Desolate Tides (Earth Exiles Book 5) Page 13

  Walleg and Durzai met in the middle of the clearing, and bowed their heads close so that they could talk and none could hear what they said. Matki strained to hear, but he couldn’t make out the words over the sound of the crowd.

  “Dad! What’s going on?”

  Matki turned quickly to see Jendi standing behind him, “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with your mother.”

  “She sent me. She was wondering where you went last night, and when morning came, she was worried about you.”

  Matki limped over to his son, and Jendi looked at the leg with concern. Matki put his hand on Jendi’s shoulder, and pulled him in to kiss the top of his head.

  Jendi pulled back, “I’m not a little boy anymore.”

  Matki was surprised at this small show of independence. He dropped his hand from Jendi’s shoulder, and nodded, “No, you are not a little boy anymore.” He pulled the boy forward, and gave him a big hug. Jendi was embarrassed by the display of affection, looking around at all the people.

  “Dad, why is everyone here?” Jendi asked.

  Matki leaned back and looked into Jendi’s eyes, “There’s going to be a duel.”

  Jendi took in his father’s attire, and then looked across the clearing to see Joacar. Concern clouded his face, and he turned his eyes back to Matki, “You . . . you can’t do this. Your leg is still healing.”

  A sad smile played onto Matki’s lips, “A man can never choose the time and place of his death, only the way he meets it.”

  Jendi started to argue, but Matki shook his head, “Not now, Jendi. Besides, Joacar is an old man, much older than me. His age will give me the advantage, despite this bum leg.”

  There was still fear in Jendi’s eyes, not as intense as before, but still there.

  “An accord has been reached!” Walleg announced.

  Matki turned to see Durzai’s hate filled eyes staring at him, and for a moment, he wondered if he hadn’t been betrayed for real.

  Walleg continued, “Since Matki is younger, stronger and faster than Joacar, and since he challenged Joacar, it is fitting that Joacar gets to choose a champion to take his place.”

  “What?” Matki yelled. “What is this? What have you done to me, Durzai?”

  A wide smile blossomed on Walleg’s face. Behind him, Matki could see Joacar’s advisers smiling as well.

  Walleg turned to Durzai, “Do you accept this accommodation?”

  Durzai nodded, “Aye, as Matki Awrani’s man, I accept it.”

  Walleg turned to the crowd, “Do you accept this accommodation?”

  Most of the crowd was from Althus’ camp, so the sound of their acceptance drowned out any support that Matki might have had.

  “The accommodation has been accepted by the tribe!” Walleg turned to Joacar, “Who will your champion be?”

  Joacar slapped Cadwai on the shoulder, “Cadwai will be my champion!”

  A look of despair crossed Matki’s face. He pointed at Durzai and screamed, “You’ve betrayed me!”

  Durzai smiled, and bowed, accepting Matki’s truth.

  Matki staggered backward, his limp interfering and almost tripping him.

  At that moment, the crowd knew that Joacar had out maneuvered Matki. The Althus people smiled condescendingly at him while Matki’s people muttered and glared at the crowd.

  Behind him, Jendi stared at the young man preparing for the duel. Cadwai took off his shirt, and Jendi saw thick slabs of corded muscle. Joacar walked to him and handed Cadwai the trade knife. Cadwai turned and stared at Matki, and evil smile on his face.

  “Father!”

  Matki turned to look at Jendi, and Jendi saw something he never thought he would see on his father’s face, the look of fear.

  He ran to his father, and put his arms around him. Jendi’s face was buried in Matki’s chest, “You can’t go out there, not with your leg.”

  Matki bent over and whispered something in Jendi’s ear. Jendi looked up at his father, a look of absolute terror on his face. Tears sprang from his eyes as he stepped away from his father. His fist flew to his mouth, balled against his teeth.

  “Come on, old man, stop talking to the brat and face your death.”

  Matki turned to Cadwai, and everyone could see defeat written in his body language. His shoulders drooped as he limped forward. He held up his hands, “Please, before we begin, let me take off my shirt.

  Cadwai shrugged, and nodded his head, “If that’s your last wish, so be it.”

  Matki nodded, and he pulled the leather shirt out from the trousers he was wearing. He pulled the shirt off, bending forward at the waist to do so.

  Everyone stared. Cadwai’s torso was thickly muscled, but not like Matki’s. It was a wiry mass of compact muscle and sinew. Scars crossed his torso from the monsters he’d faced and killed. He’d spent years stalking the demon queen while other monsters had stalked him. The ones that caught him had done so to their detriment.

  Cadwai stared for a moment, suddenly unsure about his prey, and blinked. Then Matki took a misstep and staggered, and Cadwai’s self-assurance was back again.

  Cadwai took a step toward Matki, pointing the tip of the trade knife at him, “Now, you die old man.”

  Matki heard the people placing bets and odds, the odds changing back and forth as he stepped forward. He pulled his present, the long, black knife that the Team had given him. Cadwai moved toward him, the blade of the trade knife flashing as the light from the early morning sun hit it. Matki closed with Cadwai, and then had to stagger back as Cadwai charged forward, trying to take advantage of Matki’s bad leg. Matki’s limp threw off his rhythm, and it was hard to dodge the multiple attacks that Cadwai threw at him. Matki knew the first rule to a knife fight was, “no matter what, you’re going to get cut.” His problem was to delay his cuts until after Cadwai got his. When you lose blood, you lose oxygen, your muscles tire, leading to more cuts and a greater loss of blood, until death.

  He dodged, he swayed, and he danced, trying to stay away from Cadwai’s greater reach. Cadwai was faster than him. This was not turning into a good day for Matki. The crowd knew it also. They could tell by the way he was moving, and the stiffness of his leg that Cadwai had the advantage. More bets were made as the odds moved from even to Cadwai’s favor.

  They danced around the open area, exchanging jabs and cuts, the sound of their blades snarling against each other heard over the sounds of the betting. Sweat started trailing down their torsos, and their breathing becoming more pronounced.

  Cadwai’s eyes narrowed. This should be easier. Matki’s leg was stiff and he favored it heavily. Cadwai had watched the rhythm of Matki’s movements, until he finally saw a weakness, a slight hesitation, and he struck.

  Matki saw the strike, and he tried to move, but the strike drew first blood. Blood started leaking down the right side of Matki’s torso. He knew the strike wasn’t deep, just along the top of the skin, but the salt from his sweat made it sting like devils were flaying him. And it looked bad, a shallow cut about six inches long, horizontally across his ribs. He heard a wail that he knew came from Jendi, but he paid no attention. Blood covered his side, and he could hear the sound of the betting increase, the odds against him increasing drastically. Durzai had to yell to keep up with the bets.

  A smile crossed Matki’s lips as he heard the odds against him top out, and he stared at Cadwai. His strikes increased in speed and intensity. Cadwai frowned as he had trouble fending off Matki’s attack. Slowly, he started backing away, trying to get distance, trying to use his greater reach. Matki was seemingly everywhere at once. And finally, a strike that he couldn’t avoid grazed the lower left torso, close to the hip. He staggered back, and Matki danced away from any counter attack that Cadwai might attempt.

  That’s when Cadwai saw it. Matki wasn’t limping or favoring his leg anymore. Matki grinned at him, the pain and fear on Matki’s face gone. The rest of the crowd quickly figured out what was happening when Matki drove in for a new a
ttack. He was fast, quick as lightening. Matki had spent the last two years studying martial arts with the Team; Mike, Everett, Mickey and Tom teaching him the various styles of martial arts. They’d taught him everything about rifles, pistols, and most importantly, knives.

  Cadwai didn’t have a chance. Matki didn’t kill, though. Instead he applied small, judicious cuts all over Cadwai’s body. Soon, Cadwai was covered in his own blood. He knew that Matki could have killed him a hundred times over. Matki was a whirlwind, delivering small slices of quick pain. At any point during Matki’s whirling dance of death, he could have taken Cadwai’s life. Every strike that Cadwai tried to block became a feint, and a sharp pain followed as the actual strike created a new wound and drew more blood.

  Finally, Cadwai could take no more. He dropped the trade knife and collapsed to his knees, holding his arms up to Matki, and cried, “Kill me! Get it over with and kill me! Stop torturing me. You’ve won!”

  Matki stared at Cadwai, no pity in his eyes. He walked over to Cadwai, picked up the trade knife and placed the trade knife at Cadwai’s neck. He flicked his knife to get the blood off, and then he sheathed it. Matki put his hand in Cadwai’s hair, and wrenched his head back so that Cadwai was looking at the sky. Cadwai dropped his arms with a sob, and blinked against the brightness of the morning sun. Matki kept the knife at Cadwai’s neck, staring into the face of a man that was about to die, “What do you owe me?”

  Cadwai had no idea what Matki was talking about, “What do you mean?”

  Matki painted the picture for him, “I could have killed you, but I choose not to. What do you owe me?”

  Hope appeared in the desperate eyes. Cadwai nodded, understanding, “My life.”

  “And?” Matki asked.”

  “My allegiance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have bested me. You are my master, and I owe you my life.”

  Matki took the blade away from Cadwai’s neck, “you swear this, on your oath?”

  Cadwai nodded.

  “Then do so,” Matki commanded.

  Cadwai spoke loudly so that all could hear, “I give my allegiance, my life, and my soul to my master, Matki Awrani. He commands me in all things. I am his man, to fight his fights. I give him my knife and I bow to his command.”

  Matki stared at him, “So be it. I give you your life back in exchange for your loyalty and your fealty. Our fight is concluded.”

  The sober crowd was completely silent, understanding what had just happened. The Contai prided themselves as a free people, but one of their great warriors had given his freedom away. Matki had given his life back to him, but at a very great cost.

  Matki raised the trade blade and pointed at Joacar, “You have lost. As tradition dictates.”

  Dueling was an old tradition, one that stretched back into antiquity, before his people came to live in the mountains a thousand years ago. Joacar’s petty revenges had always been justified as the traditions of the headman. Now, Joacar was caught by his own petty vindictiveness and the tradition of his people.

  Every eye followed the blade point to Joacar. Joacar’s face turned ashen as he contemplated what had just occurred. He’d walked deeply into a trap devised by Matki. His own life was forfeit. He knew what would follow. There was no way he could fight Matki, though. Matki would be his death. Joacar put his hands together in supplication, “Please, I beg you, don’t kill me.”

  Now, everybody saw what Matki knew. Joacar was no warrior, no hero. He was no more than a blustering old man. Worse, he was a coward, afraid to face Matki’s blade. Matki walked toward him, the trade blade shining in the light.

  Walleg and Gegit saw death in Matki’s face, and stepped away from him as he walked between them.

  Matki walked to Joacar, and placed his hand on Joacar’s shoulder, indicating he should kneel before Matki. He was older, so it took longer than normal to drop to his knees, but he knelt. Joacar looked like he’d aged ten years when he finally looked up.

  Joacar still had his hands clenched in front of him. Now, he was rocking back and forth as he contemplated his death. Matki put his hands in Joacar’s hair, and pulled his head back exposing his neck. Matki put the blade against Joacar’s neck, “What do you owe me?”

  Trembling, Joacar answered, “I owe you my life and my . . .”

  Matki stopped him by pulling his head further back, “No, Joacar, I will not take your allegiance and your fealty. You are not worthy to be my warrior. You are a lying snake. But, you served us well when you were our headman. I am not going to take your life. You can regain your honor, though, by taking your own.”

  Once again, tradition, hide bound tradition forced Joacar’s hand. He stared at the knife, “I don’t think I can do it.”

  Matki nodded, “Do you need my help?”

  The word dropped from Joacar’s lips with finality, “Please.”

  Matki stared at Joacar with cold eyes, “Pick up the knife.”

  Joacar picked up the knife and stared at it like it was a snake.

  “Put both your hands on the knife,” Matki ordered.

  Joacar put his hands around the handle of the knife, the point toward his heart. Then he remembered, “Junna?”

  Matki nodded, “Your wife will always have a place at my hearth. She will never want for food or shelter. She will be as my own family. Your sons will be raised by the clan. I will make sure that they are taught to be warriors and hunters.”

  Joacar looked at the knife, resolute. Matki started forward, but Joacar waved him away. Matki, surprised, stepped back.

  Joacar closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them, and plunged the trade knife into his heart.

  Matki’s knife was swift. Before the pain was too great, Matki had severed Joacar’s head. Matki grabbed the head before it hit the ground, holding it by the hair. Slowly, Joacar’s body collapsed to the side. Matki closed the eyes, and put the head on the body. The face contorted as the brain lost oxygen.

  Matki flicked the blade again to remove the blood, and then he holstered the knife. He stood straight, and addressed the crowd, “This was a brave man. We will bury him with honor.” He pulled the trade knife from Joacar’s heart and put it in his belt.

  He walked through the crowd to Durzai, “How much did we win?”

  Durzai grinned, “Damn near everything they have.

  Now, the crowd realized the depth and breadth of Matki’s plan. He had the fealty of one of the Althus village’s most respected warriors. He had maneuvered his enemy into taking his own life. Last, he’d impoverished those that wished him harm. The message had been sent and received. The crowd was deathly quiet as they contemplated what Matki had done to them. Slowly, they turned from the clearing and went back to their tents.

  Matki turned and walked to Jendi. Jendi was crying. Matki felt his heart soften as he studied his son. The boy was soon going to be a man, but there were tender moments that reminded Matki that Jendi was still a boy, no matter how much he yearned to be a man. That day would come, but it wouldn’t be today.

  Jendi wiped the tears away and handed his father the leather shirt he’d thrown to the side. Matki held it in his hand, not wanting to get it bloody.

  “Water, please,” Matki asked.

  Jendi ran to grab a skin of water, and brought it back. Matki took a deep drink, paused, and took another.

  Jendi reached out and touched his father’s wound with trembling fingers. Matki stopped drinking and looked over at the uneasy expression on Jendi’s face. Matki smiled to downplay Jendi’s fears, “Don’t worry, the knife barely touched the skin.”

  Jendi’s expression was sober, “I thought he was going to kill you.”

  Matki shook his head, “No, I knew what I was doing. I’d heard rumors even when we were back in the canyons. You remember what Mike taught us, about Sun Tzu?”

  Jendi nodded, “When you are weak, appear strong; when you are strong, appear weak.”

  Matki grinned, “Exactly. What other le
sson from Sun Tzu applies here?”

  Jendi had to think, but he quickly came to a conclusion, “If you know the enemy, and you know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles. If you know yourself, but not the enemy, for every victory gained, you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will be defeated in every battle.”

  “Why do you think I won?” Matki asked him, between mouthfuls of water.

  Once again, Jendi had to contemplate the situation, “Because you knew your capabilities, and you knew theirs. They knew their capabilities, but they did not know yours.”

  Matki nodded, “Exactly right.” He put his hand on Jendi’s neck and pulled him forward so that he could kiss him on top of the head. This time Jendi didn’t pull away, and allowed his father to kiss him.

  Durzai walked up and pointed at the cut, “You need to go see Joel so that he can stitch that up.”

  Matki looked down at the curtain of blood on his side, “you’re probably right.” He looked up for Cadwai, “Where did Cadwai go?”

  Durzai grinned, “Well, his cuts aren’t as deep as yours. He’ll probably have his wife do the stitches. Although, I believe she will be busy for quite some time.”

  Matki nodded, “Yes, I wasn’t trying to kill him, just make him suffer.”

  “Yes, he suffered; physically, and I’m pretty sure his ego is pretty bruised as well.”

  Matki laughed, “Yeah, well, better a bruised ego than a slit throat.”

  “Possibly,” Durzai replied.

  Matki stared at Durzai for a moment, trying to discern if the comment had hidden meaning.

  Jendi distracted them both. “Did it have to be this way?” he asked. “Did Joacar have to die?”

  Matki stared into Jendi’s eyes, “They threatened to kill your mother, your brother and sister, and you. I would never let that happen. So yes, it was necessary.”

  Jendi’s eyes opened with shock when he understood the ramifications of what his father had just told him. He nodded to let Matki know that he understood.

  Matki turned back to Durzai, “The bets?”