Coraig

Frula moved forward, her soup forgotten, and when her clanspeople saw it was her, they readily gave way until she stood at the fore.

Semit easily found her, his smile wicked and cruel. Though she was now the only member of the clan opposed to him who wore lurker armor, he merely raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“To the death,” he said, speaking directly to her.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but there were still whispers and a few shouts of protest. Most took the announcement as a matter of course. The schel could choose the stakes of a challenge, allowing them to eliminate or merely embarrass those who were a threat to their leadership. Though losing Krave would be a huge loss for the clan, removing Semit once and for all was worth the risk.

Frula tried to think along those lines to keep from showing any weakness. No part of her could come to grips with the thought of losing Krave. His death would fill her with regrets. She hadn’t told him about the possibility she was with child. That beautiful contagious smile would never brighten her world again. Their final moments together would have been a fight, no matter how brief.

“He’ll win,” Nit said, having apparently followed her to the front.

Thank Chaur for her sister. Nit could read her better than even Krave and had obviously sensed some of her inner turmoil.

So many eyes turned toward Frula. She met Semit’s stare, allowing all her hatred of the schel and fear for her chosen into her gaze. According to the stories, Battlemother Senick had been able to quell any dissension among her varied troops with a single glare. Having the legendary golem at her back had probably helped, but Frula channeled all her emotions into her eyes, filling them with all the fire she could muster.

Whatever Semit saw there, he faltered. The cruel grin slipped, replaced by a flash of uncertainty. In a quiet steady voice, she pushed him further off balance by saying, “If my chosen falls, my axe will mark the ground beside his.”

Beside her, Nit took Frula’s hand in her own and squeezed reassuringly. She couldn’t have said who benefited more from the comforting gesture. Despite all Frula had to lose, she and Krave were the only family Nit had left. Now her younger sister faced the prospect of losing them both in a single day.

In control once more, Semit unhooked an axe from his back and struck it into the ground beside Krave’s. The clan members backed further away. At the same time, they removed their own axes and held them pommel against pommel near their chests, creating an impromptu wall of wood and iron.

Before the coraig could begin, Frula looked to Krave. The hounds had retreated, and he stood alone, tensing and relaxing his muscles. He had been waiting for her attention, face a stoney mask, but passion burned in his eyes. With a single nod, they acknowledged each other.

Semit advanced quickly, axe held low with the blade facing Krave. It was an uncommon fighting style but one the larger man had mastered. Krave, on the other hand, wrapped one hand around the short axe handle and another gripped the butt near the top. He watched Krave approach, bouncing lightly on his feet. When the other man had closed half the distance between them, Krave dashed to one side, placing the sun directly behind him and rushed forward.

The next few moments passed in a blur as the warriors tested for openings and weaknesses, feigning more swings than they took. Neither made contact with the other, always twisting to the side or pulling back at the last second. No matter how well made the axe, striking the blades together would chip them and even a single imperfection could lead to the weapon shattering at a crucial moment. The thick bracers on their arms, reinforced with thin metal plates between the layers of cured hide would serve to block most weapons.

Krave drew first blood, tracing a line across his opponents’ upper left arm. Her chosen immediately retreated, holding the axe high so all could see the faint shine of red. The resulting cheers were nearly deafening. Frula shouted with such intensity, she feared her voice would fail her before the fighting was done. Nearly as loud, Nit gripped Frula’s arm with fierce strength.

Moments later, Semit scored two successive hits, neither with his axe. A quick kick connected with the unprotected flesh of Krave’s lower right leg, the one he favored. Then, after another series of feints and strikes through empty air, Semit allowed Krave a glancing blow across his pauldron and struck the other man with a wild punch. He was probably aiming for one of Krave’s eyes. The blow smashed into Krave’s brow instead.

And then it was over.

As the two warriors paused between attacks, a skeleton moved through the crowd, which parted around it. Whether by luck or design, the skeleton had chosen to enter the ring through Semit’s devout followers, who viewed the skeleton as an avatar for Ash himself and nearly prostrated themselves in their frantic rush to make space for it. Semit and Krave didn’t take their eyes off one another, poised for the other’s next attack, but they sensed the disturbance created by the skeleton’s arrival. Neither moved, waiting to see what was happening.

“What are the parameters of this coraig?” the skeleton asked, Ash’s voice booming forth from the creature’s motionless mouth.

“To the death,” Semit admitted. He cowered. Any trace of the proud warrior he had been a moment before was gone.

It must have been easy to adore a living god when you were doing its bidding. But having your god’s disappointment turned upon you would be akin to a whip lashing across your soul.

“Despite my orders?” Ash asked. “I thought better of you Semit. I’ll not have my greatest warriors throwing their lives away over coraig. Not when you are so close to the Radiance. The temptation for glory is too tempting in these final days before our war begins. You would decimate your numbers with untold coraig, each warrior hoping to be a leader remembered for centuries. No, there will be no more coraig.”

Every voice cried out except one.

“As you command, Scheltor,” Semit said. Even his most loyal followers seemed taken aback by his acquiescence.

The protests grew louder. The skeleton stood in the center of the storming voices and didn’t move in the slightest. Whatever Ash might be feeling on the other side of his connection to the puppet, the skeleton’s sun-bleached face betrayed no emotions. The clan members spent their energy on useless objections, slowly growing quieter when their pleas received no reaction.

“No,” Krave said. Though not a schel and undeserving of the right to address Ash, he spoke into the quieting din without waiting for permission. “I refuse to accept that. You’re the reason I’m challenging Semit. He blindly obeys you. Look at how he lowers himself before you. Like a soft greenlander. If you take away our right to prove ourselves with coraig, to never accept anything but the greatest from ourselves and those who lead us, then you make us cowards. Tame pets.”

A deathly silence filled the void left by Krave’s words. Until Frula beat her axe hafts together with such force they threatened to break. She didn’t care when no one joined her, she only smacked the handles together even harder, determined now to actually break them.

The skeleton did not respond.

The clan did.

Krave’s words stirred their spirits. The flats of their axes clanged together. They shouted support for Krave, hatred for Semit, and a few even dared curse Ash. He held the master stone and their people were bound to follow its wielder. But they had never been loyal to leaders who showed weakness or those who would be tyrants. Ash had made promises, and with his army of skeletal warriors–their ancestors risen to fight again–they believed he could deliver on those promises.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

But ripping away their right to coraig, speaking the words through the mouth of an Untamed warrior’s reanimated bones, was sacrilegious. The Ashen Lands which had sheltered and named the Scheltor were a harsh land. They didn’t place constraints on their people. They were named for their wildness in opposition to those in the Radiance who wanted to control everything. There was a single rule of law--the right to coraig.

Another ripple passed through the warriors as a new skeleton entered the ring. It placed a small stone on the ground, and then retreated a few steps to stand beside the other of its kind.

With a soft flash and ripple of the air, Ash appeared above the portal stone, returning to the Ashen Lands for the first time since his solitary trek into the Radiance. Frula had forgotten how much smaller than the Untamed the man was--he was even shorter than Krave. Still, he held himself with the same self-assurance as any of the Untamed and a familiar tautness, always ready for an attack.

However, Ash’s time in the Radiance had changed him. There was new strain around his eyes, and a gentleness to his features. The Ashen Lands had hardened him into iron, but it seemed the Radiance had softened some of those jagged edges. He had on a cloak but quickly removed it. Beneath he wore his lurker armor, so similar to Frula’s own. He pulled the long blade from his back, slowly, making a show of unveiling the sword’s dark razor-sharp length.

The blade had once belonged to Battlemother Sineck, forged when she had made the golem. Nothing could break it.

Ash thrust the sword into the ground directly between Semit and Krave’s axes.

“Perhaps I’ve been away too long, speaking to you only through proxies,” Ash said, gesturing toward the skeleton which had carried his voice to them. The blue glow had faded from its eyes with Ash’s arrival. “My trials in the Radiance have been...unexpected,” he continued, pausing for a long time before he found the right word. “I’ve missed the straightforward ways of our people.”

Calling himself one of them had never sat easy with Frula. Ash had been raised by them, but he had never truly been one of the Untamed. The Wavedancer Clan had found him alone on the edges of their land. Once the greatest of clans--Battlemother Sineck had risen to power from their ranks--her defeat had made them vulnerable. Constant raids had depleted their numbers. When Ash had appeared, only a boy but bearing both the master stone and Sineck’s blade, they had accepted him. Fools like Semit had elevated him to something greater than a mere man, but to Frula, the Scheltor had always been a dangerous enigma.

He reminded her of the nautizard. The dusty lizard laid its eggs among the various nests of sea turtles. At first, the babies believe themselves to be turtles, racing for the sea. But the first pangs of hunger strike quickly. The nautizards turn on their nest mates, ancestral memory and instinct overriding all other notions of identity.

“My blade lies in the soil,” Ash announced, “soil nourished by Chaur’s magic. You’ve already challenged me with your words. Will you now do the same with your axe?”

Krave didn’t hesitate. Backing down from the Scheltor would hardly diminish his honor, but he understood the greater stakes. Allowing Ash to dictate their lives and culture without raising a voice in opposition would be the beginning of the end for their people. Her chosen stepped forward, his remaining axe held high so all could see until he sliced it into the ground.

“What’s your name, blooded?” Ash asked.

“Krave.”

He had hardly finished speaking his name when Ash struck. Despite the distance between them, two paces, Ash dashed forward and jabbed Krave above the eye, tearing open the already injured brow. Blood dripped down into Krave’s eye, but he didn’t have any time to react. Ash followed through with another punch to Krave’s side, then brought his knee up into the larger man’s gut.

Frula couldn’t believe the Scheltor’s speed. He took a step back and raised his hand into the air, Krave’s blood on full display. Krave didn’t seem fazed by the quick flurry of blows. Gritting his teeth, he flashed forward while Ash was lowering his raised hand, obviously hoping to catch the smaller man off guard as he had been.

Ash moved with lightning speed. He dodged to the side and slammed his arm into the back of Krave’s head. The momentum of Krave’s attack, plus the heavy blow, sent her chosen to the ground.

Frula cringed. There had been rumors of the man being fast, but if anything, they had downplayed the man’s fighting skill. It was possible he was using magic, but none among them would ever know, having no talent for the craft. Where Chaur’s gift had given them greater size and strength, it had also drained from them any ability to touch magic.

Still not showing any signs of giving up, Krave rolled away, putting distance between himself and Ash.

“It’s been too long since I’ve been in a fight,” Ash said, stretching his chest and back, arms held ready before him. He was smiling, something Frula had never heard of him doing.

Krave rose with a handful of dirt which he rubbed into his bleeding brow. He bounced on his feet, keeping his distance from Ash as he considered his opponent. Now that Krave had a better understanding of Ash’s skills, he bobbed and weaved, approaching slowly. Each time he moved down or to one side, his movements increased a little more. Refusing to fall into a predictable pattern, he adjusted his movements so as never to repeat the same rhythm.

When the two warriors met, the blows came too fast for Frula to follow. Like shimmers of heat warping the landscape, fists jabbed forward only to reappear in another place the next moment. Kicks were met by a blow to the upper body, neither man separating as they threw all their power against the other. Krave landed blow after blow. In turn, he received just as many from Ash. If one warrior drove the other back a pace, the other would counter by forcing his opponent back a pace in return.

After an interminable time, the two fell apart, both gasping for air. They were a mass of bruises, bleeding lips, blackened eyes, swollen cheeks, and a dozen other minor wounds. There was a familiar gleam in Krave’s eyes, the joy of facing a nearly insurmountable obstacle. He wanted to overcome it, but he had always enjoyed the attempt itself as much as victory. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

Handles and blades smacked together all around the ring of gathered warriors. Even Semit’s followers showed respect for the display of fighting prowess. Semit, who had retreated to the side but still stood within the open space, looked upon Krave with an unreadable expression. Perhaps he saw defeat in the younger man’s speed and fortitude. If Krave won, and the right to challenge remained, Semit would have to face the warrior once more.

Eyeing each other for signs of new attack, Ash and Krave threw feints but neither rose to the bait. When they finally crashed together once more, attacking simultaneously, their blows came slower. They still seemed evenly matched for a time, but one of them would eventually falter.

It didn’t take long.

The blow to Krave’s eyebrow dripped blood into his eye, blinding him for a second. Though he must have anticipated an attack and tried to move away, Ash was too fast, as if he’d been holding back a reserve of speed for exactly that moment. The Scheltor flowed inside Krave’s guard and locked the larger man’s arm behind his back. Krave strained with all his strength, and just as it seemed he might break free, thrashing with his greater weight and size, Ash kicked his left leg out from under him.

With Krave on one knee, Ash had even more leverage and twisted the arm harder, speaking in a voice no one else could hear. Howling, Krave tried to rise or twist away, and when he did, Ash applied more pressure to the overextended arm. With a sickening pop, he wrenched the arm out of its socket, dislocating it. The fight was over.

Krave had lost.

He slumped to the ground, supporting himself awkwardly on his single good arm. Despite the debilitating injury, Krave didn’t look defeated. Gritting his teeth, he tried to rise to his feet. Ash moved to intercept him, and Frula held her breath, afraid of further attacks. Instead, Ash supported her chosen, helping him to his feet.

Krave must also have been expecting another attack because surprise lit his face like an unexpected flare of light in an otherwise dark room. He accepted Ash’s help, and once he was standing, back straight and voice clear, he declared, “I concede.”

“And I concede that I was wrong,” Ash said.

“The coraig may continue after we’ve taken Core. Until then, I will return every third evening to hear of any challenges you wish to declare. If I deem them necessary, you shall have your coraig.”

The clan cheered, overlooking the fact that Ash still controlled their right to coraig.

“But not to the death,” Ash hastily added. “Not during our conquest of the Radiance.”

That quieted their cheers. Ash quickly held up his hands, forestalling any complaints.

“The people there are not at all the soft creatures we imagined them to be. We will defeat them and take Core, but we face many difficult battles. If you cannot rise to the challenge, we could lose and become another story of the Ashen Land’s failure and of the Radiance’s control over the world.”

With that, Ash stepped away, retrieving his sword and cloak.

Frula dashed into the ring as the gathered warriors roared. Some raised their voices for Krave’s victory while others shouted war cries, more eager for battle against the Radiance than ever before. Only two people were quiet. All Frula’s attention was focused on Krave. And all his was on her. She crashed into his waiting arm, knowing she would cause him pain as she pressed her body to his and knowing he wouldn’t care. Their lips met, and the world faded away for a few seconds. She breathed him in, committing the smell of dirt, sweat, and blood to her memory.

“Such a victory,” she breathed as they pulled apart. “I’ve never seen you fight like that. The warriors will remember this day, and Semit will fear you.”

There was sadness in his eyes.

She waved for several clan members to approach and together they popped Krave’s arm back into its socket. Jugular and the other alphas approached, communicating silently with Krave as he scratched behind their ears with his uninjured arm.

Frula turned to watch Ash and found him returning her gaze. Covered in his cloak, the hood up, it was hard to see his face, but she detected a longing there. It seemed a portent of things to come. They would all be leaving their homeland behind, not knowing when they would return. Just as Ash had.

There might also have been a hint of loneliness, the slightest of frowns before he vanished. Try as she might, she would never understand such a feeling. She had her chosen and her clan. Ash was of all clans and none.