Odds on Disciple of Strength:
Yanis Yahun 7/5
Efie Montera 9/2
Jond Alnua 11/1
Anoor Elsari 11/1
—Master Fula’s gambling house
The arena was full. It always was for the strength trials, but this time it was bloated with energy. The audience members knew the names and were chanting them in waves. Jond had heard his more than once, and it put him on edge. Healers began to enter the arena; they were always on call for any of the worst injuries. The fight was the first to blood, after all.
Anoor was seated in the corner of his vision, her bright green armor giving him a throbbing headache. She was still alive. Jond had searched for her and had found the tower Sylah had locked her in, surrounded by Ghostings. Jond could have cut them down, would have, if Fayl hadn’t held him back.
“A massacre of this size could halt the Aktibar,” the big man said, and he was right. Jond had come to like the master’s watcher.
Jond wasn’t worried about fighting Anoor; there was no way she could best him. In fact, he preferred to duel her fairly. Her death was inevitable either way; Master Inansi wouldn’t let her live.
He turned his stare to Efie on the bench opposite, who was chewing the edge of her red braid, her ankles crossed in front of her. She held her helm under her arm. Its rose gold filigree looked like lace, but it was a mistake to think the warrior at all delicate. The kente flag of Jin-Gernomi was tied around her waist. She saw Jond looking and winked.
Jond’s mouth twisted in response. He hated that Master Inansi had blackmailed Efie’s grandfather. He wanted an honest path to victory, but Master Inansi never left anything to chance.
Yanis walked into his vision, pacing up and down. The silver helm hooked under his arm was shaped like a scorpion, the poisonous tail curving around the back, the pincers on either side of the ears. He held a flask in his hand. Jond wondered if that was the water Master Inansi had laced with valerian root. Again, nothing left to chance. Yanis gave him a cheery thumbs-up and Jond grimaced. What an idiot.
The griot had come out onto the stage, and Jond groaned. He hated the pageantry of the whole thing, the showmanship. He wanted to get to the fight.
The griot was introducing the competitors and doing an impression of each one. He paced along the podium like Yanis, dropping his jaw in a slack-mouthed grin. It was quite good, actually. Jond allowed himself a small smile. Yanis bobbed his head in an endearing shrug, as if to say “I can’t help my charm,” and Jond was sure half the people in the audience swooned.
Jond hawked in the back of his throat.
Anoor was up next, and the griot puffed out his cheeks and shrunk his stature, quivering around the stage like a scared rabbit. But looking at Anoor, there was no shyness in her demeanor, no tremble in her posture. She didn’t wave, didn’t smile. It was as if she were in a trance, so complete was her focus. She just stared calmly at the cheering crowd.
And cheer for her they did. Over and over. “Anoor Elsari, Anoor Elsari!”
The griot grew taller somehow and dropped his left knee as he walked, the swagger taking on the same arrogance Efie projected. She stood up and waved at the crowd, flapping her arms up so they’d increase their volume. Some of the audience members waved the kente flag of Jin-Gernomi, and she waved at them the most.
“Get on with it,” Jond muttered.
Jond was up next. The griot walked as if a rod pierced his butt cheeks; he clenched his biceps and lunged across the stage. Clearly the griot had run out of material by the time he got to Jond.
The cheers for Jond were more subdued. He was an unknown Ember, not tied to the army, not a member of a warden’s family, and not the grandchild of an imir. He didn’t mind. They’d be cheering for him in the end. Uka stood, and Jond wasn’t sure whether the griot’s fear was rehearsed. He scuttled off the stage.
Uka walked toward the sound projector. She wore a sheer gunmetal dress that shimmered in the morning light. When she shifted you could see through it; a black body suit covered the areas she wanted. As she moved to speak into the projector, the throne behind her seemed to merge with her dress, creating an elaborate illusion that the gown splintered into shards of metal.
“Welcome to the final trial in the Aktibar for strength. Today we will start a new chapter. Today we will discover our next disciple to carry on my legacy, to protect and to nurture the empire and to maintain the law and order of its citizens.” Uka paused, let the cheers build in crescendo, then ripple down to silence again. “The rules of the final trial are simple. A coin toss determines the fighting pairs. Each fight ends when blood is drawn. If a competitor mars the charcoal ring, or goes beyond it, they are also disqualified. Competitors must use the weapons they have chosen in the trial of stealth.”
Jond saw Anoor’s eyes shift to Yanis and the jambiya he held in his hand. The anger in that glance was the first time Anoor scared him.
“The winners of the first two rounds will go on to face each other. The resulting champion will be named Disciple of Strength on the Day of Ascent on the morrow.”
Uka shifted to the side, pulling a coin out of her glittering silks. She called out the pairs: “Jond and Efie. Yanis and Anoor.”
The chanting rattled Jond’s bones as he entered the ring of combat. Efie followed, her gold dagger twirling in her hand. She took off her kente flag and waved it to the crowd. Her supporters waved their flags back, their cheers deepening when Efie wrapped it around her forehead before placing on her helm. The yellow and green colors of Jin-Gernomi were just visible above her eye line.
“Let’s give them a show.” Efie’s words were drowned out by the sound of the crowd, but Jond read her lips.
When the horn sounded, she lunged.