The basement door opened. Even more apprentices began to stream inside, filling the already cramped hall to the brim. The press of bodies forced the first-years perilously close to the edges of the rings. Rin clenched the rail to keep from falling in.
“What’s going on?” Kitay asked as the apprentices jostled for positions closer to the rings. There were so many people in the room now that apprentices in the back had brought stools on which to stand.
“Altan’s up tonight,” Raban said. “Nobody wants to miss Altan.”
It must have been the twelfth time that week Rin had heard that name. The whole Academy seemed obsessed with him. Fifth-year student Altan Trengsin was associated with every school record, was every master’s favorite student, the exception to every rule. He had now become a running joke within their class.
Can you piss over the wall into town?
Altan can.
A tall, lithe figure suddenly dropped into Master Sonnen’s ring without bothering to use the rope ladder. As his opponent scrambled down, the figure stretched his arms behind his back, head tilted up toward the ceiling. His eyes caught the reflection of the lamplight above.
They were crimson.
“Great Tortoise,” said Kitay. “That’s a real Speerly.”
Rin peered inside the pit. Kitay was right; Altan didn’t look close to Nikara. His skin was several shades darker than any of the other students’; a darker hue, even, than Rin’s. But where Rin’s sun-browned skin made her look coarse and unsophisticated, Altan’s skin gave him a unique, regal air. His hair was the color of wet ink, closer to violet than black. His face was angular, expressionless, and startlingly handsome. And those eyes—scarlet, blazing red.
“I thought the Speerlies were dead,” said Rin.
“Mostly dead,” said Raban. “Altan’s the last one.”
“I am Bo Kobin, apprentice to Master Jun Loran,” announced his opponent. “I challenge Altan Trengsin to a fight to incapacitation.”
Kobin had to be twice Altan’s weight and several inches taller, yet Rin suspected this would not be a particularly close fight.
Altan shrugged noncommittally.
Sonnen looked bored. “Well, go on,” he said.
The apprentices fell into their opening stances.
“What, no introduction?” Kitay asked.
Raban looked amused. “Altan doesn’t need an introduction.”
Rin wrinkled her nose. “He’s a little full of himself, isn’t he?”
“Altan Trengsin,” Kitay mused. “Is Altan the clan name?”
“Trengsin. The Speerlies put clan names last,” Raban explained hastily. He pointed to the ring. “Shush, you’ll miss it.”
They already had.
She hadn’t heard Altan move, hadn’t even seen the scuffle begin. But when she looked back down at the ring, she saw Kobin pinned against the ground, one arm twisted unnaturally behind his back. Altan knelt above him, slowly increasing the pressure on Kobin’s arm. He looked impassive, detached, almost lackadaisical.
Rin clenched at the railing. “When did—when did he—”
“He’s Altan Trengsin,” Raban said, as if this were explanation enough.
“Yield,” Kobin shouted. “Yield, damn it!”
“Break,” said Sonnen, yawning. “Altan wins. Next.”
Altan released Kobin and offered him a hand. Kobin let Altan hoist him to his feet, then shook Altan’s hand once he stood up. Kobin took his defeat with good grace. There was no shame, it seemed, in being defeated by Altan Trengsin in less than three seconds.
“That’s it?” Rin asked.
“It’s not over,” Raban said. “Altan got a lot of challengers tonight.”
The next contender was Kureel.
Raban frowned, shaking his head. “She shouldn’t have been given permission for this match.”
Rin found this appraisal unfair. Kureel, who was one of Jun’s prized Combat apprentices, had a reputation for viciousness. Kureel and Altan appeared matched in height and strength; surely she could hold her own.
“Begin.”
Kureel charged Altan immediately.
“Great Tortoise,” Rin murmured. She had trouble following as Kureel and Altan began trading blows in close combat. They matched multiple strikes and parries per second, dodging and ducking around each other like dance partners.
A minute passed. Kureel flagged visibly. Her blows became sloppy, overextended. Droplets of sweat flew from her forehead every time she moved. But Altan was unfazed, still moving with that same feline grace he had possessed since the beginning of the match.
“He’s playing with her,” said Raban.
Rin couldn’t take her eyes off Altan. His movements were dancelike, hypnotic. Every action bespoke sheer power—not the hulking muscle that Kobin had embodied, but a compact energy, as if at every moment Altan were a tightly coiled spring about to go off.
“He’ll end it soon,” Raban predicted.
It was ultimately a game of cat and mouse. Altan had never been evenly matched with Kureel. He fought on another level entirely. He had acted the part of her mirror to humor her at first, and then to tire her out. Kureel’s movements slowed with every passing second. And, mockingly, Altan too slowed down his pace to match Kureel’s rhythm. Finally Kureel lunged desperately forward, trying to score a hit on Altan’s midriff. Instead of blocking it, Altan jumped aside, ran up against the dirt wall of the ring, rebounded off the other side, and twisted in the air. His foot caught Kureel in the side of the head. She snapped backward.
She was unconscious before Altan landed behind her, crouched like a cat.
“Tiger’s tits,” said Kitay.
“Tiger’s tits,” Raban agreed.
Two orange-banded Medicine apprentices jumped immediately into the pit to lift Kureel out. A stretcher was already waiting by the side of the ring. Altan hung in the center of the pit, arms folded, waiting calmly for them to finish. Even as they carried Kureel out of the basement, another student climbed down the rope ladder.
“Three challengers in one night,” Kitay said. “Is that normal?”
“Altan fights a lot,” said Raban. “Everyone wants to be the one who takes him down.”
“Has that ever happened?” Rin asked.
Raban just laughed.
The third challenger turned his shaved head up to the lamplight, and Rin realized with a start that it was Tobi—the apprentice from the tour.
Good, Rin thought. I hope Altan destroys him.
Tobi introduced himself loudly, whipping up yells from his Combat classmates. Altan picked at his sleeve and again said nothing. He might have rolled his eyes, but in the dim light Rin couldn’t be sure.
“Begin,” Sonnen said.
Tobi flexed his arms and sank back into a low crouch. Rather than forming fists with his hands, he curled his knobby fingers tightly as if wrapping them around an invisible ball.
Altan tilted his head as if to say, Well, come on.
The match quickly lost its elegance. It was a knockdown, bloody-knuckled, no-holds-barred struggle. It was heavy-handed and abrupt, and full of brute, animalistic force. Nothing was off-limits. Tobi clawed furiously at Altan’s eyes. Altan ducked his head and slammed an elbow into Tobi’s chest.
Tobi staggered back, wheezing for air. Altan backhanded him across the head as if disciplining a child. Tobi tumbled to the floor, then rebounded with a complicated flipping motion and barreled forward. Altan raised his fists in anticipation, but Tobi threw himself at Altan’s waist, pushing both of them back to the ground.
Altan slammed backward onto the dirt floor. Tobi pulled his right arm back and drove his clawed fingers into Altan’s stomach. Altan’s mouth opened in the shape of a soundless scream. Tobi dug his fingers in deeper and twisted. Rin could see veins protruding from his lower arm. His face warped into an wolf’s snarl.
Altan convulsed under Tobi’s grip and coughed. Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Rin’s stomach roiled.
“Shit,” Kitay kept saying. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“That’s Tiger Claws,” said Raban. “Tobi’s signature technique. Inherited arts. Altan won’t be able to shit properly for a week.”
Sonnen leaned forward. “All right, break—”