Dark droplets of water wet the smooth section of the pyramid slope. Their pitter-patter is the only sound breaking the silence that hangs heavy in the air.
The Great Mother, slithering back, settles part of her bulk against the smooth incline. Her head hovers just above the platform in front of Julien and the Fool. The waters below her, once disturbed, are slowly retreating to their former calm.
Julien’s mind is blank. His heart hammers wildly in his chest. His legs tremble. They do not collapse as if by some miracle, though by all rights they should. The large, silvery eye holding his gaze captive reflects a pale young man in a ridiculous, colorful costume. The prongs of a large, forked tongue pass him on both sides.
Each one of Julien’s instincts screams at him to throw himself to the ground and cower.
“You’re a field mouse,” they scream. “A field mouse staring in the eye of an anaconda.”
“Ssstill here then? Ssstill standing? Fascinating.” Her immense voice, ancient and powerful, fills his head. “Very well. I’ll see what you have to offer!”
The silvery mirror briefly lights up, and Julien feels the terror seep from his bones. His senses gradually return to him.
His ears pick up the harmonious worshipping of the Slytar below. He takes a shaky breath, allowing the clean, cool air of the cavern to fill his lungs as he attempts to ground himself. A quick check with his tongue confirms that his hidden Migaera pearl is still there. Instant Maegic recovery tucked in his left cheek to tip the scales when needed.
Julien shuffles his feet over the flat surface of the pyramid’s platform to reclaim control over his limbs and thoughts. He is granted less than a few seconds.
The Mother’s presence expands throughout the entire cavern. A hush falls over the crowd surrounding the pyramid. A silence that is not broken as her commanding voice bounces around in his head, hissing.
“This Fool-Warrior has my interest! He does not cower in my presence. He shows potential! But courage alone is not enough. It is his combat prowess we need. And I have yet to witness it.” Moving her head ever so slightly, she captures Julien in her right eye while the left settles on the First Son. “Rhaqor, have your warriors test him!”
With a hungry look in his eyes, the king among Slytar growls his commands.
The guards react instantly. They fan out and form a square on the platform. In each hand, they hold a spear, crossing weapons with their neighbors, forming a makeshift box. A small fighting ring of ten-by-ten paces. The side facing the Mother remains open.
“Fool-Warrior!” Rhaqasha removes a barbed tip from a spear and hands the bare shaft to Julien.
“Can’t I use my sword?” Julien manages to ask, despite an occupied cheek.
“Mother wants show. See strength and skill. Not Slytar blood.”
Julien takes the weapon handed to him. He glances at Lirza and nods slowly. “So, it is a show you want? Just know that this is the first time I ever held one of these. With a sword, I could show you much more.” Testing balance and reach, he performs a few practice thrusts. “No matter. With the right timing, anything can be a weapon.”
Hoping his hints are effective, Julien steps into the impromptu arena.
The Fool follows in his footsteps. “You do have, in fact, a plan?” he whispers. “Right, Julien?”
“Sort of. It’s a bit loose, but yeah.” His legs are jittery. His throat is tight. He clears it and raises his voice to shout in the same odd, constrained way. “Who will face me, then?” He points his self-defence stick at the line of lizards to his left. “One of you?” He repeats the motion on the right. “Or you?”
From the other side of the arena, one of the Slytar Warriors breaks ranks and steps forward, brandishing a spear with a menacing barbed tip.
Julien whirls around. “No harming? What about him?”
“Yeah!” the Fool agrees. “That hardly seems like a fair match!”
Rhaqasha responds with her rattlesnake laugh. “You are more durable than our warriors, Fool. You heal fast. I know. And if you die, you’re not worthy.”
Julien curses under his breath as his opponent approaches with solemn paces that transition into light, springy steps. The warrior launches a sequence of rattles and trills from between sharp jaws and comfortably whirls the spear around, alternating flourishes with thrusts. Every movement speaks of grace and expertise.
“Gariqa says she is proud to test the Fool-Warrior for the Mother on behalf of the First Son!” Lirza shouts a translation.
Julien turns to Rhaqasha. “Do we just start? Or how does this work?”
“Meet in centre,” she replies. “Cross spears. Take three steps back. Then First Son calls to start fight.”
Julien’s hands are suddenly clammy, and his stick feels awkward in his hands. He just had to act like a gladiator. What now? A one-sided death match had not been included in any scenario of his loose plans.
Julien’s thoughts race as he steps forward. He’ll lose a contest of skill. But does he have to win? He eyes the Slytar surrounding him and takes note of their tongues darting out, tasting the air continuously. Of course not!
The fight might offer the ideal opportunity to execute phase one of his plan. And who knows…? Maybe he can pick up some new skills. Rhaqasha was right about one thing. He is more durable. He can afford a few mistakes to increase his chances of survival later on. As long as he can avoid dying, he should be fine…right?
Julien straightens and walks forward to face Gariqa. He recognizes her painted pattern. She was one of Rhaqasha’s warrior companions.
They cross spears. Julien feels a firm pressure on the shaft he is holding. His opponent has strength. Probably also the skill to back it up. Copying Gariqa, with a few seconds of lag, he raises his “spear” after her disengagement and takes three steps back.
Then he waits.
He notes her deep stance and mirrors it. Julien crouches and adapts his grip. Even with six paces between them, he notices Gariqa’s predatory look. The way she stands poised to strike. Like a coiled viper.