The Combat Codes (13 page)

And yet, as the light streamed down on Murray and he moved toward the Dragoon, the plan disappeared, like a spectral blinking out of existence. Murray didn’t want to play to his opponent’s weaknesses. He wanted to fight him like a Grievar. Murray was a Knight; this was what he did. This was his path.

The familiar mantra echoed in Murray’s head.
We fight so that the rest shall not have
to.

Murray charged in at the Dragoon, the tall man looking down at him in surprise, not expecting such immediate aggression from the former champ. Just as expected, the Dragoon fired off two quick jabs at Murray, one catching him under the eye and the second brushing across his shoulder. Murray didn’t even feel them. He was already inside the Dragoon’s range, throwing a powerful overhand right, catching the Dragoon right on the chin.

The Dragoon stumbled back, stunned as Murray stayed on him, pushing him to the ground and leaping at him with a frenzy of punches. The Dragoon was barely able to close his guard, wrapping his long legs around Murray’s waist, but the old champ kept attacking.

We fight so that the rest shall not have
to
.

Murray could hear the chorus of
osss
coming from the Grievar’s section, an acknowledgment of his frenetic pace.

The Dragoon attempted to wrap up Murray’s hands and pull him tight into his guard, but Murray broke free each time, posturing up and battering his opponent with quick elbows and punches from the top. He slammed two body shots into the Dragoon’s rib cage and then followed with another quick strike to the head. It felt good to get back to work.

The Dragoon stiff-armed Murray with one of his long limbs, pushing him at the throat to jack his head backward. When Murray kept the pressure on, the Dragoon changed his tactic, jabbing two fingers directly into Murray’s eye socket. Pain shot down Murray’s spine like an electric current, making him rear his head back and scream aloud. The crowd hushed.

Though any technique was legal in the Circle, eye attacks were frowned upon and seen as a dishonorable way for a Grievar to win a fight. By the precepts of the Combat Codes, at least. The Dragoon wasn’t playing by those rules.

With the space he created, the Dragoon pushed his hips out from under Murray and leapt back to his feet, immediately starting to circle and throw jabs again.

Though he’d proven he could surprise and even hurt the Dragoon, Murray knew he was at a huge disadvantage now. He was completely blind in one eye.

Murray checked a quick leg kick, though it stung badly as it slammed into his shin. And another, this time the kick unchecked and slamming into Murray’s thigh. He’d seen this before—the Dragoon was softening him up, trying to take his legs out from under him so that he wouldn’t have the steam to shoot in for a takedown. And it was working; Murray could already feel some of the strength in his legs fading as each kick connected.

The Dragoon continued to pepper Murray with stinging jabs and leg kicks, interchanging them to keep Murray guessing. His blind spot prevented him from seeing many of the strikes coming his way. Murray attempted to grab hold of a kick, but the Dragoon expertly pulled his leg back and followed up with a stinging cross that crumpled Murray’s nose.

He could feel the tide turning, but Murray was undaunted.
We fight so that the rest shall not have
to.

Murray needed to get out of kicking range; his legs wouldn’t be able to take much more of the punishment. He waded in again, this time bobbing and weaving his head as the Dragoon launched jab after jab. The punches breezed by his face, some narrowly skimming his cheek. Now within range, Murray followed up with his own stiff jabs, snapping the Dragoon’s head back and then following up with a series of thudding body shots.

Murray clinched with the Dragoon as he was on his heels, wrapping an underhook behind the Grievar’s back and attempting a quick hip toss to throw him off balance. The Dragoon agilely countered the toss, swiveling to center up with Murray, then reaching with both hands to grasp behind the crown of Murray’s head in a classic plum clinch.

Murray knew he was in grave danger here. The lanky Grievar jerked Murray’s head forward with both hands to offbalance him and threw a series of knees at his face, using his height to generate incredible leverage. Murray barely got his hands in front of his face to cover up, the knees smashing into his forearms, one busting through into his rib cage. Murray felt something snap in his left arm, a sharp pain that was echoed by another deep cry from the Grievar’s section as they watched the lightboard flash red above.

Murray didn’t have time to look up at the board and see how bad it was. He dropped his good arm, purposely letting a thudding knee slam through into his chest and immediately wrapping up the Dragoon’s leg, driving forward with all his strength for the takedown. The Dragoon hopped around the Circle as Murray pushed forward, using his feline balance to stay upright on one foot as he simultaneously threw looping uppercuts into Murray’s head.

Murray dropped levels and scooped up the Dragoon’s other foot, finally slamming him onto his back. This time, he was ready for the Dragoon’s guard. He kept hold of one of the Grievar’s feet and dragged it across his body, swiveling his hips and passing to the Dragoon’s side.

The crowd wildly applauded at the back-and-forth fight, clearly astonished that the old Grievar still had it in him to take it this far.

Murray, bleeding and battered, ground his shoulder into the Dragoon’s face as he threw his own thudding knees into the Grievar’s ribs. His left arm was useless now, so he used it to stabilize his position at the Dragoon’s side.

Murray needed to be patient and wait for the opening. He couldn’t rush the opportunity and risk losing position. If the Dragoon stood up again, Murray knew he wouldn’t be able to hold him off. He continued to throw sharp knees into his opponent’s body.

There it was.
The Dragoon turned toward him and extended his hand to protect his exposed body from the knees. Taking advantage of the position, Murray smoothly slid his knee across the Dragoon’s belly, and then across to the other side.

He had full mount. This was his position. This was where Mighty Murray Pearson had been born in the Circle, smashing his opponents from above.

The Dragoon recognized the immediate danger and bucked his hips wildly, trying to throw Murray off balance so that he could reverse the position. Murray was ready for it, though; he thrust his hips to the floor and hooked his legs behind the Dragoon’s knees, clinging to the grounded Grievar like a constrictor.

Murray went back to work, methodically throwing punches and elbows down at the Dragoon, who desperately tried to cover up. Murray couldn’t feel his left arm, but that didn’t stop him from using it to drop elbows in combination with his pounding right hands.

The Dragoon was bleeding badly now, his breathing labored. Murray knew he’d have to take this one to the limit—the Dragoon’s biometric threshold was likely set to the point of no return.

The Dragoon reached up in desperation, grasping at Murray’s face, his fingers seeking the eye socket again. Murray grabbed two of the Dragoon’s fingers and snapped them back viciously. He pinned the Dragoon’s arms to the floor.

Murray growled, “That’s not how Grievar fight,” before he reared up and slammed his forehead down into the Dragoon’s face. The Dragoon smiled at him through his broken teeth, so Murray slammed his head down again, repeatedly, until his opponent wasn’t smiling anymore, until the face beneath him looked like the pulp of a ripened fruit.

The light beam pulsed one final time like a heartbeat and then went dim before dispersing and refracting throughout the stadium. The crowd was quiet, seemingly in shock, as they watched the old champion breathing heavily over the Dragoon’s lifeless body.

Murray slowly stood, blood streaming from his mangled eye socket and his left arm hanging lifelessly at his side.

He clenched his hand into a fist, bringing it to his chest and then raising it to the air. He began to walk the perimeter of the Circle with his hand raised. The Grievar Knight salute.

The crowd cheered as the Grievar in attendance rhythmically chanted. Murray walked the Circle.

We fight so that the rest shall not have
to.

7

To the Surface

Osoto gari is surely a superior sweep when applied against an opponent whose near-side foot is planted firmly on the ground. However, a skilled opponent may sense the outer reap and retreat their leg to thwart osoto gari. This defense provides another opportunity for a perceptive Grievar. Sasae tsurikomi ashi may now be applied to block the opposite foot while pivoting an opponent toward the ground. Against an opponent that reacts to osoto gari by pushing forward, the harai goshi throw may prove an even better
option.

Passage Two, Thirty-Third Technique of the Combat Codes

C
ego waited for
Murray at the base of the Lift as the dawnshift swelled.

He watched as hundreds of Deep folk piled onto circular platforms that rotated around the base of the massive structure. As each platform was pulled into the center of the Lift, it immediately spiraled upward, glowing faintly at the edges. Within the dark confines of the Lift tube, the many platforms spiraling toward the top and back down blurred together like a glowing corkscrew. Cego looked for wires or pulleys that might carry the platforms up, but he didn’t see any.

“Usually, I’d insist we take the darkin’ pod.”

Murray was standing beside Cego. He didn’t look as bad as he did after the fight, but he was rough around the edges. A white gem was set in the place of his left eye.

Murray looked down at Cego, who couldn’t help but stare at the banged-up Grievar. “Anderson convinced me to stick somethin’ in there,” he said guiltily. “I didn’t want the clerics putting no vat-grown ball in my head, that’s for sure. I settled for one of these gems.” Murray cleared his throat.

Cego could tell Murray was uncomfortable talking about his missing eye, so he changed the subject. “You said something about the pod?”

Murray seemed relieved. “It took them five decades to put this thing up,” Murray shook his head, looking up at the Lift. “Big waste of time, if you ask me. I’d rather take the Deep pod any day. But I figured you should see this. The views are… better,” Murray said.

They stood quietly for a moment, staring up at the platforms as they spiraled toward the cavern ceiling.

“Ready?” Murray asked.

Cego realized then that his friends from Circle Crew Nine weren’t there with him. He’d hoped that Murray would emerge with Dozer and Knees in tow, miraculously freed from Thaloo’s captivity. Things were never that easy, though.

Cego would come back for them. He’d come back for Weep.

“Yes,” Cego said. He wasn’t sure if he was telling Murray he was ready to head to the Surface, or affirming the promise to return to the Deep for his friends.

The two began to climb the stairs at the base of the Lift toward the boarding area. Murray had a slight limp in his left leg, probably from all the thudding leg kicks the Dragoon had hit him with. Cego still didn’t understand why Murray had done this for him. He could have easily died in the Circle.

The boarding area was a circular walkway, a constant stream of folk feeding directly onto the platforms as they slid by. Cego and Murray boarded one of the platforms and filtered to one side of it, right up against the curved glass window. Folk streamed around Cego to fill every available gap, pushing and jostling for position.

The platform slowly moved around the perimeter of the Lift, in queue until it reached the entryway. As it moved into the interior of the Lift, the platform was blanketed with darkness. Cego felt his stomach drop as they began to rise, spiraling upward along the inner wall of the tube.

It was eerily quiet within the Lift. The platforms made no sound as they rose, and the passengers within were pacified as if quieted by some force in the darkness. Cego looked up, watching the hundreds of other platforms floating toward the cave ceiling, concentric circles of light becoming fainter in the distance.

Cego could make out Murray’s bulky form hovering over him in the dark. He could hear the big Grievar breathing deliberately, hissing air from his mouth in quick bursts. Ki breath
—
it was same method Farmer had taught Cego to relax his muscles. He wondered whether the breathing technique was something taught at the Lyceum. Perhaps Farmer and Murray had learned from the same source. The source he was heading to now.

Cego’s body was tense with anticipation. He fell into Murray’s rhythm of breathing, matching his inhales and exhales.

It was said there was a world of difference between the Underground and Upworld Grievar brood. The Deep brood were mostly lacklights, picked up off the streets, more suited for service work than fighting in the Circles.

The Surface brood were bred for the Circle. They were purelights, their mothers and fathers passing down combat genetics from generation to generation. Most were already versed in the Lyceum’s curriculum, their parents preparing them with countless techniques. Leyna had said that some of the kids were already using neurostimulants to give them the edge.

Could he hold his own against them?

Cego could now make out a faint halo of light above, getting closer as the platform continued to rise toward the Surface. He steadied his excitement. How long had it been since he’d taken in fresh air? How many days since he’d felt the rays of warm sunlight on his skin? He pictured himself sitting on the black-sand beach with the crisp blue sky above, feeling the sunlight against his brow.

The platform neared the halo of light, and Cego pressed his face against the glass window. He closed his eyes, ready to return to the Surface.

Something slammed into side of the Lift not far from Cego’s face, jarring his eyes open. Black rocks were pelting the exterior of the Lift, disrupting the silence with the sound of a thousand drums.

“Darkin’ onyx storm. Shoulda known your grand viewing would be ruined by weather,” Murray muttered. The rest of the passengers on the platform didn’t seem particularly disturbed.

Through the maelstrom of black rocks, Cego could see the Surface world as they continued to rise into the air. Something was wrong.

The sky, if it could even be called a sky, was grey, as if it were shrouded in ash. Cego had only ever seen varying shades of blue skies on the Island. A dull light filtered down through the grey sky, painting the pale landscape beneath it. Cego couldn’t feel the light on his skin, warming him like the sun he remembered.

Cego looked up at Murray, whose face was calm. Nothing was wrong. This was the Surface Murray expected to emerge to.

Cego stared back outside as the onyx storm raged around the Lift, great gusts of wind uprooting skeletal trees below and tossing them like playthings. In the distance, Cego could see the outline of a sprawling city, its lights twinkling under the bleak sky.