the right time to make both of them hesitate.
They circled each other. “This is some twisted shit for you, Og,” Deikmorn muttered.
Ogdellos raised an eyebrow briefly. “Funny! That’s my line. Even for you, this has been dirty.” He followed it up with an advance.
Deikmorn focused intently on dodging the strike that came, which he way too narrowly did. So stunned was he by the odd swiftness of the sword that he lost a step in his counter, and he whiffed completely too. Ogdellos tried a follow-up backhand that was once again blisteringly fast. Deikmorn retreated and backed away.
What the hell is going on?! It’s like he’s bloody enchanted. Or the blade is. But that is something screened… or should be. Damn it! I played too little into this match and I’ve gotten played in turn. Perhaps it's what I get for underestimating. Cheat and get cheated, or just get cheated, as they say.
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