A Castrovel Adventure: Part 5, Chapter 59

6. Koelae, 24,548 - 20th Month in Qabarat   It is late, already Firstwatch while I write. I am weary, but want to get it written and have bidden Kaure and Remaue to bed. We have had our weapontrial today between Damaya and Korasha.   Earlier at forenoon, we came to the Gameyard, and not only my two wifemates but our whole flag and Semuane hosting. Demante walked with us as well, along with her fathermate, helpmate, children, and captain, since they had earlier come to the household. Astreet, we met folk both buzzing and hissing, thus showing the city’s split mind on this Damaya-Korasha weapondare. Then while Taiase, Istae, and Semuane took the watchstand’s stairway, we introd the listroom. As an odd behoof, we had almost the whole listroom to ourselves, since for this showfight there were only six fighters in a stead built to hold fifty thousand.   For good or ill, the watchstands looked half-full when the gameherald yelled us forth to the opening showmarch. We outstrode under the same strifesome cheer as had met us in the streets, which made me reckon their reckfulness watching. Since it was the first market day after Newyear and many cityfolk worked, no oddness the watchstands had not filled. This hinted our watchers were mainly idlers: the wealthy, youths, wounded veterans, and listless, who could afford to watch a shametide. They clustered in the lower benchrows and, by the jugs shared, no small lot of wine and mead. I also saw Master Evauess upon the Matron’s Deck, and with the other yardmasters whose champions fought: selfsome guests of Her Highness the High Matron. Out on the yard, we forbore the crowd’s shouts while the herald yelled our names.   When the herald ended, however, Anmauess, one of the Korasha foursome, strode forth to our midst, raised helm, and bared antennae in truce. The marshals sought his wish and afterward came to Demante and me, telling he would speak. We yaysaid, whereat the herald beckoned the crowd to stillness. Anmauess then neared, knelt, and worshipfully kissed our byrnies. Then he outspoke he had come today to worship our deed and fully recked the honor. Yet after a sleepless night, he deemed he could not forwill himself to fight Damaya, and thus now would beg sorrow. Demante and I both laid hands on his brow and bowed to kiss him. We outquoth that unwillingness to fight was surely no sin, and that none should doubt him a good man. At the marshal’s leave, he bowed first to the Matronhood, then to his fellows, and last to us. When he left the yard, the crowd’s buzz followed.   After Anmauess, the crowd started a yell that all the other Korasha should likewise yield they yard. Yet luckily the other three stayed. Thus we and the marshals readied. For the matches, Demante and I drew lots to tell who should go first, which outfell as me. For our first foe, we met Liaress of the Zhauma Weaponyard, who had reached the last foursome. As match-frame, the marshals had deemed we should fight three weaponwises: first, swordbill; next, shortbill; and last if it reached swift-death, weapon and smallshield (which weaponwise all hate most).   While we stood and hailed, I reckoned my foe’s wieldiness with the swordbill, five ells long with the blade, which is not a weapon many Korasha fight. Ere the marshal’s fan, I witted his slight falter. So I chose to start with a swift misdrawal, and then thrust and smote right on his breastdish. When the crowd buzzed, I had earned some goodwill with the first hit. For the next stride, when we switched to shortbills, I forelooked his stronger self-faith, since doubtlessly he had much fought this weaponwise. Likewise, he guessed behoof when he brunted boldly, seeking to forecatch and overwhelm me. I first offdanced to throw blows at length, sidling to reach beyond his ward. Yet when he hemmed me in, I shifted and brunted back in a clash loud enough to get the watchers’ cheer, and slammed us haft to haft. We then struggled to shove each other off footing, until he withdrew and ducked, trying to strike my legs. Yet I smote first and hit his helm, whereat the marshal’s fan bequeathed me the win.   After a halt, Demante fought Liaress in a tough match, wherein she forelookfully won the swordbill and he the shortbill. They switched to smallshields, where the fight became almost dancelike while they traded and blocked blows under the crowd’s thrill. At last while Liaress introd near to break Demante’s ward, she bent a blow over his head and smote his helm’s napedish, whereafter loud cheer and laughter answered. Liaress knelt and yielded the match.   Next, I again drew the lot and fought Noess of the Zomoa Yard, who not only was this Motorae’s otherstead-winner but yesteryear’s champion. Thus I met a worthily ereproven foe. Our swordbill bout went long while we both played shrewdly: he giving full wariness to my reach, I withstanding to let his bulk shove me about. It was rightly one of the most wearisome swordbill matches I have ever fought. We hit each other no less than thrice ere I witted a breach in his ward and smote afar, scoring his leg. Then we took shortbills and repeated almost so wearily, with only the length nearer. He hit my arm when we ringed abody, and which led us to smallshields’ swift-death. Here I brooked the dance-likeness to fullest outstretch and my one-handed blade to subtleness and smote his helm with a misdrawal skirting his shield rim. At the fan, the watchers cheered with yells of ~Au ara-zhoa!~ - “The two champions!”   After a halt to catch his breath while the crowd chattered and danced, Noess and Demante fought. Their match went long, even as mine had, with Demante likewise winning the swordbill while Noess again won the shortbill. They then settled for a long grudgesome smallshield bout wordworthy for shrewd warcraft but few blows: two weaponmasters warring in mind. After many strides fraught with stuttersteps and misdrawals, Demante smote his arm under loud buzz from the watchstands cheering the hard-earned win.   While they tarried, something else wafted from the watchers: among the buzzes and yells, the hisses had faded. Not only Demante and I had earned some goodwill against our unwifelike uncouthness fighting Korasha, but the men had also proven themselves even so worthy. Our erstwhile misdeemers kenned our doughtiness and answered worship.   Demante and I would need all goodwill bestowed to uphold us before our next foe. Soaras stood forbearingly, witnessing our struggles, and waited fresh and unfought while we had both outspent all our strength to reach this step.   By misluck, Demante drew first fight, though the marshals let a longer break. I asked whether I should beseech to go first. Yet she naysaid, answering the weapontrial’s bylaws would not alet. She gathered breath while the crowd danced, and at last outspoke readiness. Then the two stood, hailed, and set award while the crowd hushed overhead and awaited the fan.   The swordbill is a game owned by small footshifts and trueness at length, which Demante and Soaras proved when they hit each other twice under the watchers’ cheers and yells upholding their beloved fighters. Then at the third stride they rushed inward, choked hafts, and sidled. While Soaras dodged, Demante behaved one of her boneless backbends to let his stroke oversweep, and then answered with another swing. The Korasha blocked with his buttweight, and then swept his blade aring in a stroke that surely needed all strength. He smote Demante’s calf and tumbled her aground, whereaft shouts and ruthful groans followed the watchstands. Happily, Demante’s greave spared the worst. Yet under the bruisy wound, she chose to yield. Under mixed cheers worshiping a right doughty match, and hisses bewraying a champion’s hurt, Soaras won in one hit.   I clove Demante’s helpmate and helped her stand, since she limped sorely. ~Dei ahi-stimi haronyas?~ - “Could he be any stronger?” she gritted. I grimly nodded, since I had behoof of drilling with him and minded many times getting knocked upon the weaponyard. Even at my strongest ever, I could not match him. Then while I walked to Remaue, donned helm, and took my swordbill, my thoughts overran to find behoof.   I needed to strike first and so beat his will. Thus when I stood forth and hailed, I dwimmered a striketruth and thus foresaw his ward’s gap right when he would strike. The fan waved, and we both smote. My soulstrike hit true. Yet so did he, and we both leaned, propped upon each other’s blade. At the marshal’s bid, we withdrew, set ward, and did so again. The crowd heartened, yelling us to try an else deed. Yet we unheeded, more aimful upon the fight, and then again hit each other thrice. At last we backed off and walked aring, likewise reckoning a winning warcraft.   I needed to try something else, which eyesomely he also forsoothed when he inrushed. I took his gambit and gathered a foretelling-ward so that, when he slammed against, I no longer stood there, but instead aside and then shot a stroke arear his shoulder. Yet Soaras ducked and wallowed away. Unhappy with the outcome, I afterhunted, dolefully since I still owned his rear to hit again when he stood. Yet he did so wielding his swordbill overhead and so blocked my blow.   Anon he whirled on his knees. I sucked in my belly to shun his blade, and then off footing backed while drawing down my swordbill to ward. His thrust following too slowly, which my rearward drift already slighted.   I reset to drive forward for own my stroke and beat aside his tip. Yet his tip dipped under my blade, and then slid up haft in a godly subtle deed. Steel scraped breastdish right as we crashed together, loud enough to stun the crowd. The fans rose: the marshals gave the hit to Soaras.   I know not which was louder: the crowd’s roar or hot shame pounding in my blood. Soaras had beaten me at my best weaponwise. I withstood dread, since next I must meet him at his best. Happily, the marshals let us doff helms to catch breath. Remaue held mine and stroked my sweaty locks. ~Di romi lasra si-meavassasra,~ she beread: “Let him not own you.” I nodded, took the loss within myself, and stilled. There is strength in owning loss, instead of letting it worry like a hungry swiftreaver. Then I breathed deep and again donned helm.   Kaure handed me the shortbill. It is such a mere weapon: an ell-long haft and a leafblade twice so. Yet a subtleness owns it, which I had come to deeply athank over the last year. Most folk misguess it fit only for strong hewing. Yet I had learned it as everywhit so cunning as a swordbill, only nearer. By that cunningness I would win.   When Soaras and I met again, I forewarned he would onrush, and he would strive to bodily overwhelm me. Yet I still owned a small behoof in reach, even against his apelike arms, only I wished him to forget it. I meekly let him try my ward, let him taste withstandlessness. Eagerly he brunted, blade flickering at my helm crest. I forestalled and beat my blade on his while I hunched low and drove forward. We slammed weaponhafts, armbands, and breastdishes mightily enough that his brimcrest bounced on my breast, and my helm almost shook over my eyes. Yet we yielded to the crowd’s glee a show of a Damaya withstanding and offshoving a Korasha.   Then I afterhunted, throwing jablike strokes at Soaras’s helm, shoulders, and arms. He dodged and sought room from my reach. I offlet heft, so letting him think he had reached fastness, wherein his will overtook to strike back, right at that length I had earlier misproven meek. Then I deemed to show him my reach and forestalled his stroke with mine. He witted and full threw himself against me, thinking to meet his blade with mine and struggle in the body-clutch.   A half-blink ahead of his time, I shifted stroke a step rightward, and swung left and low. As we drove by, my shortbill smacked right where his weaponkilt met breastdish. I heard steel scrape on steel while I dragged my blade free. I akept another two strides, and then with a whirl swung back award, where Soaras stood still amid the marshals’ raised fans.   I had beaten Soaras’s best weaponwise, even as he had beaten mine, which the watchers acknowledged when their buzz grew to a roar. I looked beside the Matronhood’s deck to Son’s Trucebode box, where my flag cheered hopelessly: my son again on his father’s shoulder, my shieldsisters and shieldbrothers along with Semuane and Istae, and even Taiase shamelessly weeping glee, against wrathfulness’s worry. To Soaras's worship, his shoulders heaved once and loosened. He atook the loss even samely as I had mine.   The marshals let the crowd yell hoarse ere they beckoned swyness, and then bade us both to the midst and unhelm. They then stood before the Matronhood and outquoth the last bout, ~are mi aras,~ - champion on champion - and ~o’karae-ziae~ - swift-death - since we had each won a hit. When the marshals bade readiness, however, Soaras begged truce. While all watched reckfully, my foe shortly bowed and asked whether I would reckon a shift in the trial’s weaponwise. I looked from him to the marshals, who shrugged. The champion from his helpmate took not only a trialsword but also an axe and beseeched that we forgo shields.   I reminded my first championship against Krastaes back in Son, who had so fought and had liked a small axe with a long haft. Then I walked to Demante, who still waited in the yard with the other fighters, and begged her sword. Then with my own I got from Remaue, I walked back, met him at midyard, and raised both weapons overhead, matching his upraised axe and sword to the crowd’s thrillsome whisper. ~Kiaema o saolu-zhu,~ - “We will meet with two weapons,” I answered.   When the fan dropped, we both held ward. Soaras stood with axe lifted and sword at midward aiming at me. With one of my swords I glanced him back, cross-matched with my other leg, and the other sword cocked back at high ward, which gave me strong wardwhelve while letting me strike evenly. When I strode forward, my weapons shifted with my feet, switching which blade aimed low, and which lifted to swing.   Soaras bided stroke while he read my ward, doubtlessly reckoning on which foot he would get best behoof. Against what many watchers may guess how a two-weapon fight belikens, we did not throw many blows, under reason that, once we came within length and started strokes, all our wards would fade, and the win would fall to wild hap. Thus, much like the first two bouts, this soon became a subtle game while we each sought to besway and worry the other. I behooved my height and reach to heave him by reaching my tip when I strode, so threatening thrust until I swung back but let the other blade restead starting a new thrust.   Soaras bewared and withdrawingly sidled, seeking to bring his axe nearer. His axe was slightly shorter than my swords. Its weight also made it less wieldy, although Soaras’s strength might outweigh. Nevertheless, I deemed to put its unwieldiness to trial when I leapt and thrust into his sword’s ward and snarled it off. I waited for the axe to crash downward, spun my forward sword to offswerve it while I sidestepped left, and then cross-struck with my lefthand blade. Soaras ducked low and brought both the axe and sword to ward while I rained blows, and then answered jabs while we both dodged. For a short while the crowd got the two-weapon flurry they craved. Then we drew ashed and caught breath while the Gameyard hummed. I tried to read how he had offswerved my cut.   Soaras waited for my lefthand sword to rise, and then both swung axe and thrust sword, with will to strike both my weapons and brook the axe’s strength and weight to knock aside. I fled his stroke and kept my blades stirring to shun his bind and find a gap, which at least gave the seemliness we were throwing blows. Then I halted short, stepped right, and whirled from his axe. I strove to bind his sword with my left and thus free my right to strike. He inbrunted and offshoved me, which also made my swordhilt clatter on his helm. The marshal’s offwaved the hit and deemed it naught. At their beck, we reset and began again.   I shrive I was becoming bothered finding a behoof I could make stick, since every time he outslipped. Chiding forbearance, I soothed and grounded, and then shaped a striketruth. Then I let the stroke unfold and awaited the gap. When it opened, I thrust low with my left sword and tipped my right overhead while stepped sidewise, both to outstretch my thrust and shun his answer. I tightened for the axe’s clash on my tipped blade, prayed liss when it did, and waited for my hit.   To my shock, it happened not. Yet something clanged, and not my sword, but instead his sword on my thigh dish. Then we both halted while awaiting the marshals’ doom.   The fans lifted. I lost.   Soaras and I stayed staring, heedless of the watchstands, the crowd, the city and whole world, cheering. Then he brought his weapons to hail and knelt. I could not withhold but doffed helm and stripped his. Then I bent and kissed him under the whole yelling Gameyard. We fell into mindshare and forgot all else beyond time, and recked what we only understood.   Whenever later, a hand touched our shoulder. We wared Master Evauess standing beside. In gruff fun, he asked whether we would quicken a babe right here in the yard or answer the Matronhood. We meekly followed.   Before the Matron’s Deck, Her Highness Lady Ivassil stood with Lady Sheneal. The High Matron beckoned swyness. After the crowd stilled, she acknowledged a fight among champions such as Qabarat had erenever witnessed, and cheered us both along with the other fighters, to much buzz.   Then Her Highness bade me stand forth. When I so did, she outheld a crownwreath: mine I had won in the Motorae swordbill-trial. She hovered it down to me. ~A Vaeol-Riyaeil, shiheshya-rualdis uvaura,~ - “Lady-Flagwife Vaeol, you bet your crown.” Her word smote true. With the crown at my breast, I headed to Soaras. Then I knelt and upyielded it.   Soaras took it and a breathtide halted. Then he swerved to Master Evauess. ~O’relesi-sheholazae veara relesya-rualam,~ he outspoke: “By our teacher’s worship we worship ourselves.” Then he also knelt and yielded the crown to the yardmaster. At the deed, the old Korasha’s gruffness cracked, loosening tears. Both Soaras and I rose and hugged him while the whole Gameyard danced cheer.   When Her Highness blessed leave, I staggered while heading back to the listroom. Kaure and Remaue upbore me, and then stripped my harness babelike. A listlessness overtook in the bath, so that I would not stir nor speak until Demante came. She knelt beside, hugged, and thanked me this deedfulness she had erenever dreamed. Without strength for words, I outthought blessing.   Somewhile later, Remaue told Master Evauess would speak. Weakly I stood from the bath and went to meet. For the next time ever, he knelt and kissed my belly. Then he took my hands and thanked me this merry farfetch, although he added: ~O’eies-ziari erithil di tiazyelise,~ - “Yet I think your farfetch has not ended.” I bade him stand, hugged him, and said I had him to thank for all I had fordone. Then he took leave, letting Kaure and Remaue uphold me again.   I was right. Everything that happened in the weapontrial was all that I had ere hoped. Over and beyond my champion fight with Demante, I had now again undergone my lifetime’s best fight and had won honor not for myself but for others.   ~Stireori-yei lirave?~ - So why do I sorrow?