Murtagh ducked as a wooden axe skimmed over his head. He snarled, sending the point of his blade into the dark stomach of his attacker. The Beyonder gasped and fell over, Murtagh pulling his wooden sword backwards... and then landing a heavy blow on the crippled desert-dweller.
As he wheeled around in the sand, red blood smeared the russet training edge. Murtagh's green eyes sized up the rest of his enemies as he pulled a maroon scarf tighter around his bare neck. Dark-skinned youths slowly climbed towards him, various non-lethal weapons in their hands. verdant scarfs wrapped their necks, and behind them the massive walls of the arena curved, fading aurulent gleaming in the light of the heavy midday sun.
"We're outnumbered."
Murtagh glanced at his team mate, a light skinned youth from the lands beyond Surda. The boy had the traits of those people, thin aquiline nose, pouty lips, and shaggy red hair, albeit with skin that was olive in color, as opposed to the deep blackness of the people who marched the lands beyond Surda. He held his own wooden sword, waving the tip of it side to side before his face.
"I know that. We're going to have to work together if we're going to win, Zidda." Murtagh grunted and nodded his head forward.
The opposing team had stopped their advance, standing a few mere feet away from Murtagh and Zidda. The blazing fire in the sky beat down on their backs, and highlighted the various healed wounds that all of the boys bore. Scars were their way of life.
"Two against six. I like those odds." Zidda laughed and launched himself into battle. Murtagh swore and followed, his long hair tied in a ponytail that bounced against his neck. The boys against them reacted with trained speed, two of them standing their ground as the rest moved back to flank Murtagh and Zidda.
Zidda swept his sword downwards, separating the two boys who had meant to lock him in combat. One of them raised his blade, hoping to catch Zidda on the top of his head as Zidda brought his sword up from the sand. Murtagh saw the move, and threw his blade at the boy, it flew through the air hilt over point, hitting the Beyonder before Zidda was beaten by the flat end of the boy's sword.
Five to go.
Murtagh caught the second boy as he charged to attack, catching his blade arm and disarming him with a quick jab to the stomach. The boy lessened his grip on the handle, and Murtagh grabbed the sword-end, jabbing the hilt into the boy's eye, and pulling the blade free from his weak hands as the boy fell over, crying while grabbing his wounded eye.
Zidda and Murtagh stood back to back as the remaining four Beyonders circled, silent with their dark, predatory eyes.
They all charged at once. Murtagh fell to the ground as a curving two-handed blow zipped past his head, and into the edge of Zidda's sword as he held it behind his back, kicking another attacking Beyonder in the face with his dusty sandal.
The boy that had attacked Murtagh recoiled, and Murtagh rose from the ground, his left hand filled with sand. He whipped it at the boy's eyes, the Beyonder swearing as he was blinded, swinging his blade frantically.
Murtagh danced around him and planted the flat end of his sword hard against the back of the boy's head.
Two more.
Zidda ran to confront one of the last opponents, his sword swinging around his body in Beyonder fashion as he ran, his blade met the other boy's, engaging in a twisting dance.
They blocked, parried, and evaded, causing the tired sand of the Arena to rise around them.
"Aoro, Bahani." The dark haired youth's ears followed the sound of the voice, until Murtagh settled his eyes on his opponent, a swarthy beyonder with bright red hair and dusky dark skin. His nose was pointed like a hawk's beak, and his thin lips were curled in a contemptuous smile.
"Uhnama dal desrek-kai?" the boy said. Murtagh shrugged at him in response.
And charged.
The boy waited until the last second to attack- Pointing his sword straight at Murtagh's head. Murtagh, however, saw the blow before it came, and tilted his head, flipping his blade over in his grip so that the bottom end pointed at his adversary. The beyonder gasped in surprise, leading Murtagh to smile as he drove the butt end of his sword into the beyonder's chin as the boy's arm passed Murtagh's head. The boy fell over, his mouth bleeding and his eyes rolling backwards. Murtagh turned just in time to see Zidda finish off his foe with a crushing blow to the legs that sent the boy to his knees, whimpering.
Murtagh sighed and threw his training sword down, his chest rising and falling moderately fast. He looked up at the open sky, a cerulean painting devoid of clouds greeting him.
There was an explosion of applause, and Murtagh squinted, visoring his eyes with his hand so he could look up to the shaded balcony where a lone man clapped. He stood with two guards, who wore thick white robes that left only their eyes visible. In their hands they held wicked looking iron spears, cloth wrapped around the long metal where their hands grasped the weapons.
"Kinda! Kinda! Alona habareh junta desin!" The man bellowed down to them. He wore a face as dark as night, with long auburn hair flowing from his head and down into his chest. He was garbed in rich clothing, a tunic dipped in gold with flared sleeves the color of turquoise. He was not unfit, and stood tall, nearly as high as his guards did.
"He praises us for our victory." Zidda whispered as he walked to Murtagh's side. Zidda cupped his brown hands around his mouth and replied.
"Kinda? Aha areh sluno desin!"
"What did you say?" Murtagh asked. Zidda smiled, his face glistening with sweat.
"I told him victory is weak when we fight lazy boys." Murtagh nodded. He had gone here to train, but he was losing his patience. In the three years he had been here among the Southlords, he had not been challenged beyond his limits. He had gone here to be broken, and then rebuilt, but he had faced every challenge with little to no difficulty. He had inherited his father's prowess in battle.
Murtagh was glad, however, that the land was harsh. In Uru'baen he had felt himself growing complacent. With Galbatorix content to sit on this throne and Morzan off to his own dark matters, Murtagh was left with the decision to stay in Uru'baen and grow fat with the various lords and lordlings of Alagaesia, or to go and fight in the dangerous lands of Surda and beyond. He was fifteen when he left, and the land here had honed him into a hardy and strong warrior. He had gone without food, water, and endured blazing heat and bitter cold. He had experienced more pain than even the most seasoned generals, and led his team to victory in various mock battles.
The Beyonders loved mock battles.
Murtagh turned his attention back to Zidda and Karem-Tib Zole, the massive man on the balcony. They were talking back and forth in the strange tongue of this land. Murtagh had learned that thousands of languages were spoken here. The dialect that Zidda and Karem-Tib Zole spoke was a mixture of High Surdan and the language of the Beyonders, the name given to the people beyond Surda.
There were too many kingdoms and dynasties to term the natives with one name, so the title beyonders was used in its stead. Murtagh knew that there was even more land beyond the beyonders. He was at Karem's fortress, in Karem's abode: A moderate swathe of space that stretched from the outskirts of Surda to the edge of the deep desert dwellings of the beyonders. Karem was supported by Galbatorix, who ordered him to apply pressure on Surda's trade, and to raid the various townships outside of the reach of Surda's military.
Surda was one of the few kingdoms that refused to swear fealty to Galbatorix. It came under new rulership one hundred years ago, when Galbatorix allowed the youngest son of the ousted King to flee with a small portion of his court in exile. They came here, and in short time set up a new rival dynasty, in opposition to Galbatorix.
Karem descended from a line that Galbatorix christened, solely for the purpose of disrupting any dealings Surda engaged in. The kingdom was too far for Galbatorix to engage directly, but too close to ignore. Regardless, it was a poor place, where the wealth was kept to the higher classes and the poor were left to fend for themselves. Surda occupied a large piece of land, but aside from the high north and the capital, which was further down into the desert, the land was lawless, and thousands of Surdans fled into Karem's arms.
"Karem has given us leave to return to the keep. He offers us his usual goods... food, drink." Zidda said. Murtagh nodded, his body reminding him he needed food.
Zidda told Karem in their strange tongue, causing the man to bellow happily, clapping his hands together as four more guards entered the arena to escort Murtagh and Zidda from the theater. Zidda greeted them cheerfully in his tongue, they responded in kind.
A pair of large red doors opened at the center of the curving walls, freeing Murtagh and his company walked over the steaming sands and into the outside world. Karem called his land Carosoab, which means "place of Caros" in their bastard tongue. Caros was his great-great grandfather, the man that owed everything to Galbatorix, which wasn't much, Murtagh mused as they walked.
Dirt paths slightly darker than the yellow sand snaked around for miles, leading to various holdings and mudforts, baring the flag of Galbatorix above Karem's banner, which was the head of a goat on a bloody field. The land was sparse in terms of foliage-towns were often situated around a cool oasis that fed hearty and green shrubbery. Most of Karem's people were fed with stolen goods: Either from Surda or ravaged from other lesser lords. Karem protected some of them, at the cost of the majority of their food and water, which was given as tribute.
Carosoab was flat, save for hills of sand that formed from thousands of years of wind. The common people lived in dried mud houses, which kept them cool in the day and warm during night.
As they marched they came across Karem's soldiers patrolling the vast borders of his kingdom atop massive camels that sometimes saddled two men at a time. If they took an interest in Murtagh and Zidda, they didn't show it.
The warriors' eyes were focused on the horizon, fingers twitching at thick bowstrings and dancing around curved scabbards.
Murtagh felt the slight tings of exhaustion-they had walked through the barren land for some time, an orange sun slowly setting as they made their way to Karem's holding.
It wasn't till he saw a massive spire pointing to the heavens did he know that they were there. It was a building of metal and stone, so high it seemed to be a pillar that held up the very sky itself.
The spire marked the edge of the world.