The runelight around her name on the leader board shimmered around Yanis’s dark hair.
“You cheated,” he said as he rolled off her. He screamed up at Anoor’s mother, “She cheated.”
Uka dismissed him with a turn of her head.
Anoor whistled through her teeth.
“That must hurt.”
The cheers of “Anoor Elsari” drowned out his complaints as he left the combat ground.
Anoor picked up her helm and looked around her. She was standing in the center of the ring, all four wardens clapping to her left, and a sea of people chanting her name. She let the smile spread across her face.
She had won.
She had won.
—
It had been a close call, even with the valerian root Master Inansi had given Yanis. But despite letting him overcome her with his weight, he had made a foolish mistake that proved he was not worthy. First blood was first blood.
The man was crying as he exited the arena, certain he’d been drugged. But there was no way he could prove it. The drug would be out of his system by the time he next pissed.
The warden had given them a short break to rehydrate and use the privy, and Jond watched as Anoor re-entered the arena from the left, her helm back on, the armor cleaned of dust. The sword rested in her hand comfortably.
Now it just came down to the two of them. Anoor and Jond. Her composure was absolute. Jond knew Sylah had been teaching her the art of Nuba, but Jond could slip into battle wrath within a breath. He had been practicing morning, noon, and night since he was four years old.
Anoor was good, but she couldn’t compete with one of the Stolen.
“And now we begin the final trial. The final test to discover our Disciple of Strength,” Uka spoke into the sound projector again. The audience started to stamp their feet, the sound vibrating the ground. The crowd was in a frenzy, the odds having been swayed to Efie and Yanis. No one expected the underdogs to be the final two. The Embers’ front row writhed in their seats, drinking and smoking radish leaf cigars.
Jond pulled focus, found the rage he needed to harness and waited. He waited like he had done for the last twenty-two years.
It was time for it to end.
Anoor entered the ring, her stance wider than before, the sword ready in a lunge position. Jond took a breath and entered the ring.
The horn sounded, and neither of them moved.
“Come on, I’ll give you the first hit,” he called out to her, smiling. “We can make it look like a close call if you want.”
She didn’t respond, but her shoulders shook as if she were…laughing.
It raised the hairs on his arms as she stalked toward him.
The wind picked up around them, and in that moment she struck.
He didn’t expect the strength that met him, and after deflecting the sword with a thrust of his axe, he retreated backward. He was breathing heavily already.
Anoor didn’t press the attack; she just stood there, waiting, her head cocked to the left. It reminded him of Sylah so much that he almost missed the attack when it came. They parried left and right. Anoor jabbing with the sword with all her weight. She evaded every move Jond threw at her, the axe never getting close enough to skim her armor. Anoor was toying with him.
How did she get this good?
Her footwork was light, like a dancer’s.
Dread curled in the pit of his stomach.
Every time he swung his axe, she blocked his blows.