Winds of Torsham (The Kohrinju Tai Saga Book 2)

by J P Nelson

  Seedle took a long drink, then with a shrug of his shoulders said, “Why … nothing, nothing at all.”

  Stanton’s face was a mask of seething rage, “Would you like to take step outside, swabby?”

  Seedle turned to look with deliberation at the man’s belly, then slowly he let gaze drift to his face, “Is this a challenge?” I am afraid you are not qualified for shot at my title.”

  “You’re ti--- … it is my title which bears the weight.”

  Seedle was sitting comfortably and speaking in congenial tone, “Why, of course; something must.”

  “You … you LOUT. This old man could give me better fight,” then he flipped Char’Li’s hair up the back.

  The pub exploded into action as Seedle’s ale found way into Stanton’s face, Seedle shot in low to grab Stanton around the body and threw him over backward to the floor, Stanton’s mate was suddenly confronted by Azona, the Big Boys stood from their table across the tavern, and Seedle’s mates were on feet as well.

  A loud gong sounded from behind the bar as Seedle stood braced for Stanton, Stanton sat up from the floor and looked around confused, as he was not used to being thrown, Azona’s eyes were glazed for combat, Stanton’s mate had his hands outstretched signaling no-fight, and the barkeep stepped around saying, “Take it outside boys. There will be none of that in here.”

  Seedle was remarkably cool, at least on the outside, as he said, “You have no honor, no sportsman code. You do not touch my man. I shall file petition for challenge against your title. We shall settle this where it shall be most decisive, in the ring.”

  Stanton’s eyes narrowed as he rose unceremoniously and replied, “File your petition, little man. I will crush you inside of seven rounds. You do not fight like a gentleman.”

  Seedle smiled, “Aye, and do you not to forget it. I am from County Courtney, we fight like men. Gentlemen do not strike those of years.”

  As quick as it seemed a large fight would take place it was over. The different groups went their own ways, but the storm had begun.

  The story of the altercation made way to the VNBC before petition was filed. The governing body was not pleased, but after some deliberation the day was set.

  Fifteen rounds. In the annals of Vedoan Boxing there had never been a challenge between Heavyweight and Cruiserweight divisions. The lighter weight fighters often heralded the better technicians, with the bigger fellows taking credit for harder hitting and greater stamina.

  Much discussion had been going around the heavyweights had become out of shape, overweight, and sporting ponderous blows. They could demonstrate more raw strength, but speed was less than exhilarating. Heavyweight Boxing was losing its appeal.

  It seemed all of Vedoa, and some folk from other realms as well, made point to attend the event. It was Seedle’s pride to see his entire clan come to the match. All brothers and sisters, families, even his elderly pap and mam were there. It made for a festive occasion.

  When the bell rang for what would be Seedle’s twenty-fourth fight as a VNBC Boxer, he was a ripped one hundred and ninety-one pounds, giving fifty-four pounds and three marks of height to Stanton, standing smug with an extra ten pounds on his waistline.

  Seedle was known for going early to the body. When the first round began, Stanton sauntered up to the mark and arrogantly held his hands wide and said, “Hit me, swabby.”

  The left-right combination came so fast to Stanton’s face it caught the whole place by surprise. It was said the slam sounded as one punch and could be heard from the highest seat of the venue. Stanton’s nose was shattered at the onset and he spun about to fall into the turnbuckle. Rebounding from the post he stepped directly into Seedle’s right hook and he was down on his back.

  The crowd went berserk as Stanton fought to rise, barely making it at count of nine, his face a mask of blood. The fight was on.

  Seedle said with an evil grin, “Come on dumbbell, stand up.”

  Chapter 43

  THREE YEARS BEFORE, Seedle had come to the game with twelve years of hardcore fisticuff background; ever since he was six years old. He had lost more than his fair share of fights, but his pap had taught him to keep on coming, keep getting up, learn from every tangle. Well he had learned. His attitude now was to still learn.

  Boxing is a team sport. The person in the ring represents a good coach, good trainer, good cut-man, and a good player. One is no good without the other. And Seedle was a team-player.

  These heavyweights were not used to blinding speed and change-up tactics. As a rule, they were used to going in with a twelve to fifteen-round mentality. The neck and shoulder muscles were usually bunched to reduce and absorb impact against the head, therefore punches emphasizing shoulder muscles were used. They landed hard, but much slower than lightweight boxers.

  Many cruiserweights fought the same, and a good number of middleweights. But Seedle’s punches came from a different school of thought. His strikes emphasized speed tempered by strength. Like most others, he used jump rope a lot. But instead of running around a flat area for endurance, he climbed the ship ladders and swam for endless miles. And the core exercises … he used such as taught him by his pap … which included taking blows to the ribs and mid-section while doing twists. He had done demonstrations of letting mates break boards across his stomach.

  No one knows for sure what Stanton expected, but when he got back up he was simply not ready for the onslaught he faced. There were no jokes, no tilts of the head. Seedle had never been a clown in the ring, but everyone knew he treated boxing as a game, just a sport. He did not acknowledge the prestige and notoriety that came with being a real champion, like the heavyweights did.

  What Stanton got was a nonstop barrage of well-placed fists. Four times Stanton levied blows to Seedle, who ducked them with ease to fire off another onslaught. Stanton went down a second time, but was up without a count. He fired another swing, but Seedle was not there, and turning around set himself up for yet another of those chopping hooks … down again, but this time beside the ropes which he used to stand back up just as the bell sounded.

  Round two and Stanton was ready this time. He chased Seedle about the ring, swinging broad shots that might be able to level a tree, but each time the man ducked and bobbed out of the way. Under one swing Seedle opened his glove wide and patted Stanton on the bum.

  The bigger man turned in a rage and swung hard and wide, as the smaller man ducked and rammed an onslaught of hooks to the belly. Stanton’s corner was screaming at their champion as he took eight head rolling shots, then in an attempt to avoid a ninth staggered back and down again as the second round closed.

  In his corner, Char’Li was talking, “We are right to course, hold her steady, Seed. Hold for the switch, watch his feet for his set.”

  Seedle nodded as he went out. The third started in same manner, but Stanton was not heavyweight champion for no reason. He was learning, too. And in his corner was Old Eric, one of the finest trainers there had ever been.

  In mid-round Seedle heard Old Eric yell, “NOW!” What he had done to telegraph he did not know. It did not matter. A powerful blow hit him right center of forehead, then he took another one to the jaw and one to his left ear. He had no idea what the combinations were. He did not see them, they just hit … and they hurt.

  The round finished with both men mixing it up on even score.

  In the corner, “We knew it was coming, Seed. Change it up. Make him work for it. You hurt his pride. Make him go offensive. Ride your bull, Seed, ride your bull.”

  The bull … let him wear himself out … just hang on and ride.

  Round four was the kind of fight people wanted to see, the technique of lighter weights mixed with heavy mass, and fire lit into the ass of the big heavyweight.

  It had never been about a title for the fighters, this was personal. But to the spectators, this was boxing as it should be. Round five saw both men levy blow after blow … then Seedle took a combination which broke his nose for
the third time, followed by a wicked shot to the left side of his head which knocked him down.

  He was down for only an instant, or so he thought. Back on his feet he was sure he had been quick, but something was wrong. As he stood he could have sworn he heard the referee make the count of eight. Why eight? As he looked around, there were multiple images of everything. He shook his head and the referee checked him for coherency.

  Seedle said, “Yeah, yeah … let me in …”

  Stepping back to center he thought, ‘Which one do I hit? There are six of him. Shikes, I will hit them all till I get one.’

  He turned on the speed and hit his first target … well … he should have hit it. His fist went where it was supposed too. Then he got welted again, and again. Diving into his man to tie him up, he gauged twice and found his target. It wasn’t a great hit, but he knew which one to hit.

  On the break he took another shot to the head which knocked him down, just as the bell rang.

  “Seed, Seed … look at me boy. What is wrong? What just happened?”

  “Got blurry a second, it is gone now.”

  And it was. His vision was clear. But his hands … were his hands shaking? He couldn’t tell.

  “Seed? We got to---”

  The bell rang for the sixth, he had to go.

  At center he saw Stanton smiling. He knew. They knew. But what did they know? He did not even know. Stanton came at him like a bull … the old bull … yes … ride the bull. Seedle began to bob and weave and counter-step as he had been born to it, which he had. It was bread and butter for the fisticuff man.

  He reverted to his old style which was a hit-and-run method, a defensive one. This was not about a title.

  Char’Li was yelling at him, but he could tell what was being said.

  They exchanged blows. Just barely Seedle was able to roll off the power of those crippling strikes. Stanton was now obsessed with his left temple. Seedle took another shot to the side of his head and he went down. As if it were slow motion, he thought he could see Char’Li under the corner ropes telling him to … to do what …?

  Three …four … it was the count … five … what was Char’Li saying … six … he saw pap, not just pap, the whole clan … seven … they each were holding up hand signals, signals used by his family for generations … eight … the right hand signaled pride, the left signaled belief … nine … they were saying they were proud and believed in him … he was up as the referee was saying the word ten.

  Seedle’s face was covered in blood as he saw Stanton, dancing around with his hands held high, not noticing his corner screaming at him and pointing to his opponent. He turned in time to catch a right cross which sent him sprawling across the ring and into the ropes.

  Seedle followed him to the ropes as the bell rang. But the bell wasn’t enough. The referee had stepped between the two men to send them back to corners, but Stanton backhanded the official aside and lunged for Seedle. Seedle had not taken eyes off his opponent and ducked under the fast-swinging right cross, catching him under the waist, and flipping him over backward. As Stanton went into the air, Seedle timed it so when Stanton came down on his back, Seedle sat straight down and plowed his elbow into the man’s upper chest.

  Immediately the ring was swarmed with people as both men attempted to punch the other. Both sides were ready to fight as mayhem followed. Seedle and Stanton were finally pulled apart and put to corners, warnings of disqualification applied to both sides, but Commander Teak was grinning from ear to ear and the crowd was loving it.

  The commotion gave Char’Li a few extra moments to talk, and he made quick with it, “Seed … we have to change plan---”

  “Why, I do not---”

  “Trust me Seed, do you trust me?”

  “Yes sir …”

  “We have to bring it in NOW! No more riding the bull. Use the switch … now, Seed, NOW!”

  The bell rang for the seventh. Stanton was looking at Seedle as if he had never seen him before.

  Seedle bumped his gloves together and said, “Did you here the one about the swabby?”

  Stanton was off guard, “What?”

  “He mopped the mat with the dumbbell.”

  Stanton lunged for Seedle, who did a skipping-switch move with his feet into a right-foot-forward stance, a south-paw stance, brushing the left jab with his right hand and ducking under the right cross.

  Using his own right to backhand press Stanton’s arm for a split moment, Seedle rammed a chopping left hook to the body just under the man’s right shoulder. Stanton reeled in a left-wise spin and caught a stiff right jab followed by a left hook to the belly. The blows were not slow and Seedle put everything he had into them.

  Seedle then drove Stanton back with a series of hooks, jabs, and body shots from the south-paw angle. Into the turnbuckle Seedle let fly until the referee called him off. Back in the middle, Seedle let fly again, but Stanton delivered two hard blows, only he couldn’t get the left side of Seedle’s face. Again Seedle ducked a right cross, pressed with the back of his hand and chopped hard into the exposed ribs. This time Stanton did not reel, but Seedle did it again … then again.

  Suddenly Seedle no longer heard the crowd … he could not hear the shouting from the corners … he only heard the echoes of his blows and the sound of his heart beating as if in slow motion.

  Seedle chopped a hard left into Stanton’s body … ba---bum … another left hook to the body … ba---bum … Stanton leaned back and sideways … ba---bum … A hard right hook to the exposed belly … ba---bum … a measured left back into Stanton’s right side, breaking ribs … ba---bum … a tap to the head followed by a right jab … ba---bum … a left cross to side of the head, sending teeth into the front seats … ba---bum … a right-left combination to the body, turning Stanton around … ba---bum … Stanton instinctively turned into another left cross … ba---bum … Seedle doing his skipping-switch again to a left-foot-leading stance … ba---bum … the look on Stanton’s face showing alarm … ba---bum … Seedle’s chopping right hook hard into the jaw, shattering it, as Stanton’s feet flew up and landing on his back.

  When the referee counted ten the ring was instantly filled with people, Seedle was raised high into air as the only man in history to hold VNBC Cruiserweight and Heavyweight Titles simultaneously.

  ___________________________

  Yes, Seedle remembered those days well, and he missed them. He had to retire one title or the other, so he kept the heavyweight. But the shaking hands were hard to hide. They didn’t tremble often, but sometimes they would start up and it scared him.

  He started carrying around that old pouch with the vial in it. His mam-maw said it had been in her family for ages. It was supposed to be a good luck potion of some kind. She did not know if it was worth anything, but … it was a nice token. She had forgotten it until cleaning out a chest. She gave it to him just as he was leaving for the navy basic training.

  It was the article he had asked Arristahn to divine for him. No offense to the wizard, but he still was not sure the answer was right on. It did seem to bring some degree of good luck. Even now, twelve years after his last fight, his hands sometimes started to tremble for no apparent reason. But when he held that little pouch it seemed to make it better.

  At the fire on the ice, Seedle held a warm mug of tea as he looked at his hands. The heat felt good. He held one hand out and watched, just to see if it would shake, even a little. Shikes … it had been getting worse. He gripped his hand tightly hoping nobody would notice. He thought, ‘I am only but just turned thirty-six.’

  One of the fellows asked him, “Heyo, cob …” that was what the enlisted crew called him, cob, for chief of boat, “… you good to go?”

  With a flashing grin he answered, “Why of the course. I am just now trying to determine whether or non to take a piss in the open, or let it fly down my leg and just break it off from the inside.”

  The fellows laughed. He was good at that. Nobody had a clue as to the tho
ughts he often carried. Not that he let things drag him down. He had lived a good life, and in many ways he was happy.

  But sometimes, som-m-meti-i-imes …

  Like that last fight, damn, he hated it. Not that he had lost …

  He had done well in his heavyweight title defenses, all twenty-one of them, and he took them all by knock-out. But it was just after number twenty; the match went into the thirteenth round and all was well. But in the ready room his hands just started shaking and he could not make them quit.

  Char’Li saw Seedle try to hide them. The handler grabbed his hands still in the wraps and said, “Look me in the eye, Seed, look here. Damn it, boy, damn me for a fool.” He put his hand up and felt of Seedle’s head, “How long … why have you not told me?”

  Seedle saw a tear forming in his trainer’s eye, “Because … because you would have---”

  “You are right … I would have … and I am now!”

  Seedle grabbed Char’Li in panic and horror, “No, Char’Li … please. Do not do this.”

  “What? Is your home life so dire? Do you wish the risk of permanent condition? Do you not realize you may al-ready have permanent harm. Seed?! This is bad! And you are such a young man. You have a life before you …”

  The argument was long, and interrupted by Teak, now promoted to command major, a rank equal to captain, but without command of a vessel.

  “What goes on here? Why is our man not under rub and hot towels?” He yelled through the door for immediate attention. Then Char’Li stepped aside and released Seedle’s hands which were trembling almost violently.

  Teak was torn, “Poseidon’s Fork …” He looked to the man in alarm and stepped forward to feel his arms, “Did this just occur?”

  There were tears on Seedle’s face, “Sir, please do not stand me down … I … I … you do not know … I need this …”

  “Seedle, listen to me …”

  The man with the towels came in.