King of Lions by Gowthami A

Lamppost A Dream for Annie Fox and the Rest of Us This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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King of Lions by Malcolm W. Keyes ~ Keaton put his hand to his heart, staggered dramatically in a circle, eyes rolling, sucking in desperate gasps of breath, and collapsed into the dirt. The little boy with the wooden sword stood mesmerized by his handiwork. When Keaton popped up and opened his eyes, the little boy laughed, looked at this parents, and said, “I beat the King of Lion Class.” “You sure did, sweetie,” his mother said, gently leading him away. “Come on. Master Keaton has many other people to see before his day is done.” The boy looked at Keaton sadly. “You, sir,” Keaton said, “are a fine swordsman.” The boy smiled bravely and saluted, the hilt of his sword pressed to his chest. Keaton returned the gesture, and watched as the boy allowed himself to be led away by his mother. The boy moved with a confidence he hadn’t possessed only a minute before, thoughtfully twirling his sword. This was something Keaton loved about the job—empowering the youth, turning the innate human drive to kill into a motivator to excel. One man in the ring meant one man who wasn’t out on the dunes, one man not putting the torch to oasis farms and cutting innocent throats for gold. Keaton continued toward Emerick’s table to congratulate him on his retirement. It was only a quarter mile across the floor of the Dome, but it took Keaton nearly a half hour to make the walk, maneuvering through merchant stalls and stopping every few steps to sign autographs for the fight fans who had gathered to celebrate Emerick’s achievements. A few people, representatives of the Speakers and the Parchments mostly, had charcoal sticks that could sketch his likeness in seconds, and Keaton found himself posing majestically with his sword drawn at least half a dozen times. When Keaton finally arrived at Emerick’s table, Emerick was already drunk and smiling his smile that made his eyes disappear. His beautiful wife Maya leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, dark hair spilling down his scarred brown arms. “King of Lions!” Emerick said. “Take a seat, brother.”

Keaton and Emerick couldn’t have been more different— Emerick was a huge man with heavy, dark features that identified him a southerner from Oolauka, while Keaton was trim and fair with pink scars instead of brown—but despite their differing lineages, Emerick called Keaton “brother.” “You’re enjoying your party, I see,” Keaton said. “Oh, too much,” Emerick said, “but they tell me I’ve earned it.” Keaton shook Emerick’s massive hand. “That you have, my friend.” “Kicking people in the leg,” Emerick said. “That’s what this whole party is for. One strong right kick and the ability to keep my damn hands up.” “There’s more to your game than that, and you know it.” “Maybe,” Emerick said. “You done with all your hibbity-shit for the Parchments?” “Sadly, no,” Keaton said. “I just came by to congratulate you. I’ve still got the stare down with Mantis—” Emerick grumbled something that almost certainly ended in “prick.” “—and I’ve got an exhibition later against Rosetta. She’s an up and comer in the Fox Class. They just want us to dance around for a few rounds and get the crowd excited. She’s got a fight coming up in a few weeks that could put her in title contention against the Queen of Foxes.” “Yeah, I’ve seen Rosetta fight. She’s an Orthodox stylist. Light blade and shield. Athletic and smoking easy on the eyes—if Maya will allow me to say so—but her technique is still coming along.” “It should be fun,” Keaton said, then added, “Maya, you’re looking beautiful today, as always.” Maya gave him a sleepy, half-intoxicated smile and touched his arm. “Charmer,” she said. “Where are the girls?” Keaton asked. “With the nursemaid,” Maya said. “Riding ponies and trying to net fish, if I had to guess.” Emerick leaned forward, exaggeratedly excited. “I almost forgot, Keats! I’ve been studying the Current with some stiffs from the Order.” Keaton stifled the urge to laugh. “You? The Current? First swordsmanship, then pit fighting, now this? Ancients in the sky, Emerick, why?” “I’ve got a fair amount of talent,” Emerick said. “It was a surprise to me, too. Last night, I manifested a Cloud Tether charm strong enough to float an apple across the table to my oldest. She nearly spit her corn across the room!” “Looking to tether your own ring, eh?” The transparent fighting ring in the Dome was suspended by the very charm Emerick had described—a much stronger one—so spectators could view the fight from all angles. “Planning to hang it from the ceiling in your den?” “No, no such thing,” Emerick said. “I’m done with fighting, and I don’t need reminders hanging in my home. The Current is just something to keep my hands and my head busy.” “Don’t play around with that stuff too much,” Keaton said. “It takes two to do the really powerful stuff. Without a Wellspring, you’re drawing on your own life.” “What’s a few minutes of life here and there?” Emerick said. “Tell that to your wife when you’re on your deathbed, and she’s saying, ‘Stay with me, Emerick!’ And you’ll have to say, ‘Sorry, Maya. I wanted to watch the apple float.’” “This from the guy who fights in death matches three times a year,” Emerick said. Keaton smiled. “I don’t have a family to consider.” “I use a Wellspring in practice, Keats. Don’t get your shorts in a wad.” “Why don’t you have family yet?” Maya asked. “If you put out the word, they’d line up for miles.” “Sweet of you to say, Maya,” Keaton said. “But I’m not interested in sleeping in a pile of lustful academy girls.” “Boys then?” Emerick said. Keaton pretended to draw his sword, and Emerick threateningly brandished his mug of hard cider. Maya rolled her eyes. Keaton wiped spilled cider on his pants. “Well, I better get my—what did you call it?”

“Hibbity-shit, I believe.” “Yes, that—done for the Parchments. People must have their fight news.” “Happy politicking, brother,” Emerick said. “Congrats on making it out of the fight game alive,” Keaton said. “I did that the day I switched from swords to fists,” Emerick said. “I couldn’t do it now, Keaton. Undefeated or dead is no way to live.” “Sometimes you don’t have to kill to win,” Keaton said. “How did you win your last four fights again?” Emerick said. Keaton clenched his jaw. “Heart strike.” “There you go.” “At this level of competition, you have to be decisive. Any of the top ten guys are too dangerous to play around with. Once that door shuts and the ring lifts off the ground, it’s me or them.” “And the guy who comes for your crown is going to have the same mentality, brother. You’re the king of your weight class, and they’re going to want to make a statement. They won’t bleed you out and let the guys from the Order fix you up. They’re going to come in there looking for your heart or your head—if it’s Mantis, it’ll be the head.” Keaton nodded. “Thanks for trying to look out for me, Emerick.” “Always will,” Emerick said. “And that’s not just the cider talking.” ~ Keaton had been watching Mantis for a long time. He was a sculpted monster of a man who looked easily large enough to belong in Bear Class. His father had been a member of Angamor’s Academy Guard—just like Keaton had been—and had trained Mantis from a boy to fight in the Swordsman’s Circuit. Mantis was a master of cutting water weight before the weigh-ins, then re-hydrating before the fight. This allowed him to come into the ring noticeably larger than any other Lion Class swordsman. His sheer strength allowed him to do something no other swordsman had ever done: combine the dual weapon configuration with heavy blades. More impressive yet, he was a Riddance style swordsman, a lethal style that focused on aggressive offense and swift deathblows. The result was a perfect record of 13 wins, every last one a first round decapitation. Mantis was a storm in the ring, a brief lightning strike of power and ferocity, ending in a rain of blood. Mantis was also Keaton’s next opponent. The stare down was sure to be uncomfortable. Keaton liked to keep things professional, shake hands, exchange offers of goodwill which usually meant, in essence, “I won’t kill you if I don’t have to.” But from what Keaton knew of Mantis, this kind of civility was unlikely. Keaton arrived a few minutes early, taking time to sign more autographs and smile as people nervously said the things they had rehearsed to say to him. He always tried to put people at ease by making jokes or talking about the origins of their surnames. When amateurs offered to fight him, he would say, “I relent!” and back away, getting a laugh out of the crowd. When Mantis arrived, the mood changed. He wore his swords on his shoulders like steel wings. His bare chest was pale, sculpted like stone, and completely without scars. His black hair hung in a ponytail that struck Keaton as mournful somehow, like a weeping willow. Mantis’s eyes, however, were far from mournful—they were hungry. When they were both on the dais, they drew their swords and posed. Mantis leaned in until his cold, angular face filled Keaton’s vision. Keaton usually smiled inside when opponents did this—if this were a match, they’d be giving him every vulnerable part of their body—but Mantis's looming presence unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. “I have waited for this,” Mantis said. “All my life.” Keaton had never heard Mantis speak before. His voice was educated, young, and strangely likable. Keaton didn’t allow that to lower his guard. This was a part of the fight, the part that threatened

to humanize his opponent, making them more than a body and a set of skills. For all Keaton knew, Mantis had practiced this measured way of speaking for just that purpose; to create doubt. Mantis’s hungry eyes took any such doubt away. This man was a killer, maybe even in a way Keaton was not. “It should be a good fight,” Keaton said politely. He didn’t break eye contact, not once, but neither did he scowl or threaten with his eyes. When the Parchment writers and the Speakers were done sketching and dictating and marveling, the stare down ended. Keaton put out his hand to shake, and Mantis moved to take it, then abruptly drew his swords and swung around as if to cut Keaton in half. The crowd cried out. Keaton’s sword was in his hand without a thought, raised to defend against the strike. Mantis’s swords stopped inches from his own. Keaton had felt the wind from them, seen the immense weight of them as they swung, and couldn’t imagine the strength it had taken to stop them so precisely. Mantis lightly touched his blades to Keaton’s sword as if making a toast, then smiled a white grin that reminded Keaton of a jackal. The ring of the steel slowly faded into silence. Then Mantis was gone, hopping down from the dais and striding away through the crowd. Keaton gathered his composure and smiled at the guards that were nervously gathering, standing between him and the departing Mantis. “It’s all right,” he told them. “He’s just trying to sell tickets.” Keaton sheathed his sword and noticed, with some surprise, that his hands were shaking. ~ Keaton was so preoccupied trying to get his mind right after the stare down with Mantis that he came into the exhibition with Rosetta somewhat distracted. It was just an exhibition, after all, with training swords instead of steel ones, and should make for an easy evening warm-up. The crowd roared as Keaton made his way to the ring in the center of the Dome. Already standing across from him, Rosetta had her hair dyed red and pulled back in a short ponytail that stuck straight out, the muscles of her stomach working like a machine with each breath. The ornate leather around her chest and shoulders groaned as she stretched her limbs. Keaton saluted her, raising his sword to see if she wanted to touch blades before the bout, a show of respect. Rosetta’s gaze was fiery and hard. Her jaw clenched and she shook her head, once. Two women—elites from the Order of the Course—stood together at the ringside, the Wellspring funneling energy from the Current to the Conduit, who danced weightlessly, manipulating the flow with her body. In moments, a cloud formed over the ring, swirling like ink in water. Tendrils snaked down from the cloud and took hold of the ring’s supports, lifting it high into the center of the Dome where it would hang for the duration of the fight. As the floor of the ring became transparent—allowing spectators below to view the fight as clearly as those above—Keaton watched Rosetta begin to bounce on the balls of her feet, loosening up for the fight. She plans to come out swinging, Keaton thought. This isn’t an exhibition to her. It’s a chance to show how she matches up with a men’s division crown-holder. If she wanted to find out what she was made of, then Keaton would respect her enough to let her try. He felt his mind change, that peculiar switch that flipped before each of his fights. Distractions blew away like dust, and very little was left in his head. He was mostly his body now, and the things it knew. Keaton was known as a Riddance fighter—like Mantis—but he was well versed in all the major styles, one of the advantages of an academy education and service in the Guard. Riddance wouldn’t be of much use with a wooden sword, and neither really would Orthodox, Rosetta’s professed style. Mau Oolau’s hand-to-hand techniques would serve best, as would Atonement style’s use of disarms, trips, and limb-locks. The announcer went on and on, promoting he and Rosetta’s upcoming fights. Keaton watched the

way Rosetta moved. She was good and loose with her shield, but she put a lot of weight on her front leg in an effort to keep low. That would be her weak point. When the bell sounded, Rosetta charged him, throwing a violent overhand swing with her sword. Keaton slipped it, faked a Riddance-style thrust, and threw his body into a kick. His shin collided with Rosetta’s thigh and she fell. Keaton made as though to pursue, and Rosetta spun back to her feet. The intensity hadn’t left her eyes, but it had changed from a brawler’s rage to a tactician’s calculated coldness. That mindset will serve her better, Keaton thought. She’s learning already. Her next set of strikes was more precise, feeling her opponent out. Keaton, though, was never where she seemed to expect him, and none of her shots landed clean. When he moved in with some strikes of his own, she tried to counter, and they ended up in a sword lock. Keaton smoothly transitioned into Atonement style, locked up her wrists with his free hand and delivering a light blow to her jaw with his elbow, a Mau Oolau tactic. He expected her to stumble back, but she was a game opponent. She recovered from the blow and put him in a very decent wrist lock of her own, using the shield to tie up his hands with surprising effectiveness. Keaton, though, easily countered and spun away. The rest of the first round passed liked this, with Rosetta showing potential, but Keaton clearly winning every exchange. He had an advantage in every area but speed. Rosetta was deadly fast, and if their technique and reach had been equal, Keaton would have found this a very interesting fight. The second round began with more back-and-forth Atonement locks. In one attempt to escape, Rosetta’s chest piece came unlaced and fell almost completely open. Men in the crowd whistled at Rosetta as the white swell of her flesh rose and fell beneath loosening laces with each breath she took. Keaton politely stepped back to allow Rosetta to refasten her armor, and was surprised when she swung at him, almost catching him off guard. “You’re coming undone there,” he said, backing away to avoid another strike. “What’s the worst that could happen?” she said. “A few men get riled up and take it out on their wives when they get home. Everybody wins.” On the word “wins,” Rosetta spun and planted a spinning back-kick to Keaton’s abdomen that honestly hurt. He smiled through the pain, impressed with her power, and pressed the attack. The fight ended in the third round when Keaton managed to maneuver behind her during a grapple, and edged his wooden sword under her throat. She was forced to drop her sword and relinquish the fight. Rosetta walked over after doing a few angry laps around the ring, and with sweat dripping from her hair, raised Keaton’s hand. Keaton allowed the crowd to cheer, then raised her hand in return as the ring floated down from its place in the air. Keaton and Rosetta shared a brief embrace then, a sportsmanlike acknowledgment of a game well-played. “Thank you,” Rosetta said over the roar of the crowd. “For what?” “For having enough respect to actually hurt me.” “I pulled back a little on the elbow, sorry,” Keaton said with a smile. “But not on the leg kicks,” Rosetta said. “I’m going to limp for a week.” “Three days at most,” he said. The smile Rosetta gave him had a new color in it, a hint of something warm and not quite professional. She opened her mouth to speak, slowly and thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether or not to actually say what she was thinking. Then the crowd was on them, cheering and raising them both up onto shoulders. They both laughed, and Keaton shrugged. “You want to have a drink when the Order is done checking us out?” Rosetta shouted over the noise.

Caught up in the moment, Keaton nodded. “I don’t think their doctors will find anything wrong with me, but sure.” Rosetta pretended to kick at him, and he pretended to kick back. The crowd surged with laughter, and like always, Keaton fell into it. ~ In the morning, when Keaton rolled over in bed, his hand fell on a smooth and pleasantly sculpted arm. He opened his eyes and saw Rosetta’s crimson hair laid out like a fan on the pillow next to him. She was facing away from him, the blankets bunched up around her waist, her top half naked in the midday sun. She had bruises on her ribs and arms where he had struck her during their fight. He stared at her for a long time, marveling at her slim, efficient perfection. His brain went back and forth from man to fighter, man to fighter, and he found he could appreciate the view from both angles. “Did we really do this?” she asked, still facing away from him. Keaton was surprised to find that she was awake, her breathing had been so regular. “I think we did,” he said. “How are your bruises?” she asked. “I didn’t get hurt during our fight, remember?” She sat up and stared at him from under her hair. “I’m not talking about our fight.” Keaton laughed, embarrassed at himself. “We had a round four after all,” he said. This time Rosetta laughed. “Our poor bodies.” “Breakfast?” “Anything but alcohol,” she said. They talked over breakfast, mostly about their fight, breaking it down move-by-move. Keaton found that he remembered some parts a little differently than Rosetta did. When breakfast was over, they sat over the empty dishes and talked for another hour or so before ending up back in bed. They laid there afterward and talked about Keaton’s house, how huge it seemed to Rosetta, how she had grown up poor in a big family, that fighting was her only real shot at making a life for herself. Keaton talked about life in the church, growing up in Angamor’s Academy, doing month-long patrols with the Guard, the differences between ring fighting and putting down Sandits—desert warlords and their men—outside the city walls of Urn. Rosetta told him she had never slept with a fighter before, and Keaton said he hadn’t slept with anyone since winning the Lion’s Class Crown. Then they talked about their fight again. ~ The land surrounding Urn had a big sky, the sort of sky that made everything else feel small and superfluous. It was difficult to see from inside the city walls, but out on the dunes the sky threatened to swallow everything with its size and grandeur. Keaton hadn’t brought anyone to his spot on the cliffs above the lake since his father passed away —except for Emerick on a few rare occasions when Keaton had needed to talk. This was his special place, the place he had come to talk Theology with his father, to discuss what it meant to be alive, to be a friend, and a swordsman. Now Keaton had brought Rosetta with him. She stood on the gentle cliff and stared down at the lake. She had dressed in women’s clothing, only the scars and definition in her arms hinting at what she really was. The wind pulled at the robes as she stood watching the water, wrapping the loose cloth around her like a banner draped over a statue. Nearby, the Bralla they had ridden sat basking in the sun like hairless, orange-and-black camels, lying on their sides to soak up the sun with their scaled skin. “Can we go swimming?” Rosetta asked. The way her hair moved around her face made it difficult

for Keaton to find his voice. He had found her striking from the moment he saw her, then alluring when she had made advances, but it wasn’t until this moment that he realized he found her beautiful. “I don’t think swimming is a good idea,” he said. “Blue Pilikia.” “Blue what?” “Pilikia. It’s an aquatic scorpion. Deadly poisonous. It migrated here when the first southerners made their way north from Oolau. They didn’t have any natural predators, so they kind of took over.” “Like the Mau Oolau style,” Rosetta said. “If you don’t know a little Mau Oolau, you’ll get your leg broken in the first round. Even if you do—” She lifted her robes to show the bruises on her thighs. “Well, you remember.” “I’m sorry,” he told her. Rosetta’s face grew hard. “Don’t do that.” “Don’t do what?” “Don’t start treating me like a girl.” “You are a girl.” “I’m a top ten Fox Class swordswoman. If I win my next fight, I’m likely to face the Queen of Foxes herself. Don’t treat me like a pretty thing that will break if you drop it.” Keaton smiled. “If you were going to break, you’d have done it last night.” “You’ll just have to try harder next time.” And Keaton realized suddenly that he very much wanted there to be a next time, a next anything with her. Keaton strode over to the lounging Bralla and dug through one of his saddle-side totes. He returned to Rosetta’s side with two light training swords and two shields. “What is this?” “I get itchy if I don’t train,” he said. “And besides, you’re going to be fighting against the Queen of Foxes. I dare you to find a better sparring partner than the King of Lions.” Rosetta took the sword and shield. “You’d do that for me?” “You want to win, don’t you?” Rosetta gave him a look. “You know I do.” “Show me how badly.” ~ Two weeks passed. Keaton returned to training camp a few days behind schedule, and it took some time to get back into a rhythm. For one thing, he had been sparring so much in Orthodox style with Rosetta that Riddance—his bread and butter—now felt secondary and strange. His sparring partners were stronger than he expected, and a few times he found himself inside their reach when he thought he was outside of it—because he would have been outside of it fighting Rosetta. He still dominated every sparring session, but that cold sense of being untouchable had slipped. He felt mortal again. The second day back, Keaton retired to the bath house after practice to find Emerick waiting for him in the hot springs. Emerick’s normally cheerful expression was haunted by some emotion he seemed to be trying to conceal. It looked like disappointment. Or fear. “Emerick,” Keaton said. “To what do I owe the pleasure, my friend?” Keaton wasn’t really in the mood for a conversation. Training hadn’t gone well again—a little better, but not enough—and he was feeling frustrated. “I love you, brother,” Emerick said. “You know that. I’ve said it, and now I’m going to say what I have to say.” Keaton nodded. “Okay. Let’s have it.” “You’re slipping.” Keaton threw his hands up. “You’re slipping,” Emerick said. “I can see you’re slipping. The other guys can see you’re

slipping.” “I’m not slipping,” Keaton said. “I’ve been sparring every day with Rosetta for two weeks.” “And how many days have you been in here with your training partners?” Keaton sighed. “Today and yesterday.” “Ancients in the sky, Keats.” “What?” “You think Mantis is taking days off?!” “I’m not taking days off,” Keaton said. “I’ve been training with—” “Rosetta,” Emerick said. “I know. Everybody knows. The Parchments know.” Keaton hit the water angrily. “Well, who the hell told them?!” “Don’t splash me.” “It’s just water.” “Don’t splash me mad.” “I’m not mad.” Keaton sat down and put his head in his hands. “I’m—I don’t know what I am.” Emerick put a hand on Keaton’s shoulder. “Nobody told them anything. That girl spent half the night in your lap at my retirement party. Two fighters trading spit after just fighting each other? That turns heads.” “It’s not their business,” Keaton said. “Listen to you. Making excuses. Telling me your business isn’t the public’s business. You’re Mr. Public, brother. You’re the least defensive, least private person I know. What’s going on with you?” Keaton thought about it, and to his horror felt tears threatening to come into his eyes. “I’m afraid, Em. I’m afraid somebody is going to take her away from me.” “Rosetta.” Keaton nodded. “You don’t know what’s it’s been like, to be with her. It’s like I’m—” “Not alone, but not having to perform either. Like she’s one of ‘you,’ not one of ‘them.’” “Exactly,” he said. “That’s exactly how I feel.” Emerick sighed heavily. “Shit, you’re in love.” “I know.” “This is bad, brother.” “I know it is,” Keaton said. “She’s got a fight in three days. Three days, Em. Against Terra, for the chance to fight the Queen of Foxes.” “Terra’s a tough chick,” Emerick said. “She does Orthodox better than most.” “I just wanted to get Rosetta ready. She’s improving so fast, it’s unbelievable. She’s a sponge. I show her something, she tries it three times, and she’s got it down. And the next time we spar, she’ll use it on me.” “That’s the thing, brother,” Emerick said. “She’s sparring with the best opponent she’s ever faced, and you’re sparring with the second or third ranked girl in the Fox division. It’s not about talent—she’s just too damn light for the sparring to mean anything. She doesn’t take up space the way these Lion guys do, can’t muscle you the way they do.” “I know all this.” “Then know it! Because I guarantee you, Mantis is training with the biggest, baddest cutthroat savages he can find. He’s telling everybody how you’re looking past him, training with ‘some girl’ out on the cliffs, and how he’s going to take your head and pitch it into the nosebleed section. And if you don’t focus, he’s going to do it, Keats. He’s going to do it.” Keaton stared at his feet under the water for a long time. “You’re right.” “I’m right?” “You’re right.” “Damn right, I’m right.” “I need to focus on Mantis.”

“You do.” “Okay,” Keaton said. “Okay.” Keaton stood up. “Pleasure talking with you,” Emerick said. “Get some good sleep. Don’t let that foxy Fox keep you up all night.” Keaton smiled, then stopped in the doorway. “You’re doing it again. You’re always trying to protect me.” “That’s what brothers do for each other, Keats. Train hard tomorrow. Train well.” “I will, Em.” “And tell that lady of yours thanks from me.” “For what?” Keaton asked. “She might be getting in the way of your training, but she’s taking care of your heart. I don’t know what I’d do without Maya to take care of mine.” “Tell your lady thanks too, then.” “That will make her happy,” Emerick said. “She’s still kinda pissed that I Cloud Tethered my youngest across our den.” “You didn’t.” “Broke an expensive vase. It’s a whole thing.” ~ The Dome was packed for Rosetta’s fight, something that usually didn’t happen for non-title, Fox Class fights. Scandal sold tickets, it seemed. Keaton climbed the winding stone stairs to his seat with a knot in his stomach, trying to focus on his surroundings, watching the light move over the scalloped grooves in the stone walls, carved millions of years ago by the larva of the long extinct insect species that had made the Dome. He tried to think about where he was, not where he wanted to be. He wished he could give Rosetta guidance during her fight, call out directions to her, but that wasn’t allowed. With the exception of the referee, the swordsmen and swordswomen were alone from the moment the ring rose into the air until the fight was over. Keaton didn’t only want to guide Rosetta, he realized. He wanted to fight in her place, to end Terra’s life with a swift heart strike and be done with it. When he reached his viewing balcony, Keaton sat in the middle of the twelve seats reserved for the King of Lions and his guests. Tonight, though, Keaton was all alone in the box. He had kept his word to Emerick for three days, not to spar with Rosetta until his fight with Mantis was behind him. He had seen her twice since then, and hadn’t been able to resist giving her a few rushed pieces of advice, which she had accepted with stern nods of agreement. The break in sparring actually worked out well, with Rosetta peaking physically and needing a few days of lighter training to replenish her strength before the fight. Which was happening right now, Keaton reminded himself. A fresh wave of nerves passed through him, and he blew them out in a slow rush of air, the same breathing technique he used to deal with pain and fatigue. As if his breath had summoned them, the band began to play and the announcer shrieked introductions into the hollow of the Dome. The swordswomen would be walking out any moment. This was harder than actually fighting. Much harder. The introductions seemed to pass in a blink, and Keaton found himself watching the ring rise until it was level with his viewing balcony. He could see Rosetta, only a few hundred feet away, but unreachable as the moon. She was calm and focused, but there was fire in her eyes. Once, as if she felt him watching, Rosetta turned to look at him and nodded. She wasn’t his lover now; she was his pupil,

signaling her master with confidence. “I’m all right,” that look said. “This bitch is dead.” Then the fight began, and Keaton lost himself in the action. Rosetta immediately took the center of the ring. Her stance looked good, much more balanced than it had only weeks before. She took small jabs with her sword, kept her shield high. Like most of her fights, Rosetta planned to bleed Terra out. She landed a few shots, mostly to the arms and body, enough to send blood trickling down Terra’s legs, but not enough to finish her. Terra was calm, notoriously difficult to frustrate, but he and Rosetta had prepared for that. Rosetta would need to stick to her game plan, fight her fight, and keep control of the space in the ring. So far, things were going well. Halfway through the round, Terra landed a shield bash that sent Rosetta flying into the ring wall. Smelling blood, Terra charged, ferociously slamming her sword down on Rosetta’s shield. Still dazed, Rosetta went to a knee. Keaton jumped out of his seat. This was how many fights ended, with one opponent overwhelmed and the other pressing the attack. Out of nowhere, Rosetta shifted her weight and delivered a strong kick to Terra’s knee, a Mau Oolau move. Terra’s feet, slick with blood, slipped and she fell forward. There was a scramble, and both fighters got clipped with small shots. Rosetta’s shield arm was bleeding, but she was on her feet. The kick had been a gamble, but it had paid off. “Ancients in the sky, Rosetta,” Keaton said, pulling his hair. “Don’t do that to me.” Both swordswomen squared off again, but this time Rosetta held her sword behind her, a Riddance stance instead of Orthodox. Terra circled, looking for an opening. Rosetta barely moved. When Terra came in for an attack—just a quick thrust, more of a feeler than a real attack—Rosetta exploded forward and ran her sword through Terra’s heart. The crowd went crazy, and Keaton thrust his fist into the sky. He had taught her that counter-thrust, and she had executed it perfectly. Rosetta raised her sword and walked the perimeter of the ring as it lowered to the ground. The crowd grew silent as Rosetta knelt by Terra’s body and put the sword she had dropped back into her hand. There was no greater show of respect for a fallen opponent. Keaton walked down the stairs, listening to the winding corridors warp the sound of the crowd into a seashell echo. The thrill of victory had faded into an aching realization: Rosetta had won her fight, but barely. The kick and the killing thrust had won the fight, and he had worked with her extensively on both. She won’t be ready for the Queen of Foxes, he thought. Unless I train with her. When Keaton walked out onto the floor of the Dome, Rosetta smiled at him, a brilliant, girlish smile. She edged past the Parchment writers surrounding her, the crowd parted, and she ran to him. She jumped onto him, wrapped her arms and legs around him and squeezed until his ribs hurt. When she kissed him, he tasted her blood. All around them, charmed charcoal sticks scratched the moment into parchment. “I love you!” Rosetta yelled. The crowd cheered and whistled. “But you knew that,” she said. “I hoped,” Keaton said, smiling. Then the Order doctors were worrying after Rosetta, and Keaton stepped back to let them tend to her wounds. Representatives for the various Parchments and Speakers asked him questions and he answered. Yes, he and Rosetta were in a relationship. Yes, he was very impressed with her performance. Yes, he was very prepared for his fight with Mantis. It worried him that this last felt like a lie. “What do you think about the announcement,” one of the writers asked, “that Rosetta is set to fight the Queen of Foxes in just over a month?” Keaton was confused. He hadn’t been able to understand the announcer while he was in the corridors, and had missed the announcement.

“Doesn’t the Queen have at least one more fight between now and then?” he asked. “Rosetta should have at least 12 weeks preparation time.” "Shinen was next in line, but she was injured in training,” the writer said. “Rosetta is stepping in to replace her. What do you think of the match up?” Keaton felt cold. “I think Rosetta is ready for anything,” he said. This also felt like a lie. Keaton looked through the mob of people and stared at Rosetta. She was sitting on a stool, eyes closed as the Order doctor stitched up her arm, preparing to seal the wound using the Current. Rosetta looked so small sitting there. He had to train her, and he had to beat Mantis. So he would do both. ~ Afterward, at his home, Keaton lay in bed with Rosetta. Their lovemaking had been gentle tonight —Keaton had assumed they would not do it at all, but Rosetta had insisted. “Does it ever bother you?” Rosetta asked, lying in the moonlight. “Killing in the ring?” He almost told her what he told everyone else. That he was a professional, and it wasn’t personal. Instead, he told her the truth. “Every time,” he said. “How do you cope with it? I’ve killed before tonight, three of my ten opponents. Every time, after the victory high wears off, I feel sort of empty for a few days. It gets easier each time, but never easy enough.” Keaton stared at the ceiling, watched a small lizard skitter across the stone, past the flowing white curtains, and out the window. “We’re not in the Circuit because we want to be,” he said. “We’re in the Circuit because we need to be. Some people are born with violence in them, and that violence will come out one way or another. The ring gives us a place to use that constructively. We show people courage and how to go to the end of their lives with honor. We show them that hard work pays off.” Outside, a coyote howled from somewhere out on the dunes. “Terra was a tough woman,” Rosetta said. Keaton put his arm around her. “It was a good fight.” ~ The next five days were hell. Keaton woke early each morning to train with his camp, then worked late into the night sparring with Rosetta on the cliff by the lake. Usually, he was so tired by the end of the day that he sent Rosetta to sleep in her apartment instead of staying over. By the end of the first week, Keaton’s technique was sharpening back up, but he was frequently exhausted from getting so little sleep and overtraining. If Rosetta ever asked him if he was okay, he would say he was fine, that he was the King of Lions and could take care of himself. Keaton felt bad breaking his word to Emerick, but this was a matter of Rosetta surviving her fight or not. Emerick would have to understand. In his sessions with Rosetta, they focused on the Queen of Foxes’ fighting style. The Queen’s real name was Eroshi, a black-skinned woman with a long, slender physique that gave her an incredible reach advantage in the ring. She was a Mau Oolau stylist, with vicious Atonement locks, who used the dual hand blade configuration. She would be strong and unorthodox in a way Rosetta had never experienced, and even Keaton was having a difficult time emulating the Queen’s style. He went to the Dome library after the first week to study Queen Eroshi’s public fight notations—a move-by-move record of every fight she had ever had, written in shorthand code. Keaton was familiar with Eroshi’s work, but an in-depth study of her fights painted an ugly picture. Like Rosetta, Eroshi liked to bleed out opponents. But unlike most of Rosetta’s opponents, the Order hadn’t been able to

save the women that faced Eroshi. By the time she finished her fights, her opponents were already battered and half-dead on their feet from blood loss. When they started to slow down, she would go for the kill, slitting the vessels on the sides of their necks. The Order could do a lot using the Current, but they couldn’t make a dead body make blood. Rosetta could still beat the Queen of Foxes—it wasn’t impossible—but she would need to develop her skills significantly. Abandoning Rosetta’s training now would be like killing her himself. On his way back to his training camp, Keaton passed Emerick on the street. Emerick gave him a stare that was heavy with sadness and disappointment. There was no hiding from that look, no brushing it off. Keaton walked over to Emerick and put out his hand to shake. Emerick looked at it uncertainly. “She’ll die if I don’t help her,” Keaton said. “Please understand.” “It’s you or her, right?” Emerick said. “Well, I think that sucks.” “Shake my hand, Emerick. We’re brothers, remember?” Emerick shook it. “Yeah, we’re brothers. And brothers don’t let each other die.” “Do they let the women they love die?” “If she’s what’s important to you, then back down. Give Mantis your crown and retire. You’re planning to retire in a year or two anyway.” Keaton laughed bitterly. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.” “I did. And now I have a family and a nice home and I get to eat whatever I want and read stories to my girls at bedtime and put my wife’s legs in the air anytime the mood strikes us. The crown is just a crown.” “It’s not that simple!” Keaton punched a nearby wooden sign advertising fresh melons, and broke it. “That’s great,” Emerick said. “Break your own hand. Mantis will love that.” Keaton growled. “I am so sick of thinking about Mantis. But if I give him the crown, he’ll just sit at the top of Lion Class and cut the heads off the guys who come for his title. If I don’t stop him, nobody else will be able to, not for a long time, maybe never.” “How is that any different from what you’ve been doing? Eight consecutive title defenses, Keaton.” “It’s different. I’m not sure how, but it is. I’m different.” “Just mull it over, brother. Save your girl if you must, but don’t throw your life away.” “I can beat him.” Emerick said nothing, but the shine in his eyes spoke volumes. In Emerick’s mind, Keaton realized, he was already dead. ~ For the rest of the day, Keaton pushed himself harder in training than he ever had. He sent three sparring partners home with injuries and broke half a dozen training swords. He felt strong, but tired. He just wasn’t as young as he used to be, didn’t have the endless stamina he had had as a younger man. Worse yet, Rosetta was still expecting to spar with him on the cliffs later in the night, and he would have very little to give her. When he arrived at the cliffs, however, Rosetta was nowhere to be found. He waited for perhaps an hour, watching the Blue Pilikia skitter back and forth on the shore of the lake down below. He thought about his career, about retirement, and even briefly considered asking Rosetta to bow out of her fight. He quickly discarded the thought. Rosetta was younger than he was by a decade, and still had a bright—if uncertain—future as a swordswoman ahead of her. Keaton had come from a wealthy church family, while Rosetta had grown up in the lower class districts. As a result, she was a fiercely independent person. If he suggested she step down for her safety, she would be all the more motivated to fight, and would do it without his help just to show him she could. For him, fighting was a discipline

and a way of life. For her, it was life. It was not just about surviving, but thriving. He couldn’t take that away from her. When the crescent moon rose high into the sky, hanging like a crooked smile in the violet darkness, Keaton saddled his Bralla and rode home. ~ When Keaton arrived at his house, he found the front door unlatched. It swung slowly back and forth in the breeze, opening and closing on the still, dark recesses of the house. Keaton drew his sword and checked the lock. It didn’t appear to have been forced. He moved into the shadows, his time on the Angamorian Academy Guard coming back to him. He kept his back to things, advanced methodically, expecting ambush from every side. He found blood in the hall, a handful of drops leading toward the bedroom. His stomach threatened to do flips, and he willed it to obey him. He took a deep breath and sidled around the corner. Rosetta was balled up in the corner behind the bed. The white curtains wafted around her, hovering like ghosts. Keaton ran to her side. “Rosetta, what happened?” She looked up at him with wide, haunted eyes. Bruises lined her face and arms, and blood dripped from her nose. There was a peculiar expression on her face, as if she couldn’t be certain the man standing in front of her—Keaton—wasn’t an enemy. She was holding her sword and shield as if to defend herself, but she didn’t hold them like a swordswoman now. She held them like a child. Keaton put his hands up and knelt in front of her. “Rosetta? Baby? What happened?” Rosetta stared for a moment longer, then threw aside her weapons and burst into tears. She wrapped her arms around Keaton’s neck and cried into his chest in great heaving sobs. “What happened? Who did this to you?” Keaton knew the answer even before Rosetta managed to say the word between sobs. “Mantis.” She sobbed harder. Keaton held her close. His whole body felt numb, but there was another sensation too, rising from his toes toward his head. It felt like murder. “I’m sorry,” Rosetta said, regaining some composure. “I must look like such a girl right now.” “Tell me what happened,” Keaton said. Rosetta nodded, and wiped her nose. “He came into my training camp today. He said, ‘I hear you’re looking for sparring partners.’” Keaton shook his head. He already knew how this would go. “There were a lot of people watching,” Rosetta said. “I couldn’t exactly say no. And he sounded so, so—” She stopped and started to cry again. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be,” Keaton said. “Go on, but only when you’re ready.” “He sounded sort of sincere,” Rosetta said. “Like he was just looking to, I don’t know, help me out. So we got into the ring.” Keaton could feel blood rushing to his face. When he got his hands on Mantis— “It was horrible,” Rosetta said. “He was using the heaviest swords in the gym. They were all dusty because nobody from Fox class can even lift them properly. I started to get nervous then, but he smiled like—like I was in on the joke, like we were putting on a show for the people watching. The bell rang and then he was—” Rosetta started crying again. “I don’t even remember parts of it,” she said. “I spent all these years training so I could, I don’t know, feel like I had some control over my life. After the first hit, all my training went out the window. Even if I blocked, it didn’t matter.” Rosetta showed Keaton her arms. There was a black bruise across her right palm where her sword

had rested. Her shield arm was a giant purple splotch, like a continent on a map. “He kept saying, ‘Show me what you’ve learned. Show me what you’ve learned from the King of Lions.’” Keaton clenched his fists. “Some of the others got into the ring with us,” Rosetta said. “To try and stop him. It didn’t matter. He threw them off like they were nothing. Professional fighters, every one of us, and he made us look like children.” “Did the Guard bring him in?” “As far as they’re concerned, it was a sparring match that got out of hand.” Keaton stood up. “I’m going to take you to the Order.” “No!” Rosetta said. “They’ll pull my fight. Please.” “You’re hurt.” “Bruises, Keaton. I’m fine. I just—he sent me back to some bad places, places I thought I had left in the slums.” Keaton knelt and took her hand. “Even bruises need looked after.” “I can’t go to the Order,” Rosetta said. “Please. This fight with the Queen is everything to me.” Keaton shook his head. Rosetta sounded like a drunkard begging for booze, an addict scraping the streets for gold to buy her next fix—she sounded like he had, talking to Emerick. Hell, maybe Emerick had been right; maybe it was time to let all this go. But Keaton had at least one fight left in him, and this one wouldn’t take place in a ring. “I’m going to get Emerick,” Keaton said, trying to smile. “He makes good poultices, better than I could ever make. He’ll have you good as new in no time.” He helped Rosetta onto the bed, kissed her, and covered her with a blanket. He grabbed a leather bag from his closet containing his old guard armor, and headed for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “And I’ll lock you in. Nobody is going to hurt you again.” “Keaton, don’t,” Rosetta said. “If you want me to leave the door open, I can.” “If you fight him, you’ll lose.” “I’m just going to get Emerick,” Keaton said, lying. Rosetta wasn’t deceived. “Damn it, Keaton, listen to me!” Her voice broke, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, cutting through the smudges of blood. “You’ll die.” Keaton threw his bag across the room. “Why doesn’t anyone believe I can beat him?!” “Because you can’t, Keaton!” Rosetta shouted. “I love you, and I respect the hell out of you, and I’m telling you, you can’t beat him. You can’t understand what he’s like unless you’ve stood in the ring with him.” “I’m the King of Lions, Rosetta!” “He’s different, Keaton. When he hit me, it felt like my body was going to shatter. His Riddance style is perfect, and there was nothing I could do to break his form.” “Rosetta, please.” “He fights like you’re not even fighting back, like he feels no danger. I’ve never seen anything like it.” “Not even when you spar with me?” Rosetta’s eyes were wide tear-filled orbs in the moonlight. Her lip quivered and she shook her head. “No, Keaton. Not even then.” Keaton stared at her for a long time, then drew his sword and calmly stuck it in the wood of the floor. “I’m going to get Emerick. I need to think.” Rosetta let her head fall back on the pillow, and Keaton took off into the night. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs ached, the whole time telling himself he wasn’t running away, and never quite believing it.

~ Keaton and Emerick sat silently in the den, listening to Rosetta’s even breathing from the other room. Keaton had told him everything, and Emerick had listened without speaking. When the sun began to rise, Keaton watched it with a lump in his throat. If he had gone after Mantis last night, would he be here right now? “Sun’s up,” Keaton said. “Yeah,” Emerick said. “Time to train, isn’t it?” Emerick was silent. Keaton stood up and leaned on the fireplace. “I can’t beat him, can I?” “No,” Emerick said. “Maybe in your prime, at your peak, on your best day, but not now.” Keaton swallowed hard. “Will you watch over her for a few hours? I need to go to the Dome. I’m turning in my crown.” “Okay, brother,” Emerick said. “You’re doing the right thing, you know.” “I know,” Keaton said. “You were right. Again. You may well have saved my life, and Rosetta’s too—I’ll be here to train her.” Emerick smiled. “That’s why I’m here, remember? To watch your ass.” “Thank you,” Keaton said. “You’re making me blush.” “Seriously.” “Seriously, I’m blushing. Look!” Keaton left the house smiling. ~ When Keaton exited the dome, he was no longer the King of Lions. He expected to feel different somehow, weaker, ashamed, but he didn’t. He felt strangely free. For the first time, during the walk home, Keaton allowed himself to think about his life after fighting. He thought about his large house, what it would look like full of kids and noise and color. He tried to picture what he and Rosetta’s kids might look like, and smiled at himself when he realized he didn’t know her natural hair color. He guessed—an educated guess—that she was probably a brunette. That thought made him laugh out loud. A few passersby looked at him strangely, a few laughed with him without knowing why, and a few, like always, asked for autographs. He didn’t sign them “King of Lions.” He signed them, “Keaton.” That’s who he was, after all. ~ The next day, Keaton took Rosetta to the cliffs. Emerick’s poultices had taken much of the pain out of her bruises, enough for Keaton to run her through some drills. Without his own training to consider, Keaton found he was more relaxed and able to focus on helping Rosetta progress. It was still early, but she was showing real promise in the Riddance style footwork drills. Riddance was one area in which Keaton thought Rosetta would have an advantage over the Queen of Foxes. Her transitions between Atonement locks, which had always been good, were beginning to border on brilliant. In the coming weeks, he would need to work with her on countering Eroshi’s notoriously slippery hand blades and avoiding Mau Oolau kicks, but he was optimistic. She had a strong foundation; the rest was just tweaking. “How are you feeling?” Keaton asked her after a series of hand blade drills. “Good,” she said. “It’s clicking, but I’ll be damn thankful when Emerick shows up with some fresh poultices.”

“He should be here any time,” Keaton said. “We can take a rest then.” “How are you feeling?” “Me?” “No, the Bralla.” Keaton looked over in time to see his Bralla catch a dragonfly out of the air with its tongue. When he looked back, something in Rosetta’s smile made him laugh out loud. Rosetta laughed with him, and again he thought how beautiful she was, how young and strong and alive. He pulled her in and kissed her. She tapped him with her wooden sword in the stomach. “Got you,” she said. “Light.” “Huh?” “That’s how I feel,” Keaton said. “I feel light.” Rosetta smiled at him, then looked over his shoulder. “I think Emerick’s almost here. He just rode down between the dunes.” Keaton turned around. Something didn’t feel right. Emerick had told him earlier in the day that he would ride out on his Bralla and bring Rosetta some fresh poultices before lunch. It was noon now, but the sounds coming from behind the dune didn’t sound like the quieter, shuffling steps of a Bralla. It sounded like the hoof beats of a horse. Keaton walked to his Bralla and calmly fastened his sword to his belt. “What’s wrong?” Rosetta asked. “Probably nothing,” Keaton said. “But put this on just the same.” He tossed Rosetta her sword and shield. The next minute was dreadfully long and silent, the only sounds the steady thumping of hoof beats and the quiet whisper of the wind. When the figure came over the rise in front of the sun, Keaton thought for a moment that it really was Emerick—this man was certainly large. But when the horse came down out of the glare toward the cliffs, Keaton’s heart jumped up into his throat. Mantis rode toward them at a full gallop on the back of a massive black horse. The wind caused everything—the horse’s mane, Mantis’s hair, his robes—to whirl about in a violent dance. Rosetta’s low moan made the hairs on Keaton’s neck stand up. “Oooh no.” “Stand firm,” Keaton said. “We’ll hear him out.” Tears were coming into Rosetta’s eyes. She blinked them away and nodded. Mantis certainly didn’t look like he wanted to talk. The shadows turned his eyes into black slits beneath his furrowed brow. He dismounted, and somehow managed to make even this motion violent. The nearby Bralla hissed at the horse, and it bayed back at them. Mantis came forward, his swords flanking him like wings. “King of Lions,” Mantis said. “I’ve heard some disturbing news that I would like to discuss with you.” “Call me Keaton,” Keaton said. “I’m not the King of Lions anymore.” Mantis looked genuinely hurt by this. “So it is true. Are you so afraid to fight me?” Keaton thought carefully about his reply. Showing a willingness to fight might be dangerous in this situation, but maybe more so if he showed fear. “My time is done, Mantis,” he said. Mantis reeled, as if hearing this physically hurt him. “It’s your time now,” Keaton continued. “I hear they’re setting up an interesting bout to decide who will hold the crown. You and Mindragus, I believe.” Mantis shut his eyes and seethed. “Mindragus is a careerist. He’s dodged every difficult opponent the Circuit threw at him on his way to the crown. He’s a franchise, built on easy victories over weak men. I’ll crush him in seconds.” “The crown is as good as yours then,” Keaton said. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“What I want?” Mantis drew his swords and slammed them into the ground, sending up a whirlwind of sand. Keaton’s sword was in his hand like lightning. Mantis’s voice was a roar. “I want you, King of Lions! I promised my grandfather on his deathbed that I would defeat you to become the next King of Lions! I made that vow in the presence of my father, and I will do anything to keep it!” “If you kill me here, you would still not be King. You will be a murderer and the courts will hang you.” Mantis smiled. “I will be King in my heart.” “For the short time it continues to beat,” Keaton said. “Consider your life, Mantis. If you die, everything ends. Your pride, your glory, all of it gone.” “I made a public mockery of your little Fox over there, and this is all you can do? Try to manipulate me into walking away? You are not the man I thought you were.” Rosetta must have seen something in Keaton’s face, because she edged forward and said, “Don’t, Keaton.” Mantis swung at her. Keaton intercepted the blow with his sword. Steel crashed together. “Do, Keaton!” Mantis said, imitating Rosetta’s voice with surprising accuracy. “Fight, Keaton!” Rosetta had been right. That single blow told Keaton everything he needed to know about Mantis. In a decade and a half in the ring, Keaton had never felt anything like it. And now the fight had begun. Keaton circled away, his feet dancing over the sand. A heavy blade almost took his head off. “I’ve studied all your notations, King of Lions,” Mantis said, taking another swing. “They were my bedtime stories.” When Mantis swung this time, Keaton rolled under it and tried to sink his sword into Mantis’s liver. Mantis spun with Keaton’s blow, turning the stab into a slice. Blood flowed, but it was not nearly the strike Keaton had expected to land. Mantis’s hip movement was fast, maybe the fastest Keaton had seen. Mantis swept his hand across the wound spread the blood across his chest. “Yes!” he shouted. “King of Lions, yes! This is already the best fight I’ve ever had.” Mantis came forward with a flurry that Keaton had seen him use in the ring, unfailingly killing the recipient. Keaton didn’t have time to retreat. He stepped between the whirling blades of Mantis’s swords, working the angles, looking for counters, and seeing none. Rosetta was right, his Riddance was perfect. One of his blades came too close, and Keaton was forced to block with his sword. The blow sent him sliding backwards in the dirt, his shoulder ringing with pain. It felt like being run over by a cart. Keaton looked up to see wonder on Mantis’s face. “You’re alive,” Mantis said, almost tearfully. “Thank you, King of Lions. This is an honor.” Keaton looked over Mantis’s shoulder in time to see Rosetta, eyes ablaze, darting forward with her sword. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her to stay back, but she was committed to her attack, and he didn’t want to risk alerting Mantis to her presence. He watched as she sailed toward him. Mantis threw a spinning kick, and his shin caught her in the mouth. Her legs gave out and she crumpled bonelessly to the ground, eyes open to the desert sun overhead. She gasped for breath with a sound almost like snoring, but her eyes remained blank. Keaton grimaced, but didn’t take his eyes off of Mantis. “Did you think I had forgotten about you, little Fox?” Mantis said. “Men like us don’t forget, do we, King of Lions?” Keaton shut out Mantis’s words, breathed out slowly, and thought about how to beat him. Riddance was useless. When all things were equal, the bigger man would win, and Mantis was every bit the Riddance stylist he was. Atonement locks would be suicide against a man this freakishly strong.

Keaton had never seen Mau Oolau tactics in Mantis’s fights, but that kick he had just used to knock out Rosetta had looked more than natural. Orthodox would be too basic. What did he have that Mantis didn’t? “Trying to puzzle me out, King of Lions?” Mantis asked. “Stop calling me that.” Experience. That was what he had on Mantis. Mantis had never been in the academy, never served on the guard, never had to deal with the sneaky tactics of the Sandits out on the dunes. “It’s what you are!” Mantis shouted, and brought his sword down hard. Keaton somersaulted out of the way, and as he did, he opened his mouth, allowing it to fill with sand. He took a handful of sand in his free hand as well, and when Mantis advanced, he threw the sand into his face. Mantis closed his eyes, and the sand washed harmlessly over his face. “Really?” Mantis said, chuckling. “That kind of dirty—” Keaton spit the sand in his mouth directly into Mantis’s eyes. Mantis reeled backward, swinging his swords in a whirlwind. Even with Mantis temporarily blinded, Keaton couldn’t get close enough to deal a deathblow. Instead, he timed one of the flailing swords and intercepted the hand that held it. Mantis roared as three of his fingers dropped to the sand. He managed to wipe the sand out of his reddened eyes and was looking at Keaton with a mixture of rage, respect, gratitude, and—worst of all —focus. “You were trained for the ring,” Keaton said. “But this isn’t the ring.” Keaton spun in the direction of Mantis’s unarmed hand, looked directly at his neck as if planning to strike there, then drove his blade through the top of Mantis’s foot. Mantis was surprised—that blow was illegal in the Circuit. Mantis lashed out with his remaining sword, but he couldn’t pivot properly with his foot pinned to the ground, and the angle was awkward. Keaton easily dodged the blow, retrieved his sword and rolled back to his feet ready to fight. Then Mantis’s sword was flying toward him through the air. Keaton had no time to think. He brought his sword up to block the blow, intercepting the sharp edge of the blade, but the sheer weight of the blade caused it to roll, striking Keaton in the side, and he felt his ribs crunch beneath the dull backside of the blade. Keaton went to his knees, trying to will the air back into his lungs. Mantis had thrown his sword; that was also illegal in the ring. “I’m a fast learner, King of Lions,” Mantis said. “I’ll fight by whatever rules are agreed upon, even none.” Mantis limped forward and picked up his other sword in his good hand. For a moment, Keaton thought he might be blacking out—a black spot had appeared in the sand behind Mantis, but on a second look—Keaton would have cheered if he had had breath to cheer with— he saw Emerick riding toward them, slithering back and forth on his Bralla at an incredible pace. Emerick had seen Mantis, then. Help was on the way. Keaton just hoped he had done enough damage that Emerick’s presence would even make a difference. In the sand, Rosetta was waking up, her hand clenching and unclenching on her sword. She was still confused, but understanding was beginning to dawn on her face. Keaton forced himself to his feet and sucked in a labored breath. He wouldn’t be able to fight half as well with his ribs broken, but he had to keep Mantis focused on him long enough for Rosetta to wake up and Emerick to arrive. Mantis waved with his ruined hand. “I don’t need two hands to defeat you, King of Lions.” When Mantis rushed forward—paying no heed to his injured foot, it seemed—Keaton almost believed the feint Mantis threw with his sword. It was only at the last moment that Keaton realized Mantis was setting up a leg kick. Keaton raised his leg to check the kick, and collided shins with Mantis.

Keaton’s shin snapped. He fell backward onto the ground. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt. It filled up the whole world. He grabbed handfuls of sand and squeezed them so hard he felt as if he could fuse them into glass. Somewhere, distantly, he could hear Rosetta calling his name. Through everything—Rosetta’s cries, the throbbing in his leg, the sharp pain in his ribs, the glaring sun—Keaton could hear Mantis whispering to himself. “Look, grandfather. I’ve done it. I am worthy after all, academy or no academy. I am the King of Lions. Be proud of me.” Keaton heard a series of soft thumps and looked up to see four throwing knives sticking out of Mantis’s back. Behind him, Emerick was in a Mau Oolau stance, drawing a heavy sword from his Bralla’s saddle. “From Oolau, with my compliments,” Emerick said. Mantis turned around in time to see Rosetta’s sword flying at him through the air. He put up his bloody arm to block, and the sword gouged a triangle-shaped hole in his tricep. He looked down at the wounds with eerie detachment. “The problem with throwing your weapon is you don’t have it anymore,” he said, looking in Rosetta’s direction. “I had two swords; that was your only one. And really, what did it accomplish?” Keaton sat up and threw his sword as well, burying it in Mantis’s shoulder. Mantis reached back and pulled it out. It was a good blow, but not enough. Ancients in the sky, Keaton thought. What would be enough? “Don’t be impatient, King of Lions,” Mantis said. “He’s not your opponent now,” Emerick said. “I am.” Mantis walked forward, faked a kick, and disarmed Emerick with a quick motion of his sword. When Emerick dropped low to shoot in for a take-down, Mantis put his boot in Emerick’s face. Emerick fell, but he was a brawler, and one kick—even a kick from Mantis—wasn’t enough to put him out of the fight. He rolled to his feet and began to move toward his sword. Mantis’s stance was clear. If Emerick picked up that sword, Mantis would take his head. “Emerick, no,” Keaton said, his voice hoarse. “It’s okay. Take Rosetta, and get out of here.” “Keaton!” Rosetta cried. “Keaton, what do I do?! How do I beat him?! How do I save you?!” “You don’t,” Keaton said, tears coming into his eyes. “I love you, Rosetta. Go live.” “I love you, Keaton!” she said, voice cracking. “I love you!” "Go, baby,” Keaton said. “It’s all okay.” “Listen to your man,” Mantis said. "Both of you, go. I have no fight with you.” The sky suddenly grew dark overhead, and everyone turned to look at Emerick. His hair and clothing were beginning to float around him weightlessly, as if he were underwater. A lone cloud was growing in the sky, swirling above them like ink in water. “You’re standing over my brother,” Emerick said. His voice had taken on an odd ringing quality— like a church bell—and it was deafening. “He’s battered and bloodied, and you did it to him, Mantis! You!” Mantis watched curiously, his remaining sword at the ready. His eyes darted between Emerick and the immense cloud hovering overhead. As Keaton watched, a lightning bolt snaked its way along the cloud’s surface. Emerick stood at the center of a whirlwind now. The hair blowing back from his face was turning white, strand by strand, root to tip. The lines in his face grew deeper. Keaton opened his mouth to speak, to tell Emerick to stop, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. Emerick’s voice was the only sound in the world now, that and the crashing of thunder. Keaton wasn’t sure where one sound ended and the other began. “How can you say your fight’s not with me?!” Emerick roared. “That’s my brother, Mantis! THAT’S MY BROTHER!”

Mantis took a step back, and the cloud was on him, tendrils shooting out to bind his arms and legs. Mantis fought, but his sword passed through the tethers without effect as the cloud jerked him violently into the air. Mantis continued to fight until the tendrils had completely enveloped him. Then there was silence. Emerick stood with his hands outstretched, looking decades older than he had a moment before. The cloud drifted lazily out over the cliffs, and when it drifted over the lake, Emerick dropped his hands. The tendrils of the cloud let go, and Mantis fell into the lake. The Blue Pilikia warmed him like bees, climbing over him, stinging him. Mantis fought his way to shore, and collapsed there, face down in the shallow water as the Pilikia climbed all over him, stinging and nipping with their claws. When Emerick fell, Rosetta ran to him. “I didn’t know people could do that without a Wellspring,” she said. Keaton answered through tears. “They can’t.” “He’s not breathing!” Rosetta said. Keaton crawled toward his fallen friend. “The poultices, Rosetta! Use them! Put them on his head.” “Ancients, Keaton, he’s boiling,” Rosetta said. “I know,” Keaton said. “The Sandits used to do this, teach somebody just enough of the Current to get themselves hurt. Stupid. Why did he do that?” Rosetta worked to rip open the corn husk coverings of the poultices and apply them to Emerick’s forehead. Keaton opened the last of the poultices and laid it over Emerick’s bare chest. “We met in training,” Keaton said, shaking his head. “Started sparring together, hit it off, just like a million other guys. I’ve never done anything for him that made me worth doing this. I don’t understand.” Rosetta scooted beside Keaton, and he put his arm around her. Down by the lakeshore, Mantis’s body floated lifelessly in the shallows. Overhead, the Cloud Tether charm Emerick had manifested was floating away into the sky, fading as it climbed. “You were friends,” Rosetta said. “We are,” Keaton said. “We are friends.” Until today, he hadn’t really understood what that word “friend” meant, how far it went, how powerful it was. “What do we do now?” Rosetta asked. Keaton wiped his eyes, and watched Emerick’s chest, hoping to see the slightest rise and fall, the tiniest hint that his friend was alive. He watched for a long time. ~ Rosetta’s coronation was the Swordsman’s Circuit event of the year—a chance to make up for some of the damage Mantis had done to its public image, Keaton guessed. It had taken their public relations people months to clean up the mess, and all fights were put on hold, giving Rosetta time for a full training camp. Even though Keaton could not spar effectively on his bad leg, he could still coach Rosetta from ringside as she sparred with the women he had chosen for her. Rosetta had won her crown with footwork, angles, and quick thrusts. She defended herself brilliantly, frustrating the former Queen of Foxes into making mistakes. Eroshi bled out in the fifth round, and the Order was able to stabilize her and get her to the infirmary in time to save her life. Rosetta had been proud of that, and said so in her post-fight interviews, that killing was not the point. She was quick to give Keaton credit for her progress, a compliment he always deflected. When reporters asked Keaton if there was a “different kind of ring in Rosetta’s future”—they always thought they were the first ones to make this joke—Keaton would respond by saying, “When it comes to Rosetta, anything is possible.”

When the coronation was over, Keaton and Rosetta rode across town in a carriage—Keaton still couldn’t walk without a cane, despite all the Order had done to try and fix his leg—in the direction of Emerick’s house, to see how Maya and the kids were doing, and to deliver the leftover cake they had taken from the party. “How do you feel, Queen of Foxes?” Keaton asked during the ride. “Legitimized,” Rosetta said. “And kind of heavy.” “I know.” “And I will never get used to this ‘Queen of Foxes’ business.” Keaton smiled. “You’re right, you won’t.” “Thank you,” Rosetta said. “For seeing something in me.” “It was all downhill after you got me drunk at Emerick’s retirement party,” Keaton said. “I had no resistance.” Rosetta slugged him in the shoulder, then kissed the place she had just hit. “I deserved that.” “You did,” she said. “The punch and the kiss.” “I’ll take it.” When they arrived at Emerick’s house, Eelu, the youngest of the daughters, opened the door. “Hi, sweetie,” Rosetta said. “Is your mother home?” “Mom!” Eelu shouted, the volume of her voice out of all proportion. “Keaton and Rosetta are here!” “Take this cake and put it in the kitchen,” Rosetta said, handing Eelu the cake. Maya came around the corner with the rest of the girls, smiling widely. “What did you bring me, Queen of Foxes?” “Not you too, Maya,” Rosetta said. “Cake from the party,” Keaton said. “Somebody just said cake.” Emerick rolled around the corner in his wheeled chair. His girls swarmed him, climbing into his lap and giving him kisses on his lined and age-spotted cheeks. “They’re worse than Pilikia,” he said. “Maybe. Mantis’s dead ass would know. I did hear ‘cake’ right?” “That’s between you and the boss,” Keaton told him. Maya leaned down and gave Emerick a slow, sensual kiss on the lips. “That’s all the sugar you’re getting, old man.” “You’re on my hair,” Aluna, the oldest, said, squirming to escape from between her mom and father. “Sorry, pumpkin,” Maya said. “I’m having cake,” Emerick told Keaton. “Sneak me some later?” Keaton winked. “That better be a yes,” Emerick said, turning his chair and rolling himself into the den. “A damn piece of cake is the least you can do.” Keaton laughed, took Rosetta’s hand, and followed Emerick into the den. End About the Author: Malcolm W. Keyes is the pseudonym of a published author who wishes to keep his self-published works separate from his traditionally-published ones. While Malcolm is not a real person, he believes his writing is every bit as good as his creator’s. The lack of a physical body perturbs him, but he is nonetheless happy to exist. He lives at malcolmwkeyes.blogspot.com.

Other titles by Malcolm W. Keyes at Smashwords.com: Lamppost A Dream for Annie Fox and the Rest of Us