Even though it was Markuss first time before the rings he knew Denams name. Despite his tender years the young man was the new champion among the gerant ring-fighters, famed for his brutality. For Denam open-ring night often proved to involve nothing more than glowering at the sea of resentful faces before him. Finding no one to answer his challenge he would cede his place to another fighter and once more the crowd would discover its courage.
Milos of Ren! the fight-master called out.
Milos raised his arm in acknowledgement and walked to his corner to await the bell.
Markus didnt hear the chime above the roar but the two men closed, Milos dwarfed by Denam. The gerant full-blood kept his hands down and let Milos take a punch. It was as if he had swung at a tree. Denams head moved slightly to the left with the blow. Milos clubbed him two-handed across the other side of his face and Denams head lurched to the right. Denam returned his gaze to his opponent and grinned, his teeth bloody. Milos didnt appear to understand. He looked down at his fists as if there might be something wrong with them.
Denam slapped the man, brushing his arms away. Blood sprayed from Miloss mouth and he staggered as if drunk. Denam caught him in two great hands, one wrapped around his neck, the other encompassing his thigh, and lifted him four yards above the boards before slamming him down, full-bodied, face first.
Milos did not rise. An apprentice scrambled in to scatter sand across the crimson smear left behind when they dragged him out beneath the lowest rope.
Markus wasnt alone in thinking that Denam was finished for the night, but the flow of the crowd indicated another challenger coming to the fore. The newcomer appeared, climbing clear of the throng. From behind, Markus saw only a dark cloak and black hair. This challenger stood even shorter than Milos, little more than six foot and of considerably lighter build. The audience hushed in surprise.
Hunska? the whisper went round.
Fool! came the reply.
The challenger might not be a giant but even so hunskas were never this tall or broad-shouldered. Denam fixed the newcomer with a stare so murderous that Markus felt the need to run boiling up inside him. As an empath he was used to swimming in the currents of others emotions but the ring-fighters anger ran swifter and more deep than anything hed felt before and at each moment threatened to overwhelm his senses.
The challenger ducked beneath the top rope.
Drunk, someone speculated.
Markus tried to imagine how drunk a person would have to be to think this a good idea. Too drunk to stand, probably. This one didnt move as if inebriated though.
The hush fell to silence as the challengers cloak fluttered from the ring. The woman wore the same as the ring-fighters, just a white loin-cloth and a white band of cloth bound tight around her chest, her pale skin accentuating the redness of Denams complexion.
The fight-master didnt approach to learn the challengers name. Instead he raised his voice, Nona of the convent.
Nona didnt lift her arm to acknowledge the crowds roar but she did make a slow turn, and when the black orbs of her eyes swept across him Markus knew that he had been seen.
Fight!
Denam came slowly to meet the novice, fists raised to protect his throat and eyes, his stance closed to defend his groin. Markus watched Nona intently, trying to see anything of the girl hed known over those weeks in Giljohns cage. She was two years his junior so she would be around seventeen, but she looked every inch a woman. Long-limbed, lean, an athletes body, each muscle chiselled in hard relief, flat belly above the jut of her hipbones. Even frightened for her as he was, Markus couldnt deny she drew his eye in ways unbecoming to a Holy Brother.
Nona stepped in with a swift confidence, striking Denam just below the ribs on his left side, five or six blows landing with the rapidity of a woodpecker hammering at a tree. She punched with her whole body, swivelling at the waist. Denam laughed the blows off and swept a hand at the novice. She evaded him with ease, landing three or four more punches in the same spot. Hard as she must be hitting the man, Markus couldnt see what hope Nona had of victory. The muscle covering Denams bones lay inches thick and the bones beneath must be like those of a draught horse. She might as well try to punch a bear into submission.
Denam squared up against Nona, his hatred for her obvious even as he tried to laugh at her efforts. Nona stood her ground and the crowd drew in its breath. Denam swung with an arm that looked as thick around as Markuss chest. The fist he drove at Nona was the size of her skull.
She took the punch in the face, her head snapping to the right. The follow-up came from the left, snapping her head back the other way. Markus imagined those fists would shatter a skull, leave cheekbones in fragments, break a neck
Nona looked up at the fighter towering above her and smiled, her teeth unbloodied. Denam seemed astonished, the crowd roared in wonder. Magic? But Markus had sensed no enchantment, not the slightest crackle of it. He could only imagine that she had moved her head at the same speed as the fists seeking it, allowing only a gentle contact.
Again Nona peppered the same spot below Denams ribs with half a dozen blows in the space of a heartbeat or two. She leapt back, rolling under a sweeping hand, rising in the same motion, kicking at her target, evading a second questing hand and spinning to land another kick in the same spot.
Denam came towards her, his own roar louder than the mob. As he advanced he favoured his left side. A small thing that could easily pass unnoticed. Nona twisted clear, bounced off two sets of ropes and landed a flying kick, just below his ribs.
For long minutes the fight continued, Denams attacks almost brushing Nonas pale skin but never quite finding it. Nona landing a score of punches and kicks on her target, perhaps two score. Denams rage grew, his face crimson, spitting and foaming, howling threats and promises. But he crouched over the injured side now, the bruised lower ribs, covering them with his elbow. He leaned against the corner post, hitching in a breath.
Come on, big boy. Nonas first words in the fight.
They worked like a spark to flash-powder. Denam threw himself forward with a scream. Nona dived beneath his outstretched arms, rolled head over heels between his legs, through the opening left as fury overcame caution, and drove her heel into his groin with all the speed and strength she possessed.
Denam made it two more strides before he realized that Nona was no longer in front of him, and a further stride before the pain hit home. The gerants legs forgot whatever orders they had and dropped him to the planks where he curled around his agony, blind to the world.
Nona sprang to her feet, the fight still in her face, teeth bared. With the awful gale of Denams hatred subsumed into his wordless agony, Markus could now feel Nonas emotions and found himself rocked back upon his heels by the raw animal aggression bleeding off her. He had experienced something similar when a wrong turn had taken him to the dog-pits beyond the walls of Old Town. A bloodied mastiff with its jaws locked around the throat of another hound had given off the same explosive violence that the novice did. Markus fully expected Nona to fall upon her prey, gouging Denams eyes from their sockets or stamping his face to pulp. But instead, in the space of five deep breaths, she drew it all back in, every piece, until there was nothing he could read above the mixed sea of emotion all around him. Of all that hed seen that night it was this quenching of fury that was the most remarkable to him.
Ignoring the cheers, and the fight-master coming to question or reward her, Nona vaulted the ropes and dropped into the crowd. Within moments she was at Markuss side, vibrant, sweat-soaked, alive, the alien blackness of her eyes level with his.
You came, she said.
Markus shrugged. You asked me to.
1
Holy Class
Present Day
Markus had grown beyond Nonas expectations. She remembered a fierce spiky-haired farm-boy who had welcomed her to Giljohns cage by demanding her age and had appeared to find comfort in establishing his seniority over her. A bad beginning, but his affection for the child-takers mule had softened her opinion of him by the end of their journey. Now he stood a solid six foot two, handsome in a friendly way, a face that would laugh with you. The black hair had been tamed with oil and lay flat to his skull in the way of monks. The only sign of the boy from the cage was a sharpness to his features and a quickness in the dark eyes that studied her.
Nona had wrapped her cloak around her once more. Sweat stuck the material to her back, making her uncomfortable, or perhaps that was just the frankness of Markuss regard. She offered a smile in return for his and hugged her hands under her arms. Her knuckles ached from repeatedly punching Denam. Nona was sure shed punched practice timbers that were softer than the gerants side. She felt good though, her body glowing, her step so light that with a little effort she might just shrug off gravity entirely.
She leaned in. Lets talk outside.
Markus nodded. They pushed a path towards the main doors. Already the Caltesss patrons were flocking back to the second ring. A couple of hulking apprentices were helping Denam over the ropes of the first.
Im surprised the convent lets novices come down here to fight, Markus said behind her.
They dont. Nona slipped between the doors as they opened to admit more thrill-seekers.
Why did you Markus broke off to draw his robes around him, the black habit of a Holy Brother. He followed her out into rain-laced wind, a loud brrr escaping at the cold shock of it.
An old dispute that needed settling, Nona said. It was partly true. Mostly she had wanted to hit someone, hard, again and again. Markus probably knew that already; classified Church reports named him as one of the most effective marjal empaths currently in the Ancestors service.
Nona led Markus around the corner of the great hall where they would be sheltered from the gale. The walls loomed dark above them, the sky crossed with tatters of cloud beneath the crimson spread of a thousand dying stars.
Why did you want me? Send the message, I mean? Markus seemed less sure of himself than she had expected. Someone who could read her like a book should be more confident? She certainly wished her own empath skills would tell her more of his mood than she could glean from the intensity of his stare or the tight line of his lips.
That day at the Academy. The words blurted from her. Did you make that girl attack me? Nona forced her mouth closed. She had had it all planned out, what she would say, how, when. And now her idiot tongue had cut through all of it.
She she was already attacking you. Guilt came from him in waves.
She was using the darkness to scare me. Or trying to. But then she went mad. Nona remembered how an animal fury had risen across the girls face. You did that!
I did. A frown now, his brow pale and beaded with rain.
She tried to shadow-rend me. I could have been torn apart!
Markus raised his hands. I made her angry. I didnt know she could do that.
Well, she could! Nona felt her own anger rising from the well she thought emptied in the ring.
Im sorry. He looked down.
But It felt like honesty, but Nona supposed he could fake that better than anyone shed ever known. Why?
Abbot Jacob told me to.
Jacob? A chill ran through Nona. High Priest Jacob? I mean the one who used to be?
Markus nodded, still looking down.
But hes not you dont have to
He was appointed to St Croyus as abbot a year after Abbess Glass had Nevis replace him as high priest.
St Croyus? But Jacobs a monster! Nona couldnt see how the former high priest could have risen from disgrace so swiftly.
A monster with friends in high places. Including the Tacsis. Markus shrugged. And hes not a stupid man, just a cruel and greedy one.
So he bought you from Giljohn, sent you to St Croyus, and followed you there to take over? Nona had seen the high priest beat Giljons mule to death and leave Markus broken. And that was just on the day hed purchased him as a frightened boy of ten. How must it have been to grow up under that mans command?
Im sorry. Markus looked up and met her eyes. She gave him points for not using his power to try to influence her. She would know. At least she hoped she would know. He couldnt be that good, could he? Markus coughed. So, did you ask me down here to beat me senseless? Kick me in the groin? Or is my apology enough?
A man hurried around the corner before Nona could answer. He approached them, hunched against the rain.
Regol? Nona asked. Shed looked for the ring-fighter in the crowd before she took on Denam but not spotted him.
At your service, my lady! He made a sweeping bow, managing to keep both eyes on Markus.
Nona couldnt help but smile. Im not your lady, or anyone elses.
A remarkable victory, novice. Regol straightened. Our ginger friend can be a stubborn fellow. His eyes held a certain distance, a reassessment perhaps.
You saw? She had wanted him to.
The whole thing. And did you hear the newest recruits cheering in the attic?
Nona flexed her hands, grimacing. I thought he wasnt ever going to go down.
Regol winced. The real question is whether hes going to get up again, and what hell sound like. He squeaked the last part then turned his gaze on Markus as if noticing him for the first time. I would ask if this monk is bothering you, but I guess if he was hed be on the ground looking for his teeth. Again that look, as if he saw a different person before him tonight.
Im sure Nona can have a disagreement without punching anyone in the face. Markus returned Regols stare. Not everyone who climbs out of the ring just steps into a bigger one.
Regol shrugged, that mocking smile of his firmly in place. The whole Corridor is a ring around Abeth, brother. And when the ice squeezes, everyone fights.
Go away, Markus said.
Regol opened his mouth with some reply but a puzzled look overtook him. He turned to go, then spun back as if he had forgotten something.
You would rather be watching the fights. Markus spoke without emphasis but the waves of power bleeding from him shocked Nona with their intensity. It was as if someone had opened a furnace door and an unexpected wall of heat had broken across her.
Regol turned back and walked off without comment.