Bavmont sat at the edge of a lake, half of the city stretching out onto the water. In her years wandering through the Independent Lands, Linara avoided ever visiting the so-called City of Mercenaries. The lakeside location was the city’s second claim to fame - the first was a culture built around martial prowess and bloodshed.

On one hand, it reminded her of life among the Hatharen. Linara herself was a fighter, and her life revolved around that - but that was true of nearly every Hatharen. Humans did not live like that, and her time in Olentor was made better for it. Friends like Vendel, who never once picked up a weapon, provided new perspectives on life. Another place obsessed with combat did not appeal to her.

On the other hand, Linara was not fond of bloodshed. Her life before entering the human lands revolved around training to kill monsters. Fighting - and potentially killing - humans initially came to her as a shock. It was rare for her to need to kill, as most of her duties involved training others - until she met Ferene, at least. Since then she found herself leaving a trail of bodies behind her.

Looking down the hill she stood on at the walled city, Linara took a deep breath and started walking towards it. Perhaps her meandering path southeast taking her close to it was only fitting. Without any rush to get back to Olentor and confront whatever might be waiting for her there, Bavmont presented an ideal stop.

“Soldier, are you?”

“Former soldier.”

The gate guard looked her up and down, frowning. “You don’t stop being a soldier until you put down your weapons.” The young man leaned casually against the massive wooden door, which looked to be stuck in place, the bottom part having sunk into the grass beneath it. A smaller door, set into the structure, stood open beside him.

“Former soldier in service to a lord. On my own now.” Linara amended her statement.

“You here for our event? Looking to compete?”

Linara blinked in response. “No idea about that. Just moving east.”

Raising a hand and rubbing the back of his neck, the guard paused, rubbing his lips together in thought. “You any good in the ring? Novelty entrant like you would get some attention, especially if you go far.”

“I personally trained the king of Olentor and several of his knights, sparred daily with the Knight’s commander, and have never once lost.”

He blinked, then laughed. “Hey George, this one says she trained a king!” He yelled at the open door.

“I haven’t heard that one before.” Said another voice, and a second guard leaned around the frame, looking at Linara. “Oi, Patram, lookit the ears. She’s one of those mountain folk. Not human. My granda used to tell me stories about ‘em.”

“So she tellin’ the truth, then?” Patram asked, tilting his head as he looked at Linara again. “Think we should bet on it?”

“Bet on what? What’s the event?” Linara asked, standing at ease. Two bored men gossiping at their post was nothing new to her, and she was mildly interested.

“Twice a year city holds a tournament. One on one fights, first to three cuts, or three drops, wins. Keep fighting until only one is left. Use any weapons you want, as long as it all takes place in the ring.”

Linara stood still, considering. How long had it been since she last had a serious fight, in single combat? She couldn’t remember at this point. “I’ll do it.”

George smiled. “Outsider should have good odds. Win for us, will ya? Go on inside.” He retreated around the doorframe as Patram waved her through.

In stark contrast to most cities in the Independent Lands, which sprawled outwards, Bavmont huddled behind its short walls, buildings clustered together, additions built on top seemingly haphazardly, with mismatched wood and paint. None of the buildings towered more than two or three stories, but they seemed to lean on each other for support. Twisting paths lead between them, most too narrow for carts. Linara found one of the wider streets, and after a short turn from the gate it widened further into an open boulevard, packed with people.

At the end of the road stood a wide, uniform structure. Linara slowly weaved through the crowd on her way towards it. Many of the people she passed were armed and armored, moving with the ease of people used to carrying such weight. Something was calming about it, being just one of many, not standing out. People did not shy away from her or whisper as she passed. To them, she was just another soldier, another mercenary, another glory seeker in a sea of many.

On the other hand, she was once again reminded of humanity’s sheer mass. This one street alone held more armed fighters than her entire Hatharen stronghold, and there were more in other parts of the city, and there were so many cities. Humans spread across the land, on and on, in numbers beyond the comprehension of Hatharen, while Hatharen spread themselves across time, living beyond the comprehension of humans.

And then there was Linara herself, who could do neither.

Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she walked faster, reaching the building. A heavy stone desk sat outside the walls, in the open air. A bored looking man stood behind it, leaning on the surface.

“You want in? Dueling?” He asked, looking up at her as she approached. Linara nodded. He slid a paper across the table to her. “Name here, show up in three days at noon. You’re a little early, things will get crazy tomorrow. Late arrivals have to fight each other to get in when the remaining slots get low.”

Linara wrote her name down on the paper, handing it back to the man. “Just my name?”

“When you enter the arena, you are only your name. Your past achievements, your upbringing, your bloodlines - none of that matters. Everyone is equal within those walls. Royalty and Heroes and the farmer’s son with a secondhand sword are all treated equally.”

Linara nodded at this. “I’ll be back in three days, then.”

Linara found an inn and bought a room, shedding her armor and changing her clothes before going back outside to find food.

Returning to the central street, Linara walked past the large permanent arena, towards the waterfront half of the city. Closer to the center were stalls selling food to the people milling about. Cooked fish and waterfowl, dried seaweed. She bought small amounts of everything, idly eating as she walked around, watching the other people. They weren’t all competitors, but they also weren’t all spectators. She noted multiple groups in identical - or at least, similar - uniforms. Mercenary companies, probably looking to expand their ranks before heading south. News of increasing tensions between the two largest southern kingdoms was becoming more and more common. Worries about which side would win and what they would do after subduing their rival. Expansion into the Independent Lands was always a worry, and some considered it a sure result of a war, the question was just which side would be claiming more territory.

To Linara, the outcome seemed obvious. One side had Taradira, and the other didn’t.

Twice, she had met the Hatharen General. The closest thing to a living legend among her people. Over a hundred years ago, Taradira had found a new kind of creature from beyond the mountains, killed it, and brought news of it back. Her discovery caused widespread change in tactics and saved many lives, at least for a time. More shocking was that she fled, going to the human lands and spending the century there. How many wars was she involved in? A hundred years of fighting in the human lands and she was still alive. Linara shuddered at the thought. Unlike Taradira, she had no desire to lead armies. The mercenary companies were not for her.

The next day, she found that there was a small yard behind the inn she was staying at, just barely large enough for her to exercise in. She began a training routine with stretches, then moved on to weapon drills, finally ending by donning her armor and repeating the entire process fully geared. By the time she finished, several other guests were watching.

“You here for the tournament?” One asked as she walked back towards the building. Linara nodded. “Don’t get your hopes up, if that display is what you are about.”

“What?”

“Fancy weapon swinging like that isn’t how you win.” The man said, frowning. “There’s two kinds of people that enter. The ones trying to win, and the ones trying to gain attention. Fight properly, and people will notice you. But you won’t win. The winners fight dirty.”

“What makes you think I can’t fight dirty?” Linara asked. The man was right. The way she fought training Senral and his knights was very different from the way she fought back in her stronghold. Hatharen sparring was a different kind of training. Learning to fight unpredictable, unthinkable, and unnatural opponents. Humans weren’t capable of understanding what Linara was willing to do to win, since they weren’t capable of understanding the kinds of opponents she had been taught to fight. Remembering the previous day, that was also why Taradira’s army would win. Linara had no doubts that the massive Hatharen posed a threat that her human enemies would have no way to deal with.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“You train like a soldier. Soldiers don’t win here. That’s all.”

Linara nodded. “I trained soldiers.”

“Interesting.” The man said, and turned to leave. The others that had gathered to watch her were exchanging looks and whispers.

Once again, she wandered the streets, watching the people. As she had been told, the city began to fill up, more mercenary companies, more lone warriors walking around fully armed and armored. A line formed at the desk in front of the arena.

Something else caught her attention. A number of younger humans were standing around, keeping a distance, but intently scanning the line. Linara counted ten of them, spread out from each other, and six more in groups of twos. There were other young men and women, not alone, but following older, well equipped soldiers.

The culture of Bavmont was multi-layer and multi-faceted. Mercenaries and wandering soldiers, eager youths looking for mentors, even some of the city guards were standing nearby. The tournament was a recruiting ground. She was starting to reconsider her participation. She just wanted to fight, a proper contest of skill. Not the mental struggle against herself that Raulthen put her through. Not the slaughter of thugs that she helped Ferene with. Not to earn herself recognition in the eyes of others looking to hire her.

Regardless of what others made of it, a fight was still a fight. She could just ignore the culture she didn’t care about. As long as they gave her strong opponents, what did it matter to her what they made of her fights? She wanted the excitement of practicing with Rilren or dueling Edmon.

The day before the event, the main street was mostly empty, and the desk in front of the arena was gone. The wall behind where it used to be stood open, a gate swinging outward and beckoning inwards. Linara walked through, finding herself walking up a wooden staircase to emerge in the stands, watching over a field as a swarm of combatants scrambled in a desperate fight. They wore bright cloth of red or blue, and she saw one man fall after a blow, tearing off his wrapping and tossing it down before crawling away.

The crowd around her roared. She stared down at the brawl, frowning. Linara could see no organization, no strategy or even tactics. One fighter in blue attacked the man in red in front of him, dropped his opponent, and turned to the right, almost striking a fellow blue wearer before turning the other way, too late to avoid a strike from another red-wearing, club-wielding man. All of them carried clubs, and a few held shields in their other hands. The goal seemed only to bash the other color into submission and make them discard their cloth and leave the field.

“Don’t look so sour.”

Linara turned at the sound of the voice, seeing a young woman looking up at her. Gray eyes peered out from under a wall of black hair.

“Most of them sign up late on purpose just to participate in the grand melee. Let them have their fun.”

Linara shrugged, turning back to the field. “How does it work?”

“All the leftovers fight for the last twenty-odd spots. Split into two teams, the last however many still in when they say to stop can participate in the event tomorrow. Most of them know they won’t last that long and just run in looking to bash someone.” As the girl spoke, Linara watched someone do just that; a large man with a red cloth wrapped around him ran into a group of five blue-clad opponents, swinging left and right and knocking three of them to the ground before the other two managed to bring him down. All four removed their colors and walked off the field.

“Do the spectators bet on this, too?”

“A little. Which side wins doesn’t really matter, just how many are left. Could be a mix of both sides that go on to tomorrow’s tournament. The side that is better off is usually whichever one ends up with more of the serious fighters, which is random.”

“Wouldn’t anyone serious register in advance?” Linara asked as she watched more mindless club-smacking.

“Early entrants are considered lower skill and placed in harder spots. The best way to go far in the bracket is to survive the melee.”

“I see.” Linara replied, realizing she’d been tricked. The men at the gates had set her up to face stronger opponents, likely so they could make more betting on her. It didn’t matter, since she was sure she would win either way. “What a silly system.”

“They want to make sure at least some good fighters participate in this, to keep it interesting. If it was only bone-headed idiots, the masses would find it less fun to watch.”

Giving the girl another look, Linara frowned. “Why do you watch it?”

“I need to find a mentor that is willing to take me, but also isn’t approached by anyone else they’d want more.”

“How many people out there are better than you?”

“Not that many.” The youth said, looking up at Linara again. “But I’m short, and I’m a girl. Makes me a poor choice in most people’s eyes.”

“Women are seen as poor fighters here?”

“Don’t know how it is anywhere else, but in Bavmont, if men want to work, they become fighters. If women want to work, they become fishers. For the most part. A few go the other way, but to be noticed as a woman you need to be exceptional. I’m a bit above the average.”

About half the fighters in the melee were still wearing colors, finally coalescing into a semblance of battle lines rather than a tavern brawl. The crowd grew louder as the cheering intensified with every removed participant.

“Well, good luck with that.” Linara said, turning to leave. The girl remained silent as she returned her gaze to the field.

On the day of the tournament, Linara got dressed, armored, and went down to the small open square behind the inn. Once again, several of the other guests showed up to watch her routine, but all of them left before she finished. Once done, she quickly ate a roll and a few pieces of bacon from the kitchen before leaving the inn.

It was still early, and the main street was occupied not by hordes of cityfolk, but a few other armed and armored men, all walking towards the central arena. Linara trailed after a group, letting them lead her to a side entrance where a man in a fancy suit took each of their names down, checking them against a list, and directed each member of the group to a different room.

“Name?”

“Linara.”

“Last name?”

“Just Linara.”

Throwing her a glare, the man looked down at his list, then his eyebrows went up in surprise. “Well then, it seems you are. Very well. Hall to the left, furthest door down. An attendant will notify you when your turn comes.”

Nodding, Linara walked down the hall, as instructed, going to the final door. It was a very long hallway, one that seemed to wrap nearly halfway around the inside of the circular structure. Her waiting room was a simple affair with a bench along one wall, a rack on the other wall with some towels, bandages, and scissors, and a well-used training dummy in the center. A very simple but obvious construction of a thick, solid piece of wood coming up to her chin, with two other pieces made to represent arms sticking out at the appropriate height, one even holding a shield. Ignoring it, Linara sat down on the bench and waited.

Luckily, or unluckily, or more likely a result of a her early registration, a middle-aged woman stepped into her room after only a few minutes. “You there. Linara? Follow me.” She turned and left without even letting Linara confirm her identity.

Halfway back around the outside ring of doors, and she found herself being lead through a short tunnel out into the daylight. The crowd was already roaring above her, and her opponent stood in a ring already. There were four rings, spread throughout the dirt floor of the arena, with chest-high walls dividing it into equal sections for each.

The man was tall and thin, a short spear in one hand and a large, round, wooden shield in the other, a full-face helmet obscuring his head. Stepping towards him, Linara readied her weapon. He did the same, before charging directly at her, not waiting for any sort of starting signal.

As he exploded into motion, the crowd grew louder. Linara immediately found herself on the defensive, pushing the tip of his spear away with the haft of her own, only for him to bash her in the chest with his shield, forcing her backwards. Stepping with the force of the blow, she adjusted herself, bringing her weapon up again. Her opponent charged again, this time bringing his shield up, protecting his body as he ran forward. Linara waited, stepping to the side at the last moment, grabbing the edge of his shield and twisting. With it strapped to his arm, she had no chance of removing it, but he couldn’t twist himself to bring his spear at her with enough force or accuracy to get through her own armor. The tip of it slipped across her breastplate as she brought her own weapon to bear, sweeping his legs out from under him.

The man fell in a clatter of armor, and Linara pinned his gauntleted arm to the ground and pulled his spear from his grasp. He rolled away, freeing his arm from under her foot and pushed himself to his feet. Linara tossed his spear over the nearest wall, into another pair’s arena, where two fighters were already squaring up to fight.

Putting his free hand behind his shield, Linara’s opponent pulled out a dagger which seemed to have been fastened to the inside of it. Slowly, he advanced on her again, staying just out of the range of her spear, and stepping back whenever Linara made a move to attack. The overconfident charging was gone, replaced entirely with the caution of an experienced fighter unsure of his opponent’s abilities. Linara smiled, and moved to finish the duel.

Her own charge was met by a backstep and an attempt to block with the shield. At the last moment, Linara stepped to the side, swinging her spear around to strike her opponent on the shoulder, the force of the blow spinning him slightly away from her, leaving his back exposed as she struck two more times, sending him face-first to the ground.

Rather than disarming him again, Linara landed one blow on the back of his head, driving his faceplate into the dirt before he could start to roll away. Dropping his dagger, he tried to use his free hand to push himself to his feet, but Linara struck his shoulder, forcing him back down. At that point, he pounded his fist into the dirt twice. “I yield!”

Crouching down, Linara helped the man to his feet, only for him to bash her in the face with his shield. She felt her nose break from the blow, and stumbled backwards in a daze. She could vaguely see him picking up his weapon as she shook her head, trying to clear it.

Anger filled her, and she gripped her spear tightly, standing up straight as she squared off against his her opponent once more.

He threw his dagger at her.

Linara barely moved her head out of the way, avoiding the weapon piercing her through the eye. It seemed that while you didn’t need to kill your opponent to win, there were no rules against doing so. Or any rules at all, she realized. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at her opponent and bowed towards him. He responded by pulling another knife out from behind his shield. How many did he have stored there? She didn’t know.

Linara threw her spear at him.

The motion should have been obvious to anyone who had seen it before, but perhaps her opponent simply didn’t think she would go so far as to throw away her main weapon in a duel, since he brought up his shield just before the spear hit him, covering his face and entire upper body.

Linara’s weapon pierced through his leg, right above the knee, in a gap between the tasset and greave. He fell to the ground, dropping his new weapon. Linara walked over, pulled her spear free, and stared down at the man as he lay on the ground. “Stop! Stop!” The middle aged attendant called from the side as she ran forward, waving wildly. “You dropped him three times, you win!”

“Did you hear him say he yielded?” Linara asked, turning towards the attendant.

The woman came to a stop, staring at Linara. “I, um. I didn’t.”

She didn’t even try to hide the lie. Of course, this man was supposed to be a favorite to go far, possibly even win. He wasn’t supposed to lose to Linara. Nobody wanted a favorite to get upset in the first round. Of course he’d be given some advantages.

“Right.” Linara said, and walked off the field.