A Snoop Without Magic, page 33
Kened spent the rest of the day looking at the matches. He identified one competitor using the pollen. Sam had done enough, so he didn’t confront the cheater, but he did spread a rumor or two in the warm-up hall.
Sam still hadn’t had a challenging match when the brackets were done for the day. He and Kened walked out with Stefen who had positioned their carriage not far from the stadium. They were about to jump in when four men walked up with bludgeons.
Sam quickly put armor on his two friends while he pulled out his sword. “Get back,” he said.
“You should learn to leave things alone, foreigner,” one of the thugs said.
Someone slapped something on his neck. Sam looked up to see the driver scrambling to get back. He slapped his sword back, hitting the man with the blunt edge of his sword.
“If you think I am addled, come on,” Sam said, beckoning them forward with his sword.
The men looked confused. “You should—”
Sam again reversed his sword and began beating the men, just as he had the driver. The men had no defense against Sam’s onslaught.
“Stefen, pull the driver off,” Kened said as he grabbed another of Sam’s swords, and together they beat the men before jumping in the carriage and driving off.
“What is this?” Kened asked, feeling his upper body.
“Armor. I saved the king with the same invisible pollen. I can’t have Stefen and you beaten. They put a more potent form of the pollen on me, but, as I said, I’m immune.”
“How can you compete tomorrow? People want you stopped.”
“That has never happened before?” Sam asked. “Isn’t this an event where fortunes are won and lost? Betting makes people cheat, and that has probably been going on for as long as there have been Trials. Am I correct?” Sam said.
“Of course, but this is—”
“Just a new form of cheating. It might not even be new,” Sam said. “Perhaps it is the first year someone has been caught.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
~
W ith more than half the field defeated and out of the warm-up hall, Sam had a corner to himself. Worren showed up, already apprised of the upset Effian Walk had caused the previous day.
“Some of the duelists are appreciative, and others think you staged the whole event. Don’t think you will get thanks from the judges.” Worren smiled. “It took an hour for those two cheaters to have your pollen blocks removed. One of them hadn’t fought his third round match and had to forfeit. Good riddance, I say. You certainly have made a name for yourself.”
“You mean a target. I wonder if I’ll be attacked again.”
Worren shrugged. “It is always a possibility. There were quite a few patrons robbed last night.”
“None of them were attacked and told to leave things alone and called a foreigner,” Kened said. “Effian will have to be on the alert.”
“As if he isn’t already.” Worren helped Sam with his swords. “Four rounds today, and then the final three are fought tomorrow. Are you ready?”
Sam nodded. “More tricks, I imagine.”
“The possibility is high, but now that the pollen cheating is well-known, even the spectators will be on the lookout for something strange.”
Sam nodded. He looked at the brackets and went through his notes on his potential foes. “There are two that might be good challenges,” Sam said. “One in the second round and another in the third. The favorite that I project to make it to the third round was the runner-up last year.”
“He is the one expected to win your bracket,” Kened said. “If you meet him, the winner will be the person who wants it more.”
Sam sighed when he didn’t see Norna’s name on the list. He would put off finding out where she placed until the Trials were over.
The matches would begin in an hour, later than the first day. Sam went through his forms a few times. He decided he would bring out his Lashakan sword if he made it to the third round. He might need the edge.
The first match was anti-climatic. Sam’s opponent didn’t show. The judge received a message saying the competitor had sustained a cut in the first round that had started to fester. Sam watched his next opponent’s match instead from the competitor seats, notebook in hand. Sam picked up a few new moves and a little stutter-step that he hadn’t noticed for his next match. The upcoming duel didn’t worry him.
The favorite would be in the next set of duelists, so Sam eagerly watched as the match was about to begin. Sam sighed when the opponent’s coach brushed his hand against the favorite’s neck. Sam was too far away, but the pollen cheating had just changed the place it was applied.
Even with much better moves, Sam’s biggest threat couldn’t match the speed of his opponent. It was clear to Sam the pollen had done its job. When the match was called, a fair number of spectators booed when the referee called the match for the cheater.
Sam went back to the warm-up room and told whoever would listen not to let anyone touch them. Most of those who had viewed the match agreed. If they hadn’t believed Sam about the pollen cheating before, they did now.
Suddenly, duelists wore armor over their clothes and removed them when they stepped on the dueling platforms. Some spectators booed, and others cheered. Sam didn’t change what he did, but then his second round opponent cast off his armor and looked at Sam quizzically.
“No armor for me,” Sam said.
The man smiled and nodded. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and the smiles were gone.
Sam won on two straight touches. He used his scouting earlier in the day to his advantage.
Sam was to fight the cheater in the third round. He strode to his spot in front of the dueling platform. The opponent’s coach walked close. Sam grabbed the man’s hand before he could touch him.
“Cheater!” Sam yelled, staying away from the coach’s gloved palm. “There is pollen in his hand.”
Sam held up the man’s glove for all to see, but then his opponent ran into him, knocking all three of them to the floor. Sam felt his opponent slide his sword along his arm.
After rolling away, Sam showed his arm to the judge. “He struck me!”
“You will have to play on. The cut wasn’t done on the dueling platform and won’t count against you.”
“But what about the pollen?”
“I don’t see any pollen,” the judge said, looking at the coach who was showing him both palms of his gloved hands.
The crowd showered boos when the referee motioned for both duelists to ascend the platform. Kened ran up and wrapped Sam’s arm tightly. At least it wasn’t his sword arm.
Sam performed Lashakan calming forms before he took a gigantic breath and faced his opponent. He didn’t appreciate the confident smile on the duelist’s face.
“We will see who does the grinning after this match,” Sam said. He took another breath and felt calm enough to proceed. He wiped the red dust from his bare wrist in full view of his opponent and the crowd. There were more boos. The crowd was definitely with him. Sam shook his head, disgusted at the lawlessness permitted at Baskin’s premier games. He guessed the Court of Nobles was behind this disgrace of a tournament.
The first touch went to the opponent. Sam was still too excited about the altercation before the start, but he now had a better measure of his opponent. The next pass went to Sam with a deeper cut to the man’s side than Sam would generally make.
With the match tied, the confidence disappeared from the duelist’s face. Sam kept his face neutral as his opponent attacked, but the cut in his side had slowed him up so much that Sam ended up tapping him on the head with a lightning strike.
The crowd roared their approval. His opponent collapsed on the dueling platform. Sam’s cut had been made worse by his opponent’s efforts. He cut open the man’s shirt and applied a thin strip of flexible pollen to the man’s side before healers came with a stretcher and carried the man out.
“You should come with us,” the healer said.
Sam looked down at this blood-soaked arm and nodded. “I need to have this done before the next match.”
The healer nodded, and Sam helped the healers carry the defeated duelist out of the arena to the healer’s office. Two of the healers attended to the fallen man, and another took Sam aside.
Sam’s cut didn’t look any worse than before. “Do you have any non-pollen thread for stitching?”
“A little bit. Is that what you want?”
Sam nodded. “My body softens pollen sometimes. I’d rather not have to worry about this for the rest of the Trials.”
The healer nodded and found a thin thread to stitch his arm. “You have many very thin scars, unusually thin for a duelist.”
“Thread like that and an expert healer makes for tiny scars,” Sam said.
The healer smiled. “I will do my best.”
When the man was done, Sam saw the healer’s good work. “You should help sew my opponent up. Give him a thin scar, too.”
“You aren’t so arrogant, after all, Master Walk.”
“Keep it a secret,” Sam said, holding a finger to his lips.
He found Kened looking at the final third round matches. “Get that gash sewed up?”
Sam nodded. “Check on my last opponent when you get the chance. He angered me, and I sliced him deeper than intended. Effian Walk is disappointed at losing his temper.”
Kened laughed. “Your next opponent won’t be as good as your last.”
Sam nodded, and in half-an-hour he put his swords away, looking forward to the quarterfinals the next day.
~
Sam yawned after struggling with a sleepless night as he stood at the door to Kened’s studio, waiting for the others to eventually show up.
“I needed a day to get over the shock,” Ian said. “I will help scout if you don’t mind. Every competitor at this stage will be bringing out new surprises. How is your arm?”
“It won’t keep me from winning, if that is what you mean.”
Ian opened the door to the hired carriage that would take them to the arena and was thrown back into Sam and Stefen by the blast of a ward while Kened locked the studio. Sam blinked his eyes to see the driver run down the street. He laid back and stared at the sky for a moment.
Ian lay on top of Stefen, his eyes open in a sightless gaze, wood from the door penetrated his body. Stefen was out but still breathing. Ian had been in front of him.
Sam stood up and leaned over. A shard of wood stuck out from his thigh. He toppled over. “Pull it out!” he commanded Kened.
His coach extracted the shard while Sam grunted in pain. “Wrap it up tightly. I will have it fixed at the arena. I won’t be stopped by whoever is behind this. Have Dickey look the carriage over.”
Sam grimaced as Kened did as requested. Worrell found two carriages, one he took while Sam took the other, alone, to the arena. He hobbled through the doors to the warm-up area and went straight to the healers. He found the healer who had worked on him before.
“I need another job,” Sam said.
“What happened to your leg?”
“A warded blast. I need you to sew my muscle together and then the skin.”
“We should be in a clinic for that.”
Sam waved his comment away. “No time, no time. Do it. If I can’t make it past the quarterfinals, you can haul me away.”
The healer shook his head. “Duelists have so much tolerance for pain. It is appalling,” he said, but he went to work.
The man was excellent with a needle and thread. Sam could feel the muscle stretch and complain, but he could move as long as his thigh was tightly bound. When he was called for his first match, Sam had put a new cloth dressing underneath his trousers. The wound had already closed.
He quickly skimmed the notes on his next opponent. Sam withdrew his Lashakan sword. His biggest trial was here, and if he didn’t win this match, there would be no others. He looked around him and found he was the only competitor to reach this bracket who didn’t have a coach. Sam felt alone, but he hefted his Lashakan sword, formerly Mito Nakara’s sword. He would try to honor his friend with the next duel.
He wouldn’t let the stream of friends he had met since his exile down. Sam Smith and Effian Walk had to make an effort. Sam pressed his lips together as he thought of Ian, dead on the sidewalk. That ward was meant for Effian Walk. He didn’t know what injuries Stefen sustained, but he would use their memory as additional motivation.
Sam Smith would have easily walked away from this match in the past, but not this time. He heard his name called. Three more matches and Sam would win the championship.
He began hobbling towards his assigned dueling platform, and as he walked, his gait smoothed out. Sam ignored the protests from his body. He climbed up the platform and allowed himself a little wince. He raised his Lashakan sword, clutching the middle of the sheath when introduced, and flung it aside to face his opponent.
The man wasn’t ready, still talking to his coach. Sam performed the calming Lashakan forms that had so far served him in the Trials. He sighed and then took a deep breath, addressing his opponent in the Tolloyan way, not the Toraltian. His opponent looked a bit perplexed.
The whistle blew, and Sam and the Lashakan sword that he had learned to love moved as one. He scored two straight touches. His opponent never lost his confused look. Sam fell back on his behind on the platform.
Kened and Winnie Bentwick helped him up and off the platform. He shook them off and walked slowly to his area.
“Stefen?”
“Back at Lady Grate’s, I’m afraid. He is conscious but shaken by the blast. He isn’t nineteen, you know,” Winnie said.
“How is your leg?”
“Conscious and complaining,” Sam said. He took a deep breath. “Two more matches,” he said. “I must win.”
“Not in your condition,” Kened said.
“I need some extra food and water since I lost some blood.”
“Some? The driver returned to my studio demanding more money for the mess you made to his carriage.”
“Ian looked dead,” Sam said, feeling a wave of grief hit him.
“He still is,” Kened said. “The man didn’t deserve to die.” He looked around. “Damned Court. Dickey said it looked like a military ward. That can only mean the nobles. He can’t think of anyone else who would go to such extremes.”
“So he thinks they are behind the pollen and the attacks?”
Kened nodded. “You don’t have to fight again. You are the talk of Baskin after today. Dickey told me that Harrison Dimple said you have already gained sufficient notoriety to move some of the populace to his cause. No matter what happens, you have achieved that in the Trials. You exposed the pollen cheating. You were visibly cheated against but managed to win. No one knows how badly you were injured in the blast, but already your story is beginning to circulate.”
“The people want a hero, even if he is a foreigner?”
Winnie nodded. “My hero,” she said with an impish grin.
“I don’t need you as a distraction,” Sam said, but he apologized.
“I couldn’t have Kened help you alone. He knew you were badly injured in the blast. You do not have to fight.”
“But I will.” He looked at Winnie. “I still need something to eat.”
She nodded and left. Sam drew Kened closer. “I must go on. For Ian, if no one else. You have to understand.”
“I do.” Kened patted Sam on his shoulder. “Sit with your leg on the bench.”
“No. I need to get used to the pain,” Sam said. “And don’t try to talk me into any painkillers, since they all fuzz a person’s mind.”
Kened pressed his lips together. “Are you going to use your Lashakan sword for the next two matches?”
Sam smiled. “Right, next two matches. I will. The Lashakan forms come more naturally to me with the sword. Right now, the forms’ calming influence is what I need.”
Winnie returned with some soup and a jug of water. Sam thanked her, and the others let him eat in silence. Sam closed his eyes, the pain from his wound had become a dull throb, but a spot of blood had appeared on his trousers.
He began his warm-ups as the first semi-final match was about to start. Sam concentrated on the Lashakan forms, and he could feel the inner strength that they sometimes gave him warm up his body. He hoped it wasn’t a fever instead.
“They called your name,” Winnie said. “It’s not too late to withdraw.”
Sam shook his head. “Watch me win.”
His opponent turned, and Sam recognized him as a person who had passed his bench a few times while he was talking to Kened and Winnie. He probably overheard Winnie and Kened trying to talk him out of competing. The man snorted with derision as they were called up on the platform. Sam used his good leg to get up and hoped he looked fit enough.
They were the only match on the platforms, and Sam could feel the anticipation of the crowd. It felt almost as if lightning was going to strike.
“Turn to the crowd and wave,” the referee said.
The spectators roared, and both men raised their swords. Sam was about to turn back to the referee when his opponent kneed him in his wound, sending Sam to the floor in agony.
Sam looked at the referee, who gave his opponent a warning. A lot of good a warning did. Sam took a few breaths and got to his feet. He took a few steps, willing the pain away and faced his opponent.
The whistle blew, and the two men began to fight. Sam fought off three onslaughts. He couldn’t take advantage of the openings until he found the right spot and lunged for a point.
They separated. Sam only needed one more to win. He backed up and gazed into the intense, angry eyes of his opponent. Sam knew the man was going to harm him, and he could see his enemy building up the strength to strike out of anger.
The whistle blew again. The man waved his blade in front of Sam and closed, holding Sam’s sword wrist when he kneed the wound again, sending Sam to the floor and his Lashakan blade spinning off the platform.
His leg screamed with pain. Sam felt as if the interior stitches had been ripped out. He gasped, but his opponent didn’t move to the edge of the platform as courtesy dictated. He stepped next to Sam and raised his sword with murder in his eyes.
