Ruins of Camelot (5 page)

"Which means he's slow," Darrick added, glancing aside at her.  "It takes a lot of energy to get all that muscle moving around.  Watch his shoulders.  That's where everything begins.  You're small, Bree, so you're quick.  He'll squash you if he gets a chance, but you can make sure that chance never comes if you're wary."

Gabriella met his eyes and saw that he was serious.  She glanced away, shaking her head.  "I don't know…"

Darrick leant closer to her, and she looked back at him.  This time, the look in his eyes caught her, and she maintained his gaze.

"You can do this," he said quietly.  "If you want to."

She drew a deep breath and let it out shakily.  She nodded.  "I do want to."

He smiled at her thoughtfully.  "I believe you do."

She felt heartened by his confidence, but in some ways, that made it worse.  What if she let him down?  "I wish I had drawn your name instead."

"It's a
dueling
practical," Rhyss declared with a roll of her eyes.  "I've seen the way
you
two wrangle.  A lot less blade, a lot more lips.  Although it might be instructive for
some
of the people around here."

Soon enough, Gabriella's name was called from the floor.  She stood up so quickly that a wave of dizziness rolled over her.  Darrick grabbed her hand, supporting her, and she recovered quickly.

"Good luck, Princess," he said, smiling faintly.

Goethe was already on the floor as Gabriella made her way down the worn stone steps. 
The son of a disgraced army commander, Goethe had hair so short that
it was barely a discolouration on his sweaty scalp.  His eyes were cold and grey as he surveyed her, fingering his weapon.  Gabriella's heart sunk as she saw the battle-axe in his hand.  Its haft was easily as tall as she was.  The iron head bore a hammer on one side and a curved blade on the other.  It looked as if it could hack clean through Gabriella's gleaming gold and steel armour.  She drew her own sword as she crossed the floor to meet him.  The metallic ring of the blade leaving its scabbard sounded pathetically small on the battle floor.

There was no preamble from Barth this time.  He examined both weapons briefly, nodded to himself, and returned to his bench.

"Begin!" he commanded.

Goethe tucked his chin and crouched slightly, flexing his knuckles on the haft of his axe.  Gabriella raised her shield and sword, crossing them before her as she had been taught.

Goethe struck first, lunging forwards with the haft of his axe, aiming for Gabriella's exposed left side.  She feinted right and angled her shield to deflect the blow.  The clank of wood on metal rang out over the theatre.  The gathered students cheered and booed variously.

"Your father had my father tortured," Goethe said in a hoarse whisper.  His face was completely impassive, almost bored.

"My father has good reason for whatever he does," Gabriella replied under her breath.  "Your father is protecting villains worse than himself."  She was already panting heavily, more out of nervousness than effort.  She darted forwards and raised her shield, meaning to deflect Goethe's axe and strike his thigh with the flat of her sword.  The blow that fell upon her shield felt more like a millstone however, and her sword swung short, striking the floor and spitting sparks.

"Point and fault," Barth called.

"Your whole family will pay the price when Merodach comes to power," Goethe growled.

Gabriella was so shocked that she nearly lowered her sword.  "Your father never admitted…!"

Goethe spun to strike, drawing his axe around in a sweeping arc, hammer first.  Gabriella saw it coming and reacted instinctively, dropping to a crouch and angling her shield over her.  The blunt nose of the axe rang off her shield and nearly drove her to the floor.  Angrily, she jabbed with her sword, but Goethe parried her blow easily with the haft of his axe.

"Point and fault," Barth barked again.

Gabriella's face felt hot with mingled embarrassment and rage.  She leapt to her feet and angled her sword before her.

"Once my father hears that you've mentioned that name…"

"I will deny it, and you will look a fool," Goethe rasped, his eyes boring into hers as he circled.  "After all, Merodach is just a bogeyman for frightening children, is he not?"

Gabriella realised that no one else could hear her opponent's whispered words over the sound of their scuffling feet and the occasional cheers and jeers of the observers.  She tried to attack again, but Goethe sidestepped and pummeled her with his shield.

"Soon, all of Camelot will know the truth about Merodach and his army," the bigger boy breathed.  He grinned, showing filthy, yellow teeth.  "You and your father will learn it first."

Gabriella had heard enough.  She narrowed her eyes over her shield and spun around.  Goethe saw what she was doing and leant to meet her sword as it came around, but Gabriella's shield came up first, catching the boy beneath the arm and slamming into his ribcage.  Deftly, she ducked under her shield and came up behind Goethe.  Her sword finished its long arc against the middle of his back, thumping smartly on his leather armour.  A surprised cheer arose from the gathered students.

"Two points," Barth called with an appreciative nod.

Goethe barely paused.  His elbow shot out behind him, knocking Gabriella's sword away.  A moment later, he pivoted to meet her, raising the haft of his axe in a blur.  Gabriella caught it against her wrist gauntlet, but the force pushed her backwards.  Goethe pivoted again, reversing the axe's direction and bringing the blunt end down over her shield, aiming for her helmet.  Gabriella ducked to the side and brought her sword down on the lowering axe, driving it to the floor.  The heavy axe head clanged to the stone.  An instant later, Gabriella's shield rammed upwards into Goethe's chest.  The bigger boy grunted with rage and lashed out, using all of his weight.  Gabriella stumbled but transformed the momentum into a backwards roll.  Deftly, she kicked up with both feet, connected with Goethe's midsection just below his breastplate, and flipped him over her.  He crashed to the floor behind her, and his axe clattered away.

Gabriella was back on her feet in seconds.  She planted a foot on Goethe's shield, pinning it to the floor with his arm beneath it, and leveled her sword at his heart.  Panting and triumphant, she turned to glance back at the Battle Master.

Barth's fingers were steepled beneath his chin, his eyebrows raised patiently.  What was he waiting for?

Suddenly, Gabriella was thrown aside.  Amazingly, Goethe had lifted his shield despite the weight she exerted on it and used it to fling her to the ground.  He scrambled upright, threw himself upon her, and unsheathed a dagger from his wrist gauntlet.  In an instant, it was pressed firmly under the shelf of her jaw.  She felt the cold metal against her skin.  Goethe panted down at her, grinning and sweating, his face only inches from hers.  He was going to kill her, right there in the centre of the dueling theatre floor.  Gabriella saw it in his eyes.

And then, amazingly, he was gone, pulled away so swiftly that the dagger fell from his hand.  Gabriella blinked, gasped, and scrambled backwards, dropping her sword and shield, her armour scraping and clattering on the stone floor.

"Did you
not hear
the Battle Master?" a voice seethed furiously.  "NO daggers!  NO blood!  I will KILL you if you touch her again."

A heavy figure ran past Gabriella.  She looked up and saw Barth struggling to get between Goethe and another boy—Darrick of course.  Darrick's fists were buried in the fabric of Goethe's tunic, pulling the bigger boy to his feet.  Treynor leapt over the low wall, sword drawn, running to join the fracas on the battle floor.

"Let him go!" Barth commanded, shoving Darrick back.  "I am the master here!  Do as I say!"

Darrick didn't obey at first.  He stared balefully into Goethe's eyes.  Finally, with a fierce shove, he released his grip on the boy's tunic.  Goethe straightened slowly and brushed himself off, his face set with stony triumph despite Barth’s obvious fury.  Treynor eyed the three severely, his sword still raised.

"Fault!" Barth called furiously at Darrick, pushing him backwards with one meaty hand.  He turned to Goethe.  "And
double
fault!  You know daggers are not permitted in the theatre!"

Goethe shrugged lazily and peered aside towards Gabriella.  She had gotten herself to her feet again, but she was shaking.  She could still feel the place on her throat where the blade had pressed.  She touched it and shuddered.

"I forgot I had the dagger," Goethe said dully, not taking his eyes from hers.  He winked, and a beastly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"You forgot," Barth scoffed.  "Get out of my theatre.  But
leave
the damn dagger."

Darrick stood at the entrance to the dueling floor.  He glared at Goethe.  Then, as the bigger boy handed his dagger to Treynor and turned to gather his things, Darrick shifted his gaze to Gabriella.  He nodded slowly once.  Gabriella understood.  Goethe had only resorted to the dagger because she had beaten him.  It may be that no one else would see it that way, but it was the truth.

No matter what the final score revealed, she had won.

The candle ceremony always took place at sunset.  The school cathedral was packed to overflowing, stuffy with the heat of jostling bodies, most wearing their finest and least comfortable clothing.  The air was filled with murmuring voices, candle smoke, and wafting threads of incense.  Gabriella watched the incense as it streamed lazily from the altar urns, combining and making silent magical shapes in the air.  Professor Toph, the Magic Master, tended the urns, teasing the ribbons of smoke with his wand and occasionally sprinkling coloured powders onto the flames, which spurted and flared.

The gathering of students stood on the dais, forming a semicircle around the altar.  In their black robes and hoods, it was hard to tell the girls from the boys.  Indeed, the throng of students seemed to blend into a seamless, black snake dotted with nervous faces.

"What is that one?" Constance whispered, nudging Rhyss and nodding out over the gathered families.

"Battle of the Wragnaroth," Rhyss replied quietly.  "There's King Arthur in the lead, see?  His horse is that swirly bit floating in the vault of the apse."

"I don't see it," Darrick breathed, shaking his head.

"That's because you don't have any imagination, dearheart," Rhyss sang under her breath.

Gabriella let her gaze fall from the swirling smoky shapes to the hundreds of people jostling into place on the dim floor below.  She saw Darrick's family near the back.  His father's prodigious, black beard had been combed and oiled so that it glistened in the torch light.  Next to him, Darrick's mother smiled, red-cheeked, and occasionally glanced around in an effort to keep track of Darrick's two younger brothers.  Gabriella saw their tousled heads bobbing and darting through the crowd, oblivious of the solemn nature of the evening's ceremony.