The Whetstone Fist 2

by Brian K Declan

  If it had been a real blade that move would have pierced clean through Cliff’s skull. Instead Cliff was knocked flat on his back. After a solid thud Cliff recovered his awareness and whipped his leg into a swift whirlwind. The kick caught Lock’s legs and he went down hard.

  The fall knocked the wind out of him and before he knew it, Cliff was on him. Most might think that being on top gave Cliff the advantage. However, any trained wrestler knew it was far more complicated than gaining the high ground. It all came down to power and leverage. Lock had the advantage in weight, but leverage all came down to positioning. That’s where Cliff had the advantage but only if Lock let him.

  Lock bunched his arms around his head then tucked in his legs. No way he would let Cliff gain leverage over one of his limbs. Sure enough, Cliff’s aggression took over and he threw a flurry of blows at Lock’s head. He deflected the first couple then dropped his guard and snatched Cliff’s wrists.

  For years Lock had been told he was strong but that was the first moment he truly believed it. Perhaps it was the adrenaline or emotion, all he knew was Cliff felt like a naughty child struggling to escape his parent’s grip. And Cliff knew it too. Instead of fighting Lock head on he relaxed his arms and smashed Lock in the face with his forehead.

  Pain erupted across his face, but rage clouded out everything except the piece of shit in front of him. That was it, this asshole had been beaten twice over. It was about fucking time to teach him once and for all. Lock released his wrists with a hard flick and grabbed Cliff by the neck. Still the asshole tried to punch him him but all he could manage to do was spit in Lock’s face.

  Lock bunched his free hand and smashed Cliff in the face. Once, twice, three times, then before rage pushed him to literally bash Cliff’s head in, Lock let go of his neck and kicked as hard as he could. Cliff was launched clear into the air then came down on his stomach. More important Lock was free.

  “Stay down asshole,” mumbled Lock as he flipped over. His nose was gushing blood but that didn’t stop him as he flipped over and grabbed his mana blade. After a quick scan and found Cliff, still conscious and propped up on his knees with his own mana blade held limply at his side.

  Lock raised his voice, “Stay down,” then he reversed his grip and used his mana blade to prop himself up.

  With his eyes still fixed on Cliff he rose to his feet. Stubborn as he was Cliff’s grip tightened around his blade. The fight should have been finished three times already, but now he was going to force Lock to finish it one last time. Lock was stronger, faster, and a better swordsman. It was about time this piece of shit found that out. No more holding back. No more caution.

  In a rage Lock channeled mana into the blade and triggered Flash Step.

  He never made it a single step. The next thing he knew his dad was next to him with a firm grip on his wrist.

  Likewise, Cliff’s father was on the opposite side of the cage holding Cliff up.

  “It’s over,” said Flint, “You did good.”

  “Over?” snapped Lock, “That’s bullshit and you know it. I was half a second from tearing him apart.”

  Flint pulled Lock closer and caught him in a hug, “First Blood, that’s what we agreed.”

  “You mean he won with that cheap ass headbutt,” asked Lock.

  “Yeah,” answered Flint, “But it doesn’t matter. You showed remarkable skill and the crowd loved it. I’m proud,” then he let go of Lock’s wrist, took a step back, and turned around to face Grimm.

  Grimm slapped the mana blade out of Cliff’s hand, caught him by the chin to inspect his face then shoved Cliff’s head aside like he was tossing away a piece of trash, “Clean yourself up.”

  “Your boy okay,” asked Flint.

  “He’ll live,” said Grimm as he turned around to face them, “Wouldna been a scratch on him wasn’t for that cheap shot. First blood, that’s what we agreed. I expect you give that boy of yours a lesson in what it means to bleed.”

  Flint rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, “You know what happens in here. If you can’t handle that then get the fuck out.”

  Grimm reached for his own sword then stopped and crossed his hands in front of his waist, “Soon, Sharp. Soon, I’ll teach you then I’ll teach the boy.”

  “Sure you will,” said Flint then he tapped Lock with the back of his hand and walked out of the cage with Lock a step behind.

  After their fight a couple of Bruno’s enforcers escorted Lock and Cliff down one of the side tunnels to the on-hand healer. The healer gave them a quick check and handed out a pair of some horrible tasting red potions then gave Cliff an even worse looking green potion.

  While they struggled to down the potions, the healer listed off their injuries.

  Turned out Cliff had a pretty bad concussion, a broken nose, a dislocated wrist and a broken radius, whatever that was. Lock a bloody nose. Now that the battle rage faded and he learned the damage he’d caused; Lock was glad they ended the fight when they did. It was so easy to get carried away in a fight like that. With the crowd screaming and other fighters banging on the cage, you just got lost.

  The way Cliff fought through his injuries was impressive. Considering the fact that he did technically win, asshole or not, that deserved respect.

  “That was a good fight,” said Lock, “Congrats on the win.”

  Cliff glanced at Lock then looked away without giving an answer. Not that he expected anything. Hatred and anger were hard to let go of with so many wounds. Cliff would take a while to heal. By then maybe Cliff would see past their parents’ feud and end the rivalry. They might even become friends.

  Heck most of Lock’s friends were kids he fought at some point, like Ronnie. Ronnie’s dad was a career thief who Lock’s dad caught. That got him behind bars for a stint which in turn lead to Ronnie take it out on Lock. They had fought countless times before it somehow turned into more like wrestling. Before he knew it; Ronnie was sleeping on their floor just to get away from the drama with his dad.

  If they became friends after pummeling the snot out of each other, there was no reason it couldn’t happen again. Regardless, that was Cliff’s choice now.

  Once the healer gave Lock the good to go, he tossed his shirt back on and got up to leave. If he was quick, he might be able to catch up with his dad or one of the other guardsmen before the next fight started.

  “Hey Sharp,” said Cliff, “Fuck you.”

  Lock stopped to look back, “Yeah, fuck you too,” then he took another step to leave and thought twice, “See you around, you can still see straight.”

  “I can still see that you suck,” said Cliff.

  Lock flipped his hand as he walked away. Cliff was one of those guys who had to have the last word, so Lock let him have it. Before he was halfway back to the fights, he heard the crowd go crazy. It sounded like the next fight had just started or ended. Either way there was no point in rushing now. As he reached the end of the tunnel, he saw his dad waiting right outside the lip of the tunnel.

  “All good?” asked Flint.

  “Busted nose,” answered Lock.

  “And him?” asked Flint as he pushed off the wall of the tunnel.

  “Still an asshole, but yeah he’ll be fine,” said Lock, “Thanks for stopping it.”

  Flint shrugged, “Come on, a couple of the guys wanted to congratulate you.”

  “Oh yeah?” asked Lock, “For what, I lost.”

  “Eh,” said Flint, “First fight and all. Just don’t let them get you drunk. Plus, you’ve gotta show your face, maybe stare down Cliff a time or two.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Lock.

  “You heard Bruno,” said Flint, “He’s spreadin around stories about this rivalry. You gotta play the character he’s creating.”

  “Character,” said Lock, “So am I the good guy or the bad guy?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Flint, “Just pal around with some of the guys and don’t take any of the insults personal. Oh, and avoid your buddy, doesn
’t play well if you’re seen hanging around with a thief.”

  “My buddy?” asked Lock.

  “Ronnie. He showed up during your fight,” said Flint.

  “He’s not a thief, and we haven’t spoken in years” said Lock.

  “Okay then it shouldn’t be hard to keep your distance,” said Flint.

  That was bullshit, but Lock was in no mood to argue with his dad about whatever him and Bruno were up to. If you asked him the night was easy, kick Grimm’s ass in front of everyone. For whatever reason they seemed to think that wasn’t enough. As if the crowd would magically put Grimm in charge of the fights. Maybe they were right, maybe not. But fuck them.

  He did his part by fighting Cliff. Not talking to Ronnie. That that wasn’t their call. Ronnie was the only other person in this place, maybe even in the city that had a Blessing and didn’t have a fortune or some noble to back him.

  Their friendship was not something Lock was about to throw away for some delusional plan cooked up by a pair of old men.

  Sure as shit, his dad was right. Within five minutes Lock had been offered drinks by half a dozen guards. Strange thing was, despite losing the match they talked about it as if that didn’t even matter. All they cared about was the clean thrust to Cliff’s forehead, and to their eyes that Lock had not used Flash Step. Little did they know he did use it several times but not to do anything blindingly fast.

  After he was about two drinks deep, someone gave Lock a jab about having ogre strength. The next thing he knew they were clearing space on the bleachers to have an arm-wrestling match.

  One look at the guy who challenged him, and Lock knew he’d been tricked. He didn’t recognize the challenger as one of his dad’s friends but the guy was built. Lock had a good foot on him, but the guy was a brick. That sort of compact muscle gave him not only power but leverage.

  Lock swung his foot over the back of the back of his seat and plopped his arm down on the next row up, “Let’s get this over with.”

  His opponent extended his hand for a handshake, “Royce.”

  Lock shook his arm loose and grabbed Royce’s hand, “Matlock, but you can call me Lock.”

  Royce cranked down his grip, tight but not painful. A real man’s handshake, “Good Luck Lock.”

  As both of them settled into a comfortable position one of the guards took a knee next them and placed his hands on top of theirs.

  “Ready?” asked the guard as he looked at Royce. After Royce nodded the guard turned to Lock, “Ready?” Lock cracked his neck and nodded. The guard didn’t waste any time giving a countdown he just pulled his hands back and ducked out of the way, “Go.”

  Lock tightened his core and put everything he had into that initial push. Royce’s reaction was slower but fast enough to stop Lock from getting a cheap victory. Royce bunched his muscles and with one smooth motion he twisted his entire body. That’s all it took and for a second time tonight Lock lost.

  While Lock shook out his arm, Royce clapped him on the shoulder, “Nice try. I gotta ask, why didn’t you use that Sharp speed thing?”

  “What?” asked Lock then his mind caught up to what Royce meant, “Oh Flash Step, it’s just a friendly match. No point.”

  “Ah,” said Royce, “Guess your dad’s the same. Been in the guard fifteen years and never witness it till I seen you running around the cage.”

  “Wait till you see my dad in action. If you can see him. I’ve been around it my whole life and my eyes still have trouble tracking him,” said Lock.

  “Crazy,” said Royce then he glanced behind Lock to his next challenger. A thin guy with forearms like a lumberjack.

  Lock stood up, stepped past Royce, and clapped him on the back, “Good Luck.”

  He was planning to go watch the next fight, but he didn’t make it more than two steps before someone offered him another ale. Someone he was supposed to be avoiding.

  “Ronnie,” said Lock, “Didn’t expect to see you.”

  Ronnie raised a second ale toward Lock, “Hell of a hello for an old friend.”

  There was no need to look around to know that every guard within eye shot was watching them. Not only was Ronnie’s dad an infamous thief but Ronnie had a reputation as a pretty slick pickpocket. In this crowd you’d be dumb to not keep an eye on him. Two eyes if they were smart.

  “We ain’t old,” said Lock as he accepted the tankard of ale from Ronnie.

  “Well you are pal’n around with a bunch of old men,” said Ronnie as he raised his tankard to cheers.

  “Friend’s my age seem to go missing,” said Lock, “Some for years at a time.”

  Ronnie tipped his tankard like he was cheersing himself then downed a good third of it, “Been busy.”

  “Busy?” asked Lock, “Shit we thought you were dead. Took flowers to your mam and everything. She said you stole a horse off some foreign merchants and rode off.”

  Ronnie raised a finger as he took a quick sip, “Didn’t steal. Borrowed, key word borrowed. I returned that horse,” then he tilted his head to think about it, “I returned a horse, a younger one actually. The way I see it those merchants made out on the deal.”

  That’s the funny thing about friends, especially those that you grow up with. Time apart, and out of touch never seems to stop you from falling back into your old banter.

  Lock took a quick sip of ale then leapt forward and caught Ronnie in a bear hug. He must have spilled half his ale as he lifted Ronnie clean off the ground, “What the heck you doing down here?”

  “I heard your dad was back,” said Ronnie with that sly smile of his, “I figured I’d place a bet,” then he pulled back a small bit of his sleeve. He had three gold talents.

  “Nice,” said Lock impressed or he would have been, if he hadn’t seen Ronnie at the Santi estate. The pieces came together, Ronnie fixed a fight. Probably his own. Or at least he knew he wasn’t going to beat Val’n. Placing a bet on your own fight, was fairly common down here but that was because it was usually between opponents. Like how his dad planned to bet the sword in his own match.

  Now in a legal betting arena like the tournament at the Santi Estate, betting on your own match was without question illegal. If anyone figured it out, Ronnie and whoever he used to place the bets would be sitting behind bars for ten years or more.

  “Nice?” said Ronnie, “You don’t want a piece? Because I was about to ask a favor.”

  “No,” said Lock.

  It took a second for Ronnie to realize Lock didn’t say ‘yes’, “Oh come on now, I don’t expect you to bet it all. Just something small, a couple silvers at the most. You get half what we make. Easy peazy.”

  “Sorry,” said Lock as he took a deep drink from his ale then he clinked Ronnie’s tankard with his own, “Not this time.”

  Again, Ronnie stared past Lock as if he had not heard him but when Lock turned to leave, he snapped out of it and caught Lock’s wrist, “Hang on man, I need a little help here. We both know you can use the money.”

  He was right, they needed the money. Heck, that was the whole reason they came here in the first place but where his mind said to help Ronnie out, his gut knew it would be trouble.

  Lock glanced down at Ronnie’s hold on his wrist then back to his face, “I suggest you let go, and take that back where you got it.”

  “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” said Ronnie as he let go of Lock’s wrist but not before he gave it a hard flick.

  “I know where you were, and how you got that. Now you want my help cleaning it,” said Lock, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Some friend you are,” said Ronnie as he flipped his almost empty tankard at Lock, “I don’t know what you think you know, but screw you.”

  The mug bounced off Lock’s chest spilling its remnants down the front of his shirt. Before it fell to the ground, he triggered Flash Step, snatched the mug out of the air and flung it at Ronnie’s back, “Next time you’re in trouble, don’t come begging me to help you out.”

 
Even after the tankard bounced off Ronnie’s back he didn’t turn around, he just raised a single finger and walked away.

  Well that was not how he planned for it to go. The one guy who could relate to his situation and what did he do? Shame him for trying to get out of it. That was a pretty shitting thing to do.

  No fuck that. Friend or not, Ronnie was trying to cheat his way out, instead of doing it the hard way. Lock was right to not want to be involved. Fighting and betting were one thing but cheating to get ahead. That would come back to bite Ronnie in the ass, and if Lock let him, he would get burned too.

  “I said to avoid him. You didn’t have to pick a fight,” said Flint.

  “Does it matter?” asked Lock but he wasn’t really asking. Bruno and his dad got what they wanted, this feud or whatever would only build even bigger after a public argument like that.

  “No,” said Flint then he leaned in closer, “But when this is all done, you keep him out of trouble, ya hear?”

  Lock glanced at his dad’s face, “I hear, but I thought you didn’t trust Ronnie.”

  “His dad’s a scumbag, not him,” said Flint then he tapped Lock in the gut, “Come on, the next match is about to start.”

  That was a bit of a surprise. His dad had always referred to Ronnie as a thief or a pickpocket. Then again he did let Ronnie stay at their place whenever he wanted. Come to think of it he’d done quite a bit to give Ronnie a bit of stability and security in his life.

  Whatever his relationship with Ronnie was a problem for another time.

  Now he had a match to watch so he followed his dad to the front row of seats. No more than thirty seconds passed before one of the night’s fighters came over to chat with his dad. The fighter was young, in his mid twenties with ill-fitting leather armor that was a signature of the city guard. His sword however was brand new, a pristine hand a half long sword. The perfect weapon for fighting with one or two hands. A weapon Lock would love to take into any fight.