The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon - Chapter 38: The Princess And The Tiger

Chapter 38: The Princess And The Tiger

“Be wary of your next opponent.”

Antaria paused on her way to the arena and looked back at Doomwing’s construct. “Oh?”

“The report that your uncle compiled underestimates him.” The construct’s eyes narrowed. “The tiger-man has never used his full strength where others can see it. However, he cannot hide from these eyes of mine. The power I see within him is beyond what he has shown so far.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The princess grinned. “He’s one of the borderline ones, right?”

She was referring to whether or not they should recruit him. Based on what her uncle had learned of the tiger-man, he might make a good recruit. However, he had also shown a reluctance to follow authority, and the report had spoken of a simmering anger that was well hidden beneath a veneer of civility.

“Yes.”

“What do you think?” Antaria asked. Even if Doomwing had only laid eyes on him recently, she had no doubt that his judgement would be ruthless but accurate. “Should I recruit him?”

The construct bared its teeth. “You have progressed far enough in your training that you need not seek my counsel for every small decision. If you wish to rule in my name, then you will need to be able to make decisions on your own. Face him and take his measure in battle. Whether he is suitable to join us or not, he is a tiger-man. Battle will show him for who he truly is.”

“Have you known a lot of tiger-men?” Antaria asked. Doomwing’s past was mysterious despite the sheer length of it. Yet every now and then, he would reveal parts of it to her. She treasured each piece of information, knowing that he would not have said anything at all unless he thought her worthy of knowing.

“I have met many tiger-men over the years, but I would say that I have truly known only one.” The construct looked past her to the end of the tunnel that led into the arena. “Tell me, what is the nature of absolute victory?”

“Philosophy?” Antaria grinned. During her training, Doomwing had often spoken of philosophical matters. Apparently, there were styles of combat that required particular mindsets and attitudes to be fully effective. Furthermore, progressing further in power would require not only greater strength but also greater wisdom. After all, her soul was the source of her magic and power, and a soul could grow as much through enlightenment as it could through martial prowess. “That’s a good question hmm I guess I’d say when the enemy can no longer fight.”

“A very draconic answer,” the construct said. “I had a friend, a tiger-man. His name was Brother Tiger, and he was a monk. When he asked me that question, I told him that absolute victory lay in the complete and utter destruction of the enemy and their ability to fight. He told me that he would have agreed with that answer in his youth, but that he had come to think differently in his old age.”

“Oh?” Antaria grinned. “You were friends with a monk?”

“I was,” the construct said. “And although we rarely agreed on philosophical matters, I found his views intriguing. When a fool disagrees with you, it is easy to dismiss their opinion. Brother Tiger was no fool. When he disagreed, I wished to know why, even if I rarely changed my mind.”

“He must have been quite a monk.” Antaria could hear the crowd. The whole tunnel shook with the force of their anticipation as they clapped, stomped, and called her name. “What was his answer?”

“True victory is not the complete and utter destruction of the enemy and their ability to fight. Instead, it is the complete and utter destruction of the enemy’s desire to fight. It is the conversion of an enemy into an ally and a friend.”

Antaria’s eyes widened. “The destruction of their desire to fight?” She smiled. “That would be nice, but it seems quite nave.”

“Oh, he acknowledged that doing so was not always possible. There are foes that must be destroyed, whether that means killing them, throwing them in prison, or merely driving them away. But there are others, those who can become more than enemies, if only we possess the desire and means to persuade them.” The construct chuckled. “I will not say that I agreed. I am a primordial dragon. The foes that I have considered true enemies were not the kind that could be made into friends and allies. They were the kind that had to die. But you are not a primordial dragon, and your foes are not the same as mine.”

“So you think we should recruit him?” Antaria asked, eyes twinkling at the expression of mild aggravation on the construct’s face.

“That is for you to decide and even if you wish to recruit him, do you really think he will agree just because you ask? He is a tiger-man. Even if you beat him, he will not necessarily agree to join us. Instead, you must give him a reason, and you must convince him in a way that even his pride and past cannot deny.”

“Well, I’ll just have to do my best then.” Antaria turned. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck? Let your skills decide the outcome of battle. Still if fortune should come into play, may it favour you in its dealings.”

Antaria strode down the tunnel and then out into the arena. A wave of noise washed over her, so loud that it was an almost physical force that threatened to drive her back into the tunnel. This was the last fight of the tournament, and she had left a trail of devastation in her wake. Her uncle’s enemies were in disarray, and she had received no small number of invitations to talk from nobles who were suddenly eager to curry favour, if only so she wasn’t tempted to add them to her list of people who needed to be killed or maimed.

Her uncle had found the whole thing hilarious, and he had taken full advantage. He was the perfect foil to her more belligerent persona. They could deal with her, the princess who regularly turned her enemies into bloody pulps, or they could deal with a king who wanted nothing more than obedience and who was even willing to share the profits of success if they would just fall into line.

The choice was obvious.

Her opponent was already waiting for her at the centre of the area. She had seen beast-people before. Few of them lived in the kingdom, but it wasn’t unusual for them to pass through, working as mercenaries or adventurers for a time before moving on. She had no grievances against beast-people herself, but there were many superstitions about them that made it difficult for them to live in the kingdom permanently.

Many beast-people were wanderers, and it was often said that they wandered because they had been driven from their homes long ago for committing wicked deeds. Other stories claimed they had brought a great evil into the world although what that evil was or how they had brought it into the world were seldom mentioned. The truth of such tales, it seemed, had been lost to the mists of time. Other stories spoke of their unnatural beliefs, and their worshipping of evil powers. And, of course, their appearances did not help either.

Although the kitsune were said to be people of great beauty, other beast-people were not so fortunate. Bull-men towered over humans, and their horns, muscular frames, and bovine features granted them an air of menace in the eyes of many. Tiger-men had the heads of tiger, complete with big, sharp teeth. They also had retractable claws upon their hands and feet, which could easily tear a man limb from limb.

She had asked Doomwing if there was any truth to the tales, and the dragon had simply replied that such stories existed for a reason. However, the beast-people who had been responsible for the development of such tales were long dead. Only their descendants remained, and even they could no longer remember why those stories were told. He had no reason to dislike them unless they attempted to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors.

The thought of it saddened Antaria. To be outcasts for crimes they could not even remember? There was no fairness in that. Perhaps that was why the deeds of her great ancestor often made her so uneasy. People spoke of Elerion in hushed whispers, a near-mythological figure whose blood flowed through her veins. It was his blood that allowed her family to sit upon the throne, and it had been his blood that her father had used to justify his mad schemes. After all, if their ancestor had once been High King, why shouldn’t he be the same?

Pathetic.

It was pathetic.

Doomwing had spoken of Elerion, and the man was worthy of the high esteem in which people held him. However, Antaria despised the idea that she was only worth anything because of the blood they shared. No. If she was to be judged, then let her ancestry be left behind. Let it be her own deeds, her own struggles, toils, and victories that defined her!

Her opponent was the largest tiger-man she had ever seen. He was roughly seven feet tall, and thick cords of powerful muscle rippled beneath vibrant orange fur striped with black. He wore a faded red tunic with grey trousers, and a weapon that she had been told was called a ‘dao’ hung at his side. The weapon was well maintained, but it also showed signs of long and vigorous use. He paid no heed to the referee as she approached. Instead, his gaze followed her every step of the way, keen and piercing. She smiled. He was taking her measure, just as she was taking his.

“Princess.” He brought his hands together in a salute, one hand a fist and the other an open palm, and then bowed. According to Doomwing, it was an ancient sign of respect between warriors, one that originated Ages ago. “It is an honour to face you.”

She returned the gesture, much to his surprise. “Your name is Xiang, isn’t it?” He nodded. “Then I look forward to facing you.”

The referee went over the rules briefly, but neither of them paid the man much heed. They had fought enough already to know the rules by heart. As the referee moved out of the way, they both drew their weapons.

From what Antaria had observed from his previous fights, the dao was similar to a sabre. It could cut and thrust, but it seemed to be most effective when used for chopping and slashing attacks. Given the immense speed and strength that Xiang had demonstrated throughout the tournament, facing the weapon head on seemed like a foolish idea even for her especially given her own weapon.

The elves of the Third Age had prized precision over brute force in their fighting, and the elvish rapier style that Antaria had been learning to use was a prime example of that. The speed and range of a thrust allowed her to strike to deadly effect, often without giving the opponent a chance to truly respond. She had been surprised and inordinately pleased to discover that the wooden sword that Daphne had given her could change its shape, meaning there was no need for her to use a different weapon. Apparently, that was something most dryad-gifted weapons could do although it had taken her a while to figure out how to do it, even with Doomwing’s advice.

According to Doomwing, Alenna Skyseeker had favoured the elvish rapier due to her style’s emphasis on mobility. Yes, blocking a blow from a much heavier weapon would be difficult, but the whole point was to avoid having to block in the first place. Speed, mobility, and anticipation should make it possible to interrupt the opponent’s strike or to evade and then counter attack.

That style of fighting went against Antaria’s desire to simply crush her opponents, but she had found herself growing more and more appreciative of it. Was it simply her magical affinity biasing her opinions, or was it simply a matter of gaining more experience? Yes, crushing people could be fun especially when she knew they were trying to assassinate her but there was something so incredibly enjoyable about reading her opponents and the flow of battle, dodging attack after attack and then replying with pinpoint precision that left her enemies defeated with a single, precisely aimed attack.

And what a rapier might lack in raw destructive power could easily be remedied with wind magic. Doomwing had demonstrated several such techniques that could turn even a clumsy strike into something capable of piecing or slicing through solid steel. That was another reason he wanted her to grow adept in a style that emphasised evasion and anticipation. At the highest level, humans simply weren’t durable enough to shrug off attacks from creatures like dragons, hydras, and other powerful monsters. Dodging and then exploiting the openings that would appear would be key to defeat stronger opponents in the future.

To his credit, Xiang did not rush in immediately. One of her previous opponents had thought to overwhelm her before she could put her weapon’s greater reach to work. He’d earned himself a hole in his heart for his trouble and had died before he could truly understand what had happened not that she particularly cared. He had been another assassin, albeit not the most dangerous she had encountered. How he’d even gotten that far in the tournament was a bit of a mystery to her.

“You’re not going to attack?” Antaria asked.

“Not recklessly,” Xiang replied. “I have seen your previous bouts. Some might call your blade flimsy, but I know better.”

“In that case, why don’t I go first?”

She took a single step forward and then flowed into a thrust. His eyes widened momentarily, and then he retreated, moving just out of range. She followed with another thrust and then another and another, each delivered with the precision and perfect technique that only dragon-related suffering could provide. Doomwing had no need for a sword, but he had seen the finest swordmen of the elves. She would become that good or suffer horribly trying.

So far, it had been mostly horrible suffering, but the improvement was undeniable.

Each time, Xiang gave ground, not simply moving backward but also to the side to see if her footwork could keep up. She bit back a smile. She’d seen too many duellists make mistakes since it was all too easy to get caught up in moving backward and forward without taking lateral movement into account. Doomwing had disabused her of that notion by dodging to the side and then tackling her with his construct.

Broken ribs and full-body bruising were wonderful motivators for improvement.

They broke apart for a moment, and she could tell the exact moment that Xiang came to his decision. He could not continue to give ground. If all he did was retreat, then he would lose. At some point, she would hit him, and she was accurate enough to end the fight in a single blow. He had to attack.

Of course, attacking would not be easy. Even with his height advantage and the length of his weapon, a rapier was not an easy weapon to get past. But he would have to if he wanted to win. His hands tightened on his dao, and his weight shifted onto the balls of his feet. His magic stirred in earnest, and her eyes widened.

He had roughly the same amount of magic as her, and unlike the crude, roughly controlled magic in most of her opponents, his had been honed considerably. It wasn’t sharpened in the same way as hers. Indeed, there was a certain roughness to it that suggested he was self-taught rather than trained by someone like Doomwing. However, there was no mistaking the threat he posed.

Her own magic shifted in response, and she readied herself. It was time to see what he was capable of.

He lunged forward, far, far faster than he’d moved before. In the instant that she moved to strike, he sprang to the side in a movement of pure feline grace and then brought his dao down in a tremendous overhand blow. She discarded the idea of blocking immediately. Even Daphne’s sword might not be able to withstand the sheer force behind the attack.

Instead, she jerked back, just enough to avoid the attack. The dao smashed into the ground, and the force of the blow cratered the ground and tossed her back. Yep. Dodging had definitely been a good idea. She couldn’t be sure, but she was pretty confident that Xiang had used a basic rune to enhance that blow.

Had he been taught the rune? No. He wouldn’t be working as mercenary if he had someone capable of teaching runes backing him. He must have uncovered it himself, which spoke volumes of his talent. No wonder he was popular as a mercenary. He could probably do the work of dozens of men himself.

And yet that single blow had revealed something to her, something that made her brows furrow.

She decided to test her idea.

She moved forward again, light and easy on her feet, probing with swift, sharp attacks while just barely dodging his counter attacks. Each of his blows could have ended the fight the sheer force he could generate was insane and his reactions, speed, and agility were all outstanding. In fact, he might even be more agile than her, which was saying something, considering all the training she’d gone through. But there was something off about the way he fought

She backed away and then lowered her sword. He stared at her in puzzlement.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “You cannot be surrendering.”

“I’m not surrendering. I just noticed that you’re really not all that good with a sword.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. You’re extremely fast and agile, and you’re easily the strongest opponent I’ve faced so far. I’d be in a lot of trouble if even one of those swings of yours managed to hit me. But your technique I won’t say it’s bad, but it’s very simple so simple that I’m convinced you don’t actually favour the sword in battle.”

Xiang’s expression grew sober. “Princess, do you know why I use the sword?”

“No.”

“I am a tiger-man. I have my claws and my teeth. But if I use them in battle, I am called a beast and looked down upon as a savage.” He glanced down at the dao in his hand. “The sword is a warrior’s weapon, or so I have been told. If I wish to work, then I must follow the ways of those I work for.”

“I see.” She had suspected it might be something like that. She glanced up at the royal box where her uncle and Doomwing’s construct were watching, along with a blonde woman she didn’t recognise. A flick of her wrist sent her sword flying up toward them where the construct caught it with magic. “In that case, why don’t you show me what you can really do? On my name and honour, I would prefer to face you at your best.”

Xiang stared at her for a long moment. “You are my better with a blade. You would win if we continued to fight with weapons. Barehanded, I am much more formidable.”

She grinned. “There is no point in winning if I’m not facing my opponent at their best.” She nodded at the referee. “Give your weapon to the referee. He can hang onto it for you. I’m sure he’ll take good care of it.” She smiled. “I don’t care if you use your claws or your teeth. You are a tiger-man, and those are the weapons of your people. Getting upset about you using them would be like getting upset at a dragon for using its flame.” She took up her stance and raised her fists. “Show me what you can do.”

Xiang hadn’t been sure what to make of the princess. She was skilled, that much was obvious, but he hadn’t realised just how deadly she was until facing her himself. Although his sword work was fairly simple, his sheer speed, strength, and agility had allowed him to easily overwhelm every opponent he had faced until now.

The princess had dodged each of his attacks, and he had narrowly avoided defeat multiple times. A single, properly placed strike from her rapier could easily have felled him. The weapon might have been made of wood, but the amount of magic the princess had and the way she could shape her magic made it clear that the weapon would pierce through flesh and bone as easily as paper.

She had been winning, and yet she had realised what he was doing and had all but ordered him to set his sword aside and face her with his full strength. He wasn’t sure whether she was insane as some people he had spoken to had suggested or so confident of victory that she didn’t care. No. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that she had spoken the truth. She wanted to beat him, but only at his best.

It warmed his heart.

Such honour.

If only all such humans were so honourable. But he knew that wasn’t so. He hadn’t lied about his reasons for using the sword. When he had first come to this land with his fellows, securing work had not been easy. They were strong, yes, but they preferred to fight with their teeth and claws. It was their way, for they were tiger-men.

But they had been labelled savages for it, and work had only become easier to get when they had reverted to using weapons. It rankled that he could not fight as he wished, but he needed the work. Ever since his clan had been forced from their homes, they had been faced with a simple choice. They could work, or they could starve.

Xiang had been only a boy then. He and his clan had lived by the shores of a sea that he could barely remember. His father had been a fisherman, as had his grandfather. In fact, that was what most of the men had done. They fished. And the sea had been good to them. They had lived off its bounty and made a decent living selling the fish they caught to those who lived nearby.

And then they had discovered pearls in the sea near their village. The pearls had brought fresh wealth to his clan, and people had come from far and wide to buy them. Most of the pearls were bought for their appearance, but now and again, they would find one with magical properties. Those pearls were prized above all others, and his clan had taken pride in supplying the ruler of those lands with those special pearls.

The king there had been pleased with them, or so his clan had believed. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

Soldiers had come in the dead of night with swords and spears and spells. Xiang could barely remember the sea, but he had never forgotten that night. The screams, the pleas for mercy, the smell of blood and the words, those terrible words.

They were beasts that the king had only tolerated because getting rid of them wasn’t worth the effort.

Was the king supposed to be impressed by their meagre offerings of fish? How typical of a bunch of savages to think he cared about fish.

The pearls were the final straw.

What right did they have to those?

The king’s ancestor had allowed them to settle in the kingdom because he had been a soft-hearted fool who pitied them. They were beasts who lacked even a homeland to call their own, exiles who had spent centuries wandering as outcasts because their ancestors had been fools who had ruined their own homeland.

The king’s ancestor should never have let them stay. They would only bring that same misfortune upon the kingdom. But it was pity that had stayed the hands of the king’s predecessor pity for their simple ways and pathetic past. And perhaps the king had felt pity for them too until the pearls.

Why should savages like them be the ones to control such riches?

Those pearls and all such treasures should belong to the king. So what better time to rid the kingdom of them and claim what was theirs?

Xiang’s clan were not fighters, not really. Oh, there were those amongst them who could fight and hunt, but they were fishermen first and foremost. It was the sea they loved, and it was the sea’s bounty that sustained them.

They had little hope against soldiers and mages, especially when taken by surprise.

By some miracle, Xiang’s grandfather and some of the others were able to escape. He had taken Xiang and his mother and fled, with Xiang’s father and some of the other tiger-men staying behind to cover their escape.

He had never seen his father again, nor any of the other brave tiger-men who had stayed behind.

Later, Xiang would find out that their own neighbours had turned against them humans he had known all his life and considered his friends. His grandfather had looked at him sadly and explained.

“Greed, Xiang. Greed has no limits. We had something they wanted, so they took it.”

“But why, grandfather?” he had asked. “We were there friends, weren’t we? Who would steal from a friend?”

What a nave, foolish boy he’d been.

“They tolerated us, Xiang,” his grandfather had replied. “Because it was easier than driving us off. Once once we found the pearls, I should have known this would happen.” His grandfather had held him tight, and Xiang could feel the tears falling from his grandfather’s eyes although he could not see them. “I should have listened to your father. He tried to warn me, but I thought I thought that we had finally found a place where we could belong. We had been there for so many years and after wandering for so many more before that it was supposed to be home, Xiang. It was supposed to be home.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

After that, they fled the kingdom. The king’s troops pursued them all the way to the border, only relenting when they crossed the river that marked the kingdom’s end. They had been reduced to less than a quarter of their original numbers, and they had thrown themselves on the mercy of the neighbouring kingdom’s ruler. For what else could they do?

The queen who ruled had given them food and shelter, enough to let them recover, and they had dared to hope they might have a place there. And then she had told them to move on. Her own conscience had forced her to lend aid, but beast-people were not popular in her kingdom, and giving a group of tiger-people land would only make trouble for her.

And so they had left, taking work as labourers from those who were willing to spare coin to hire them. It was hard work, and the pay was poor, but it allowed them to get by as they made their way from one kingdom to another. Again and again, they asked for sanctuary, but tales had been spread of them by the king who had driven them to exile.

They were thieves, the stories said, traitors who had tried to cheat the king of what he was owed. It was all lies, but what were the words of vagabonds to a king’s?

And so they had wandered, and the years had passed, one after the other. They had survived, if only because they were too stubborn to die, and Xiang and some of the others had learned how to fight because there was always work for mercenaries, even tiger-men, if they were willing to take risks and put themselves in danger.

He came to love battle, for the arts of combat seemed to come easily to him, and he spent countless hours refining his skills. Some of the mercenaries were kind too. They did not care that he was a tiger-man. They cared only that he fought at their sides. Yet that camaraderie rarely lasted long. They might be willing to add him to their numbers, but what of his people? There was no place for them, not for the old who still remembered the village by the sea, or the young who he wished to shield from the blood and carnage of the battlefield.

And so more years passed. His grandfather grew old and frail, and Xiang had children of his own. He dreamed of a place where they could belong, where they could put down roots and stay instead of wandering from one place to another, taking what work they could. He longed for a day when he no longer had to kill for money but could instead earn his keep on a fishing boat as his father and grandfather had done.

And then he heard about the tournament.

It was said that the winner was often offered a place in the royal guard. Xiang was not so foolish as to think he would be offered a place. He was a tiger-man from another land. There would be no place for him. But the winner would also be given a rich prize and a chance to speak to the king. The new king was said to be a man of fair mind and great wisdom. Xiang would win the prize and beg the king for a chance to purchase land for his people. He didn’t need the richest land. All he wanted was a place for his people to settle, so that his children would not have to wander endlessly while spilling blood to make ends meet. If he had get down on his knees, he would. If he had to swear service to the king and strike down his enemies, he would not hesitate.

The tournament had gone well.

Xiang knew his own strength, and he did not take his opponents lightly. He had made it all the way to the finals where he faced the princess.

He wanted to dislike her. It would have made it easier to beat her. Yet how could he? She crushed her enemies utterly, and it was said that those she slew were assassins out to take her life. Yet she treated others fairly and mercifully, never slaying those who fought with good intentions or who simply wished to test themselves against her. One of the clan’s young cubs had even pushed his way through the crowd, eager to get a glimpse of the princess who had captivated the capital with her power.

He had tripped and fallen to the ground in front of her, and guards had moved to push him aside, but the princess had merely brushed them aside and helped the cub to his feet, dusting him off and then sending him on his way with a pat on the head. She hadn’t mentioned it to him, which made Xiang think she hadn’t thought much of it at all. She had helped the cub not because she wished to weaken his resolve, but because it was the right thing to do. She had seen a child in trouble, and she had helped. It had not mattered that he was a tiger-boy.

And now now she was telling him to fight her with his full strength, to hold nothing back. His heart was moved. If only the king of their old home had been like her.

“I must win this tournament,” Xiang proclaimed. “So I ask that you prepare yourself, princess. I will face you with all that I have.” He could not afford to lose.

She grinned at him, violet eyes shining. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Xiang gave a low rumble, and his muscles bulged. His magic roared within him, and his senses came alive. Power coursed through his veins, and his strength, speed, and agility soared beyond their previous limits. He reached down to remove his boots, and he tossed them aside as he unsheathed the claws on his hands and feet and bared his teeth. He took off his tunic and cut the legs of his trousers until he might as well have been wearing shorts. Then he moved into a stance, lower to the ground, ready to spring into motion.

“Heh.” The princess chuckled. “This should be fun.”

Enarion gasped and shot to his feet as Xiang vanished from view. He reappeared a moment later, just as Antaria flinched away. For an instant, he thought his niece had avoided the attack, but he was proven wrong as blood spilled from a cut along her arm. It was the first real wound that Antaria had taken throughout the tournament, and it spoke volumes of Xiang’s power. Enarion had seen Antaria block swords barehanded. For her to be wounded

And then the tiger-man vanished again. He reappeared behind Antaria, claws flashing, and his niece dodged only to once again emerge with a wound on her arm. She lashed out with a punch of her own, but Xiang dodged the attack and aimed a kick at her side. The blow came within inches of landing, yet Antaria was still sent reeling back, a cut across her side.

What was going on?

“Impressive.”

He turned toward the blonde visitor that Doomwing’s construct had brought along. She was utterly average in appearance, yet her presence suggested she was far more than she appeared. He strongly suspected she was using an illusion to conceal her true identity, but he wasn’t about to ask. If Doomwing had chosen to bring her along, he must have his reasons.

“What’s happening?” Enarion asked. “I could have sworn she dodged those attacks, but she was still cut.”

The woman chuckled. “I’m not surprised you don’t see it. You’re not at the level of advancement required.” She smiled. “Water. He’s cutting her with water.”

“Yes,” Doomwing’s construct rumbled as the fight continued. Antaria was giving up ground and focusing entirely on defence, yet she was still being wounded in each exchange. She was losing. “Beast-people do not use magic in quite the same way as humans do. Humans typically rely on ordered spells. Beast-people, however, tend to have a more instinctive grasp of their magic. Xiang appears to have a strong affinity for water magic. He is using extremely thin blades of water to lengthen his reach. At the speed he moves, they are almost invisible. And to cut through her clothing his skills are impressive for one who is almost certainly self-taught.”

“That’s” Enarion gaped. That sounded utterly insane, far beyond what any of Antaria’s other opponents had been capable of. “Can can she win?”

“Yes,” the woman replied. “But whether or not she actually does depends entirely on how well she can use what she has.”

Antaria had backed away, and with every passing moment, it seemed as though Xiang was moving faster while she was moving more slowly. Her arms and legs were covered in cuts, but she had managed to avoid any further wounds to her torso. Xiang was a blur of motion, striking from seemingly every angle, blow after blow after blow raining down as he sought to end the fight. Yet his movement remained eerily graceful, so very much like an actual tiger in the smooth, languid elegance they possessed despite the power behind each attack.

“Where is he even getting the water from?” Enarion asked.

“From the air,” Doomwing’s construct replied. “The blades of water he is using are incredibly thin, so he doesn’t need as much as you might think. His affinity for water magic is quite strong although I’m curious to know if his raw power can match his control.”

“He probably hasn’t had much of a chance to focus on raw power,” the woman said. “If he has been working as a mercenary, he has to be careful about standing out too much. A skilled mercenary is valuable, but one with too much power is a threat that needs to be eliminated.”

To Enarion’s disbelief, neither of them seemed worried despite Antaria so far failing to land a single blow. To make matters worse, Antaria had ripped off part of her mangled sleeve and tied it around her head. A blindfold. “Why is she covering her eyes?”

“Just watch,” the woman said. Her lips twitched. “You’ll see.”

Xiang closed in again and then Antaria dodged cleanly. For the first time, the tiger-man swiped and failed to draw blood. He immediately moved into another attack, only for that attack and the three that followed to be dodged as well.

“What?” Enarion whispered. “How is she dodging with her eyes covered?”

“Her eyes were deceiving her,” the woman said. “Tiger-men share the same sort of patterning as tigers. This patterning not only breaks up their silhouette but also draws the eye in a way that makes focusing on their exact movements difficult. That is why he removed his tunic and cut his trousers. Furthermore, the blades of water he extends from his claws are constantly changing in length, with him only settling upon their true length at the final moment. The great effort required to see them in the first place, combined with that constantly changing length, makes it hard to keep track of his other movements.”

“In other words,” Doomwing’s construct said. “His fighting style is designed to fool the eyes of his opponents. Against a dragon, it would be of little worth. Our eyes and minds are far superior to a human’s. But against Antaria, it was working, which is why she covered her eyes.”

“So then how is she dodging?”

And Antaria was still dodging, moving seamlessly around Xiang’s attacks. She had yet to land a hit of her own, but she had yet to be hit again either. Finally, as Xiang duked one way and then went the other, hoping to strike at her unprotected side, she landed a hit. The punch struck with a sound like thunder, and Xiang went flying back. He had managed to block the attack at the last second, catching it on his crossed forearms.

He skidded to a stop, and the tiger-man shook his arms and opened and closed his hands. The attack must have left them almost numb. There was a puzzled and frustrated expression on his face. Enarion couldn’t blame him. He’d been winning, and winning handily too, yet now the battle felt like it might somehow be slipping away from him.

“Xiang’s technique is impressive,” the woman said. “But it is rough. It lacks the refinement and cleanness of a technique that has been honed over generations. It is almost certainly self-taught. As a result, the technique is constantly bleeding magic into its surroundings as is Xiang himself due to all the magic he is channelling and the amount of enhancement he has used on himself.”

“Wait are you saying that Antaria is reacting to his magic and the magic of his technique?” Enarion asked.

“Yes.” The woman chuckled. “Magic comes from the soul, and it is the soul that perceives the magic of others. Do you think your soul needs eyes to see? No. Unlike her eyes which can be more easily fooled, Antaria’s magical senses are incredibly keen and far harder to fool. She also has an affinity for the wind. She can almost certainly sense the air displaced by his attacks.”

Doomwing’s construct chuckled. “And she claimed my blindfolded training was useless.”

“Your blindfolded training is an excuse for you to pelt people with low-level magic while they try to dodge.”

“Yes but it is also useful.” The construct turned back to the battle. “Now watch watch as your niece proves she is worthy of the effort I have put into training her.”

Xiang could not understand it.

How was he losing?

He had struck so many blows at first. None had enough to end the fight, but he had been getting closer and closer. No. Ice ran through his veins. All the wounds he’d landed except for that one blow to her side all had been to her arms and legs. She hadn’t been able to dodge completely, so she had chosen to take the blows on her arms and legs while protecting her torso all so she could buy herself more time to understand his technique.

He’d underestimated her. Somehow, despite everything, he’d underestimated her.

He had to end this now. That punch of hers could have finished things if it had landed. He could not afford to give her any more time to understand his technique. It was the work of years the work of his lifetime and yet she had found a way to counter it. Who knew what she would be capable of if he gave her more time?

He darted forward again, magic surging in rhythmic bursts as he accelerated far beyond his normal limits, little more than a blur to regular people as he moved back and forth, searching, probing, hoping for an opening. The thin blades of water around his claws pulsed in time with his own racing heart, their lengths shifting back and forth until he finally committed to a strike

She moved.

And his slash went wide.

She moved again.

His kick missed.

She moved yet again.

And his leaping strike went over her head.

And then her fist hit him in the stomach.

He went flying back and struck the wall of the arena with terrible force. For a moment, he passed out, but the sudden shock of tumbling off the wall and into the ground brought him back to consciousness. He staggered to his feet, ignoring the ache in his body and the blood in his mouth.

He had been hurt before. Indeed, he had been hurt many times when he was younger and had yet to fully embrace his gifts. The world always became simpler at times like this. If he won the tournament, he could get his people the home they needed to survive. His children would not have to suffer as he had.

He liked the princess. He genuinely respected her. But he would not let her stand in his way. He would not let anyone stand in his way. He would win. He had to.

He roared and reached deeper into the wellspring of power within him. He could not remember the last time he had been pushed this hard, and the combination of fear, excitement, and desperation thrilled him. Was this his tiger-man blood coming to the fore? Perhaps, for his grandfather had once told him that they were the descendants of a mighty kingdom of tiger-people that had been destroyed long ago after they sought to conquer their neighbours.

That blood burned in his veins and drove him to draw on more and more magic until it felt as though his whole body was on fire. If she had learned to anticipate his movements somehow, then he simply needed to be faster. If she could dodge his attacks, then he simply needed to make his water blades longer. And if that still wasn’t enough, then he would simply have to go further, to turn the very air around him into a storm of blades!

“How interesting” The blonde woman chuckled as Enarion fought the urge to scream. The whole crowd was on its feet, roaring almost as loud as the tiger-man as his magic grew even stronger. The blades of water were visible now, not just around his claws, but even in the air around him, a maelstrom of liquid death that seemed impossible to dodge. “He’s improving even as the fight goes on.”

“His desperation has granted him strength, but” Doomwing’s construct was smiling smugly. “It is over. He has lost.”

“How can you say that?” Enarion asked. “How is Antaria supposed to dodge all of that?”

“Just watch.” The construct gave a rumble of amusement. “Your niece has spent all of her time since leaving this kingdom training with me. That training has allowed her to improve at an incredible rate, but training against someone like me presents certain problems too.”

“Deep down inside,” the blonde woman said. “Antaria knows that she cannot beat Doomwing’s construct as she is now. Her soul senses that too.”

“My power is so far beyond hers that there is no hope of victory. Constantly facing a superior opponent can help someone grow, but it can also be limiting. There are times when the only way to improve is to face an opponent of similar strength, to be pushed to the edge and then grasp at the ever-dimming chance of victory.”

Antaria saw, but not with her eyes. All those days of being pelted by Doomwing and the animals, all those times she’d cursed the dragon and sworn vengeance against the raccoons and squirrels, they had not been in vain. Magic was everywhere and in everything. She had been forced to sense it in order to survive. Combined with her increasingly good grasp of the air around her, she had finally found a way to sense what Xiang was doing.

She could dodge, and she could fight back.

But he was still faster than her, and now he was attacking with not just the blades around his claws but countless more formed in the air around him.

Before this fight, she would have lost. She was certain of that. But he had also shown her the answer to her problem.

She had been working on enhancing her body with magic, and she was working to master all of the many ways that magic could be channelled through her body to increase her speed. Using everything she’d learned and copying what she could decipher of how he enhanced his own movements, she was certain she could match his speed.

But even matching it would not be enough. She needed to be faster, and she knew how.

The rune of floating.

Why did she float when she used it? Because she was weightless. And something that was weightless could be moved very easily indeed. Moreover, she had seen how Xiang extended his claws with blades of water. Why couldn’t she do something similar and wrap her limbs in wind? She didn’t have the control to unleash cutting winds to overwhelm his water blades, not yet, but she could push herself and when combined with the rune of floating.

Limitless freedom.

That was the name Alenna Skyseeker had given to her style a style that was designed for aerial combat, a style that had impressed even a dragon.

Limitless freedom.

The ability to move unhindered.

Xiang closed in, blades of water flashing, and Antaria smiled.

And then she moved, her feet not quite touching the ground, truly free for the first time in her life.

Xiang could not believe it. How could the princess dodge all of his attacks? She had gone beyond matching his speed. She had surpassed him, and she was moving in ways that should be impossible, almost as if as if she was no longer bound by gravity. He jerked back, and his gaze snapped to the ground.

When using magic to enhance their speed, it was common for people to damage their ground due to the sheer force and weight of their footsteps. For much of their fight, that had been true for both him and the princess. And yet now, in their most recent exchange, there was only a single set of footprints.

The wind magic he’d felt she was using it to enhance her movements. And if she had a way of making herself weightless it wouldn’t be quite the same as flight, but it would allow her to move in ways that no normal person could. Indeed, by using her wind magic on herself, she could simply push herself out of the way of his attacks despite completely lacking the leverage to do so using her limbs.

A sense of despair swept over him. He had already used up most of his magic, but the fight was slipping further and further out of reach. He had to risk it all then and put everything he had left into a final attack in the hopes that he could win. He roared, as much to raise his own spirits as to threaten his opponent. The blades of water around him stilled and turned into countless needles that drifted in the air.

“This will be my final attack,” he rumbled. “I call it the Conquering Rain.”

The princess nodded. “I like that name. I guess it’s a contest of speed, right? Can I get past all those attacks and hit you, or will you be able to bury me beneath them.”

“Yes. That is how the fight will be decided.”

“So let me ask you a question.” The princess grinned. “Which is faster? The rain, or the wind that carries it?”

“Let us find out.”

He launched the needles and braced himself. The princess moved and then

Darkness.

Xiang woke up and found himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. “I lost” he murmured. He felt tears prickle at the edges of his eyes. He had lost the tournament, and with it the opportunity to save his people.

“What were you fighting for?”

He gasped and turned to the side to find the princess sitting on a chair beside his bed. She was holding a raccoon in her arms, and the animal was doing its best to glare him to death. “Oh, be nice, Filch. The whole point of the tournament was to fight. You can’t blame him for fighting me.” She chuckled. “Sorry about, Filch. He’s a friend of mine, and he can be surprisingly protective when he’s not being obnoxious.”

“I I see.” Xiang sat up. His wounds had been healed, and were the memories not so fresh, it would have been easy to think he’d imagined the entire battle. “You asked about why I was fighting? I’ll tell you. I think I think you would understand.”

And so he spoke, telling her of what had transpired. When he was done, the princess sighed.

“I don’t think you want my pity or my sympathy. There’s not much either can do for you. But you should know that even if you won, your plan wouldn’t have worked.”

“What?” he growled.

“My uncle is a good man, but his reign has only just begun. He has many opponents he must deal with before his rule is truly secure. Allowing tiger-people from a foreign land to purchase land and set up their own settlement that would provide his opponents with a cudgel to use against him. It would never have been allowed.”

Xiang growled. “How long must my people continue to pay for a sin that we cannot even remember? Are we cursed to wander, never knowing a proper home of our own?” His anger banked, and he sagged wearily. “I I am tired, princess. I just I want a home for my people. I like fighting, but I don’t want to have to kill for a living! I want a place where my people can be safe! I want that village by the sea back!”

“You can never get back the home you lost,” she replied gently. “But together, you and I can build your people a better one.”

“What?” he asked, not daring to hope. “What do you mean?”

And so she told him of the lands ruled by the great dragon she served, and of how amongst those lands, were lands by the sea.

“Swear your loyalty to me and to him, and your people will be given those lands to rule in his name.”

“Will he really accept us?” Xiang asked quietly. “We are tiger-people.”

“That doesn’t matter to him.” The princess laughed. “To him, we’re all the same humans, beast-people, dwarves, dryads, or monsters. Trust me, all that matters to him is that you serve him loyally and do your best to improve both yourself and his lands. Do that, and you’ll get along just fine.”

It sounded wonderful, but years of distrust had made him wary of dreams.

“Xiang,” the princess said. “You spoke of how much your grandfather loved the sea. Tell me, how long has it been since he last saw the sea?”

“Too long” Xiang murmured. “Far, far too long.” He nodded firmly. “I will speak to the dragon, princess. And and if all you have said is true, then I will swear whatever oaths he asks of me.”

“That’s great.” She stood as the sound of footsteps came from outside the door. “I am sure your wife and children wish to speak with you, so I won’t take up any more of your time.” She chuckled. “By the way, Doomwing had a friend once a tiger-man. He doesn’t talk about his past much, so for him to mention him I don’t think he has anything against tiger-people.”