The monster is a scientific mutation designed by the Otherworlders for their cage sport. Because there are often sore losers when contenders die, they needed an assured win where the gamblers can earn some of their profit back and continue to bet on the fights.
The Grimmal is a gene-splice between two underground creatures—half monster tarantula, half thread snake; or better known in Cavan as the blind snake. And it’s twice the size of the great white bears that roam Cavan’s winter plain. I wonder how the goddesses can allow such an abomination to exist.
As I direct Prince Caben to properly hold his sword, he rolls his shoulders, annoyed. “This sword is too light,” he says. “I should have something bigger.”
“You mean more ‘manly.’” I smirk.
He levels his deep blue eyes on me. “Exactly.”
“Well, Prin—Payne,” I correct quickly. “You first need to learn technique before you wield a sword. Then we can work on using larger weapons. But if you can first outmatch someone by using your strengths in grappling, do so. Always rely on your natural instincts.”
“Caben,” he says.
I squint. “What?”
“Those I consider friends just call me Caben,” he clarifies. “It should simplify your confusion on how to address me.” He grins.
Stepping in front of him, I raise my sword. “Yes, well, with all your titles and names, it would simplify things.” I press my lips together. “But I don’t like the idea of calling you by your given name should someone make the connection.”
He waves his hand. “In Perinya, many have named their sons and even daughters after me. It’s an honor to do so where I’m from.” He smiles, his white teeth beaming in the black light. “It’s a very common name now. Even the Otherworlders should know this.”
I huff. “No wonder,” I mutter.
“What?”
I’d like to tell him that I’m starting to understand why his ego matches the size of his country, but I think that’s a battle best saved for later. “Are you ready, Caben?”
The bright smile on his face stretches. “I just knew that even you would have trouble making such a dignified name sound venomous.” He nods once. “I’m pleased.” Before I can rebuttal, he says, “Don’t you have a nickname? Something that’s easier to address you by other than ‘Protector Kaliope, Leader of the Nactue to Empress Iana?’”
Despite my mounting aggravation, a small laugh escapes my mouth. “Yes, I do.”
His eyes widen. “And? That would be?”
My heart pinches. Only my mother, Lilly, and Willa use my nickname. And I miss them terribly. “Kal,” I say low.
Caben’s head tilts, a small smile hiking up one side of his mouth. If not for his constant conceit, it would be endearing. “Kal,” he says, trying it out. “It suits you.” Then he clears his throat and widens his stance, bringing his sword up. “I do know the basics.”
“I noticed as much.” I extend my sword until the tip rests against his shoulder. “But, I assume because you’re training has not included weaponry, you don’t account for a foe’s size and build while dueling. As important as it is in body combat, it’s just as important with weapons.” I motion for him to place his sword on my shoulder, so we’re mirrored images of each other.
He does, and I continue. “Notice the angle at which your sword points and your wrist is bent. Straighten your arm to compensate so that you’re not weakening your hold.”
“But you’re the shortest contender,” he says. “Shouldn’t I be focusing on fighting taller opponents?”
I release a heavy breath through my nose. “Caben, my point is that no matter the height, your arm should always be braced the same—strong.” I demonstrate with my own arm and weapon.
“You’re always so angry,” he says, his lips titling upward. “Why is that?”
Dropping the point of my sword into the hard earth, I look sideways, away from him. “You’re not going to take this seriously. This is a waste of time.” I shake my head. “Maybe we should focus on planning our escape instead.”
As I meet his eyes, I notice his are heated. “You sound just like my father. Always with the lessons and never seeing things clearly.” He drops his sword also, and leans on the hilt. “I’m a quick study. Always have been. And if we’re to fight using weapons in the Cage, I’m as good as dead against others who’ve trained their whole lives, as I’m sure they have been chosen on their skills.”
“Then why do you combat me so? Why must you always—”
“Have a sense of humor?” he offers.
I roll my eyes. “Do you not see where we are?” I wave my hand through the air. “Hardly the time or place for humor.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Kal,” he says, lifting his sword and getting back into a defensive stance. “This is exactly the time and place when humor is needed the most.” He smiles. “For our sanity.”