moves like… like, him. I don’t how to place it; it’s just the way he fights.”
Anderson was quiet for a moment. “He’s gone, you realize. He said he wasn’t coming back and I don’t think he ever will. You could just be seeing him in places.”
“It’s different this time, Anderson. This kid… he fights by the Codes. You need to see the way he takes the light. I have a feeling about this one.”
Anderson nodded. “Well, what do we have, then, three weeks?”
“My body, my mind, I don’t feel like I used to,” Murray said grimly.
“We’ve done worse,” Anderson said. “I remember a time when the Mighty Murray won us the Tamal Plains. When me and Leyna broke down your tavern door morning of the fight, you were out like the great void, a girl tangled in the sheets with you. All it took was a bucket of cold water and a hearty meal—you were ready to go. Took that Desovian down within a minute and went to work as usual. It’ll be the same this time around, old friend. Work as usual.”
Murray nodded affirmatively. “Work as usual.”
Anderson gestured toward the basement. “I’ve got the old mats and pads down below; shall we get started?”
“Never a time like right now,” Murray muttered wearily.
The two old Grievar creaked down the stairs into the basement.
*
Cego was dreading his final day in the yard.
Tasker Ozark had lost any potential cut of the profit from Murray’s deal with Thaloo because of its unique unpaid nature. Ozark took out his frustration on Circle Crew Nine.
The training in the yard was even more grueling than usual. Ozark had the entire crew doubling up on all the standard drills. A few of the boys were worked so hard, they didn’t make it back to the bunks on their own two feet.
Weep took the worst of it. He was in and out of Thaloo’s makeshift medward for exhaustion, muscle fatigue, and dehydration. They usually shot him up with some generic neurogen that convinced the boy’s brain he was fit to train, despite the fact that his body was giving way. Weep would disappear for part of the day and return to the yard with deep circles under his glazed-over eyes.
Ozark wasn’t even taking enjoyment in the crew’s suffering as usual, which worried Cego. Usually, Ozark would laugh when one of the boys went down in the dirt from exhaustion. Now, as the crew toiled, Ozark was expressionless.
Part of the deal Murray had negotiated stated that Cego would be released from Thaloo’s captivity several days prior to the Lampai fight. Murray would ensure Cego didn’t escape during that time, and if he lost the fight, Cego would be returned to Thaloo. Either way, Cego hoped his departure would provide the rest of the crew some relief from Ozark’s spite.
Which is why Cego was particularly dreading his final day in the yard.
Ozark was planning something bad. Worse than the usual. Cego really wasn’t sure what the Tasker was capable of—how far he’d be willing to take it. Although lining his bit-purse had always been Ozark’s primary incentive for the grueling training, he now seemed capable of a level of cruelty that went beyond the bits.
That day, Ozark had them doing all the standard tasks: sloth carries, rope runs, dog crawls, last boy hanging. So far, nothing beyond the standard level of exhaustion.
Cego hung onto his rope as last rays of dusklight cut through the yard’s street-level grates. He dropped nimbly into a crouch as Weep’s grasp began to shiver beside him.
Ozark was facing away from the crew, staring out at the dusklight. He slowly turned, looking directly at Cego.
Perhaps it wasn’t just the fact that Cego had usurped Ozark’s control over the crew or made him appear incompetent. Maybe it wasn’t even that Cego’s patronage cut Ozark out of the deal.
Cego could see that this cut deeper for Ozark. Like any Grievar, Ozark strove to find his lightpath. Ozark probably wasn’t skilled enough to fight for the Citadel or even to become a
Anderson was quiet for a moment. “He’s gone, you realize. He said he wasn’t coming back and I don’t think he ever will. You could just be seeing him in places.”
“It’s different this time, Anderson. This kid… he fights by the Codes. You need to see the way he takes the light. I have a feeling about this one.”
Anderson nodded. “Well, what do we have, then, three weeks?”
“My body, my mind, I don’t feel like I used to,” Murray said grimly.
“We’ve done worse,” Anderson said. “I remember a time when the Mighty Murray won us the Tamal Plains. When me and Leyna broke down your tavern door morning of the fight, you were out like the great void, a girl tangled in the sheets with you. All it took was a bucket of cold water and a hearty meal—you were ready to go. Took that Desovian down within a minute and went to work as usual. It’ll be the same this time around, old friend. Work as usual.”
Murray nodded affirmatively. “Work as usual.”
Anderson gestured toward the basement. “I’ve got the old mats and pads down below; shall we get started?”
“Never a time like right now,” Murray muttered wearily.
The two old Grievar creaked down the stairs into the basement.
*
Cego was dreading his final day in the yard.
Tasker Ozark had lost any potential cut of the profit from Murray’s deal with Thaloo because of its unique unpaid nature. Ozark took out his frustration on Circle Crew Nine.
The training in the yard was even more grueling than usual. Ozark had the entire crew doubling up on all the standard drills. A few of the boys were worked so hard, they didn’t make it back to the bunks on their own two feet.
Weep took the worst of it. He was in and out of Thaloo’s makeshift medward for exhaustion, muscle fatigue, and dehydration. They usually shot him up with some generic neurogen that convinced the boy’s brain he was fit to train, despite the fact that his body was giving way. Weep would disappear for part of the day and return to the yard with deep circles under his glazed-over eyes.
Ozark wasn’t even taking enjoyment in the crew’s suffering as usual, which worried Cego. Usually, Ozark would laugh when one of the boys went down in the dirt from exhaustion. Now, as the crew toiled, Ozark was expressionless.
Part of the deal Murray had negotiated stated that Cego would be released from Thaloo’s captivity several days prior to the Lampai fight. Murray would ensure Cego didn’t escape during that time, and if he lost the fight, Cego would be returned to Thaloo. Either way, Cego hoped his departure would provide the rest of the crew some relief from Ozark’s spite.
Which is why Cego was particularly dreading his final day in the yard.
Ozark was planning something bad. Worse than the usual. Cego really wasn’t sure what the Tasker was capable of—how far he’d be willing to take it. Although lining his bit-purse had always been Ozark’s primary incentive for the grueling training, he now seemed capable of a level of cruelty that went beyond the bits.
That day, Ozark had them doing all the standard tasks: sloth carries, rope runs, dog crawls, last boy hanging. So far, nothing beyond the standard level of exhaustion.
Cego hung onto his rope as last rays of dusklight cut through the yard’s street-level grates. He dropped nimbly into a crouch as Weep’s grasp began to shiver beside him.
Ozark was facing away from the crew, staring out at the dusklight. He slowly turned, looking directly at Cego.
Perhaps it wasn’t just the fact that Cego had usurped Ozark’s control over the crew or made him appear incompetent. Maybe it wasn’t even that Cego’s patronage cut Ozark out of the deal.
Cego could see that this cut deeper for Ozark. Like any Grievar, Ozark strove to find his lightpath. Ozark probably wasn’t skilled enough to fight for the Citadel or even to become a
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