The Mongoliad Book Three

 

First the spears had been lowered at them, and then the Great Khan had started shouting. Haakon and the Kitayan had remained still throughout the tirade, unsure of what was going to happen. Haakon tried to follow what was being said, but most of his mind was filled with trying to settle on the best defense and offense against the Kitayan’s knife.

 

When they weren’t immediately threatened with the spears, Haakon suspected the Kitayan was going to be allowed to keep his knife. He had to be ready. He had already been cut once, and was certainly going to be cut again. He had to figure out how to beat the Kitayan before he lost too much blood.

 

Haakon’s wooden sword was longer, but that advantage didn’t match up to the deadly edge of the knife. He could hit the man a dozen times with the sword, and he wouldn’t stop fighting. But one slice of the Kitayan’s knife to his neck or thigh and he’d bleed out.

 

The Great Khan’s platform was over his left shoulder, and Haakon couldn’t watch what was going on there and keep a ready defense against the Kitayan at the same time. Holding his sword tightly, he stopped trying to watch for some sign from the Great Khan. The Kitayan was the real threat. He should be giving his opponent his full attention.

 

The Kitayan was distracted; the hand with the knife in it was down at his side, held close to his stomach. It wasn’t the best position, but it was ready enough, and Haakon watched the Kitayan’s legs and hands. Waiting for some sign. Should he wait that long?

 

He heard a man shout a response, and he distantly realized that was probably the captain of the Khagan’s guard, responding like a good warrior. Haakon exhaled slowly as the Khagan asked his question again. Here it comes, he thought; don’t wait for him to make the first move. The captain replied again, still shouting his acknowledgment of the Khagan’s command, and as soon as the Khagan spoke once more he could feel the audience’s attention shift. Don’t wait, the spirit of his old oplo whispered in his head.

 

Haakon struck. He lunged forward, taking an enormous step as he stretched his arms out. The Kitayan was caught off guard by how quickly and dramatically Haakon closed the measure, and he yelped in pain as the wooden sword smacked him on the head with a mighty crack.

 

The Kitayan slashed upward with the knife, and Haakon twisted his sword to his left, trying to smack the Kitayan’s wrists with the wooden blade. Get him to drop the knife. The Kitayan staggered, dropping his center of gravity, and the sword skipped off his upper arm. Haakon felt his arms going too far to the left, and the Kitayan’s hands were on the outside, the knife blade coming up and around Haakon’s hands. Haakon skipped back, swinging the sword around in a clumsy backhand at the Kitayan’s closest knee. He made contact, but the Kitayan didn’t flinch or stumble. A weak blow. Not enough to distract him.

 

The Kitayan snapped his arm out, flicking the knife at Haakon’s face. He jerked his head back, and he felt the tip of the knife slice his cheek.

 

He was in the wrong position. His hands were low, and his opponent’s weapon was inside his guard. This wasn’t a sword fight anymore; it was close quarters combat. If he had a steel sword, he wouldn’t be able to use it effectively.

 

But the weapon in his hands was nothing more than a piece of wood, and wood didn’t have an edge to worry about.

 

Haakon snapped his wrists up, and his sword smacked the Kitayan on the underside of his knife arm, near the elbow. He maintained the contact between flesh and wood and stepped into the other man, putting his weight behind the shove. The Kitayan lurched back, and Haakon caught the knife hand just behind the wrist with his left hand. Pulling down with that hand, he used the wooden sword as a lever and forced the Kitayan off balance.

 

The Kitayan tried to cut him with the knife, but Haakon’s grip restricted the range of available motion. Haakon smashed the sword against the Kitayan’s elbow—once, twice—and the man grunted in pain. Haakon twisted and pushed, and the Kitayan bent over in an effort to keep his arm from being dislocated. Haakon continued to drive his opponent before him, and when he dropped to his knees, the Kitayan went first, his face smashing painfully into the rocky soil.

 

Haakon twisted the arm until the Kitayan screamed, and then he pushed off the fallen man, stripping the knife free of the Kitayan’s now slack fingers as he stood.

 

The audience howled with delight and the ground rumbled from many feet, stomping in unison. Haakon shivered, knowing what they wanted to see, and slowly, the knife held loosely in his left hand, he turned toward the raised platform. In his mind, he saw Onghwe Khan’s pavilion in the Circus arena. He had just won his match and was still holding Zug’s knife.

 

The Khagan’s platform was much closer.

 

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