The Challenge

Silence held the pavilion. Drayer sat cross-legged in the front section’s center, stone still and quiet in meditation. His sharp ears picked up the feather-light shuffling from the ledges above and around him. He felt the gazes of the hidden warriors. Stern. Suspicious. He paid them no mind. He wasn't here for them.

New footsteps softly rapped on the distant concrete. He opened his eyes, beholding the woman in form-fitting red and black. Lady Meisha approached. “Lovely but deadly,” she was reportedly called. But never to her face.

When she came within ten paces, Drayer stood smoothly to his feet. Five more steps, and she stopped. She held her hands behind her back, her dark eyes piercing through to his soul.

He bowed his head, speaking her name in greeting. Softly. Respectfully. She’d accept nothing less. His face lifted. Hers was unchanged, but he wasn’t fending off any sudden strikes to vital points, either. He took it as a good sign.

He gestured to the small table he’d set up to the left. A box of tea, two cups, and a ready kettle waited. An invitation to sit. His heart thumped faster as Meisha measured him, but in the end, she nodded. She strode to the opposite side, the dark orbs never leaving him as she sat down.

He followed, mirroring her as he took a seat across the table. Her hands rested on her knees as he prepared the tea. It was like sitting across from a viper, coiled and ready to strike at the faintest hint of trouble.

Azure Spring, he identified the brew. A favorite from her childhood home at the northwest end of the continent. His first card. The second was a name—Gizam. A well-informed, mutual acquaintance. Her brow twitched, faint, but visible. Her face relaxed a bit, and a ghost of a smile appeared. She was pleasantly surprised.

He lifted his teacup and sipped. Proof it wasn’t poisoned. It took a few beats, but Meisha followed suit, satisfied. Distant memory filled her eyes for a moment, then the cold mask came firmly back in place. The question came: why had he sought her out?

The answer: a conversation. The kind spoken through fists.

One black eyebrow lifted. A duel? Once more, she was surprised. Maybe even amused. It must have been one of the more polite challenges she’d ever gotten. But it cost a man nothing to be polite.

Another question: did he think he could defeat her?

Honest uncertainty was his answer. Everyone he’d come across called her the best in all the land. Even surpassing the warlord she served.

The more obvious question: what did he hope to gain by facing her?

His answer: to see his current level, glimpse how far he might go, and learn something if lucky. In his village, iron sharpened iron. If she would grant that honor.

From her spreading smile, there was an effort not to laugh. He was making an impression, whether from pure intentions or sheer insanity. A faint sigh, then a nod. She accepted.

A fire stirred inside his heart. At last, a worthy challenge.

Rising to his feet, he showed the proper deference and followed behind her. A short walk took them to the training courtyard. Racks on the right side held wood and steel weapons. Statues of the different deities encircled the space; the gods would witness their combat.

Reaching the center, he stopped as she took ten steps, then turned to face him. They exchanged a short bow; the warrior’s courtesy.

He closed his eyes, slowly filling his lungs with air. Breathe in, breathe out, noise off. He fixed his gaze on her, angling his stance and lifting his hands to ready position. Loose but poised. She stayed standing straight, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

The air held its breath as their eyes locked. A bird’s call pierced the quiet. Then she moved. For all Drayer’s ability, the sheer speed caught him by surprise. A high kick slammed against his forearm, almost hard enough to break his guard. Staggering back, he barely parried the next punch. She escalated, flowing into an onslaught of attacks. He guarded a sharp elbow strike, blocking three punches aimed at his face. A front kick landed flush to his body, driving the air from his lungs and throwing him to his back.

Years of training turned his fall into a roll that ended him on his knee. He sprang sideways, Meisha’s axe kick cracking the stone floor instead of his head. He launched himself at her with impressive speed, a right hook arcing for her jaw. She dodged, barely moving. He turned it into a spinning back fist; She blocked it along with his body blow. Strikes flew back and forth, punches parried, and sweeps hopped over. A spear-hand drove for Drayer’s throat. He glided back with thoughtless speed, avoiding it by mere inches.

He rubbed his throat as the battle paused. Lady Meisha’s skill was truly everything he’d heard. Now he initiated, feinting right and jabbing left. She read it, deflecting and countering as the lethal dance continued. He circled her, dipping and pivoting with each strike. Stay off the centerline. Be unpredictable. He lunged, ducked a hook, then jumped to drive a knee at her face. Meisha blocked, but the twitch in her face let him know she felt the power. He darted in for an elbow smash. She met him with her own, the impact ringing through the space.

Drayer's teeth pressed together, muscles shaking as he pushed. Unreal. He easily outweighed her, yet she matched him. A fierce grin split his face. Magnificent.

Those dark eyes twinkled above Meisha’s spreading smirk. She couldn’t hide it. She was enjoying this too.

Her weight suddenly shifted, her other arm threading under his. Sensing the incoming throw, Drayer sprang into a somersault, landing on his feet. As he spun around, a kick caught him across the jaw. The ground rushed up to knock the breath from his body, wood and steel clattering as he tumbled through a weapon rack.

His vision didn’t clear before he felt the two pieces of polished wood under his hands, but he felt the left one was lighter. He twisted, hurling it in her direction. The black and red smear that was the assassin glided around it, buying him enough time to use the staff to vault away for more breathing room.

She stood in place for a few heartbeats. Her eyes left him for the sword sticking handle up in the ground. Her smile turned predatory as she picked it up, raising it to shoulder height with the tip pointed straight at his eyes. Now she was out for blood.

She came for him. Drayer spun the staff in a whirlwind, trying to beat the assassin back. Meisha flowed around the strikes, her blade forming silver fans in the air as it sang, seeking flesh and vein alike. Drayer parried, giving ground, nearly losing some of his fingers in the process. Snapping a low-to-high strike for her head, he caught her with a side kick as she ducked. As she slid back, he left the ground. The staff fell with the force of a meteor; she dodged, but only barely.

Her next cut split his weapon in two, opening a line across his chest. Nothing vital, but his white tunic bloomed red. He narrowly dodged a second cut, hurling part of his severed weapon in a windmill for her legs. She jumped; he rushed. Her blade blocked the remaining half of his staff, like he knew she would. Grabbing her sword arm, he held the block and tackled her to the ground. Not pretty, but effective.

Forgoing the wood, he seized her right wrist with both his hands, trying to wrestle the sword from her while keeping it away from his body. A punch from her free hand burned his ribs. A second bloodied his mouth. She didn’t land a third before he backfisted her across the face. That’s when she decided she no longer needed the weapon, twisting to knee him in the side. Through the pain, he felt her grappling his right arm for a joint lock. Instinct rolled him forward to avoid the armbar. Twisting, he drove his heel into her midsection, knocking her off with a satisfying hiss of pain.

As Meisha caught herself, Drayer burst forward, a storm of fists assailing her defenses. A low kick to the shin put him on his knee. He blocked the cross, but the round kick rang hard across his head. His reaction was instant and savage; he grabbed her ankle before she followed through, slamming a fist down on her knee with almost enough force to break it. He heard another pained hiss before a punch to the jaw sent him sprawling.

Drayer couldn’t hear sound at first as he pushed himself up from the ground. Just a faint ringing in his ears. His side hurt. Maybe a broken rib. He lifted his gaze as quickly as he could. She was crouched, the right knee he'd almost broken touching the ground. He would carry that in particular as a badge of honor for whatever remained of his life.

Meisha met his gaze, blood leaking from her nose. A cruel smile twisted her lips. That was a short list.

Through the pain, the truth was becoming crystal clear. He was taking a lot more punishment than she was. He couldn’t win. As quickly as his burning lungs would allow, he threw his gambit. Had he impressed her enough to leave with his life?

Her features cooled. A heavy pause, considering. Another smile. He had.

His muscles finally gave out. His back hit the ground, his chest heaving. At some point, she came to stand over him, even offering her compliments.

But it also came with a demand. They would fight again, when his skills had grown further.

Drayer smiled. He could live with that.