Written by:
Matthew Searcy
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The Contest

The hawk glided amongst the trees, it's feathers moist from it's recent journey through the clouds to the west. She cried out a challenge to any would-be suitors, and a warning to any that was her prey. The beautiful but deadly bird started towards her home-tree to take care of her offspring, but hesitated as a rhythmic sound vibrated across the land, making it's way through her fragile bones. Ever curious, the mother hawk turned eastward towards the sound, towards the Stone Trees that she had played on not more than a year ago when she too was nothing but a fledgling.

  The land quickly sped underneath her. Trees and streams full of life called out to her, but the mother needed to learn the answer to this curious sound. This rhythmic noise was not of nature, and so was to be mistrusted. Soon, she cried aloud as she spied the Stone Trees mighty spires as they dotted the horizon.

  Her avian mind couldn't fathom the wonders of the temples that she soared above, these temples that honored both gods and men. Intricate details in both language and pictures alike brought forth a life from this otherwise lifeless stone. The meticulous care that had been bestowed on the statues was one from an age gone by, probably never to be seen again, for it was the doom of man that they never learn from the past. One part of this area was extremely crowded with ant-sized people, practically overflowing an arena below the brown and silver bird. Their voices reached the hawk now, and she cried out again, but this time with recognition.

  These particular trees belong to man, the hawk mother suddenly remembered. She turned about as if to leave, but something kept her a moment longer. An image of her own mother fluttered before her, and the hawk cried out in confusion, for she vividly remembered her mother's passing. However, a feeling of peace washed over her as she flitted about thestone trees, and she felt a man touch her thoughts. That immediately startled her, but that same moment of peace persisted, and she calmed once again. Helpless, she glanced down to the huge gathering of people, and felt the strength of the thought from the man become stronger.

  **"Greetings mother,"** said the man in her mind, in her language, though she was alone here in the sky.

  Crying out with even more confusion, the hawk glided in a large circle . She began to see details more precise than the humans could ever possibly see, even those that were sitting down next to each other. Finally, she saw the glance of a blue-eyed man sitting by himself on a wooden pew, though there were other men sitting on the surrounding wooden benches.

  "Was that you that called me 'mother', man-thing?" she cawed hesitantly back.

**"Yes, it was."** Again, only in her mind.

  "Oh." Amazingly, the hawk accepted something that a person would have quite a hard time accepting. But she was simply a bird, and knew so little of the ways of man. "What is that horrible noise, man-thing?" she called back.

  The man glanced around, but almost instantly knew what the hawk was asking about. **"Well,"* replied the stranger. *"The drums imitate our hearts as they beat in our bodies."**

  "Why do you gather? Not for food."

  **"No, for something even better. We are here to challenge ourselves, to fight!"**

  "Why?" The bird persisted, ever curious. "Is it time for a new nest-chief?."

  **"No,"* laughed the man. *"We are fighting for respect!"**

  "Oh!" replied the hawk mother, satisfied. "Respect is good. It keeps the young in line. Fight well, man-friend!"

  Amused, the blue-eyed young man, an anomaly in this side of the world, watched the magnificent hawk fly away. When she was little more than a dot on the horizon, she cried out good-bye one final time. Talanon was impressed, despite himself. This was the first time that he had been able to keep a conversation going for long with an animal. His pscionics still needed fine-tuning, but he was getting better by the day. As another endless thwump of the timing beat sang out once again, Talanon shifted on the old wooden pew to wait his turn.

  Those same beats sent shivers through all of the fighter's bodies, nearly rattling their teeth as the next one came rushing in. Actually, it wasn't the timekeeper's drums that were causing the sound waves that were rushing out of the amphitheater. It was the tramping feet of over eleven hundred booted soles, and all were anxious for the upcoming combats to start.

  Most of the fighters knew whom among the gathered fighters they would be fighting. Though the blue-eyed man was the senior member of the school Kren-Ta, no one had challenged him so far. There were those that had whispered that some feared the gaijin, for he was of mixed blood. Others simply assumed that no one would sully himself by fighting a barbarian. It mattered little to Talanon. He knew his worth, and thought the entire contest on the whole a silly waste of time. Bored, the young mystic glanced around at the ancient arena, awed by the history that was so prevalent here.

  The arena was simply that. It was a huge circular fighting area that was some twenty feet in diameter. Two sets of bench seats flanked behind the area were where the opponents sat waiting their turn to be called forth. To the front were the housings for the audience. Originally crafted to hold only a few hundred people, it had been enlarged and added on over the past hundred years or so to allow the townsfolk to witness what was once a private contest.

  "Talanon, house of Kren, school of Ta!" announced the ring judge suddenly. No response was needed, so a surprised Talanon stood and awaited the name of his challenger. By tradition, the one who had issued the challenge would stand forward, and the announcer would proclaim him, and the two would step forth. The rest was pretty easy to guess. One the other side, a boy stood.

  The challenger. Talanon sadly shook his head.

  So young...

  As the ring judge came forward to respond, sudden movement exploded into motion not far from the challenging youth. The next fighter from Kren-Ma leapt over his own classmate, twisting, flipping around to land next to the referee, and once there he ripped the flag from the official's grasp. That yellow cloth would serve as their school's designation in this contest, and for his fight specifically. Evidently, this fighter wanted the honor to fight the senior member of the Kren-Ta school.

  There were a few grumbling remarks made, but very few, for to do so openly would insult the warrior. To be in this competition was nearly the greatest privilege this community could bestow on the young apprentice-monks. But that did not stop the inner jealousy that mingled amongst the egos of some of these mystics. This contest would be a deciding factor between themselves, for neither school claimed victory, even when a clear majority was in it's own favor.

   For his part, the ring judge was torn between the actions of the brash fighter who stood before him proudly waving the yellow flag, and the other student from the same school. Even now, the younger man was trying to recover from the loss of face that had been practically slapped at him. Swallowing heavily, the humiliated, younger warrior took three long steps to stand before his classmate, who stood glowering in his rush of adrenaline. The flag now firmly tied to his waist, his chest still heaved from the emotions of himself and the echoing beats of the time-drums that still bounced around the stadium.

  "Martook," began the younger student, but was interrupted by the other.

  "Jalkan, this will be my fight, for our school's honor," said the flag-wearing, monk-to-be. He continued, but in a voice so low only Jalkan could hear. "My friend, you have neither the confidence nor the experience to win a combat from this other warrior. I shall be your champion!" Martook smiled warmly at his younger friend, who, not surprisingly was seething with jealousy, and all his anger was now directed at his ambitious classmate.

  "He is nothing but a house-less gaijin, with a royal price on his head. I shall win this bout for myself, our school, and the fee for his Occidental face!" Jalkan screamed, drowning out the trumps of the spectators, and drawing a low murmur from the judges.

   Refusing to step aside was a direct slap on the cheek, and that is exactly what Jalkan was doing.  There were now two choices for the younger student.  He could continue to refuse to step aside and challenge his friend, or he could allow this combat to continue with Martook as the school's representative in this first round.  But by stepping aside, he risked losing face with his own classmates.  The chance of that was slim, but he would have to live with that dishonor for some time.

  Clearly embarrassed by his rival's youth and inexperience, Martook glanced about for a way out of this. He loved his friend dearly, but Jalkan was making a challenge that could not be ignored by not accepting this situation as it now stood.  Martook was the elder, and by the combat's rules, he was allowed the choice of fighting in any combat, as long as he did not engage in a second battle before the other students had fought in their first.

   Jalkan refused to have that on his conscience. So he stood before Martook, and assumed the ready position of combat. His hands were open before his cheeks, moving in little circles, as he lightly stepped on the balls of his feet, a more than serious look in his eyes. The ring judge, now satisfied that personal combat would take place, threw his hands up, his right one still holding both the blue cloth of Kren-Ta, and the black flag of the referee.

  "Shin-nada," the official bellowed. That meant "honor combat" in common.  He brought the black flag careening down to the mat. His training taking over, Martook repeated his classmate's stance, shaking his head, knowing fully the results of this confrontation. He had been going to Kren-Ma for eight years before Jalkan, and had even tutored the younger boy when Jalkan had first arrived at the school. So Martook knew practically all that the youngster before him knew, and the elder youth understood exactly how his opponent would attack.

  There was only one real problem.

  Unlike this entire contest where a referee could intervene, honor combat, or face contest as they are more commonly known, was until someone declared ma-te, meaning surrender as it is recognized in the common tongue of the world. That would declare the other the winner. But in most instances of face contests, no one would back down, and they were often unto the death.

  Suddenly a foot came slashing into his peripheral vision, but it was a movement Martook had expected from the other. The cross-crescent kick was a basic lower-level attack, and was easily countered. Martook did so by simply stepping back, and resuming his ready stance, trying to think his way out of this entire mess.

  Jalkan's attack bothered the elder student a little, for those kind of kicks could be devastating. Devastating sometimes to the attacker and not the victim. They used a lot of energy to control accurately, and novices, such as Jalkan, often executed those type of movements with the wrong emphasis on the energy utilized. They usually started with lots of strength to begin, instead of letting the energy build slowly, and naturally.

  Before he was even aware, Jalkan had attacked again. He had let loose a tremendous Kai, and had tried to deliver a stunning kick to Martook's mid-section. Again, the younger apprentice-monk had used entirely too much energy, and the elder student had once again evaded the attack, this time by side-stepping out of the way. Jalkan was off balance this time, fully expecting his opponent to be where he should have been.

  Martook's training taking over, he delivered a fierce, driving punch from his waist. He twisted his fist nearly three-quarters of the way through the drive, emphasizing the power, and magnifying the power to stun, or possibly to disable his opponent.

  He never got the chance.

  Suddenly, a form had appeared between the two, standing firm with his feet spread fully twice the width of his shoulders, bracing the impact of the punch by catching it in the opened palm of his right hand. The fist of Martook smacked respectively loud, loud enough to carry over the cheers of the crowd. That was impressive, considering the crowd was over some five thousand spectators.

  Thinking that the official had interceded, Martook and Jalkan both glanced up in surprise as the identity of their barrier became apparent. The young face had kept his measure of control constant, and indeed looked near inner-peace. The only emotion that could be read on his expression was contentment. Their barrier had saved both combatants face, for now the battle could end peaceably, if they could determine who would fight their intended opponent, the fighter from Kren-Ta.

  Their surprise was complete then, when both Martook and Jalkan fully recognized the identity of their savior. The youthful face of the gaijin, Talanon, master student of Kren-Ta, and once of the royal family of Kren, now stood apart from the two classmates, standing somewhat impassively. When Talanon noted that the tension had fled between the rivals, he spoke in a clear voice that reverberated in the silence, for the spectators were now as silent as the grave, for they had seen the intervention.

  "I will wrestle Martook, if he will have me. If victorious, will I fight the original combatant, Jalkan" Then Talanon glanced over at the table of the five judges, who all nodded their heads in agreement of the wisdom of the half-breed. One master however, couldn't keep the grin from his wizened, and semi-whiskered old face.

  "And what says you, Jalkan of Kren-Ma?" queried the relieved ring judge, both hands in the air, and holding the black flag once again.

  Unsure of his emotions, the younger one stared hard at the tall, wanted man in front of him. He had clearly saved both warriors the embarrassment of what both friends knew to be the outcome of what they had inadvertently started. He showed extreme control of his emotions, and a measurable show of expertise in stopping the combat.

  Jalkan nodded his head slowly, agreeing.

  Then Talanon glanced over at the other fighter. For his part, Martook was visibly shaken by what had happened. He was a shrewd judge of character, and felt an instant liking to this newcomer from the other school, despite his mixed heritage. Martook then looked at his instructor on the sidelines, who also stood impassively watching the whole affair. Without showing any recognition of the questioning glance that Martook was obviously aiming his way, the master of Kren-Ma nodded ever so subtlety.

  "Done!" screamed Martook, equally pleased. Then he hesitated, torn. The mystic knew this entire situation was his fault. He had inadvertently cornered his younger classmate into this action, and it weighed heavily not only on Martook, but on Jalkan as well. Something had to be said, and neither one knew how to go about it. Once again, Talanon saved face for all involved.

  He came over to the two friends, where the blue flag now tied on his waist was a perfect mirror of the color of his eyes, a true reminder of his mixed blood. Talanon stood facing the younger Jalkan, and bowed deeply, more deeply than necessary.

  Normal rules of combat clearly maintain that when you face an opponent, you never let your eyes leave him, even when you bow to show respect. This half-breed was either too stupid to have let this simple fact sink in, or he was showing a very deep homage. Neither friend doubted that it wasn't the latter.

  Talanon straightening from his bow said, "Jalkan, if I don't get the opportunity to face off against you, it was my honor to meet you."

  The youth, overcome, could only nod and repeat a combat bow. Then, he turned and left the fighters area. The gaijin, without another word, walked over to his spot in the ceremonial round ring, assuming a fixed, respectful, kneeling pose, and calmly waited the arrival of both Martook and the referee by facing outwards of the combat arena.

  Clearly impressed with the style of his opponent, Martook took his time walking to the contest zone. His thoughts came in rushing bounds, for here was a young man who was constantly being badgered by their society, and yet had maintained his dignity and bearing throughout his life, and his experiences. Before he walked into the ring, Martook glanced over at the table of judges, and suddenly understood.

  One of them, the oldest, was the former head master of Kren-Ta, Talanon's school. Though undoubtedly unbiased towards his alumni, the master was so pleased he was grinning ear to ear. Recognizing that pleasure was easy, for the young monk was showing his training for what it was; a representation of his knowledge of the past years and showing old-style respect for both his opponents, and the masters.

  Walking into the ring, the referee motioned for the attention, and the respect of all involved, from the students to the masters, and from the opponents to the spectators. As Martook took his kneeling posture in the arena, the ring official began his monologue as he noticed Talanon swing his kneeling posture around to face his opponent.

  "Since the dawn of civilization, there comes a time when only combat may solve what cannot be solved. Remember... that when we are faced with such a situation, only our actions based on our studies, not our instincts, may separate us from the animals. Though we base much of our defenses and strategies from the copying of nature's finest adversaries, we struggle to rise above the call of nature, and think as men do. Remember this always, for even wolves know when to submit to the authority of their leaders, and to honor the status of knowing when and how to stop a senseless battle.

  "The rules are simple," he continued, turning from storyteller to professional. "You fight to win, by using superior strategies and movements, agility and resourcefulness. There can only be one victor, though both may win with a draw. Are there any questions, then?"

  The question was purely theoretical, and no answer was ever expected. Everyone knew why they were there, and what the rules really were. After a space of a few seconds, the referee continued.

  "Then prepare!" he screamed, as the timekeepers furiously beat the drums and the audience tramped in approval.

  Having participated the previous year, Martook readied himself for the rush of sound and emotions that flooded the amphitheater. Glancing over at his companion, he was not ready for the unconcerned expression on the face of the half-breed. Was he really that good, that sure of himself? he wondered to himself. Just what is it with him?

   Talanon was no less buffered by his surroundings, as was his opponent. But he had fallen back unto himself, as he had done on several previous occurrences. Back to a time when he was six, living in the gutter, in the shadow of a dangerous palace that had been looking for him daily and the subsequent dangers of those intricate shadows.

   Those shadows had their own hierarchy, where he had little to say in anything, but had eventually demanded their respect. This was the secret to the surprising monk. He had almost never buckled under the pressure of anything, for whenever he had come close to succumbing, all he had to think about was his father. His father, from across the oceans, who had single-handedly stopped the charge of the royal guard in their efforts to ensnare the younger Talanon when he had...

  Better not to think about that, he mused. So, throwing himself out of his trance he came to understanding just as Martook was looking away, troubled.

  "Fighters, take your positions."

  Both the combatants bowed to each other after they had bowed to the ring official. Then Martook was further surprised when Talanon took up a ready position from early training, what is taught as position one. Facing Martook fully, he stood rigid, unmoving as the fighter from Kren-Ma went into a tiger dance, his hands like claws in raking positions, waving about in front of his face in a slow, rhythmic dance that had the fortunate habit of lulling the victim into a trance-like state, where reflexes could become lapse. Talanon's position was with both hands clenched tightly into fists, placed even with his waist, his arms hooked and firm, his face set fiercely into one of concentration, and with his feet nearly twice the width of his shoulders. And even over the roar of the noise that was the crowd cheering and tramping their feet in applause, Martook had heard Talanon's uniform's sleeves snap into place when his fist's twisted to where they remained... at his front, waist level, mere inches apart from each other, the knuckles on his hands white with the intensity of the clenched fists.

  Kiaing with the roar of a tiger, Martook snapped a testing, front kick, by first coming into a front tucked position, then sending his foot directly towards the half-breed's chin. Talanon didn't even flinch as the foot snapped close to his face, somehow aware that the kick was a testing motion, designed to draw him out. The young monk stood waiting... patiently, with just the traces of a smile forming on his smooth, angular face.

  Knowing now how outclassed the younger Jalkan would have been against this adept, Martook decided to take his time, not opting to go for any kind of record of a quick decision, deciding that strategy would prevail where skill may not. He even had doubts about himself being the best of the two fighters.

  Talanon suddenly exploded into action with a spinning back-thrusting kick that connected in the stomach, sending Martook to the mat, fully twenty feet from the referee and his opponent. He slowly rose to his shaky feet, thanking his training and his masters that had instilled the technique of tightening the muscles and breathing in a cushion of air so IT would take the brunt of impact, not unsuspecting, weak-as-flesh muscles.

  Martook wasn't the only surprised individual there. Nearly the entire audience went frigid with shock, for most hadn't even seen  the young man move.

  Then, as quick as he had attacked, Talanon went back into his ready position. Even the ring judge stepped a respectable distance away from this obviously dangerous, young man.

  Just as Martook was readying himself for his defeat, his friend, Jalkan, was counting himself the luckiest of them all.

   Growling and advancing like a weird, upright dragon, Martook proceeded across the circle, pacing his prey. Talanon, likewise, circled the same direction, keeping constant distance between himself and the shaken young man performing the Dance of the Dragon. When Talanon moved, his feet seemed as if they never lifted off the floor, gliding from side to side. His arms were extended outwards, making his form seem larger than it was, both combatants trying to psyche out each other.

  Growing tired of this game, for it was obvious that Talanon was not someone you could intimidate, Martook charged. He adapted a method used by water alligators, of sudden attack, to paralyze their intended target. Usually, the shock of such a move is enough to at least make a hesitation in the other's actions. Not so with the half-breed.

  Again, he used his opponent's method against himself.

   Leaping straight up, he avoided the grasping, lethal hands of the Kren-Ma student. As he fell victim to the inevitable laws of gravity, Talanon used his momentum to his advantage by landing near the recovering mystic, and falling into a roll that put him closer to Martook, much closer than what Martook had wanted Talanon to be.

   Talanon likewise, knew the dangers of such a move. He slammed a vicious elbow upwards to his opponent's jaw, causing his head to reel back. Propelling himself off the floor, and vaulting over his stunned counterpart. As the Kren-Ma student had received the strike, he also rolled with the effects of the blow, lessening considerably the impact. He began a back roll as Talanon lightly landed on his feet and bounded away before his companion could recover. Sweating profusely, the half-breed snorted his breath in his nose, desperately trying to gain the upper hand. True, he had been the only scorer in this bout so far, but the combat was young. Eventually, he would tire and make a mistake, possibly fatal.

  That mistake came next, when a recovering Martook, enraged that his status in this fight so far had resulted in his being a punching bag for this dangerous adept, sent in a dozen various attacks, all of which were countered by Talanon. Martook finally scored one against the half-breed, clipping him with an elbow in the temple, sending motes of flashing lights throughout Talanon's consciousness. Seeing his opponent stunned, Martook went into a frenzy, sending multiple slashing, stabbing hands into Talanon's midsection, hoping to damage his store house of energy. Though a few of his attacks actually connected, they did little damage for Talanon went into a blinding blur of motion. The move was designed for meditative purposes, to get adrenaline pumping into a tired body. He had actually improved on a defense method, though the monk didn't know it at the time.

   But the masters of both schools did.

   They sat shocked as the most experienced fighter from the school of action was literally pummeled by whirling arms and legs, as Talanon's entire body twisted and spun, left, then stopping and going to the right. Finally, his torso twisted from the ground in a crouch that exploded in a circle kick that sent the stunned Martook to the floor. The silence was deafening as the spinning monk settled back into a crouch, as he desperately fought his own equilibrium. His defense had stopped most of the attacks, but had left him winded, and more than slightly disoriented.

  He was unable to stand and be declared the winner.

   A count of twelve would stop the combat. According to the contest's rules, if neither could stand and be declared the winner, then the match would be a draw. Both fighters finally staggered to a standing position at the same time, but at that exact moment, the sandstone clock ran out next to a judge. The referee hit a gong that hung next to the eldest judge, and the match was declared a time-draw. Both fighters turned expectantly to the ringmaster, as he walked forward, his hands holding a special case.

  "Choose."

   The fighters looked at each other, shrugging with their indifference. Martook, being the elder of the two, took a step forward. Inside the polished wooden case sat ten glowing globes. Few matches ever lasted this long, but both students knew what was to come next. Martook grabbed a small sphere that was giving off an orange illumination, and when he stepped back, the orange glow began to spread over his hands that were grasping the magical ball. Talanon stepped forward as well, and glanced at the remaining nine globes. Each one pulsated with it's own inner life, and he hesitantly pulled out the closest one to him. That one shined blue, as if spring itself had come to the sky, above the youngest of evergreens that still slept in winter's shadow. The blue sphere began to pulse even more as Talanon held it. It's glow began to spread as well as the one that Martook was holding.

   "Since physical prowess cannot stop the flow of the sands," intoned the ring-master, "so do we call upon magic to erase the time of the past. And, since this is a time of renewal for the smallest of grains, so it shall be for our champions as well." He held up his hands to silence the crowd, which was responding to the change in the contest. As the spectators resumed their semi-lucid state, the ring official began the last of his rehearsed speech. "A new contest shall begin again. But this time with a new twist!"

   Even as the official had been speaking, the glowing of each ball surrounded each player. As the illumination reached it's summit, Talanon and Martook could each feel their own wounds healing. Bones knitted, and abrasions actually stitched themselves shut as if Time itself was sped up. The light dimmed to a dull roar, and each teenager could barely hear the referee intone the last of the magic involved here.

   "Choose again, my wards. Choose the weapon that will be your champion, and the other's destruction."

   The referee's monologue had invoked memories in both combatants as both could remember a time when the magic of previous matches had resulted in the death of one mystic or another. Talanon did not want to see Martook die, so he chose his weapon well.

   "Staff," he called forth, commanding the sphere to become his weapon.

   "Slashing sword, ornamental design," recited the blue ball; it's voice chuckling evilly. In shock, Talanon could feel the burning grasp of an enchanted sword, thoroughly evil, and extremely intelligent. He already could feel the blade's persona trying to crush his ego, as it asserted itself on him, to attack his opponent.

   Martook desperately screamed, "Nunchaka!" for he was somehow aware of Talanon's plight with the evil blade. He actually saw the look of bewilderment on his rival's face change to one of a murder-ravaged monster. Martook had seen the look on the mystic's face once before. Except it was on the face of an Oni, a magic-spawned demon from the very hells. Oni often try to pass themselves off as humanoid, and indeed their magic can give them this very appearance, but inevitably their own actions betray them to those that happen to be around them.

   The orange mists parted to see Martook holding a similarly magicked weapon. He could feel the evil item's mind attempting to completely over-ride his own thoughts, but the champion student was made of sterner stuff than that. As he forced the voice down, Martook glanced over in horror to see his master grinning with undisguised glee, caught up in the moment.

   Chanare, he thought miserably. Ashamed, Martook realized that he had been a pawn in this whole game the entire time, for it was Chanare who had coaxed him into taking the fight away from Jalkan. True, the youth would have had no chance against the talented monk from their rival school. That had made it that much easier to convince the skeptical Martook to take control of the match. And it was Chanare who had warned Martook of the dangers of the young half-breed. Plus, it had been the master who had trained him to fight the curious styles of the Kren-Ta.

Kill.

Kill!

Kill!!!

   With an animal scream, Talanon disrupted Martook's musings to himself. The possessed young monk rushed him, slashing savagely, and yet...haltingly. Martook could see at once that the peaceful, angular face of the half-breed was ensorcereled, but trying to fight it all the way. Tears streamed down his cheeks, as he appeared to succumb finally and fully to the possession of the magical blade.

   Knowing the savagery of relenting to the magic, Martook fought even harder than he needed to, pushing the insistive voice of the sword's spirit away, down deep within himself. He parried easily the clumsy slash with a high block of his own with his enchanted blade, making an audible clang that reverberated in the amphitheater. Knowing that he needed time to regroup, and to plan his way out of this mess, Martook kicked like a serpent, lashing high into Talanon's midsection, making the half-breed double over and gasp for air. Savagely, Martook spun, smashing the hilt of the enchanted sword into his opponent's face, splitting Talanon's lower lip. The blade, sensing the freshly spilled plasma, screamed in anger, of denial; of blood not shared.

   Chanare, Martook thought desperately, forcing the ever-insistive voice of the magical sword down once again, and thereby maintaining a fragile hold on his self. Why? What would possess a master so much; to so disgrace himself as to stoop to cheating with magiks, for Chanare must surely have known the fight might go the length and the magical spheres would've been brought out.

   Swallowing hard, Martook dashed across the floor, bringing the stunned Talanon into pursuit. The half-breed gained quickly, however, as his blood pounded into his ears, with thoughts only of killing the enemy that stood before him. His opponent's strategy confused the rational part of Talanon, but Talanon the killer refused to hear that part of his ego.

   The masters at the edge of the mat could tell something was amiss from the moment the desired weapon refused to appear in each challenger's hand. Desperately, one of the school's mages appeared at the foot of the mat, fumbling to dispel the possessive magic.

   An evil chuckle filled the air, echoing throughout the entire amphitheater.

   The crowd began to murmur, and sway with the effort of each attack, moaning with the swords as at each time, vengeance was denied. The powerful magic was so subtle in it's appearance that soon the entire audience was under it's thrall, and not even aware of it.

  Kill!!!!

  Kill!!!!!!

   Chanare, the high master of Kren-Ma, laughed with delight, for everyone, including the masters and their mage, had now fallen under the influence of the spell of possession that he had cast earlier on the globes, though the mage still went through the motions of trying to fight it, apparently an automatic response. Now, even his one and only worry, Martook, now seemed as if he had, or soon would finally succumb to the insisting voice of the enchantment.

  Almost a decade had Chanare, the half-brother to the slain prince, waited for this particular moment. He had forsaken his  family's path long ago, and had arrived at Kren-Ma seeking a path of enlightenment. But upon hearing of his brother's fate at the hands of the gaijin, Chanare had devoted himself totally and fully to revenge, no matter what the cost.

   Many nights had he dreamed of the tortures that he would conjure upon the half-blooded Talanon, who at six years of age had killed his brother. Talanon; an offspring from Cry'sn, that bitch, his cousin, who had married the Occidental sailor, Captain Jonar. Talanon must have received superior training due to his mixed blood, the master had thought back then. His father had obviously taught the gaijin how to cheat, to fight completely without honor, he now thought, lost in recollections from the past, forgetting his own surroundings.

   The sad irony of his musings would no doubt have pleased Talanon, who like the rest of his order, considered "honor" a state of mind that they could surpass, to rise above. It had drawn more than one noble person down to corruption and despair, so the founders of the order of Kren-Ta had made the philosophy of "honor" ... obsolete, at least as much as humanly possible. That was difficult, however, for the concept of honor, or "face" as it is sometimes referred to, is extremely wide-spread among most of the known races on the planet, and is as common as rainfalls in the springtime.

   Now with the reward for the traitorous half-breed firmly in his grasp, Chanare would be able to carry the school to much higher forms of glory. With the reward, promised now for years by the royal family, he would be able to sail to the land of the barbarians that Talanon's father had sprung from. He would teach those murdering bastards the true meaning of the word 'fear'!

   Martook swung savagely back, thereby forcing the ensorcereled monk step by step to draw near the edge of the ring, it's six-inch dais could certainly spell doom to the retreating monk. He could still see the mage at the end of the mat attempting to dispel the magic that had the entire coliseum under sway, and even now, the voice of the enchanted sword screamed for vengeance, for blood.

  Suddenly sensing the way out of the trap, Martook edged away from the ensorcereled monk, who was now unable to see from the line of wetness around his eyes that was his tears. Evidently the good monk's sword was infinitely more powerful to have taken over his entire persona, for what was Talanon was indeed buried beneath the veneer of this murder-ravaged monster.

   Chanare, upon seeing the impending doom of Talanon, laughed with undisguised joy. So enraptured was he that he paid little attention to how close the dueling pair was, for the ring of blade on blade was music to his ears.

   Martook, saying a quick prayer to the god of all warriors, entrusted Talanon with his life, He turned suddenly, and viewed Chanare in all of his unparalleled evil. The monk was taking one hell of a chance, and he knew it. Talanon had not had much luck resisting the call of the insistive voice that belonged to the blade, but perhaps seeing Martook this vulnerable would trigger something in Talanon's own soul.

   When Martook had seen his master, he squarely looked at him and repeated the image of Talanon in his own mind, still fully trusting the gallant monk to repel the sorcery for one or two more moments. Martook opened his eyes, saw Chanare's own eyes widen in surprise, and for a split second, the only face that Martook saw was Talanon's noble face, in place of his master's repulsively wicked one.

  "Die Talanon!" screamed Martook, dropping fully his resistance at the last second. The magic took over completely and utterly, and Martook was repulsed by the hideousness of the persona of the blade. He allowed the spirit to grip his sword hand with renewed vigor, and before even the possessed monk was aware, his magic blade slashed down with undeniable finality.

   Chanare, surprised at his pupil's actions, was totally unprepared for what happened. Suddenly afraid, and aware of his present predicament, he threw up his hands in a defensive movement, uttering words so foreign and alien that they had to be magical in nature. As his hands spread out in a fan-like movement, waves of reddish energy began to erect a barrier between him and the descending blade. The pitiful defense shattered utterly and the sword's bloodlust was instantly sated as the blade cut through Chanare's body with such force as to sever the head and neck from the torso. The gruesome expression of the master never changed as his head came to a rest on the floor next to his body as his crimson life's blood sprayed out of the aperture.

   Now Talanon, with his entire body locked into place to keep himself from answering his own blade's call, arched his back and flung his arms up wide. With a final scream of denial, he threw his head back as he let loose the invader's spirit in a form that started with his toes, and ended with his short, spiky hair. The multi-colored waves buffeted the auditorium as the energy that controlled the spell wavered and finally, faltered altogether, unable to be controlled with the spellcaster's death.

   With an undeniable sigh, both fighters slumped to the ground, their weapons reverting to their respective globes of energy. Both balls of plasma, even in their unoccupied state, slowly resumed the six-inch spheres that they were before the contest. They sat pulsing, almost mocking the fighters, as if to remind them of some fact or another.

   The ring referee, also free from the spell's influence, ambled forward and stopped only when the forms of both teens finally started to regain consciousness. Talanon looked up to see the concerned glance of his opponent, and knew he had judged well. Especially when during the battle, Martook had turned his back to the half-breed to engage with his own master.

   "If I ever see another magic globe, it will be too damn soon," muttered the exhausted Talanon, drawing a chuckle from his... friend. When the monk glanced over at Martook, all he saw was relief on his face.

   "Well am I glad that you found yourself in the battle, my powerful friend. It must have been awful to loose yourself... to such a thing!" said Martook, disgustedly. He was still trying to get over the murder he was forced to do to save them both, and when Talanon asked him what was wrong, Martook told him so.

   "I'm just glad I made you do it," replied the half-breed.

   "What?"

   Smiling sadly, the other responded. "I never lost my ego to any possessive force, no matter how powerful. But I did come pretty damn close, and I had to make you think that was so if the key to overcoming this could be found."

  Totally confused, Martook stood up and grabbed Talanon's forearm, helping him rise as well. The former noble could guess at what Martook's distress was about, so he continued.

   "Look, my friend. In a dream I was forewarned of treachery here at this contest. I had already ruled out everyone I knew. There are none that I know now that have any grudges about me."

   "But Jalkan said something about a price on your head."

   Talanon laughed loudly, drawing attention to himself, for most of the citizens that were in the audience had recovered from the last bit of influence from the spell of possession that had gripped everyone. Catching himself before he really lost control, the monk quieted down. "Oh, that," he still chuckled. "Taken care of years ago... or so I had thought." Here he faltered a bit, not as confident as he tried to be. Martook saw that fact, but didn't mention it.

   Talanon continued, unaware his hesitation was noticed. "In fact, tomorrow I leave with my father to visit and explore his homeland. I wouldn't even attempt to make such a voyage if the spirits weren't satisfied with me. I guess that means I will have to check with the master, to have him cast a divination to see if any other souls, other than your own master, have found disfavor with me."

   "Well, Chanare stopped being my master the moment we touched those damnable globes. I can only apologize for our entire order for his dishonorable actions," Martook said, his gaze to the ground, humbled.

   "I wouldn't worry about that, Martook. Despite our differing studies, the one fault that Kren-Ma could never be accused of is deceit! Even your friend, Jalkan, was acting in my behalf. I was forewarned that you might wish to be my opponent, instead of the youth, and I knew that I would need your help to unravel this mystery."

   Stunned, Martook glanced over to Jalkan, who upon seeing the glance on his confused, and slightly angry friend, simply smiled, shrugged, and looked away, humming merrily. Martook smiled grimly, and shook his head, trying to figure out just where he lost track of everything. Then he paused. Dreams of forewarning only come to the most powerful of mystics, and those that are watched and favored by the gods. He turned back to face Talanon, more than a little awestruck. Talanon's next words help ease his discomfort.

   "Don't be disappointed, my friend. It was necessary to make you believe that I had succumbed to the power of the sword, so maybe you could find out what I could not," said Talanon, wearily, for the adrenaline was finally running low, and he was feeling the effects of the entire combat.

   "But what about our contest? Who won?" inquired Martook, grinning despite his own exhaustion. "Remember, we have to have a victor to win the prize that's been promised to us.

   Smiling despite himself, Talanon nodded, admiring his friend. "Very well, but this time, no cursed spheres!"

   Laughing, Martook took his position in the ring, and said, "Agreed."

   The confused referee had nothing else to say but "Begin."

   Now the crowd leaned forward, zooming their attention toward the pair as both fighters bowed formally, readied themselves, and said at the same time, "Ma-te!"

  Even the masters at the judge's table groaned in denial as the two friends walked off the mat together, laughing. The ring official who held two items, one in each hand, met the pair. He bowed formally, and gave one to each of the former students, for they had now graduated. Each of the items was lovingly wrapped in an auburn cloth. That self-same cloth would become their new uniforms made by the former students.

   Talanon knelt reverently at the end of the stage, and began to unwrap his present. Several students gasped as the item came into view. Beautiful could not begin to describe the staff as more and more of it was unwrapped. Intricate characters in their language spiraled down the top of the polished wooden staff, and as Talanon began to read them, he gasped aloud.

   Hearing the monk's exclamation, the ring official stepped forward. He glanced at the writings, and smiled. "You have a mighty gift, Talanon of Kren-Ta. In addition to being a weapon, your new staff is also a chronicler. Everything that you learn or see shall be inscribed magically upon it. In addition, as you grow in power and wisdom, the enchantment that has been placed upon the staff shall lesson. No longer will you have to depend upon this weapon to vanquish a foe that could only be struck by a magical weapon."

   Humbled, Talanon could only stare up at the master, too shocked to even speak his thanks. He looked over to see Martook receive a similar weapon, and the ringmaster gave a similar speech. Talanon stood to depart, and was soon joined by his former competitor. A feeling that could only be described as joy filled Talanon's heart. And all that he knew was, he was glad this was happening. He had a new friend, who was getting to be like a brother to him. And, as they walked off the stage, Talanon heard a heartfelt cry coming from the sky that touched him more than anything else that had happened that day. He glanced up at the circling beauty as she called out in her avian dialect.

  "Well fought!! Farewell, man-friend! I hope to see you again! "

   And Talanon hoped he would, to

The End

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