Chapter 7. The Match
The dining salon had been completely cleared by the time Anakin arrived. He surveyed the space with a practiced eye, wondering briefly where they had put all the furniture. Big enough for normal sparring, he thought, but severely limiting to Jedi. There was almost no room to move.
To make it worse, the entire complement of passengers had arranged themselves around the edges of the room. No one wanted to miss the entertainment. It would be almost impossible to fight without hurting someone.
He found Typho standing by the door and beckoned to him.
"These people can't stand here like this," he said. "Someone is going to get hurt."
"I thought this was a friendly match?" Typho saw the problem as well, of course, but couldn't resist jibing the boy every chance he got. Despite his official position he was looking forward to the fight as much as everyone else.
"Move them out," Anakin demanded, "or there will be no match."
"How're you going to get out of it boy, eh?" Typho was amused. "Back down?"
"We'll just have to take it off the ship," Anakin countered. "That means a change in itinerary, rearranging everyone's schedule, landing permissions…" He looked squarely at Typho. "Do you love red tape that much?"
The Captain threw up his hands. "Fine. I'll move them."
It took fifteen minutes of group discussion and negotiations for the spectators to agree to squeeze themselves into a tight group at one end of the room. Equal numbers of Nubian and D'laian security personnel made up the front row to act as buffers if necessary. It was the best they could do.
The buzz of discussion reached a higher pitch and then stopped when Wolan entered the room with a small entourage. It was a grand entrance, or course. Wolan would never enter any other way. He was dressed in a glittering shirt, leggings and long soft boots. He thrilled the crowd by slowly and deliberately removing the shirt to reveal a taut well-muscled torso. He wasn't bulky. Anakin quickly assessed his training as having been in speed and accuracy.
Anakin was more interested in observing the two long, thin swords that one of the D'laian soldiers had carried into the room.
All the attention was on the glamorous D'laian. The quiet young Jedi on the far side of the room hardly caught anyone's attention at all.
That was just the way Anakin wanted it.
Then Wolan yelled, "Hey, Jedi!" and all eyes turned to him. Anakin looked up.
Wolan went on, "This is a straight match, remember? None of your sorcery. And get rid of that light sword.
Anakin had no intention of using his light saber. The match wouldn't last ten seconds. But he was not happy about removing it from his person.
"Of course I won't use it," he said. "You are not equally armed." A ripple went through the spectators.
"That's not good enough, Jedi."
Anakin saw the man's point of view. He looked around the room and wondered to whom he could safely entrust it. Padmé had kept her vow not to dignify this display with her presence. Sabé? She had her hands full with Balé, who clearly wanted to sit on her shoulders so she could see. Better to leave it. Then he realized what he had to do. Typho, of course. Keep your adversaries close… The man didn't like him but Anakin had faith in his honor and sense of justice.
He strode over to Typho, unclipped his light saber and offered it to the Captain without saying a word. The very act of handing it over evoked a memory of Obi-Wan's voice saying, "This weapon is your life." It made him feel terribly alone again.
Typho nodded and took it gingerly. He had never touched one of these things before. The cylinder was heavier than he expected and warm from having rested against Anakin's body.
"Don't worry," Anakin smiled. "It won't activate."
Typho nodded a bit gruffly, grasped the weapon in one hand and folded his arms in such a way that the saber hilt rested on the elbow of his other arm in full sight.
Good man, thought Anakin.
Then he unfastened his cloak and handed it to the security guard who stood next to Typho. He could just as easily fight while wearing it, and it often made a good defensive weapon, but he thought he would begin simply.
Anakin moved back to the center of the dining room, turned to face Wolan, and bowed.
Wolan continued to dominate the scene by reiterating the rules they had agreed on.
"Exhibition match, one round, my choice of weapons. The match continues until one of us yields."
A little murmur of excitement rippled through the onlookers.
Wolan went on. "I choose these!" He gestured dramatically toward the swords the soldier at his side was carrying. On cue, the man came around in front of Wolan, knelt and offered him his choice of swords.
Anakin saw him look at both swords very quickly before he selected the one closest to him.
The soldier then brought the other sword to Anakin, with considerably less ceremony.
He took the proffered weapon and weighed it in his hand. It was about a meter long, very thin and flexible, with a sharp tip. The handle fit neatly enough into his hand. He moved it experimentally, judging its flexibility and balance with mathematical precision.
"What do you call these swords?" he asked, thrusting the sword once or twice.
The D'laian's eyes narrowed as he watched Anakin work the sword. "They are called Balaan. Have you never used one before?"
Anakin said casually, but clearly enough that everyone could hear him, "I've never seen one before."
The crowd cooed.
"Let us begin," Wolan said shortly, and took up an elegant stance in the center of the space that had been allotted for the match. He was using his right hand.
Anakin followed suit, making certain that his movements, expression and demeanor were as unassuming as his rival's were dramatic. His mental shielding was in place. Anakin also used his right hand – that annoying object that moved well enough with nerve and muscle impulses but was ignored by the Force. It was gloved as always, however, and did not advertise its presence.
Someone on the side called out "Begin!" and the D'laian began circling to the left. Anakin mirrored his movements, willing his opponent to make the first few moves. He reckoned he would need four or five plays to fully master the man's fighting style – whatever it turned out to be. He didn't have to wait long.
The first thrust came toward Anakin like a flash. He hadn't noticed any movements that might have telegraphed it. Interesting. He parried quickly enough, and then went back to circling.
On the second attack Wolan feinted deftly, then came in under Anakin's sword right toward his heart. A classic killing thrust. Anakin twisted aside easily enough and went back to circling. The man was very good, for someone who used only his material senses. Anakin wondered idly whether the first two moves represented his best or his worst effort.
It was time to check out the D'laian's defensive style. In the space of two heartbeats Anakin attacked, using a classic double feint. Wolan slipped through the pattern like butter and laughed out loud. He was clearly enjoying himself. The audience tittered.
Patience, Anakin reminded himself, imagining again that it was Obi-Wan speaking. There is more to this than meets the eye. Allow it to reveal itself.
Clearly confident, the D'laian began to attack systematically using a backward and forward movement with complex and elegant footwork. The slashes were often diagonal, thrusts inevitably aimed for the center of the body. Anakin automatically adjusted his defenses to the rhythm established by his opponent while evaluating every move he made. Something about the style seemed familiar. Where had he seen it before?
After a few minutes Anakin realized that nothing more was happening. He had seen to it that his style and skill matched the D'laian's, so they were at a kind of impasse. Neither one took the advantage. It was an exhibition match after all, Anakin thought. Should he make a move?
A powerful feeling told him to wait. Wait. Something would be revealed. His purpose, after all, was to make the D'laian show his true nature and intentions. Anakin continued to hold back while mastering the style better and better with each step and thrust.
Then something shifted subtly. Anakin felt it as a kind of vibration in the Force before he heard the tone. The D'laian's sword was beginning to hum. It was almost imperceptible at first, but before long the tone grew loud enough for the audience to perceive it. It was a single tone without any perceptible harmonics and Anakin began to realize that it was cutting through his energy field as sharply as the blade would cut through his flesh. It was as though the blade's vibration could cut the force in two. Anakin felt the cuts as a searing pain although his body had not been touched. His ability to channel the Force faltered with each cut and he found himself having to fight with muscle and sinew alone.
At this rate he would tire quickly.
The D'laians sighed ecstatically when they began to perceive the sound. It was as though they had been waiting for it.
Then, suddenly, Anakin knew. It was a magic-killer; a sword whose specific purpose was to defeat those who used invisible powers. The sword had to be constructed so that a specific series of movements set up the sound vibrations. He had heard of such weapons. They were probably quite common on a magic-phobic world. Since the source of all so-called magic was ultimately the Force, it was a very effective weapon to use on an unsuspecting Jedi.
But only on an unsuspecting one.
The pain was growing and Anakin felt his muscles tiring. He faltered slightly. There was a murmur from the Naboo. They had not for one minute expected the D'laian to find a weakness in a Jedi. They were probably worried about their bets.
I have had enough of this, he thought. He had not survived everything life had thrown at him so far only to stumble into a clumsy trap set by a self-important, Force-blind warlord. Anakin had the urge to reach out and snap the D'laian's neck and be done with it. The anger felt warm and energizing like an extra surge of muscle power. He held on to it and used it.
With all the speed he was still capable of he ducked and rolled while switching his sword to his left hand. He felt the Force flow down his arm to his fingertips. Using it for direction and speed he began move his own sword in a rhythmic pattern that he calculated would result in the same kind of tone. He was right. The sound began below hearing and rapidly escalated to the same level as the D'laian's, at almost the same pitch. Immediately the pain went away as the vibrations from his sword countered those of his opponent, deflecting them before they could do any damage.
That was only the first step, Anakin thought with satisfaction as he saw the surprise on Wolan's face. You are going to be sorry you ever challenged me.
Anakin smiled and his sword began to sing. He found that he could vary the pitch with only slight adjustments in the speed of movement. Then with equally small shifts in the plane of movement he came close to creating harmonics. To accomplish these almost opposing actions he had to move with blinding speed. The spectators gasped and began to hold their hands over their ears. Wolan fell back again and again as the complex vibrations emitted by Anakin's sword created disturbances in the D'laian's own energy field. The one he did not believe he had.
The Force penetrates and binds us all…Even the spectators began to feel ill as the sound penetrated their bodies.
Then, and only then, did Anakin drop his mental shielding. Several things happened at once.
Wolan involuntarily slowed his movements and his sword stopped humming.
The spectators fell into a shocked silence.
Anakin took advantage of the brief halt and silence to knock the D'laian's sword completely out of his hand and catch it with his own.
The spectators suddenly noticed that the swords were silent and that the Jedi held both of them at Wolan's throat.
"Yield," he said. Now that he was back in control he didn't need the anger any more, and it subsided.
"Sorcerer scum," the D'laian spat. He didn't look quite so handsome with his face contorted with rage. "No one can make a Balaan sound like that."
"I can," said Anakin, the sword tips still at his adversary's throat. He noticed that the D'laian was ever so subtly shying away more from the tip of his own sword than from the one Anakin had used.
Anakin immediately dropped his own sword and continued to hold up the other.
"Yield," he demanded again.
There was a long bitter silence. Anakin could feel the struggle in the other. Finally the words came.
"I yield."
There was an excited murmur from the crowd.
Anakin calmed himself further, stepped back and bowed slightly. "Thank you for the match," he said with as pleasant a voice as he could summon. "It was most interesting." He kept a firm grip on the sword the D'laian had used, thinking that he should have the tip analyzed for poison. The D'laian had other ideas.
"My sword," he said stiffly. "You still hold my sword."
Anakin calculated his next steps carefully. It would not do to accuse Wolan of treachery if there was no proof of it. The only way was to draw him out.
He focused on his light saber, still being held by a stony-faced Typho, and brought it uppermost into his awareness. With another bow, he handed the sword to his adversary and then deliberately turned his back on the D'laian and walked toward the Captain. I dare you, he thought, with all the intensity he could muster.
He felt the intention before he heard the faint rush of air as the sword was hurled at him tip first. As he dodged it he called his light saber to him and activated it in the same instant. As the Balaan shot harmlessly by his shoulder he severed the blade before it could harm anyone else. The two pieces of the sword fell to the floor like stones.
There was another gasp from the crowd. Anakin did not bother looking back at his attacker. He simply bent down to pick up the cut tip of the blade in his gloved hand and walked over to the slightly stunned security guard who was still clutching his cloak. The man actually bowed to him when he returned it.
Anakin returned the bow and turned to Captain Typho. "I would like a word with you when you have a moment, Captain."
Typho nodded and followed the Jedi out of the room.
In the corridor outside the dining room Anakin showed the sword tip to the Captain and said, "I have reason to believe that this may be poisoned. Do you have the facilities to verify that?"
Typho looked at him in surprise. "I can manage it." He took a glove out of his pocket and carefully wrapped the piece of metal in it. Then he looked Anakin right in the eye. "This may be just the break we need. Thank you."
Anakin shrugged. "I serve," he said.
As Typho turned away Anakin suddenly couldn't resist asking, "Tell me Captain – whom did you bet on?"
The man grinned. He actually grinned.
"On you, of course." Typho walked down the corridor with the light step of man who had just won a lot of money.