“Fuck you,” Sylah said to herself. “I’m going to win.” It might not be the Aktibar, but at least with the full prize money from the Ring she could purchase enough joba seeds to forget that she was meant to be anything more. Sylah steadied herself as best she could, the firerum doing its best to replicate the need between her teeth, and followed Lazo into the Ring.
“Dusters, have I got a treat for you. On this sacred day, the first day of celebrations for our honorable wardens, I give you a fight like no other.” He let the crowd roar. They cheered just like they did in the courtyard.
“Lazo, the reigning champion of the Ring, takes on our serpent in the dust, Sylah.” Lazo punched his right fist in the air while the crowd cheered. Like Lazo, most fighters were trained in the martial art of Dambe, a form of boxing where the opponents used their strong arm as if it was a spear. The odd fighter in the Ring had been trained in Laambe, which was more defensive and favored an open-palm technique to force the opponent back. The rarest discipline in the empire was Nuba.
A regimented code of physical formations that were implemented through strict mental codes, Nuba practice was difficult to master. The user had to reach a state of complete control and focus, known as battle wrath, in which anger fueled the Nuba artist to create precise movements that become deadly when paired with a weapon.
Sylah had been a master of all three forms of combat by the time she was ten.
Loot continued, “As always, the rules are simple. Get your opponent out of the Ring without any weapons.” He dropped his voice, luring the crowd in like a griot. He had a knack for pulling you into the world he’d created from the blood and pain of others. “Three rounds, one winner. Are you ready? Then let’s carve the dust!”
That was their cue, and Sylah wasted no time. Yes, she was a little drunk, and no, her last joba seed hadn’t fully worn off, but this was what she was made for. This was what she was born to be: a fighter.
Lazo smacked her on the side of the face, and she went flying. She saw the charcoal ring beneath her as she scrambled and fell over the line.
“Ahhhh.” She thumped the ground with her fist. Did she just lose?
“Round one to Lazo!” Loot called out.
“That was a quick round.” Fayl jogged over to her and offered her a hand up.
“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”
“Loot says win the next round.”
“Yeah. I will.” Sylah did a quick inventory of her body, making sure there was no broken skin. She had never lost by mistake before; it was always a calculated move. It had to be to make sure she never bled in front of the crowd. How many joba seeds did she have that day?
“And make it last longer,” Fayl added.
“Tell that to Loot tonight.”
Fayl laughed and clapped Sylah on the shoulder before sauntering back to his beloved. Sylah dusted herself off and re-entered the Ring opposite Lazo.
“All right, Sylah?” he asked with concern. Lazo was a nice enough fellow. He just had a lot of muscle dragging the blood away from his brain.
“Yeah, all right, Lazo. You ready to go again?”
“You bet.” He grinned and showed off his three remaining teeth.
Sylah took a deep breath and reset her focus into battle wrath: the Nuba meditative state of pure rage. All she needed to do was think of Jond.
Two years he knew I was alive?
“Round two, commence,” Loot barked.
This time Sylah was ready for the punch that flew her way. She pounced to the left and dropped into a crouch. Lazo’s right arm kept coming, left, right, left, right. The meaty fist missing her by a handspan. Lazo’s momentum propelled him close to the edge of the Ring. She could have ended it there, but she knew Loot wanted a show.
Sylah leaped onto Lazo’s back, her nails drawing blue blood as she clawed him to the ground. He threw a kick at her, but she flipped backward through the air. Her aerobatics skills always made the crowd cheer. But agility simply required practice. Her real skill was in the forceful movements and manipulation of her body weight that she had learned by mastering all three martial arts.
And manipulate she did. He went left because she wanted him there. He threw a back kick, because she wanted to duck it. Sylah had always been the fastest of the Stolen. Not always the strongest, but always the smartest in combat.
Once, her skills would have been used to bring the empire to its knees, baring the neck of those who had brought injustice to each and every Duster. She would have severed the head from the body, and out of the chaos a new world would have been born. A world where Jond—
Sylah faltered, and a kick to her guts sent her sprawling to the edge of the ring. Jond was alive. The anger, fueled by his betrayal, dissipated in a moment of pure joy. Jond was alive.
She saw Lazo just in time, her legs kicking outward to propel his bulk up and out of the Ring.
“Round two goes to Sylah.”