The Khan Ch. 09: A New Age

Then Hakkon stepped into the ring of stones. He ignored the gathered minotaurs. His attention fixed solely his opponent. Sudara's eyes widened at the sight of Hakkon's weapon. Omi, the goshawk. Then his eyes narrowed beneath a strong brow.

Hakkon scratched Omi behind the head. In all likelihood the bird was going to die here this day. But he knew its soul would find comfort in the role it was about to play in history.

"It does not have to be this way." Sudara's voice carried despite the chill wind.

Hakkon didn't answer. He knew in his heart that it did.

The chieftain looked from one combatant to the other. If he had any feelings about Omi's use as a weapon, he gave no sign. Then the chieftain spoke a single word. "Begin."

The two circled one another. Searching for an opening. Sudara waiting to see what the bird would do, Hakkon waiting for the right moment.

He saw Sudara dip his sword slightly. Not enough. He saw the other minotaur take a step, his feet were not solidly beneath him. Just a fraction of a second. Enough.

"Hile!" He shouted and Omi took flight. The bird soared straight into Sudara's sword arm. The minotaur flailed. Tried knocking the hawk aside.

But he was too slow.

Omi scrambled for purchase. He scratched at the steel gauntlets. Sudara jerked his arm back, then side to side. He smashed with his free fist. Omi's wing burst in a spray of blood and feathers. Yet he was well trained. He dug his talons into flesh behind the gauntlet, near the elbow.

Sudara cried out. Sword fell from numbed fingers.

"Flit!" Omi's work was done.

Omi flapped his one good wing. A commotion of feathers and squawks.

Then Hakkon charged, crashed into Sudara. The minotaur brought his maimed arm down in a mighty blow on top of Hakkon's head. The massive minotaur fell back out of the ring. The hawk carried along. The gathered tribesmen scattered as Sudara crashed over the stone lip and through their midst.

Sudara hit the ground hard. Then he smashed his arm against the ground, crushing the hawk dead.

Hakkon stumbled backward as well. He had been stunned by the strength of the blow.

Rantanen stepped into the ring. Called a halt to the combat. Sudara tossed the hawk's broken body aside. And he climbed to his feet.

Hakkon turned. Saw Jun'ai and Hyun though a haze of pain. This was his moment. His life had carried him here. He would return to them with laurels, or he would die. He didn't fear death as most do. He only felt a surge of love seeing his family behind him. If he died, so be it. At least his daughter would have a chance to witness this event.

Jun'ai drew Kith'kanan. Tossed the longsword to him.

And at that moment in history, all across the Kharolis Peaks, it began to snow. Fat white flakes fell. Settled on the terrain. Settled on the witnesses. Settled on two steaming bodies in a fight for the future.

Sudara retrieved a sword from a tribesman. He was bloodied and enraged. Hakkon was dazed. And the two minotaurs reentered the circle, now powdered with snow. The chieftain called to resume. And the combatants circled in a tight orbit. Swords raised. Steps measured.

Sudara advanced and swung. He was bigger. He was stronger. But Hakkon had Kith'kanan. He was faster. He parried easily. Steel rang in the thin air.

Hakkon fell back a step under the onslaught. Sudara was quick to capitalize. He advanced in time with Hakkon's retreat. Each step brought with it a thrust of his sword. He used brute strength. Forced Hakkon on the defensive. The impacts blasted up Hakkon's arm.

Then Hakkon made a mistake. He raised his sword a little too high. A little too far right. An opening.

Sudara saw it, struck again. Clipped Hakkon's lower torso. The blade sliced across bone.

Pain exploded in his side. Hakkon cursed. He stumbled back again.

Sudara smiled.

Hakkon saw everything through a red haze of pain. He blinked blurred eyes, tried to clear them. His heightened speed was useless if he didn't know what to do with it.

He had to halt Sudara's blade. Get inside the longer reach.

Hakkon clenched his jaw and moved forward. He exaggerated his weakness. Stumbled forward on shaky legs.

Sudara swung. Hakkon was faster. He moved his meaty shoulder to catch the brunt of the blow.

Then he brought his sword up in a sweeping arc.

The blade slashed Sudara's neck. There was a wash of blood, a scrape of steel on bone and cartilage. Sudara's eyes bulged from sockets. He tensed. His sword dropped from fingers numb with shock.

Hakkon looked down and saw a river of blood running down the blade, stained his hands crimson. He released the sword.

Sudara and Kith'kanan clattered to the stony ground.

It was over.

And in that primordial quiet beneath the heavy sky, fat snowflakes drifting down, accumulated on the gathered witnesses, the magnitude of what had just transpired dawned on each of them in turn.

Hakkon bent. He picked up the steaming body of his opponent, Sudara. The body ran red with blood, ran in fat rivulets down his arms. Pooled around his feet. Stained the white snow. Soaked into the rocky mountain soil.

The body in his arms, eyes half lidded, beheld noting of the landscape or the trees or the distant peaks. Nor did they witness the human female that stood beside the circle, tears streaking her cheeks, and the love she felt for him, even after everything that had happened.

No one could take their eyes from him. The victor. Their king.

Hakkon looked up at the sky. He had arrived at this place, this destiny, which some believe was chosen long ago, perhaps even at the beginning of the world.