The small square was empty. Except for a single Jandana.
Walking toward the man, Gene remembered the time he had stood in the arena long ago. As a prince, Gene had never fought in the arena. But his master, who had been a gladiator, had fought and won hundreds of times. On the day his master last stood there, Gene had jumped down into the arena. After that, Gene had not gone to the arena.
The memory of that day had nothing to do with today’s scene. What had brought it to mind was surely the empty square covered in yellow earth, and the countless eyes fixed on him. It was not a time of pure support. Many people of Saemgeuneul were afraid and suspicious. Was Gene truly a prince? If so, what would become of Saemgeuneul Castle if Gene died? Even if he lived, would they not incur His Majesty’s wrath for putting a prince in danger? All sorts of talk drifted about like smoke. Everyone was searching their memories, wondering whether they had treated Gene too rudely. Yet seeing a prince stride out proudly in answer to the enemy’s call also made them feel proud. The boys Gene had chosen as messengers, in particular, were excited and clenched their fists tightly. One of them, looking down from the second floor, spoke.
“His Highness, no, the adjutant, no, His Highness will win, won’t he?”
One of the Saemgeuneul soldiers muttered.
“That fellow is a head taller than the prince, isn’t he? His sword must be twice as long.”
“But the prince will win, won’t he? Right? Won’t he?”
“Oh, who said otherwise? I’m only saying it because I’m worried.”
Gaiar, standing against a windowsill, spoke without taking his eyes from Gene.
“The adjutant is like a demon one against one. Put your worries away.”
Gaiar meant it. He had never seen a man fight as lightly and efficiently as Gene, making it seem so easy.
When Gene faced the Jandana warrior, the Jandana cheered. Not to be outdone, Saemgeuneul’s soldiers shouted too. The two stood only three paces apart. The Jandana warrior spoke.
“Giros.”
It seemed to be his name. Gene spoke too.
“I am Gene.”
The other man might not have known the name Polytimos, but Gene did not mind. The corner of Giros’s mouth lifted. At the same time, his sword rose. Gene drew his sword too. Gene’s sword was a little shorter than an ordinary longsword. His master had used two swords, but had taught Gene only the sword in his right hand. He had said he would add the skill of the left-hand sword later. Originally, his master had been right-handed. Before one of his fingers had been cut off.
The first blow swept past Gene’s shoulder. The chill of it cut through a strap of his breastplate. By then, Gene was already extending his sword to thrust at his opponent’s upper arm. His opponent moved aside too. Their positions reversed. Gene moved more. With a short sword, he had no choice. Widening the distance, Giros used the reach of his greatsword to aim at Gene’s arm. Gene dodged and turned, but Giros’s sword changed direction and came in. It was where neck and breastplate met. Because it was an opening, he heard even the sound of the cut clearly. With a slicing sound, blood scattered over the ground.
Soon his back grew wet. He seemed to be bleeding considerably. Gene realized he had been dragging things out. But Giros was no easy opponent he could afford to take his time with. Now he could only give it everything he had. The longer they fought, the greater his disadvantage as the wounded one.
When Gene closed the distance, Giros pressed in as though he had been waiting. Gene dodged once, then turned back into position and swept his sword down in a semicircle. It did not reach. Just as the man seemed to be moving a little farther away, he suddenly drove off the ground and thrust fiercely. Gene did not move aside, but left his chest open, then at the last instant slid one foot and his upper body sideways. Sand and dust flew. For the first time, they were close enough for him to hear the other man breathing. At close range, the short sword had the advantage. Gene suddenly reversed his grip, struck upward, and stepped back at the same time. For the first time, a red line was drawn across his opponent’s chest.
He could not distinguish which side the distant cheering came from. It seemed as far away as the spectators’ seats in the arena. For an instant, Gene was seized by the illusion that he was in his own arena. Then one side of his mouth twisted. Once, he had dreamed such a dream. Of becoming a gladiator who earned his daily bread with a single sword and did not think about tomorrow. It had not been a dream as desperate as becoming a stable boy, but in any case, it had seemed better than being a prince. Amid such thoughts, the fact that Saemgeuneul Castle was surrounded, and all the rest, became distant. Paradoxically, Gene’s movements gained life. In a brief span, he struck two times, three times, withdrew, and thrust repeatedly at his opponent’s shoulder, thigh, and wrist. None was a mortal wound, but his opponent was already entirely on the defensive.
The watching people of Saemgeuneul and the Jandana alike had lost their words and stood openmouthed. Gaiar unconsciously clenched his fist and muttered.
“I can’t believe that fellow still isn’t dead after taking those attacks.”
Pressed back though he was, Giros was indeed enduring well. But since Gene began to smile, his face had grown red with humiliation. More than being driven back, the fact that his enemy was smiling seemed to grate on him. His greatsword, grown savage, aimed at Gene’s neck. Several times it seemed it must have cut him, but Gene slipped away. Suddenly leaping back, Giros shouted. Since it was in the Jandana tongue, Gene did not know the meaning, but thought it might be a kind of battle cry. Then he seemed to seize something from midair and throw it toward Gene. Gene thought nothing was visible, but suddenly staggered as though he had been struck. It felt just as if the air had hit his abdomen. Raising his head, Gene saw a woman standing in the Jandana ranks with both arms lifted. Had he received a shaman’s blessing? The smile vanished from Gene’s lips.
“To become a Jandana warrior, one must know magic too.”
The afternoon sun heated the square like a smithy. Sweat on his back slid down. The sweat running from his forehead gathered on his eyelashes. It was deeply irritating that someone who had shouted for him to come out and fight if he was a warrior had borrowed another power. Holding the sword tightly in his right hand, Gene turned it behind his back. Extending his empty left hand, he pointed at Giros. It was a provocation, inviting him to come if he dared. Giros’s face contorted.
The greatsword came down, aimed at the crown of his head. Gene drove his reverse-held sword upward, cutting Giros’s belly. At the same time, he bent his upper body to a dangerous degree, avoided the man’s head, twisted his body, and slipped out. It was a movement impossible with ordinary flexibility. Giros collapsed in the place Gene had stood only a moment earlier. A huge red stain spread over the sand.
“He’s won!”
Gaiar punched his clenched fist into the air, and the whole of Saemgeuneul Castle let out a sound that might have been a death cry or a cheer. By then, Zamallik had already finished preparations to bring Gene back. Two groups of ten ran out and surrounded Gene in a semicircle. The Jandana began moving out of their crescent formation. Gene lifted Giros’s greatsword. Pointing it at the Jandana, he shouted.
“Giros is dead! Keep the promise Giros made to me!”
Most of the Jandana would not know the language of Epherium, but he believed someone would understand from Giros’s example. Then a Jandana warrior stepped forward. Pointing at Gene, he said,
“Eumnan!”
At that, all the Jandana raised their weapons and cried out together.
“Eumnan! Eumnan!”
He did not know what it meant, but somehow it did not seem a bad meaning. Then a woman’s voice came from Saemgeuneul Castle.
“Adjutant, come back! They will not attack!”
Turning, he saw Dalsad leaning out of a second-floor window. Holding Giros’s sword, Gene returned to the keep. The two groups of ten entered the castle as though shielding him. All the while, the Jandana continued shouting “Eumnan.”
As soon as Gene returned, he looked for Zamallik. Zamallik was smiling.
“Hanbun?”
“He got out safely. He must already be far down the ravine.”
A little earlier, when the final tension had seized the square, Gene knew that a horse with neither rider nor saddle had sprung out of the keep’s rear gate, leaped onto the outer wall, and crossed it. Hanbun’s horse, a military mount, had understood its owner’s command perfectly. Because everyone had been absorbed in Gene and Giros’s duel, most of the Saemgeuneul soldiers, let alone the Jandana, had not noticed that a horse had gone out.
The ravine beneath the retaining wall joined the Jand River. If the plan worked, as Hanbun followed the ravine, his horse would hear his whistle. Now all that remained was to hold out until the relieving force came. Even Gene did not know how much time they had. Throwing the greatsword onto the first-floor hall’s floor, Gene spoke.
“The Jandana’s greatest warrior is lying here, so treat him with respect.”
The soldiers chuckled. This greatsword would encourage them. Gene, meanwhile, felt exhausted. He merely did not show it, since it was not yet time to rest. Fortunately, compared with the blood loss, the wound itself did not seem serious. Women brought medicine and towels. Gene refused a bandage. He could endure without one, and did not want to keep reminding the enemy that he was injured. While he received simple treatment, people gathered around him. One soldier asked hesitantly.
“But are you truly a prince?”
“What if I am, and what if I am not?”
“Might we have been rude to you in some way before now?”
“No.”
The answer was so simple that the soldiers glanced at one another. Once the treatment was finished, Gene headed for the stairs to inspect the second floor. Just then, Dalsad came down from above and smiled broadly at the sight of him. There was no reason not to return a smile in such circumstances. But Dalsad ran down in a single breath, threw her arms around Gene’s neck, and kissed his cheek. When she drew back, her face was flushed. Dalsad spoke.
“‘Eumnan’ means ‘foremost warrior.’ It is the Jandana’s highest praise.”
“How did you know that?”
“We’re on the frontier, aren’t we?”
Dalsad went back up to the second floor. Not wanting to follow her, Gene returned to the first. A soldier reported.
“The Jandana seem to be forming ranks.”
The siege could last no more than that afternoon and night, and the next dawn would be the critical point. On the other hand, even if Hanbun found the general’s army and turned them back, the earliest they could return would be the following afternoon. If Hanbun could not recover his own horse and had to go to the neighboring castle, they might lose another day. Somehow, they had to hold. Gene looked down at his hands again. Whether he lived or died, it would all be over tomorrow. Because the time was short, he felt he could give it everything he had.
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