by Mark August
“Then why go through with the fight? Just let the opponents stand next to each other and let the fans decide.” Sweat dripped as Kincaid shook his head. “They demand a show.”
“Not your first match.” The accusation hung in the air.
Kincaid allowed the smile cross his lips. “I’ll take my winnings.”
“May let people in this crowd take your life.”
“Want to go a round with me?” Kincaid shifted his relaxed posture. He curled his hands into fists and gestured toward the fallen fighter, Granite.
Back to fight or starve.
The man’s eyes darted toward the immobile champion and the favorite of the night. He looked toward his silent partner who only gave a nod.
“You best get out of here before I change my mind.”
Kincaid stepped up to the speaker's face. Inches away from his nose, Kincaid recoiled from the tobacco and alcohol on the man’s breath. “Not until you give me my due. Winner’s fees, now. Or I start the next round right here.”
Kincaid would let the man throw the first shot. Just one punch, and then he’d take him. The organizer considered that exact move. But he was an actor on this stage and grabbed Kincaid’s forearm. They faced the crowd, and the organizer thrust Kincaid’s arm toward the ceiling. The fans roared with the victory. Applause thundered across warehouse.
“You come back here, and we’ll kill you.”
“Give me my winnings, and I won’t be back.”
The silent partner came forward and handed the young victor his bag of silver. There’d be more from the bookies. Kincaid had terrible odds going into the fight, and his small bet could go a long way into surviving a few more days.
They wouldn’t starve tonight.
Sholeh was waiting for the bruised fighter as he staggered through the door of their room in the broken-down inn. This was what they could afford, and they were late for their last week’s payment.
The look on her face flashed from anger to concern as she saw the glowing purple bruises on his face.
“By all that is holy, Kincaid, you are fighting again?” She got up from her bed and took two steps toward him. Her soft touch brushed aside the wild shock of his red hair and probed the swelling around his eyes.
Kincaid choked back his emotions. “I don’t know how else we can eat and sleep, Sholeh. We’re weeks past the fight in Caesea, and we’re stuck in this harbor town. Atros can find us.”
“Did you use magic?”
Kincaid turned away from her touch and looked toward the floor.
“By all that is good. You will lead Atros and the City Council to us with your magic.”
“We’re a long way across the bay.”
“But close enough that an agent will find us. There are only so many harbors we could have escaped to. They will not find us in the city, and the towns will be next.”
“I can’t let you starve, Sholeh. We’re already—”
“I know. But we can do this together, my friend. You do not have to carry this weight across your shoulders.”
Kincaid looked toward his few sheets and makeshift pillow on the floor of the room. They could fit both of their belongings in a small sack. They sold the few tools Sholeh had left from her blacksmith trade a week ago, and those funds were dangerously low. Their clothes were their few remaining possessions.
“We need to get to the Empire, Sholeh.”
“Magic.” The accusation was a whisper. This wasn’t the first time they had this discussion.
“Yes. I don’t know what else to do. Magi Cormac gave me that last instruction before I…”
Sholeh waited for the lengthy pause. “You had to kill him to survive. And we are alive today.” The anger once in her tone was long gone. She supported him with his emotional burden.
“I can’t let us starve, Sholeh. And we can’t stay here. How do we earn enough to get out of here?”
“Work together. We know we cannot afford passage on a ship, so we must focus on land travel. A caravan.”
Kincaid’s power could destroy city blocks. Only his imagination limited his arcane power. But the actual source of his strength stood next to him. When his soul ached, Sholeh filled the emptiness.
Every time he used magic, his fatigue deepened. It was a fatigue that didn’t get better with rest, and Kincaid knew he sacrificed his soul with each use. He rested his willpower on the strong shoulders of his friend.
“At least we won’t starve tonight. Will you get food while I change?”
Sholeh nodded once, grabbed the smallest coin from the bag of winnings and walked downstairs to the inn to see what was left from dinner.
The fight would begin again tomorrow.
Acknowledgments
For an author publishing their first book, writing the acknowledgement page is humbling work. None of this work would be possible without my wife, Cris, putting up with the self-doubts and early morning hours at the keyboard. Thank you for making this dream part of our reality.
I’d also like to thank the entire team at the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), which includes Camp NaNo. If my older daughter hadn’t challenged me to a Camp NaNo event (which turns into Book 3 in this series), I don’t think I would have picked up the desire to write.
And I also owe a thanks to my first beta readers. Thanks, Caelie, Jodi, and Cooper!
About the Author
Writing for work or academics is not the same as writing what an author loves. For Mark August, his passion for fantasy came from late nights of page-turning reading. In 2016, his older daughter challenged him to Camp National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), and storytelling emerged from a dormant childhood dream. Camp NaNo and NaNoWriMo every year is now a tradition.
In 2020, the pieces came together with a Writers of the Future Honorable Mention for a short story based on a Chronomancer character.
Mark is a proud USAF veteran, husband to his high school sweetheart who inspires him to write, and father to four amazing kids starting their own lives. Someday, Mark and his wife will settle down in their forever home, finally moving past "Home is where the Air Force sends us."
For more books and updates:
readmarkaugust.com
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