Vellmar the Blade Read online

  “You cannot have just one,” Linzine said. “It will unbalance you.”

  “You’ll walk crooked,” Khasa added, her eyes twinkling. “It would be an embarrassment to the Vellmar name.”

  “You’re Fianna Vellmar?” the vendor asked. “Why didn’t you say so? I couldn’t watch the event, but I could hear it. First tie-breaking round in thirty-eight cycles! Please, honor me by accepting this second blade as my gift.”

  Vellmar didn’t know what to do with that offer. Accepting privileged seating in a restaurant was one thing, but taking a crafter’s labor?

  “It’s all right, Fianna,” Linzine said. “He’s offering. You didn’t ask.”

  “Of course I’m offering! I would be proud for you to carry my blade. Use it in good health, and if you find it worthy, all I ask is that you tell your friends.”

  Ah, now she understood. This was an exchange of value. She gave him a slight bow, then took the second knife with a smile. “They really are beautiful. I’m sure I’ll have nothing but good things to say once I have the opportunity to put them to the test.”

  They spoke with the crafter for several more ticks, and when they strolled out of his tent, Vellmar said, “You forgot to mention this part of competing, Bai. I would have entered the Games cycles ago if I’d known!”

  The only thing that could have made her afternoon more perfect was if the crafter had been Yulsintoh, and the boot knife had been a sword. But it had been many cycles since Yulsintoh sold his blades at the Games. His work was in such demand that his customers sought him out, and he was reputed to never leave his home in Port Calerna.

  Still, it made for a nice fantasy, which Vellmar enjoyed for the remainder of the afternoon.

  By the time the final event began, the temperatures had risen to the level of discomfort. The Global Games were always held in the early spring, as a celebration of the end of winter hardship and the return of life to the land. For Vellmar, having lived her life outside of Blacksun Basin, early spring meant cool temperatures and unpredictable weather. But the Basin had its own weather system, and every cycle at this time, it experienced a burst of summer. Salomen had told her that this was what gave Basin producers an advantage over all others on the Argolis continent, even those in the temperate coastal areas. They timed their plantings for this period, so the seedlings would get a boost of growth before the normal, cooler temperatures of spring settled in.

  The stands were packed to capacity when the competitors walked out to their chairs, and quite a few spectators stood along the wall at the very top. Vellmar hoped they had optic scanners. The holograms helped, of course, but they weren’t always focused on what individual spectators wanted to see.

  From the very beginning of the forty-pace moving-target event, it was clear that the other competitors were fighting for third place. One by one, each of them failed to stop their circles, some missing multiple times. When Vellmar stepped up to the line for her seventh throw, she and her mother still had no misses, and she was slightly ahead in the precision score. But she was tiring. The target was only twice as far away as it had been for the twenty-pace event, but right now it seemed at least three times farther. The heat waves rising off the field made it more difficult to focus, and the sweat rolling down her face didn’t help. She lifted her sleeve to mop the sweat and was caught mid-wipe when the bell rang.

  “Shek!” She blinked away a drop of sweat and peered at the target. On pure instinct, she let her blade fly and was surprised to see it stop the circle. The precision points were low, dropping her below her mother, but she was still in the running.

  “I thought for sure I had you on that one,” Linzine said when she arrived back at her seat. “First rule of competition: bring a cloth for wiping the sweat.”

  “Now you tell me. Thanks so much.” Vellmar bypassed her chair and walked to the refreshment table that had been set up in anticipation of the afternoon’s heat. She picked up a flask, uncapped it, and sighed in relief as the cool liquid slid down her throat.

  “Lead Guard Vellmar? Would this help?” asked a voice at her side.

  She turned to find a young girl in the uniform of a Games volunteer, looking up at her with what could only be described as worship. In her hand she held a small kerchief.

  “Yes, it would. Thank you.” Vellmar accepted the kerchief and mopped her face with it. “Ah. Much better.” As she unfolded the cloth, she noticed initials sewn into one corner. “Hold, is this yours?”

  “You can keep it,” the girl blurted. In a whirl of long hair, she turned and scurried away. Vellmar watched in bemusement as she joined another volunteer and whispered excitedly into her ear. Both girls grabbed each other and jumped up and down, screaming.

  “I do believe you have your first fan,” Linzine observed from behind her. “Get used to it. By the way, it’s your turn. I didn’t miss.”

  “Why not? You’ll have to at some point.” Tucking the kerchief into her pocket, Vellmar ignored the even louder scream from the girls and walked back to the line. She didn’t miss either, and after two more throws, the event ended its regulation time with the Vellmars once again tied for the lead.

  “The tie-breaker round will begin after a fifteen-tick rest,” the announcer boomed. Many of the spectators began climbing down from their seats, headed for either the restrooms or the snack stands, and the noise level rose considerably. Vellmar took the opportunity to sit under a sun shade, enjoying the break from the heat and glaring sunlight.

  Linzine slid into the seat beside her, a flask of water in her hand. “Fianna, whatever happens in this next round, I want you to know that this has been the best Games I’ve ever entered. It’s such a pleasure to have you at my side.”

  Vellmar smiled at her. “It’s a pleasure to be here. I wanted to do this last cycle, you know.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because I didn’t want to compete against you.”

  Linzine looked at her blankly. “Why not?”

  “Well…” It sounded so stupid, now that she was here. “I was afraid it might…hurt you, somehow, if I won and took your title.”

  “Oh, Fianna. I hardly know what to say. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but how could you not have known I’d be proud of you?”

  “Because I was a grainbird?”

  “You certainly were.” Linzine stood and upended her flask over Vellmar’s head, taking her by surprise.

  “Bai!” Vellmar sputtered, shaking the water out of her eyes. Linzine stood helpless with laughter, making her an easy target when Vellmar tackled her around the waist. As they thumped into the grass, Linzine lost her grip on the flask. Vellmar scrambled for it, Linzine held her back, and they escalated into a full wrestling match. Eventually, Vellmar managed to scoop up the flask and pin her mother down. “Thanks for the shower,” she said, breathless with exertion and laughter, “but I think you need one, too!”

  “You wretch! To think I gave birth to such an ungrateful child!” Linzine struggled to get away but was not in time to avoid her own soaking. The flask was empty when she was finally able to shove Vellmar to the side, and they both collapsed onto the ground, soaked and shaking with lingering chuckles.

  “Oh, Fahla, that did feel good.” Vellmar sat up and squeezed the water out of her hair. “Not that I would recommend you try it again.”

  Linzine pulled herself into a sitting position and tried to wring the water out of her shirt. “You realize we’ll be all over the news tonight. They’ll call it a spite fight between mother and daughter.”

  “Let them.” Vellmar gave up on her hair and raked it back with both hands. “They have no idea—” She stopped as her mother leaped to her feet, stood straight, and thumped both fists to her chest.

  There was only one person that salute could be for. She turned her head and groaned silently at the sight of not just Lancer Tal but Salomen as well, s
tanding two paces away with identical grins on their faces. With a flush that instantly erased the cooling effect of her wet hair, she stood beside her mother and offered the same salute.

  “Well met, Vellmar.” Lancer Tal was still smiling. “Will you introduce us?”

  “Of course. This is my birthmother, First Guard Linzine Vellmar. Bai, please greet Lancer Andira Tal and Bondlancer Salomen Opah.”

  “I am deeply honored,” Linzine said with no trace of embarrassment on her perfectly neutral but still wet face. “Please excuse our appearance. Had we known you were coming, we would certainly have—”

  “Behaved in an entirely upright fashion and denied us the first opportunity we’ve had to see Lead Guard Vellmar so relaxed,” Lancer Tal finished. “Please, don’t apologize. I shall carry this memory for a long time to come.”

  “Wonderful,” Vellmar muttered.

  Salomen chuckled. “I think we should endeavor to surprise her more often, Andira. Who knows what sights we might see?”

  Vellmar shot her a pleading look, meeting an unrepentant expression in return.

  “I can assure you that my daughter does not normally disgrace her uniform,” Linzine insisted, visibly alarmed by Salomen’s suggestion.

  Vellmar finally unbent enough to take her arm, conveying her own lack of worry through the touch. “Bai, they’re teasing us. Lancer Tal would never judge one of her Guards for a moment of off-duty playfulness. And Bondlancer Opah is…my friend.”

  “Indeed I am, and grateful to be so,” said Salomen, stepping forward to offer a palm. “Well met, First Guard Vellmar. I hold your daughter in the highest regard, and a little wet hair won’t change that.”

  Linzine touched her palm and looked at her in wonder. “Thank you, and well met, Bondlancer Opah.” Her expression grew more astonished as she touched palms with the Lancer. “Well met, Lancer Tal.”

  “Well met. I do apologize for worrying you. I assumed you would know that Vellmar has a special standing in our unit.”

  “Yes, don’t you tell your birthmother anything?” Salomen asked mischievously.

  “You are not helping,” Vellmar grumbled, eliciting chuckles from her tormentors and a wide-eyed look from Linzine.

  “The real reason we came out was to congratulate both of you on an enthralling performance,” said Lancer Tal. “I can’t recall enjoying the blade-throwing events at a Games quite so much.”

  “I feel the same way. My daughter is here with me. It changes the nature of the competition, because no matter who wins, I cannot lose.”

  “It’s all the same honor, isn’t it?” Lancer Tal asked.

  “It is. The two reds she holds right now are still in the Vellmar name.” Linzine winked at Vellmar and added, “Of course, two are all she’s going to get.”

  “Keep that fantasy,” Vellmar shot back. “I’m taking this one.”

  “I think you’re about to settle the question.” Salomen pointed behind them, where the three judges were mounting the judging stand.

  “Time to go,” Lancer Tal said. “First Guard Vellmar, it was an honor. I hope to see you again in the future. Perhaps your daughter might show you where she works someday.”

  Linzine turned on her the moment they left. “How in the name of Fahla could you not tell me about this? The Bondlancer is your friend? And I’m not even sure what to think about the Lancer’s feelings!”

  “Bai…it’s complicated. I don’t know from one day to the next quite what the Lancer thinks. But I did help her the night before her ritual challenge, when she knew she might not live through the next morning, and you can’t go back to normal after something like that. And my friendship with Salomen—”

  “Salomen? You’re on a first-name basis with the Bondlancer?”

  “It just happened in the last few ninedays! She needs a friend in Blacksun, and the Lancer all but ordered me to ignore her title.”

  The bell rang, summoning them back to the competition. As they turned back toward their seats, Linzine said, “These are dangerous friends, Fianna.”

  “I know that. But they’re also good friends.”

  Linzine shook her head, her concern unabated, but their arrival at the event space precluded further conversation.

  As with the previous tie-breaker, the targets now moved twenty percent faster. Vellmar’s very first throw missed, raising an enormous shout from the crowd. She was disgusted with herself for letting her mother’s reaction rattle her nerves.

  Linzine missed three throws later, tying the score, and Vellmar’s hopes rose. They battled out the remaining six throws, the sun seeming hotter with every passing tick and the target seeming to get farther away. But Vellmar was in her zone now, ignoring the heat and the noise and focusing solely on those damnably fast circles.

  Neither of them missed again, and though they had each risen and fallen in precision points, they ended with the same score. The announcer informed the crowd of a second tie-breaker round, which had not happened in seventy-two cycles, and the roar was deafening.

  In a tradition apparently designed to shake apart the competitors, there was no break before this round. That was an advantage for Vellmar, helping her to stay in her zone. Despite the targets now moving one-third faster than their original speed, she still hit every one.

  So did Linzine, and their precision points—though considerably lower than the previous round—were once again the same.

  “They’ve done it again!” the announcer bellowed over the roar of the crowd. “They’re certainly making our judges earn their wages today! A third tie-breaker has not been necessary for…” She paused for effect. “One hundred and eighty-nine cycles!”

  Spectators were stomping on the floors of the stands, adding a deeper rumble to the cheers and applause, and Vellmar felt her focus slip. It was too loud, and the sun seemed much hotter. It almost made things worse when they were allowed another fifteen-tick break before the third round. She needed the water, but she would rather have just finished the event before she could lose her edge.

  As she stood by the refreshment table, gulping down half a flask, she realized that the crowd had swollen to well beyond capacity. Not only was the wall at the top lined with people, but so were all of the aisles and even some areas of the field itself. A volunteer told her that the events held outside the stands had ended, releasing their audiences, and many of those people had heard the noise and come to see what it was about.

  On the third round, the target speed was at its maximum: fifty percent above normal. Once again Vellmar used her first four pipticks to watch the moving circle and get a feel for it. It was so fast now that when she released her blade, she had no idea whether it would land true.

  It did. She sighed in relief and turned back toward the seats, where Linzine was rising. They exchanged no pleasantries this time. The targets were too fast and the competition too intense.

  Linzine stopped her circle, but it was close. Vellmar felt as if she had barely had a chance to sit before it was time to get up again.

  Every throw now raised a huge shout, the announcer was scrambling to find new adjectives to describe the action, and the noise and tension finally broke through Vellmar’s focus. She misjudged the speed of her target, anticipating it too much, and her blade landed a hair’s width in front of it. The howl from the crowd was so loud that it hurt her ears.

  There were two throws left in the round. She hit them both, but so did her mother. The moment Linzine’s blade buried itself in the final target, she threw back her head and roared a victory cry, which was all but drowned out by the pandemonium of the crowd. It had been the most hotly contested throwing event in memory, and while Vellmar hated losing it, she was proud that her birthmother still held the record.

  “Congratulations, Bai,” she called over the noise. “You deserve the red.”

  “But you made me work for it!” Lin
zine laughed. “Fahla, did you make me work! I can’t wait to do this again next cycle!” They came together in a double palm touch, grasping each other’s hands tightly and grinning like fools, and then the officials were hustling them to the podium to accept their medals.

  Not until the announcer called out the results to the crowd did Vellmar realize the implication of her mother’s win. They were now tied in the blade-throwing events, with two red and two blue medals each, which meant there was no clear winner of the champion’s title.

  “After a break to give our competitors a moment of rest,” the announcer boomed, “we will determine the champion with a final event. It is not often necessary, but we are fortunate today, because in fifteen ticks from now…there will be a sword-throwing competition!”

  The uproar shook the stands, and Vellmar stared at her mother. “I didn’t even think about that.”

  “You have your sword, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course, the regulations required it. I just didn’t stop to think about why.”

  “Well, drink some water and start thinking about it. You still have the chance to take my title.”

  They swung by the refreshment table, where Vellmar was grateful to find a volunteer holding two pastries for them. Her stomach rumbled the moment she saw them, reminding her that midmeal had been several hanticks ago. She picked up a flask of water as well and had managed to consume the entire pastry before they even made it to the competitors’ tent. Their knife cases were already there, having been collected while they were awarded their medals, but her gear bag was not where she had left it. Worried, she spun around and nearly walked into a wall disguised as an Alsean.

  “Looking for this?” said the man, holding out her bag.

  “Senshalon! What are you doing here? And yes, I was looking for that.”

  Senshalon, by far the largest Guard in her unit, gave her a brilliant smile. “I’m the target thrower. They wanted someone who could get some distance.”

  She dropped the bag next to her knife case, unzipped it, and pulled out her sword case. “They picked the right person. Just don’t throw the targets so far that we can’t reach them.” She flipped the latches on the case and gazed at her sword grip nestled in the foam. “Never thought I’d be using this today.”