David Coe: The Horsemen's Gambit

She heard that name now, amid the cries of her given name. They would be pulling for her to win the final match.

She turned to the lord governor, bowed with the Aelean, and then left the ring, though not before glancing up at her father, who smiled at her as he applauded with the others.

Once in the chambers beneath the boxes, Tirnya didn't wander far from the doorway. She assumed that Enly would make short work of his next opponent. Instead, she checked her shillad for notches, and exchanged her short sword for a dagger. Enly was not nearly as big as the Aelean, nor was his reach as long, but he was as quick as she, perhaps quicker. The short sword would slow her down.

Satisfied that she had the right weapons for the final match, she sat on the floor a short distance from the entrance to the ring, closed her eyes, and cleared her mind of thoughts of her match with the Aelean. Instead, she reflected on her past encounters with His Lordship's son, scouring her memory for any pattern in his attacks, any tendencies on his part that she might use against him this time.

In truth, though, Enly was too good to be predictable. He never fought the same way twice. He was as creative as he was skilled, as clever as he was swift of hand. The first time they fought he overwhelmed her with the speed and intensity of his attacks, defeating her in mere moments. Their second battle, in last year's final match, he fought more cautiously, confounding her with feints and counterassaults. It was a longer fight, but it ended the same way.

Not this year

Tirnya heard the roar of the crowd and then sustained applause, and she knew that Enly's match had ended. She stood and made her way back toward the door. She glanced down to make certain that her coat of mail hung correctly, though of course it did. She examined her blades yet again, though both were polished and honed. She looked at her boots, her belt, and her gloves to see that they were properly fastened, though she had no doubt that they were. Habits, all; they calmed her, steadied her breathing, slowed her pulse.

"Onjaef!" called the old guard by the doorway.

She stepped forward, stopping just beside the man, waiting for the door to open. Padar, the guard, said nothing to her, as was proper. He had once served under her father, and for the past six years he had stood by these doors and ushered her into the ring. But he was bound by the rules of the tournament to treat all combatants the same way.

She stood for several moments, listening to the cheers of the crowd, waiting. At last, the door opened, flooding the chamber with brilliant sunlight, so that Tirnya had to shield her eyes. A tall Qosantian soldier stepped past her, scowling bitterly, blood running from a cut along his jawline. Enly had won, as if there had ever been any doubt. The warrior paused and glanced back at her.

"Ya'd do us all a favor if ya beat 'im, ya know. Jest this once."

"I'll try," she said mildly.

He stared at her another moment before shaking his head and walking away. "Ya'll lose," he muttered. "Jest as ya did last year. No one can beat 'im."

Tirnya smiled faintly. The Qosantian wasn't alone. Those looking to wager on this last match would have a hard time; there couldn't have been more than a few dozen people in the entire arena who gave her much chance of bloodying the lord governor's son. A far smaller number than that would have been willing to risk their hard-earned gold and silver on her.

Because Enly had just finished his match, the rules of the tournament allowed him to take as much time as he needed to rest and prepare for this final contest. Tirnya knew, however, that he'd want to fight her immediately. A delay of any length would have been an admission of weakness. It would have given her cause to think that he was concerned about their encounter. Even had he needed some time, he never would have taken it. And chances were he didn't need the rest.

"They want t' know if ya're ready," the guard said, his voice level.

"I am."

He nodded, held his arm up high, and gave a short, single wave to the guard across the ring. A moment later, the second guard waved back. "Time to go, then," Padar said.

She started past him, and as she did he winked at her once and offered a barely perceptible nod.

"Thanks, Padar," she whispered, and entered the ring.

Enly hadn't yet stepped out of the other doorway. That was his way, and though she generally thought him arrogant and full of himself, she could hardly begrudge him this small extravagance. He was, after all, the champion for two years running. Still, Tirnya slowed her gait. She had no intention of standing in the middle of the ring looking like a fool as he sauntered toward her with the crowd cheering.

As it was, the cheers that greeted her entrance were loud and sustained. While few thought she could defeat Maisaak's heir, a good many of the people watching the match would have given up gold if they thought it would help her win. Enly was better thought of than was his father, but he was still a Tolm.

Perhaps hearing how she was greeted and fearing that his own entrance would be met with less enthusiasm if he waited too long, Enly entered the ring from his doorway. Immediately, the sound coming from the spectators changed. Taken together, the cheers didn't grow quieter or louder, but some who had been cheering for her fell silent, and others who had offered little response to her appearance cried out seeing the lord's son.

Tirnya chanced a quick glance at the lord governor, and saw that he was scowling, his gaze wandering the crowd, as if he might remember the face of each person who cheered more enthusiastically for her than for his son. She looked toward her father, who was merely staring back at her, his expression deadly serious. "Stop worrying about the rest of us," he seemed to be telling her. "You should only be thinking about Enly."

Right.

They met in the center of the ring, turned to face the center box, and bowed to Maisaak.

"They'd cheer more for me if you were uglier," Enly said under his breath. "You know that, don't you?"

"They'd cheer more for you if you weren't such an ass," she answered in a whisper.

"Well, that's obvious."

She couldn't help but giggle.

"But I was speaking of you," he went on, still not looking at her. "You look beautiful today, your cheeks still flushed from your last battle, your hair tied back the way I like it. Just lovely."

"Shut up," she said.

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. Maisaak nodded to them, a smug smile on his handsome face. Clearly he assumed that his son would win again.

She and Enly turned to face one another, bowed, and raised their swords. In their previous meetings, Tirnya had fought carefully, even tentatively, knowing how dangerous Enly could be with either hand. This time, she immediately launched into a ferocious assault, her blade flashing like sorcerers' fire. Enly tried to counter with his dagger as he parried her blows, but she struck at him with both blades, making it impossible for him to do anything more than defend himself. He gave ground slowly, grudgingly, but give ground he did.

The boxes seemed to be quaking, so loudly were the people there shouting at what they saw, but Tirnya concentrated solely on Enly. He tried to pivot to throw her off balance and then attack her from the side, but she had seen him do this before, and she spun as well, still pressing him.

Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and ran down his temples. He wasn't breathing hard yet, but his face was reddening. Tirnya was sweating, too. The muscles in her arms were starting to burn. But she had him on the defensive, and she refused to relent.

He tried to strike at her again, using the momentum of his retreat to carry him into a spin and an assault of his own. Again, she was ready, parrying with the shillad and lunging at him with her dagger. He jumped away, and she was on him once more, her steel a glittering beast, like something called forth by the gods.