Wen felt a flush rising up her neck. To her horror, her hands began to tremble. She set down the teacup she was holding before anyone could notice. She’d devoted careful time and energy into preparing for this evening. She’d sought to make a good impression, to represent her family in an inspiring and relatable manner.
She’d been a fool. Koben Yiro had delivered a rousing political diatribe, one that reinforced the Mountain’s message that it was the clan more dedicated to preserving the country’s resources and traditions. And he’d done so in a way that even Ayt Mada could not, further cementing the Koben family’s popularity.
Koben Yiro stepped away from the podium amid resounding applause. Several Mountain clan members stood up at their tables to salute him. Press photographers snapped pictures.
“My husband is so silly,” Koben Bett remarked, leaning toward Wen confidentially. “He was worried that the tone of the speech would be too heavy for this lunch crowd. Fortunately, I insisted that he stick with it. Well, now he’ll have to admit he was right to listen to me.” She settled back in her seat and sipped her tea with a placidly savage smile. “You’re quite right, Mrs. Kaul. Men often do need our help. It’s a shame our Pillars aren’t here to see what we do for our clans.”
CHAPTER
20
Progress
From the time he’d been the Horn of the clan, Hilo had hosted early morning drop-in training sessions for his top Fists on Seconddays and Fifthdays at the Kaul estate. He did so to ensure his highestranking warriors kept up their martial prowess, and also because he needed worthy sparring partners himself. When some responsibility as Pillar forced him to miss practice, Juen or Lott ran the sessions. It had become a mark of considerable status on the greener side of the No Peak clan, to be invited to train at the Pillar’s home.
For the past three years, Hilo had invited Jim Sunto to join them. It had raised some eyebrows among the Fists, but Hilo had been interested in Sunto ever since their first encounter at the Seventh Discipline gym. He was intrigued by the idea of matching himself against an elite jade-endowed fighter trained by the Espenian system and seeing what he could learn.
On this morning, they faced each other as they first had seven years ago, only this time Hilo held a gun and Sunto had a knife. They were deliberately training their lesser proficiencies. Kaul Hilo’s long-standing reputation as a talon knife fighter was unsurpassed, and Jim Sunto had extensive ability with firearms.
The sun was barely up and the gathered Green Bones blew into their cupped hands to warm them. The Pillar stood in the center of the lawn with his arms loose at his sides, a small, anticipatory smile tilting one side of his mouth. Sunto circled, casually—then moved in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
A capable Green Bone can cross ten meters of ground in far less time than it takes the average shooter to draw and aim a handgun. Hilo had used that fact to lethal advantage numerous times in his life. Anyone trying to draw a pistol on a Green Bone with a talon knife, especially in the close quarters of a Janloon city street, would likely fall to the knife before getting off a single shot.
Hilo needed to do the opposite of what he normally did in a fight—create distance instead of reducing it. Sunto had rushed in at an angle, so rather than try to escape backward or sideways, which he could not do in time, Hilo drew his gun as he dropped to the ground on his back. He fired upward.
The shot hit Sunto in the stomach. It was only a pellet gun, not enough to break Steel, but enough to sting. Hilo rolled away in the grass and fired again from a crouch. Now he’d created too much distance and his opponent Deflected the pellets with ease. To close the gap, however, Sunto had to charge through the danger zone where he was too close to effectively Deflect but still too far away to reach his target with the knife. Hilo shot the soldier again in the chest. It barely slowed him down. The talon knife flashed toward Hilo’s face.
He caught Sunto’s wrist, halting the blunted edge a fingertip’s distance from his throat. Hilo grinned. “You could’ve finished me off if I hadn’t seen the knife coming so easily,” he said. “Draw my attention with your other hand, then switch grip and cut this way instead.” He took the knife from Sunto and mimed a quick demonstration. The small cluster of watching Green Bones nodded.
Sunto made a noise of grudging appreciation. “Still didn’t get in three shots, though,” he said, rubbing at the bruise on his chest. The objective was to place three shots or a lethal cut. No disarms. With skilled fighters, it was a contest of who got there first. “Even if you’re stuck here”—Sunto held the gun close to his own torso, as if trapped in a close quarters struggle, and shifting so the other Green Bones could see—“you can still fire, if you angle it like this, so the slide is clear of your own body. That’s the third shot.”