The two groups sat across the room from each other, wariness visible in the tucked-in hands and clutched sword hilts. Sunlight snuck in through gaps in the window blinds, illuminating the dust that twirled in the air. Orville watched as it settled on Candidate Thorne’s mace. She sneezed, then returned his stare.
“That’s the first thing we’re going to change. We need janitorial service, I don’t care if there’s a recession,” she leaned her muscular arms on the table, “Do you agree, Candidate Stillman?”
“The dust is pretty bad,” Orville allowed, “I’m sure we could come up with a solution.”
“Hm,” Thorne looked him up and down, “How old are you?”
“Forty,” he showed her his teeth, “Being the elder, you, of course, should run as primary.”
She didn’t flinch at his barb, “Married?”
“Divorced,” he held up his left hand, a white stripe still marking his ring finger.
“You’re a poor candidate,” Thorne sat back with a huff.
To his left, Orville heard Kamran Abram tsk. Before Kamran could make a response, the bearded man next to Thorne wheezed, “Whoa, Briar, let’s give the man a chance.”
“Briar?” Orville gave Kamran the side-eye. Kamran wiggled his eyebrows. It was the same gesture he’d used since he was fifteen; he wanted to send a telepathic message. Orville scratched his nose; he was listening.
“Don’t get distracted. It’s a nickname. She’s sizing you up. You do it back,” Kamran’s voice was as clear as if he was speaking aloud.
“I suppose you make a better candidate,” Orville scanned Briar for weaknesses. Gray coiffed hair, eyebrows plucked into perfect arcs, a string of teeth around her neck, a left-arm that ended in a stump. “You look the part, but can you lead? And more importantly, can you do it in a way that doesn’t open Gold up to more problems.”
“There’s a simple way to settle this,” Briar rested a hand on her mace.
“Yes, if you really want to go that route,” Orville tried not to look at Kamran. He was frantically wiggling his eyebrows, but Orville didn’t want to hear it.
“We keep it clean. Rubber tipped weapons and stun magic only. Jesse will pick the winner,” Briar held out her hand.
Orville shook, Kamran twitched.
The armory was dim, overhead lighting limited to the dirty skylights that striped the floor in a two-toned grey. Briar stood in the middle, a Kevlar vest covering her short-sleeved blouse, a shield fixed on her stump. In his blazer and slacks, Orville couldn’t help but feel underdressed. Jesse, the man with the beard, stood between them, “Both parties turn and face the outer wall.”
Orville turned, squinting at a mural depicting the different types of elemental magic. He focused on Light, a long-haired woman who held a glowing orb. Her face was gentle, almost meek. Earth stood beside her, his muscles bulging as he tore a tree up by its roots. Water was half-fish, a trident brandished above her head. Fire, himself was aflame, Wind was a dancer with scarves.
“Begin,” called Jesse.
Orville didn’t turn, he ran. “I am so out of shape,” he groaned as he skidded to a stop. Briar was close behind him, her mace pumping the air like a runner’s baton. He pulled out his gun and fired, grinning as she tumbled to the ground.
Back on her feet, Briar charged him. This time when he fired, she was ready, knocking the rubber bullet away with her shield. “Four more,” she yelled at him, “Then it’s hand-to-hand.”
But Orville had something different in mind. The dimness of the armory would make it all the more dazzling. Light. There was a flash. The vast space lit up, then vanished, swallowed into whiteness. He could hear Briar curse, and he shot in that direction.
She should have been paralyzed by the loss of sight, so the blow upside the head caught Orville by surprise. Briar fell on him, pinning him to the ground like a wrestler. “You,” she hissed in his ear, “gave yourself away with that gun.”
“Get off me,” he struggled to get her elbow off the tender part of his ribs. Around them the stadium regained its colors, the grey floor snapping into focus. He could barely move, but it was enough to summon. Sure, it was little more than a party trick, but it would at least get him out of her attack range.
Sleep.
Briar’s body relaxed, her breathing deepening as she dozed. Orville struggled out from under her, his blazer ripping across the shoulders like the strum of a muffled guitar. He jogged across the room to where the grouping of mages and soldiers sat in folding chairs. Jesse was in the front row, marking his notes on a legal pad. Kamran was in the last row, leaning back in his chair like a bored child.
Panting, sweat darkening the front of his button-down, Orville touched his nose.
“I don’t even want to talk to you,” Kamran complained, “Go do your Light thing.”
In the opposite corner of the room, Briar jerked awake with a snort. She crouched, eyeing Orville with a new wariness. Then she was on her feet. Lunging towards him, she banked, diving straight through the rows of spectators.
Unable to get a clear shot, Orville had no choice but to stand there and take the hit. Even though the spikes were rubber, the mace was heavy. He rolled with the impact, stars dancing around the corners of his vision.
Light Burst.
There was a series of pops. Briar jumped clear of rows of seats. Orville had just enough time to sit up and aim. “Son-of-gun!” Briar sat down hard, “Those rubber bullets hurt more than the real ones.”
“I have five more with your name on them,” Orville stood, the room reeling around him.
“You have two left,” Briar put weight on her leg and winced, “And you’re about to pass out.”
Orville’s vision narrowed like he was looking through a tube. “Yeah,” he held his arm as straight as he could and fired his last two rounds.
At least he thought he had fired both. It was hard to tell what was real and what was wishful thinking as the shadows in the room converged on him. They rocked him, like they always had, humming the tuneless lullaby of unconsciousness. He would have stayed there, but Kamran was shaking him, his face inches away. “Wake-up. Can you wake up? C’mon Orville. I don’t want to have to drive you to the hospital.”
Orville groaned. His head throbbed and his stomach turned.
“There you are. Let’s have you sit up,” Kamran pulled Orville upright, “Sit up a little straighter. Try to look like you didn’t lose.”
“I lost?” Orville squared his shoulders. He was expecting it, but it still stung.
“No.”
“I won?”
“No,” Kamran pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, “This is the tally sheet.” He unfolded it, pointing at the rows of numbers, “Thorne was ahead of you in overall points. She’s strong, she’s smart . . .”
“Yeah, yeah, rub it in.”
“And you were about to pass out, so she was going to win,” Kamran folded the sheet back up, “But somehow you managed to hit her other leg with that last shot and she couldn’t stand up. Osteoporosis or something.”
“So it was a draw,” it hurt to smile, but Orville couldn’t help it, “From now on, we’re equals.”
----------------------------------------------------
Cross-posted to 12 Short Stories
----------------------------------------------------
You can probably guess from this last short story that I have been working on rewriting The Culling. I've been working on
my robot mystery in earnest, but seriously, I just keep getting distracted by this story. I should mention that none of these shorts take place in the same time frame as the book. Two be prequels, and this one takes place twenty years in the future.
Anyhow, place yer bets. Which will be finished first? The nameless robot mystery? The heavily rewritten low fantasy?