Ty cried out in agony and surprise. He dropped his sword and groped madly behind him, his hands desperately slapping at his back as if to extinguish the searing pain he now felt. His birdun turned abruptly to face its attacker, its own safety now its only concern as its wounded haunch ran red. The erratic flight threw Ty further off balance, and he groped wildly for the mane of his mount. Gnarled fingers curled deep into the fur. But the wound was too deep. The blood flow too great.

Ty’s strong hands and scarred but sculptured arms refused to comply. He slipped from his saddle and plummeted to the ground. The roar of the crowd clamored off the cliff walls like a landslide.

Warman Kohl hovered over his fallen foe. He stared into Warman Ty’s eyes and appeared consumed with pride. But it was not pride in the victory. The Which was not greatly acquainted with the military mind, but she knew it was more complicated than that. Rather, it was a pride in understanding. Even in defeat, the more experienced Warman Ty served as inspiration.

Ty stared back at Kohl, unblinking and unashamed. The Which marveled at his magnanimity, especially considering that Warman Ty, perhaps even everyone in this arena, assumed he would win. But she recognized acceptance. Unflinching duty. Honor. The strength of character that could confront the consequence of a violent existence without fear.

Warman Ty almost smiled as he said in a surprisingly strong tenor, “Honor to Mano.”

Warman Kohl nodded in return and whispered something to himself. Then he threw his sword with no pity, and it impaled Warman Ty straight through the heart.

The Which assessed the young soldier as he drifted slowly, almost contemplatively, to hover before the loge. She truly hoped that he was the one. His eyes spoke of bravery. But he was young. Although not as young as some of the warmen The Which had dispatched to the Tree, never to return.

If we continue to reap our best, there will be no one left but children and the incompetent to defend the kingdom, The Which thought ruefully.

There was a time when she might have given the young champion a nod of approval. But after so many sacrifices, she had come to think of such encouragement as misleading. Perhaps even condescending. It trivialized the challenge that still lay ahead of him. So she remained impassive, as if matters of life and death weighed little upon her heart.

The When waved his arm, dispersing cool blue crystals that extinguished the flame in the ceremonial torch.

“Congratulations, Warman Kohl,” The When said with as much warmth as the smoldering torch. “You are our champion. Prepare yourself to depart for TREE.”

* * *

It is a sad and sobering day when you realize your parents aren’t perfect. Precocious child that she was, Allegra had come to that conclusion years before. Who better to have dominion and determination over the world than those who brought you into it? Yet her parents seemed to have control over nothing. Nothing except Allegra’s world, of course, which seemed to grow smaller and more managed by the day.