Thinking of Nicci’s spell-possessed hair made him shiver, but he shook his head. “I haven’t cut my hair since I left Chiriya Island. I won’t lose that part of who I am.”
“Then you might lose your head.”
“I’ll try not to.”
Lila’s expression was hard, but he could see the softness behind her eyes. “See that you don’t, for my sake if nothing else.”
Facing the warriors on the field, Lila and six other morazeth held their weapons of choice. The branded runes that covered their skin protected them against magic but not traditional weapons, and Utros and the ancient soldiers would fight with real weapons instead of spells. The women remained fixated on defending Ildakar. To them, their purpose had not changed. An opponent was an opponent.
Bannon had talked to many of the arena warriors, asking if they resented the morazeth for the abuses done to them, but most seasoned warriors already had their independence beaten out of them over the years. He remembered how wholeheartedly loyal Ian, Ildakar’s champion, had been to Adessa, but she had killed him on the night of the revolt. For that, Bannon could never forgive the morazeth leader, any more than he could forgive the Norukai slavers.
But Lila … He slowly, reluctantly, began to understand the young woman’s mind-set. Her harsh and painful tutelage had made him a far better fighter, and those skills might save him when he fought against a real enemy.
Now, the morazeth women drew their weapons. Lila held a short sword in one hand, a whip in the other, while others held wooden fighting staves, long hooks, tall pikes. Genda, a squarish, stocky fighter, wore metal-studded gloves on each hand and prepared to fight with her fists alone.
Lila called, “There is no excuse for failure. When we attack General Utros and his army, don’t embarrass me by getting killed.” She meant no humor in her statement, though some of the city guard chuckled nervously. The arena warriors did not. “You will fight and you will learn. And if you do well enough in real battle, you may not need to fight Utros again.”
“We’ll make them sting, ha ha!” called a bright young voice.
Bannon turned to see Timothy, whose rough-spun slave clothes had been replaced with a fighter’s girded waistcloth. The scamp wore no shirt and gripped a short sword that looked too big for him. His skin was gray-white from the lingering stone effect, and when he swung his sword, his movements were slow and his joints stiff, but the grin on his face was real.
Lila seemed impressed. “I expect every one of you to be at least as brave and strong as a lowly yaxen herder.”
Some of the fighters affirmed that they were, while others, particularly the haughty city guard members, grumbled at the boy’s arrogance.
“We’ll fight beside you, Timothy,” Bannon said.
The seven morazeth trainers divided the fighters into squads, so that the smaller teams could spar against one another.
“Out in the combat field,” Lila said, “you won’t have a well-mannered arena fight. If you don’t watch your back while battling one enemy, another might thrust a spear through your heart. Don’t expect rules, don’t expect honor.” She strode among them, glaring at those who didn’t show sufficient confidence. “And I don’t expect you to fight with neat rules either. A real battle is not a game, and the winners don’t receive ribbons or trophies, though some of you might receive a pleasurable reward from one of our beautiful morazeth.” She waited, sure she had their attention. “You are responsible for protecting our city and preserving our freedom.”
“And do we have freedom now?” asked one of the household slaves, a muscular man who had volunteered for training.
“You have more freedom than you had before,” Lila answered. “And if General Utros is defeated, you will be in a position to demand more.”
The former slave rested the point of his sword in the sand and stood with his legs spread, facing Lila, who came forward to meet his challenge. He said, “I could have had complete freedom if I’d slipped away one night. Many others ran from Ildakar, and now they have full lives far from here. Some mountain villages like Stravera accept runaway slaves. When my friend Garth ran off, he begged me to go with him, but I listened to Mirrormask instead. I stayed behind to overthrow Ildakar for the freedom of all.” He grimaced. “Now look at us! The entire city is imprisoned. I should have left when I had the chance.”
Lila stepped so close to him that her flesh nearly touched his. “Do you think you could escape now? Why not slip out at night, tiptoe through the thousands of enemy soldiers? Be my guest.”
“I’ll stay,” the man grumbled. “And I’ll fight. I already made up my mind. The sorceress convinced me.”
Lila stepped back. “Good, then you’ll be my first opponent tonight.” She glanced to the side. “Bannon, you train Timothy. Break the yaxen herder if you can.”
Genda let out a loud shrill whistle, and all the fighters stood at attention. Kedra, Lyesse, Marla, Thorn, and Ricia took up their positions, facing groups of opponents. When Genda whistled a second time, the battle was unleashed.
The arena rang with wooden staves striking armor, hardened gloves smacking against flesh, steel crashing against steel. Big Genda struck her opponent in the chest with a steel-mesh fist and knocked him back onto the soft sand.
Without hesitation, Timothy swung his short sword at Bannon, laughing as he attacked. Bannon lifted Sturdy to deflect the blow, and he smiled as well, seeing the scamp’s eager fury. Timothy flailed his sword from side to side with no finesse, and Bannon easily countered each thrust, each parry. He couldn’t help but think of his own clumsy abilities when he had first bought Sturdy from a Tanimura swordsmith. Vowing never to be defenseless again, he’d used his last coins to buy the weapon, but he hadn’t really known how to fight.
Timothy drove at him with such energy that Bannon took a step back. He met every blow, countering the boy’s energy, but all too often the yaxen herder left himself wide open. As soon as Bannon saw a chance, he struck hard, crashing the flat of the blade on the boy’s shoulder. He checked his blow at the last instant, not wanting to injure Timothy, but to his amazement his steel merely glanced off the bare shoulder, as if it had struck a hard surface. Bannon hesitated in surprise, and his young opponent charged forward, smashing Sturdy so hard that Bannon nearly dropped the weapon.
Timothy let out a cry of joy. “I could have killed you, Bannon Farmer! Beware of a worthy opponent like myself.”
Bannon slipped under the boy’s short sword and again struck his scrawny arm with the flat of his blade. “And I could have cut off your arm.”
“Could you? My skin is better protection than any armor you’ve ever worn. Besides, I have two arms, and by the Keeper’s beard, I could keep fighting even if I lost one.”
Around them, the loud combat continued, punctuated with yelps of pain as fighters suffered blunted blows from the morazeth. One arena veteran, a man with scars on his skin and face, seemed uninspired in his fighting. His morazeth opponent, Ricia, knocked him to the ground and placed her sword against his chest. “Aren’t you interested? When you fail, you will die. Remember that when you fight the enemy soldiers.”
The veteran’s face turned ruddy. He picked himself up from the combat sands, brushing himself off where dust clung to his sweat and blood. “I make no excuses, Ricia.” Letting out a growl, he fought with renewed energy.
Bannon kept sparring with Timothy, although perspiration dripped down his face and his muscles ached. The scamp was reckless and full of energy, and after Bannon suffered several bruises, he decided to stop going easy on the young man. “You’re careless,” he warned, and slapped the flat of his sword against the boy’s hardened thigh.