ONC 2024 Shortlister
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Just one week before his marriage with a chief bloodshaman of the Kurat's army, young surgeon Genul sees his wife, Kenit, die under his care after a terrorist attack launched by the neighboring nation.
As o...
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"What do you do when you feel like the entire world is against you?"
Genul didn't expect such a question from the regent. He opted to act as though he had not understood it. "Lady Kashira informed me that the High Jyr summoned me here."
Jyr Omar laughed. "I get that you will not respond. What a pity because I feel like you are the kind of person who would have the answer to such a question. Well, it doesn't matter, does it?" He stared at one of the lomublades he was holding, eyes running along the length, from the pommel to the hook-like tip, then he inserted his finger into the ring of the pommel and started spinning it. Steel cut through the night's dry chill with a regular whoosh.
Genul stepped back. In case the regent sent the blade flying across the air. It cost Genul a lot but he uttered the words he was supposed to, "I am at your orders, High Jyr."
"I know." Jyr Omar paced around for a moment, pondering, then he turned to Genul again. "You see, Surig ApKelari, I had a meeting about the Iron Plain tonight with the other Jyr...and my father. He was there too. Things aren't looking very good. And the resolutions we are likely to adopt on the matter aren't going my way. Needless to say, I am beyond frustrated." He handed Genul one lomublade. "You understand that kind of frustration, I feel."
Genul held the blade by the pommel, feeling its weight and watching the regent carefully. "You want a duel?"
"When you are ready," he said. "Perhaps it will help us forget things for a moment. I hope." He let go of his blade, metal cluttering on the ground, and he rid himself of his satin tunic. Genul scanned him absently, noting no tattoos trailing fleshpaths on his skin. He had a heavier build than most lomuratians, but he remained slim, with defined muscles that seemed intentionally sculpted. He collected his blade from the ground. "Again," he said, "when you are ready."
"I am," Genul said.
The regent frowned. "You are not going to fight me in a boubou. You probably won't survive this combat. I don't want you to blame it on your garment." He began spinning his blade again.
"If I die, I won't be here to blame anyone for anything at all."
"Well, you've got a point," he said. "Then, try not to get killed." Suddenly the sword-spinning resumed and the regent lunged in a horizontal cut that finished with a strident clang against Genul's blade.
First, Jyr Omar pressed forward, his jaw salient, and his face contracted with the effort, attempting to push Genul back. But Genul was heavier and stronger. He stood firm in his blocking position, feet aching as they pressed against the ground, twigs breaking under his feet.
Realizing he couldn't tackle a battle of physical brute strength, the regent pounced at Genul, turned his lomublade swiftly on his palm, placing the hook-tip toward Genul, then pulled, running the length of his blade along Genul's weapon, using its hook-tip to gather Genul's blade and drive it out of his grip. Genul's hand ached but despite his best effort to keep his blade, it flung away from him, thudding dully on the ground.
