13 – Pit Fighter

Annalisa’s fight wasn’t to be in one of the main pits, dug in the dusty squares throughout the downs. Hers was in a small ring, inside a pub that had had all the tables pushed to one side. It was dark, smoky, and smelled of stale beer and sawdust. The red stains on the floor and the scuff-marks suggested this was not a one-time occurrence. Ironically, now that Annalisa had left to prepare for her fight, this was the only place we’d been all day where a bodyguard might have been useful.

Luckily, I hadn’t gone around pissing people off all afternoon and evening. I spotted Jeedle off to one side, speaking with a half-orc that had a wresting band tied around her biceps. It was strung through a number of teeth, and she had her hair cut in the veldt style of a thin wedge running from her forehead to her nape, like a savannah cat’s mane.

I took my own place. Not ringside, but at the cleanest table I could find with a cheap beer to nurse. The smaller fights in bars and pubs didn’t draw the same crowd as the big events in the main pits, but the place soon began to crowd. I spotted another mongrel, Kridick’s right-hand man, who unfortunately noticed me, as well. He gave me a flat stare, and I couldn’t have told you what hid behind those eyes. But the steed arcana rose above his head. Support, bearer of burdens and companion of journeys.

More than half the people in the bar had card crowns flitting in and out of spots above their foreheads. To be completely honest, the effect was dazzling, and one of the reasons I typically avoided large crowds of moving individuals. I squeezed my eyes shut against the chaos for a moment to regain my bearings.

When I opened them, the crowns had dimmed somewhat, and I relaxed. As far as I knew, no other Seeker, not even the other Soul Seekers, could see the crowns. I’d long wondered what they meant and why only I could see them ever since Margot Bethane’s visit. It was like doing a reading without reading. Like a window into each person’s personality. They wouldn’t tell me a person’s future, of course. But in cases like Annalisa, they did tell me how the individual might approach it. In her case, with total overconfidence inevitably leading to disastrous results.

My unwanted plane-touched bodyguard didn’t have the first fight. That went to a pair of drakkyn women with tribal tattoos across their leathery hides. They circled each other for a moment before both dashed forward. The one closest to me lashed out with a quick jab-cross combo. Her opponent slipped the first punch, but took the edge of the second across her snout. She retreated, and the first drakkyn pressed the advantage.

It was a feint. As the closer lizard pressed her weight forward, her opponent slipped under the follow up and grabbed her the first by the waist, twisting the unfortunate victim over her hip and throwing her to the ground.

“Now is grapple, is good,” said a voice beside me. I hadn’t realized I was no longer alone at the table. One hand drifted toward the deck, but I recognized Storm-laden, or Stormy, as Annalisa called him. He watched the fight through a critical eye and grunted with approval. The other was swollen from one of his own fights.

Back in the pit, the fighter thrown to the ground had somehow regained the initiative, having a lock on her opponents horns that robbed the unfortunate lizard of her leverage, even as clawed feet raked at the trapped drakkyn’s belly. Blood started to squirt down onto the dust. The crowd roared.

I saw Annalisa take her position outside the ring while the organizers hauled off the bleeding drakkyn to be seen to by the bonecutters from the Menders Guild. Those deep gashes on her belly had stopped short of eviscerating her, but just barely. Her leathery flesh hung in ribbons. This wasn’t like the fights in the pits, a fact driven even further home when I saw Annalisa’s opponent emerge to a chorus of boos.

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“Storm, they can’t be serious!”

Annalisa’s opponent was an elven knife fighter, spinning his blades at the tips of his fingers. Sleight of hand tricks made the thin daggers seem to disappear and reappear at random. I could only follow his moves because we learned many similar ones at the Seekers Guild. Knives, cards, the principles were the same. And of the two, the cards were more likely to cut deep. The elf had his bronze adventurer’s badge on, and his black leather armor. He had a black quilted shirt underneath with the cuffs undone. Annalisa was bare-handed, save for cloth wraps over her knuckles, and she’d shed her vest and blouse down to a compress tied off over her bust more for modesty than protection. Her short hair had been tied back in a high tail to keep it out of her eyes.

Annalisa stepped into the ring, walking to the center along with her opponent. He was at least a head taller than her, and had the reach to match—plus bladed weapons.

The half orc grunted. “They jeer, but they all bet on elf.”

I could see why. The bronze badge glimmered in the dim light of the whale oil lanterns suspended above the ring. I could just make out the tiny letters spelling out rogue. “What about you?” I asked.

Storm-laden glowered down on me. “Anna say you read good card for her. I bet on Anna.”

Yikes. This wasn’t how I hoped it would go down. Especially with me being in striking distance of the only pit fighter in the city with any affection for the plane-touched. I had to start looking for my exit strategy. I looked around for Kridick’s half-orc and spotted him making the rounds to people in the crowd. The pit master came out and announced the two combatants, but it was obvious these two weren’t popular in the middle city. Neither elves nor plane-touched were much liked. But the elf was still the clear favorite to win.

Annalisa and the elf went to their opposite corners. Anna rolling her neck and bounding on the balls of her feet. Her tail lashed behind her, keeping her balance. Jeedle leaned against the ropes, muttering to her, but she only had eyes for the elf. At one of the unoccupied corners, a bearded drakkyn flipped a time-keeper. As the sand began to drain down, he struck a brass drum.

The two fighters closed faster than you could blink. A furious exchange of blows saw Annalisa lash out with a pair of jabs from her left, stepping out on that side to strike low at the rogue’s belly. At the same time, the elf parried the first jab, slipped the second, and scored a cut along the outside of Annalisa’s right arm as she pulled back her cross.

The two separated, with Anna’s palm against the cut. Ten seconds into the fight and the elf had drawn first blood. Storm grunted beside me as if he had been the one cut.

Anna flicked the blood from her arm onto the dirt and danced in, bobbing on her feet. She cut off the elf’s attempt to circle around and pushed in, feinting with her right before turning it into an uppercut aimed at the elf’s ribs. He blocked it with his elbow before driving his knife down from above. Anna turned the strike with her horns, the dagger’s tip a hair’s breadth from punching through her eye. I tensed up. She grabbed him by the shirt and brought her knee up, aiming for his gut. If it landed, it would have knocked the wind from his sails. But the elf did something I couldn’t quite see that shifted them both back a step.

Annalisa was caught off guard by the maneuver as well, and one of the dagger points licked in and out of her upper chest. She gasped, eyes wide. He’d twisted it on the way out.

The cut hadn’t been deep, but it had been fast. Faster than a bronze-ranked adventurer ought be capable. And what was that maneuver he’d pulled to create the opening?

A red stain started to spread on Anna’s chest wrap. She ignored it, and wiped blood from a cut on her cheek. Wait, when had she taken that? Neither of the three deterred her. She spun, leading with a tail whip into a kick—the same technique Salamaz had used on me. The elf dipped back away from the tail, but took the kick high on his thigh, grunting in pain.

Before Annalisa could follow it up, the elf stepped in and drove his daggers for her gut. She narrowly avoided the thrusts, and had to give up initiative. Her opponent pressed in, probing with the blades, and it was all Anna could do to retreat and keep from being cornered.

The brass drum sounded. Hells below, three minutes already?

The crowd had turned somewhat, getting more of a spectacle than they bargained for. Annalisa retreated to her corner, puffing with exertion. Jeedle spoke furiously to her through the ropes. The elf all but sauntered back to his corner. He tried to hide the slight limp on the side Anna had kicked him. It wasn’t enough. Annalisa was hopelessly outmatched. For that single blow, she’d received a handful of cuts in return. The red blood stood out, in stark contrast to her blue skin. She caught my eye and nodded over to me, smiling.

Dragons above, she wasn’t thinking about surrender at all. She still thought she was going to win.