The Whetstone Fist 2

by Brian K Declan

  Lock bobbed his head to show he understood, but his dad didn’t let him pass. Flint’s eyes flicked to the tunnel behind them, then Lock heard it. A pair footsteps echoed down the tunnel and a couple of patrolmen approached. Lock didn’t recognize either of them, but they both wore seasoned armor. It was simple hardened leather but worn. Their weapons on the other hand were immaculate.

  One was an older grey haired man and likely in his last few years of working the blade. The other, however, was only a few years older than Lock and walked with an arrogant bravado that only came from slaying serious monsters. Not two men you wanted to run into in a dark alley, but they were harmless enough. Even though Lock didn’t know them, both recognized his dad.

  “Sharp,” said both men with a firm head nod, “You fighting tonight?”

  “Wouldn’t be here otherwise,” said Flint.

  The two men shared a pensive look then continued to make their way down the tunnel, “Well, good luck tonight.”

  “Hey boys,” said Flint, “Tonight’s shaping up to be a big night. Might be a good time for some backup.”

  The two patrolmen shared another look, “You planning to challenge?”

  “Grimm,” answered Flint with a slow dip of his head.

  Both men let out a breath and visibly deflated, “Bout fuckin time,” said the younger of the two.

  Flint raised his arm up between Lock and the two guards “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The older man showed his hands, “Nothing, he just means bout time someone showed up that could handle Grimm.”

  The younger man pushed his friend’s hands down, “No, I meant if ya showed up sooner the guard would’na lost six good men. Hear that six, six men died because you could’n be bother’d.”

  “I ain’t hid’n brother,” said Flint but the older guard shoved his companion back down the tunnel and gave him a kick to boot.

  “Sorry, one of them that Grimm slaughtered was a pal of his. Skilled lad but a fool,” said the older guard.

  “Sorry to hear that,” said Flint, “I’d a come sooner had I known.”

  “Not on you,” replied the guard with a firm shake of his head, “Do what you gotta, we’ll do our part.”

  Flint gave a sad smile to the veteran guardsman and Lock knew better than to ask anything until he was out of earshot.

  “Six died,” said Lock.

  “Looks like that scuffle was more than James made it out to be,” said Flint, “It might be about time you turned back and let me take care of business.”

  “Fuck that,” said Lock, “I’m not running away.”

  “This isn’t some game son,” said Flint, “Those men that died were guardsmen, trained fighters. Whoever killed them was not some backstreet brawler who thinks he’s tough because he beats up his wife. They’re trained killers.”

  “I know that,” said Lock, “but I also know that I’m a better fighter than most of the guards down here. You know it too.”

  “I do,” said Flint then he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, “If you stay and you have to fight which I’m not saying you will. You’ll do it on my terms. Not yours or anyone else’s. Got it?”

  “Got it,” said Lock with a firm nod.

  That settled, father and son continued deeper into the tunnels. After only a few minutes the path opened up to a wide circular intersection where at least eight different tunnels met. It was one of the many places where Bruno set up everything they needed for the fights. In the center was, of course the ring, or more accurate a wrought iron cage in the shape of a circle. That cage went from floor to ceiling so once you were inside there was no escape.

  Along the outside of two thirds of the chamber there was a set of bleachers pressed against the wall. The bleachers went up about twelve rows. That was for the spectators, and anyone betting on the fights.

  Along the other third was a separate set of bleachers, only five rows deep. That was for the fighters, but before anyone made it to those seats, they had to pass by a little desk set up to one side of the bleachers. Sitting behind that desk was, Dean. Further back under the bleachers there was a group of men, all armed to the teeth with crossbows and pristine blades.

  Bruno knew how to outfit his guys, and there was no doubt that they were as good of fighters as anyone that entered the ring.

  Behind that group of enforcers was where they’d find Bruno and sure enough Lock spotted James pushing his way past the group of enforcers. Flint spotted him too and walked over without a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t even spare a glance in Dean’s direction. Dean on the other hand stopped what he was doing and watch them pass until one of the men gathered in front of his desk blurted his annoyance, “The fuck he’s go’n. We’s here first.”

  Dean smacked the man in the face with a stack of papers, “If you want a fight, shut it.”

  At that his dad cocked his head to look at Dean. The two shared a look then his dad nodded and continued under the bleachers. Bruno’s enforcers did their job and formed a solid line in front of their boss but James was quick to push between them, “Outa the way. Let him pass.”

  The enforcers didn’t argue with James but none of them moved to obey him either. They stood their ground until Bruno opened his mouth, “You heard him, Flint’s an old friend.”

  At that the enforcers made an opening. Lock followed his dad, past them and for the first time in a good five years he met Benjamin Bruno, “Take a seat.”

  Bruno was how Lock remembered him. He looked like a pirate lord that had been plucked right out of the sea. Muscular, hairy, with a shaved head, the coldest blue eyes he had ever seen. To top it all off he had a bushy grey beard.

  Flint kicked a leg on one of the chairs to spin it around then straddled it in reverse. It was a display of athleticism but more important it allowed him to sit without removing the sword from his back or his hip.

  “You sure you want the kid here for this?” asked Bruno.

  “You raise your boys, I’ll raise mine. Got it,” said Flint.

  “Fair enough,” said Bruno as he raised his palms.

  “I’m looking to make a wager,” said Flint as he shrugged the sword off his shoulder, “A big one.”

  Bruno flipped over his hand and motioned with the tips of his fingers, “Let me see.”

  Flint snatched the sword as it slid off his back and held it above Bruno’s desk for a moment before he let it go. The sword fell to his desk with a solid thud. It only took a few seconds to unwrap the hilt of the sword and that was all Bruno needed to see before he looked up, “This real?”

  “It is,” said Flint.

  “That’s a big bet, you expect me to find someone down here who can match it.”

  “Do your best,” said Flint.

  Bruno leaned back in his chair and twiddled his thumbs, “You willing to risk putting that in unsavory hands?”

  “I’d prefer to avoid it,” said Flint.

  “And if it’s the only way,” asked Bruno.

  “Consider it added motivation,” said Flint.

  “Alright,” said Bruno as he pushed back from his desk and stood up, “No promises, but I’ll make some inquiries.”

  Lock caught his dad’s arm but waited until Bruno walked away until he spoke up, “What’s so special about the sword?”

  “It holds some unique enchantments,” said Flint.

  “Cryptic much,” said Lock.

  “Pain in the ass much,” said Flint.

  “Only when you hide stuff,” said Lock, “Which is pretty much always.”

  “So you do know how annoying you are,” said Flint.

  Lock spared his dad a glance then checked to see where Bruno disappeared to, “Whatever.”

  “Ya know what I hear when you say that. Blah blah blah,” said Flint.

  “I’m young and stupid,” said Lock in his best imitation of his dad before he could say it, “better than being old and fat.”

  “Hey,” said Flint with his hand on his chest, �
��I’m not fat. Old and wise, old and wise.”

  “You two done?” asked Bruno from behind them.

  Lock was about to answer but his dad grabbed his arm, “That was fast.”

  “You didn’t think I was actually going to run around talking to people,” said Bruno, “Don’t worry, I spread word.”

  Flint bobbed his head then slowly released Lock’s arm.

  “Well as much as I hate to interrupt this father son bonding moment. We should discuss what I get out of this whole arrangement because you know lately. Business is good. A bit bloody but good.”

  “You mean Grimm’s good for business,” said Flint “But how long do you think men are going to line up to be slaughtered?”

  “I meant the crowd like’s blood,” said Bruno, “and this city has no shortage of desperate men. As long as there’s good money to be made, they’ll keep showing up.”

  “Desperate men don’t make for a good show, but the real question is; how long until Grimm realizes he can manage the fights without you?” said Flint.

  Bruno leaned back in his seat, “Alright, I’ll get you the fight. What do I get out of brokering this side deal?”

  “Take your cut,” said Flint, “Twenty percent right?”

  “Come on, you can do better than that,” said Bruno.

  “Get to it then,” said Flint, “What do you want?”

  Bruno sat up a little straighter then raised a finger to point at Lock, “He fights Grimm’s boy.”

  “A fight,” said Flint as he glanced at Lock, “That’s what you want? Why?”

  “You and Grimm are rivals of a sort. That is entertaining but its old news. After tonight nobody gives a shit. Now a family feud, that’ll keep people coming back,” said Bruno.

  “Say we go along with it,” said Flint, “I have a few conditions.”

  “We’ll see,” said Bruno, “What are they?”

  “Practice swords, first blood and I keep the twenty percent,” said Flint.

  “Sure, sure,” said Bruno as he waved over one of his enforcers, “Grab a couple of those sticks you all were playing with,” then he extended his hand toward Flint, “Keep quiet about the twenty percent would ya.”

  First fight of the night. That was supposed to be a bullshit matchup between two no name lowlifes. Half the time it was a pair of homeless that were hopped up sin. Those fights were more like brawls because the fighters were so high on sin that they wouldn’t even feel their own death. Basically, the first fight meant nothing, it was just to warm up the crowd. Tonight however, the first fight meant everything.

  “Remember you can speed up your eyes as much as the rest of you,” said Flint.

  “Dad I know,” said Lock as he brushed his hand off his shoulder only to have his dad grab his arm, “I know.”

  Flint released Lock’s arm and pulled him into a hug, “I know you know. Just,” then he lowered his voice, “be careful.”

  “I will,” answered Lock as he gave his dad’s head a good squeeze, “Besides I got a good sixty pounds on him, it’ll be hard to lose.”

  “Remember first blood doesn’t mean he won’t try to kill you. But there’re a lot of people watching, be cautious, fight clean, and no tricks.” said Flint then he closed his eyes, stood up straight and slapped the solid piece of wood into Lock’s hand.

  “I heard you the first time,” said Lock as he rolled his wrist to test the weight of his new weapon.

  To call it a piece of wood wasn’t quite right. Bruno’s men may have thought it was a simple stick, but it only took a moment for Lock to recognize it for what it was. A mana blade.

  In truth it was just wood. Solid wood but it had been treated and shaped to help focus mana into a sharp cutting blade. Not that it mattered. Nobody down here knew what it was, least of all how to use it. Lock wasn’t much better and with any luck Grimm’s son would be the same.

  With that thought Lock entered the cage. When most fighters entered, they gave the crowd a quick demonstration of their skills. Especially if they had an intrinsic ability like Flash Step. Lock didn’t see a point to it all, but he knew tonight was about putting on a show as much as it was about fighting.

  He started out with a with a few quick single-handed sword strikes. Nothing fancy. Just crisp clean swordplay. Then he spun around on his toes, switched to a two-handed grip and flowed into a more complex sword form. How complex didn’t really matter, what was important was that the form would end when he reached the edge of the cage.

  As he made the final strike of the form, he took a half step closer to the cage and struck the iron bars with the tip of his mana blade. The strike was hard and fast but more important the iron cage let out a loud clang.

  As the sound filled the chamber he triggered Flash Step, flung the mana blade backwards, sprinted to the other side of the cage and caught the mana blade in one hand.

  The cage was still resonating from his strike as he lowered the mana blade. Before that sound completely dissipated the crowd burst into a wave of hooting and hollering. He couldn’t really tell what the fighters thought or even if they saw what he did, but it was clear the crowd was impressed. For the moment anyway.

  Their cheers died off as Grimm’s son Cliff entered the cage. He was average height but thin and wiry with hawkish features. The one thing that caught Lock’s attention was the veins that stood out on Cliff’s arms. He might be thin but he had a swordsman’s grip and he moved with confidence. After scanning the crowd Cliff fixed his eyes on Lock. From behind him his father flung the other mana blade at his back. Cliff snatched it out of the air without looking, twirled the stick and pointed it at Lock.

  “Baby Sharp,” said Cliff, “are you watching?”

  It was not a real question, so Lock didn’t bother answering. He did focus all of his senses on Cliff. With his mana blade leveled at Lock, Cliff started to cross the cage with a slow, steady gate. When he reached the middle of the ring Cliff’s body blurred. Only for a split second and then there were two of him walking side by side at the same slow, steady pace. They took a single step and blurred again then there was a single Cliff.

  “Nice trick,” said Lock and he meant it. His dad told him all about the Grimmlock’s intrinsic ability, but it was still impressive to see with his own eyes.

  “Thanks, Baby Sharp. It’s called Double Time,” said Cliff then his body blurred again. For a moment Cliff appeared to multiply only this time he split into three copies, “Or Triple Time.”

  “Call it whatever you want,” said Lock, but the crowd’s applause drown him out.

  Cliff growled some sort of reply. That was also down out by the crowd, but it didn’t matter what he said. The anger on his face was evidence enough to the truth of his words.

  The fight had begun, and Lock already knew he’d won. It was customary for both fighters to take a minute, break between their demonstration and the actual fight to allow their stamina to regen. It would not make a huge difference, but it ensured that they were fighting at their best.

  Cliff didn’t wait.

  He leapt forward and lead with an overhead strike. Fast, powerful, safe, and entirely ineffective. Lock took a step to the left and shifted his sword to defend his right side. The only side left open to attack. Sure enough, Cliff twisted his sword mid swing and put as much power behind the attack as possible.

  The moment Lock felt the pressure of Cliff’s attack he leaned into it and shoved. The move powered through Cliff’s attack like it was nothing and sent him spinning. Based on that display even if he had not anticipated the attack and had him at a disadvantage, Lock could have overpowered him with ease.

  Before Cliff could recover Lock counter attacked with a slash. The strike would have been good but at the last moment Cliff blurred and split in two. Lock’s mana blade passed through the original image like a puff of smoke and scattered it into dust. The after image of Cliff stood a half-step back with his stick raised.

  In a panic Lock triggered Flash Step, and just barely hopp
ed away from Cliff’s overhead strike. He escaped Cliff’s first strike, but he was skilled enough and fast enough to follow up with a thrust. The move was easy for Lock to parry but that wasn’t really the point. All Cliff intended was to keep the pressure on to prevent Lock from counter attacking. He must have thought that sort of aggression could overwhelm him and end the fight fast.

  That was when Lock realized that despite his dad’s reputation, he was the underdog. He had nothing to prove, so every second he drug out the fight made Cliff look weaker. Instead of continuing their exchange Lock used his enhanced speed to back up and buy time.

  Cliff raised his mana blade into a high guard anticipating an attack but Lock just held his ground and waited.

  “Don’t run Baby Sharp,” said Cliff, “Take the beating like a man.”

  “Relax Slimgrim,” said Lock, “You don’t want to burn out before the real action.”

  That struck a chord; Cliff blurred into four images. Each attacked at a slightly different angle. This time Lock knew it was coming and could have defended with swordplay alone. There was no point to take that kind of risk so he triggered Flash Step.

  With a wide slash he cut through two of the images, kicked a third with his enhanced speed then as he corrected his balance, he deflected the only real attack with a twist of his wrist. He could have followed up with any sort of attack but instead Lock used the moment to put a little more space between them.

  It caught him off guard a little when his heel touched the edge of the cage but that was fine.

  Hardly half a second passed before Cliff struck again, only this time he halted the attack mid-swing. Just like before his body blurred but he never split in two, or three or four. Only the original stood there, and he was pissed.

  “What? Out of steam already?” asked Lock.

  “Prick,” growled Cliff as he raised his sword for a strong overhead strike. Lock slipped to the side and swung but instead of swinging for Cliff, he brought his stick down on top of Cliff’s mana blade.

  Instinctively Cliff tried to raise his hands against the downward pressure of Lock’s attack. It was an odd reaction and without even thinking Lock twisted his wrist then jabbed Cliff square between the eyes with the tip of his mana blade. The attack dropped him like a brick. Too bad it didn’t hit any harder than a punch to the face. No blood.