But before such a war can be waged, there first must come the Almurzani. The city of Zaqir is bustling with activity. Engineers are hard at work expanding the Visitors Quarter. Merchants and peddlers shout to passersby on the streets. Ships from the sea, caravans from the jungle: everyone from most every nationality is coming to Zaqir to trade, to marvel, or to fight. Yes, fight: for not far from the sound of music and the smells of freshly cooked fish is a scene more glorious and macabre in nature.
Near the arena are flown the colors of a dozen minor city states alongside those of Zaqir and the other competing nations. Warriors, both independent practitioners of the martial arts and sponsored fighters looking to win prestige for their nation, spar together to practice for the coming bloodsports. Even these practice events are a dangerous thing.
But the world does not forget that the host nation of the Almurzani, Zaqir, watches these events very closely. Their leaders eagerly bring all the visitors they can to this event, especially the greatest warriors from foreign states, so they may discern who will present the greatest challenge. For in Zaqir, war is not waged for the sake of politics. Politics is waged for the sake of war. This Almurzani may determine nations' fates in the coming years...
Blood upon the Sand
Zaqir, the Ring of Valor sparring grounds
The saurian warriors clashed yet again, their falchions locked together, sand billowing about them in clouds. The smell of their sweat and their fury was thick in the air, the two of them pushing against the other with all their might. Their shields were already tossed uselessly upon the ground, broken into splinters, and both fighters were covered in terrible wounds.
The smaller of the two jerked her head forward, snapping with her jaws at her enemy's face. Her teeth clamped down hard on the larger warrior's maw. The bigger woman let out a furious hiss, thrusting forward with all her weight, trying to throw her enemy off of her. Scales and blood flew threw the air, as did some some teeth, and both saurian women fell back from their opponent. They stared. They bled. They raged.
Then they clashed again, swords smashing against each other. As they danced the dance of death, Commander Tana watched with interest, stroking the winged helmet sitting in her lap. The arena had always fascinated her.
"Tell me, Dihya," she asked the saurian woman next to her, "who do you believe will win this battle?"
"The larger warrior," said the saurian almost instantly. "She is no Zorai, but she has considerable weight, and she's no slouch with her sword. She has greater reach, too."
"That reach will work against her if her opponent can slip in through her defenses again."
The saurian snorted, licking her dry scales. "I do not think the same trick will work twice, Commander."
The battle continued. Sparks flew as their swords collided with one another. The screech of metal scraping upon metal gave way to the sound of cracking bones as the larger saurian slammed her clawed foot down on her opponent's knee. There was a terrible shriek from the smaller opponent, and she fell onto her back. But just as it seemed her defeat was imminent, just as the apparent victor began lowering her sword to her enemy's throat, the smaller woman swatted the weapon away. Then she dove at the other warrior, knocked the surprised woman to the ground, and prepared to clamp her jaws around the unsuspecting warrior's throat.
But in the end, the larger woman was stronger, and this time she was ready. She quickly brought a fist up and slammed it across the biting woman's head.
"I think you were right," mused Tana, chuckling.
The pair wrestled on the sand for a while yet, but the larger warrior won in the end. She pressed her foot upon her opponent's chest, stood tall, and lifted her sword into the air with a victorious whoop. And then, just as quickly, she reached on down and helped her opponent to her feet. The two bleeding, bruised, scarred warriors laughed. Sisters in battle never could harbor a grudge with one another for long.
"I think Zaqir has a good chance of winning this Almurzani," thought Dihya aloud, folding her arms over her chest. "In the single combat section, we present the strongest warriors, as ever. The Ilists seem to be making good ground in the large group battles as well. The archery competition is well within our grasp as well."
"I would not be certain in single combat. It was not a saurian woman who won the Almurzani last, but a warrior of Ashkar." Tana lifted her flask to her mouth, taking a good, long drink of rum. The noseless human smacked her lips. "But I think the Asqari might distinguish themselves in single combat this year," she added with a nod. "They have been studying their Ashkari cousins ever since the last Almurzani, and they say their best warriors have created a new fighting style based around that."
"They should have been studying the dwarves," growled Dihya with a toothy grin. "They will be most impressive this year. The Stoneguard are sending some of their own, I hear."
The Stoneguard, thought Tana, nodding yet again and moving her flask about in a circle. "They are formidable," she agreed. "But I wonder if they will be sending their best. While we in Zaqir are always ready to hold off on our wars for the sake of the Almurzani, I do not think the other nations hold it in
just as high a regard."
It was her lieutenant's turn to nod. The saurian woman then looked past the sandy training grounds and up at the distant palace. "I wonder what the Potentate is doing."
"The same thing as we are, I am sure." Tana waved her hand over at the grounds. "In the coming days, there will be hundreds of warriors here, the finest from every corner of our world. Then they will fight, and we will see whose nation has the best warriors."
"And then?"
"And then," said Tana with a blank expression, "the
real fighting will begin."
Little Bill