Rane was proud of his efforts anyways. He was definitely not the most adept of the recruits, but he would most certainly not be relegated to the porter corp. He felt the sting of his previous defeats, both in the ring or outside of it, and he had plenty of time to think about what he would do. Dark thoughts filled his head as he walked through the city of tents where his fellow recruits slept, though he felt little in the way of fellowship.
He walked with a single minded purpose. There would be three matches, which meant three chances to be met with his goal. The board posted near the officers’ building would detail all of the matches. He did not wish for matches that he could win; he just wished to see his squad. The drone of the camp was loud, but it felt like nothing but a buzz to Rane, who continued with his clear goal.
“Rane!” shouted a familiar voice, “so how’d it go?” It was Puddles.
“I made it,” Rane responded curtly. He still wasn’t happy with the boy for his seemingly easy progress, but he had given it some thought. He may be his only ally in the camp.
Rane took a breath and softened his tone a bit, “what about you, oh chosen one?”
“My area of direct control is up to just a bit over four yards… I just can’t seem to produce effects at that range. Maybe I’ll just specialize in my area, be a scout,” Puddles mused.
Rane nodded, then motioned for Puddles to keep following him. He knew where they were going. It was not a long walk, and so now they found themselves in a bit of a crowd surrounding the only actual building in the camp. Rane pushed through the crowd to stand in front of the board, Puddles following close in his wake, placating those perturbed by Rane’s rudeness. Rane reached his destination and looked up to it, searching for his fate, only really hoping for a single outcome.
C Bracket - Round 1
* Bask vs Rane
* Jester vs Tower
* Kilter vs Nast
Rane couldn’t believe his luck. It was round 1. He would open the tournament. Suddenly, he felt nervous, but hurriedly steeled his resolve. He hadn’t come this far to allow butterflies to ruin his plans. His mood brightened greatly.
“The Ambient favors me,” Rane whispered.
“What?” asked Puddles.
“Nothing,” said Rane, “I’m just looking forward to this.”
*****
Rane stepped into the circle only lightly armed, the same as his opponent. Both fighters were equipped with the same blade, a blade roughly the length of the elbow to the fingertips. It had no cross guard, and a handle that was difficult to grip. It was not meant to be held in the hands anyways. The edges were blunted, like most of their weapons for training, but they remained dangerous. Rane was sure of that.
Bask was clearly happy with his round one draw, “hey, Rane, fancy seeing you here, we haven’t seen you in a while. We were starting to think you had deserted.”
Rane calmed himself, not responding to the provocation.
“May ambient abandon you in life and death,” whispered Rane. The crowd was not stifling, but as the first match of the tournament, there were more eyes on it than normal. This would also be everyone’s first time seeing classients fight each other. There would be much to learn.
“What?” Bask did not hear him over the crowd. Rane hadn’t wanted him to anyways.
Low Tally Cobble’s voice broke their interaction, “BEGIN!”
As the match began, Rane felt Bask’s presence spike a bit, as if he were suddenly more important, more radiant than everyone else. The gray dust of the sparring ring began to kick up around him. Rane took note of his area of direct control. It seemed to be about two yards. And it seemed erratic. It probably was not intentional, but it could prove more difficult anyways.
Rane responded with his own ambient as he grasped control around himself. His rotation was smooth, but he matched the radius to Bask’s own, hiding his reach. He needed to feel him out. Bask was not talented by any measure, but Rane had thought about this for a month. He would not lose to his own arrogance. He stepped forward onto his left foot and pulled his blade back. Bask postured defensively for a moment, and Rane stepped his left foot back again, letting his right lead. The ground beneath Bask erupted forward, slinging rocks and gray dust up and out towards Rane. Bask himself was shortly behind, or at least his blade was. He had simply thrown it forward, letting go of the handle. The short blade flew through the mask of rocks and dust, piercing into Rane’s area of direct control, where it was all he could do to manipulate the trajectory of the blade to his right. The blade returned to Bask’s hand as if on a string.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Even still, Rane stumbled backwards. A rock had struck him on the right cheekbone, and it was hard to open his eye. Bask had revealed his hand. It was now or never. Rane threw a wide swipe from the left and down into Bask, who swiped up to meet it with his own blade, again letting go of it. The two blades met, and Rane’s weapon was knocked out of his hands. It clattered to the ground on his left about three yards away. Bask pressed his advantage immediately leaping forward with his blade outstretched. Rane narrowly avoided the blade, ducking to his right.
No one noticed the discarded blade flying through the air, but for Rane, this had been an option from the start. He focused on his rotation as he pushed the blade faster towards its destination. He willed it to be fast. He willed it to strike true. He willed it to be sharp. And so, sharp it was. The dulled blade met Bask’s protruded neck and passed through without resistance, continuing its journey across the ring, falling to the ground rapidly as it exited Rane’s area of control.
Blood hemorrhaged from the gash on Bask’s neck, showering Rane in the unclean liquid. There was a brief moment of silence, during which Tally Cobble shouted for the healer, who was on standby, but not actually right beside the ring, where he was stationed. The crowd erupted into arguments and shouting. It was all a dull hum to Rane, who had his arms resting at his side, and his eyes locked on the foe in front of him. A fleeting moment of regret flashed through Rane’s mind. Bask looked younger now that he wasn’t moving. Rane looked up, surveying the unruly crowd. He saw Ben, and his resolve was steeled. He did not look stricken by the loss of a friend. He was staring directly at Rane with unmistakable fire in his eyes. Rane broke his gaze to blink and wipe the blood dripping from his brown down into his eyes, then looked down at Bask. He flashed a short, red smile at the body.
*****
The death of Bask was ruled an accident. Apparently, the blade had not been properly dulled. Additionally, the healer was not stationed properly. Military training was meant to teach them to kill, and so they intentionally nurtured such an environment. A few recruits had been simply lost to the woods, finding themselves either unable to pathfind, or perhaps accosted by some beast unnoticed by the patrols. It would not take a monster to kill an unsuspecting dynient. Rane, however, had killed a fully aware classient.
To add to his fortune, he missed his other scheduled matches due to the investigation. Squads had not yet been re-assigned, so his tent was technically still with Ben and his boys. Rane planned to sleep out in the bush again, and so he walked with a step that bordered on jovial as he thought of his deployment. It would be glorious. In the place of Bask, he imagined ferulls, demis, and caanulls. He couldn’t place a reason, but he didn’t want to see Bask’s face. He remembered it clearly. He shook his head as if to shake the memory out by force, and continued his walk, placing one foot in front of the other as if he were following a straight line.
“Busy day?”
Rane tripped and fell down to one knee as he frantically searched for the owner of the voice. He knew it well. He found him about 12 yards away, appearing from behind a tree as if he were an apparition.
“Ah, yes, Ben, very much so. After the accident –”
“Shut up. That wasn’t an accident and you know it.”
“How’d your matches go?” Rane asked, ignoring his comment. His blade was unsheathed already, suspended behind him by rotating on its vertical axis.
“I won them all, and don’t avoid my question.”
“What question,” Rane asked, striking a pose as if he were thinking, “Oh, Bask? The tallies said it was, and so it is.”
Ben’s presence flared, “I could kill you.”
“You could try.”
Ben shook his head. He said that, but he knew that he couldn’t. Well, not and get away with it. Rane had been clever to do it in a spar, he thought. When he had seen Rane covered in blood, he looked frightening. Many recruits saw someone die for the first time today, and he was included in that number. It invoked curiosity in him towards the one that committed this inaugural act. He wanted to know what it was that Rane had, what made him look like that during the spar, but he was not impressed. What Rane had was simply what they had given him. Rane was fighting to kill from the start. The rest of them were still in training, but Rane had already graduated.
“Watch your back… And if you try anything, we’ll see if you can take another one versus six… five,” Ben said as he left with an unveiled threat.
Rane stood in silence for a while, listening intently and spreading his ambient about, looking for anything out of place. He didn’t trust Ben. He couldn’t trust Ben. After he was satisfied that Ben was well and truly gone, he plucked his blade out of its slow orbit and placed it back into its sheath. Rane moved forward slowly and deliberately to find his camp. He couldn’t sleep in enemy territory.