“We need to stop arguing and start doing. There are no strategies I can think of that will give us the advantage here, except maybe war-swarm.”
“That’s ridiculous, war-swarm leaves no one protecting the flag, it would be suicide.” The arrogance of the woman who’d spoken first was dwindling to outright fear.
“Suicide would be continuing to debate in this ramshackle hut until the tidewind rips it up and spits us out,” Jond added. “I think she’s right. We need to rush them. If we’re lucky, they will be doing the same thing as us right now—arguing.”
“We need to make it quick. Go in as a group.” Anoor’s voice had gotten stronger with Jond’s support. “We need to do it when the tidewind is strongest, so they’re surprised.”
The group began to growl and hiss, and some were shaking their heads. There was a strong smell of piss again.
“Time for talking is over, unless someone has a better idea; speak now.” Jond was losing his patience. When no one spoke up again, he began to delegate. Anoor spoke up every now and again, to give her advice, but let him do most of the leading. After all, he was here to win, and he couldn’t trust her to follow through.
It came time for the approach. A few of the competitors volunteered to protect the flag, and it made Jond bristle. It was clear those competitors thought they’d be able to cruise to victory in this trial just by being part of the team that stayed with the flag. He had to hope the next trials weeded them out.
Anoor was part of his unit alongside the scorpion man. It meant he could keep her alive at least.
“Ready?” He looked at her, and she nodded. The baton in her hand was steady. As one, their unit launched out into the tidewind.
—
Sylah screamed along with the rest of the crowd. She could see Anoor rush out of their base just in time for their makeshift shelter to come crashing down in a gust of wind. The other team hadn’t fared any better. They had attempted to burrow into the sand to protect themselves. Like a herd of eru bedding down for the night, the team had sunk themselves deep into the ground, with just their helmets sticking out. A good technique for surviving the night, but not for winning the trial.
“War-swarm, they’re using war-swarm,” Sylah whispered to herself. She and Anoor had discussed the strategy once but dismissed it as suicide. That was before they knew they were fighting during the tidewind. War-swarm might be the only thing that could win it.
“What does that mean?” Kwame said next to her. “Is it the one where you circle the enemy from the left? The strategy you used to beat me last week?”
“No, no, we didn’t practice it. We talked about it briefly, but never thought it would be useful. Essentially the group splits into smaller factions and rushes the enemy in an ‘S’ formation,” Sylah said.
“Wow,” Kwame said. “Brave.”
“Hmm.”
“You seem to know a lot about the Aktibar, where you from again?”
“Ood-Zaynib. My father was interested in the trials.”
“A gambling man then?”
“Sure.” Why won’t he shut up?
Kwame slurped on a flask of whiskey and offered some to Sylah. She hated herself for reaching for it.
“Thanks.” She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
“Where’s Anoor?” He paused to scream at someone who stood up to block their view.
“Short one, on the edge. Bright green armor.”
“Green? Cool.”
“Not really.”
“Oh.” He squinted. “Who’s that with her?”
“Her protector.”
Kwame looked at her strangely. “Her protector? As in, she hired him?” Sylah didn’t respond, so he shrugged and took another shot from his flask.
The arena suddenly flooded with glittering blue particles of sand. For a second Sylah lost Anoor altogether, only to find her faction twenty paces away from the flag a moment later.