The Dark Between The Stars

FOURTEEN
YAZRA’H

The halfbreed girl had a wild intensity in her eyes that would strike fear into an opponent—which was a good thing, but Yazra’h had other concerns about her as well. Yazra’h brought up her blunted katana just in time, and Muree’n’s staff cracked down, hard, where her shoulder had been an instant before. Then the girl sprang back, laughing.

From the ringing vibrations through the katana staff, Yazra’h gauged the strength of that blow. Even with her thin and flexible practice armor, the blow would have broken bones had it landed.

Under the bright glare of the suns, the two circled on the high-level combat field. Instead of soft dirt or solid ground, the practice field was covered with large, mirrored spheres packed together, each one a meter in diameter. Both combatants were barefoot, balancing on the smooth, curved surfaces, and they leaped from one sphere to the next, balancing, rolling, and fighting.

Tossing her head to shake the hair away from her face, Yazra’h swung her weapon sideways, trying to smack the girl’s head with the flat of the blade—just enough to stun her and teach her a lesson. But Muree’n bobbed, ducked under the katana, and popped up again with her staff to drive the blade aside. The girl was sturdy, muscular, and her half-human features softened the normally bestial appearance of a true warrior kithman.

Muree’n jabbed with the rounded end of her weapon, trying to punch Yazra’h in the center of the chest, but Yazra’h bent sideways, just enough that the blow only caught her in the ribs.

“This is only practice, girl,” Yazra’h warned.

“If practice isn’t real, then it’s worthless.” Muree’n threw herself forward with a wild yell. Instead of using her katana, though, Yazra’h reached out with the flat of her hand, caught Muree’n in the sternum, and hurled her backward. The girl spun and caught her balance on one of the spheres. The multiple suns reflecting from the mirrored surfaces sent up random flashes and a constant glare.

“I will try hand-to-hand, then.” Muree’n cast her practice stick aside. “I’m good enough. Test me.” She jumped closer, balancing on the adjacent sphere. Yazra’h caught the girl by both wrists and threw her up and sideways. Muree’n yelped, tumbled, but somehow landed on her feet.

Yazra’h gasped for breath. “You are getting better, girl. I won’t argue with that.” Though Yazra’h was a strong fighter, she didn’t belong to the warrior kith; she was a noble, a daughter of the Mage-Imperator; few warrior kithmen could best her in combat, however.

For herself, Muree’n seemed to have something to prove. She had grown her hair long like Yazra’h’s, but hers was darker, and she braided it with jewels and heavy metallic weights as decorations that could be disentangled and used as surprise weapons in a desperate situation.

Muree’n bowed, as if conceding defeat, then she drove forward to ram her head into Yazra’h’s stomach, knocking her off the sphere. Yazra’h fell backward, unable to catch her balance in time, and landed hard against another one of the spheres.

The halfbreed girl was reckless, Yazra’h knew, but sometimes it paid off. Among Nira’s children from the breeding program, Muree’n was the youngest, and the lowest born, from a guard kithman. Her brother Rod’h was the son of a Designate, Gale’nh the son of an Adar, Tamo’l the daughter of a lens kithman, and Osira’h, the oldest and most powerful of the five halfbreed children, was the daughter of Mage-Imperator Jora’h himself. None of them, though, could outfight Muree’n.

Yazra’h had taken the girl under her wing as a special student, and now Muree’n had fought her mentor to a standstill. Over the years, Muree’n had suffered many bruises and broken bones, and her skin showed numerous scars, but the girl considered each one a badge of honor.

Yazra’h picked herself up from the ground, panting. “I know few opponents who fight so wholeheartedly.” She extended a hand.

Muree’n hesitated, suspicious, before she helped Yazra’h up. “Half measures are for the hesitant.”

Yazra’h chuckled. “I’ve never known you to hesitate, but you charge into a fray without planning ahead.”

Muree’n shrugged. “I haven’t once been seriously hurt, so I keep fighting.”

Yazra’h removed a short fighting stick from her belt, adjusted it to the length of her forearm, and motioned for Muree’n to do the same. “Close combat now, so I can look into your eyes and see what you’re thinking.”

Muree’n adjusted her own fighting stick so that it matched Yazra’h’s. “I’m thinking that I’ll defeat you this time.”

Yazra’h decided she should pummel some caution into the girl. She was a better fighter in every measureable way, but Muree’n’s energy and enthusiasm often took her aback.

The staffs hammered together with a loud report, then again. Each end was a whirling blur, but somehow Muree’n anticipated Yazra’h’s every move. Yazra’h pushed harder, tried new tricks.

Muree’n flailed and attacked. Finally, needing a momentary pause to catch her breath, Yazra’h clouted the girl on the side of the head and stunned her.

Reeling, Muree’n collapsed to sit heavily on one of the mirrored spheres, shaking her head. Yazra’h stepped aside. “Being impetuous isn’t always the best strategy.”

The halfbreed girl rubbed what would surely be a large bruise on her skull. “No, but it is unpredictable. It throws my enemies off balance.”

“You might also find that you’ve thrown yourself off a cliff.”

Muree’n laughed. “But then I would fly!”

Yazra’h knew that no matter how many times she defeated the girl, Muree’n would come back for another round. She had no humility, no fear, no caution—and Yazra’h could never train that out of the girl. Catching her breath, Yazra’h realized she would just have to make certain that Muree’n got into situations where those qualities were useful, rather than a detriment.

As Muree’n climbed back to her feet and held up her fighting staff, ready to pounce, Yazra’h noticed a figure standing nearby on the otherwise empty observing stand: Mage-Imperator Jora’h in his lush robes, with his long braid of office. Yazra’h turned to her father and bowed with respect. Muree’n was ready to strike when her opponent lost focus, until she spotted the Mage-Imperator as well.

The girl waved, and Jora’h raised his hand, obviously proud—and with good reason, Yazra’h knew… unfortunately, the Mage-Imperator’s praise would not make Muree’n any easier to control.