Emily Rodda - The Shifting Sands

From boyhood Barda had trained as a palace guard — and the guards were the most powerful fighters in Deltora, only defeated at last by the sorcery of the Shadow Lord. For many years Barda had wrestled and fought his fellows as part of that training. And even during his time disguised as a beggar outside the forge gates he had kept his strength, following Lief through the city and protecting him from harm.

And Jasmine? Small and slight as she was, no one in that company had faced what she had faced, or lived the life that she had lived. Shrewd Mother Brightly had seen the strength in those slim arms, and the determination in the green eyes. But Jasmine’s opponents continually mistook her smallness for weakness, and paid the price.

The sun was low in the sky when the eight finalists, the ones who would fight their last battles on the morrow, were announced.

Barda, Lief, and Jasmine were among them. So were Joanna and Orwen. The other three were a short, heavily muscled man called Glock, a woman, Neridah, whose speed had amazed the crowd, and the scar-faced stranger whose name the companions now learned for the first time — Doom.

“A fitting name for such a dark character,” muttered Barda, as Doom stepped forward, unsmiling, and held up his arms to the cheering crowd. “I do not relish the idea of fighting him.”

Neither did Lief. But he had thought of something that worried him even more. “I did not expect that we would all be finalists,” he whispered. “What if we have to fight each other?”

Jasmine stared at him. “Why, we will decide who is to win, then just pretend to fight,” she said. “As, in any case, we must do for all our other bouts tomorrow. We must let our opponents win, and so avoid injury. We are already sure of 100 gold coins each, because we are finalists. That is all the money we need, and more.”

Barda moved restlessly. Plainly, the idea of cheating to lose offended him as much as the idea of cheating to win. “It would not be honorable …” he began.

“Not honorable ?” hissed Jasmine. “What has honor to do with this?” She spun around to Lief. “Tell him!” she urged.

Lief hesitated. He was not troubled, as Barda was, by the idea of deceiving the organizers of the Games, or even the crowd. On the streets of Del, honor among friends was all that was required, and survival was the only rule. But part of his mind — the part that still simmered with anger over the warning note and the locked door — rebelled against Jasmine’s plan.

“Our rivals will know, if we do not try to win. It will seem that we are at last bowing to their threats,” he said in a low voice.

Jasmine snorted in disgust. “You are as foolish as Barda! Will you risk our quest for the sake of your pride? Oh, I have no patience with you!”

She turned her back and stalked away.

That evening the finalists ate together in the dining hall attended by Mother Brightly, smiling and bright in her ruffled red dress. It was a strange meal, for where only the night before the room had been busy and filled with noise, now it was empty and echoing. The defeated competitors, it seemed, had already been sent away. Lief wondered how they were faring, for many of them were injured and almost all without money.

Jasmine was still angry. She ate little and drank only water. “That Queen Bee Cider is too rich for me,” she muttered. “The thought of it sickens me. The air in the arena stank of it. The people in the seats were drinking it all day.”

Barda frowned. “It should not be sold to them. It is intended for use by fighters, who need massive energy, not for those who simply sit and look on. No wonder they cry for blood.”

Just then Mother Brightly rang a small bell.

“One word before you begin retiring to your rooms, my dears,” she said, as all the finalists turned to her. “I want no tricks or trouble here tonight, so I plan to take your keys and lock your doors myself. I will unlock them in the morning immediately after the waking bell.”

There was complete silence in the room. The woman looked around, her plump face very serious. “So sleep soundly and regain your strength,” she went on. “Tomorrow you must show no sign of weakness or lack of purpose. The crowd — well, it is always very excited on the final day. Very excited, indeed. It has been known for finalists who do not perform well to be attacked and torn to pieces. I would not like this to happen to any of you.”

Lief’s stomach seemed to turn over. He did not dare glance at Jasmine or Barda. So this was how the Games organizers made sure that all the finalists tried their best at the last. The crowd was their weapon — the crowd, swarming, acting with one mind, excited to fever pitch and hungry for blood.

The arena was already growing warm when they reached it in the morning. The sun glared down on one side of the newly raked sand. The other side was in deep shadow. The benches were packed, the crowd simmering with excitement.

The eight finalists raised their hands and repeated their pledge to fight their best. Then they stepped forward one by one to choose a card from the woven basket held up by a smiling Mother Brightly.

Lief looked at his card, his heart in his mouth. The number upon it was 3. He glanced at Barda and Jasmine and to his relief saw that Barda was holding up number 1, and Jasmine number 4. So, for this round at least, they were not to fight each other. But who were their opponents to be?

He looked around and his heart sank as he saw scar-faced Doom walking towards Barda, holding his card high so that all could see the number 1 upon it. The giant Orwen had drawn the second number 4 and was already standing with Jasmine, who looked like a child beside him. Glock and Joanna had both drawn cards marked 2. So the only one who remained was Neridah the Swift. And, sure enough, there she was, hurrying towards him showing the 3 card that proved she was paired with him.

The crowd roared as the four pairs of opponents threw down their cards and faced each other.

Neridah looked down at her hands, then up at Lief. “I am rather afraid, I confess,” she said in a low voice. “I really do not know how I reached the finals. And you are one of Mother Brightly’s favorites, are you not?”

Lief stared awkwardly back at her. He had fought several women the day before, and had learned that it was unwise to think of them as anything other than dangerous opponents. Besides, anyone who had seen Jasmine at work knew better than to underestimate a fighter just because she was female. But Neridah looked so gentle. She was as tall as he was, but slender and graceful as a deer, with a deer’s huge, dark eyes.

“The … the crowd,” he stammered. “We must …”

“Of course!” Neridah whispered. “I know I must try my very hardest. And I will not blame you for doing what you must. Whatever happens to me, my poor sisters and my mother will have the 100 gold coins I have already won. Mother Brightly has promised.”

“You need not fear …” Lief began gently. But at that moment the starting bell rang, and like a snake, Neridah’s foot lashed out and caught him on the point of the chin, knocking him flat on his back.

The crowd laughed and booed.

Lief scrambled to his feet, shaking his head stupidly. His ears were ringing. He could not see Neridah at all. With amazing speed she had darted behind him. Savagely she kicked the backs of his knees, and he stumbled forward, gasping in pain. In moments she was darting around him, leaping and kicking at his ankles, his knees, his belly, his back, making him turn around and around like a confused clown, flailing with his arms while always she stayed out of reach.