by MJ Schutte
The referee stepped into the ring and called two names.
The fighters met in the middle and, after a few words from the referee, the fight began. It was not a very interesting match. Both fighters had chances to end it quickly but neither were experienced enough to see the opportunities. Eventually the one man managed a cut on his opponent’s arm and the fight ended. The men shook hands good-naturedly and left the ring.
‘Nelath and Brighton’ the referee’s voice sounded above the noise of the crowd.
Immediately an expectant hush fell over the crowd at ring three. People rushed from all over the town square to see the fight, leaving rings one, two and four with almost no spectators.
Brighton stepped into the ring.
Slowly, deliberately, Nelath made his way to the centre.
As he walked closer, his eyes fixed on Brighton, he made the same hand gestures as before. Brighton smiled and, with his left hand, beckoned Nelath closer.
A murmur rose from the crowd.
‘What was that all about?’ Brac asked.
‘Brighton told Nelath “Come, I’m not scared of you”. He seems to have a natural understanding for the way elves communicate,’ Peter answered.
Nelath reached the centre of the ring.
Before the referee could say anything, he made a sweeping gesture with his hand and said, ‘First blood.’
‘Agreed,’ Brighton replied immediately.
‘This is highly unusual, I don’t….’ the referee started but Nelath made the same sweeping gesture with his hand.
‘Agreed!’ Brighton repeated.
The referee looked uncomfortable with this but decided not to argue with the two fighters.
‘For this match, the first blood rule will be disregarded,’ he announced in a loud voice.
To the fighters he said, ‘Do you understand it means that this fight can only end if one of you yields, gets knocked unconscious or is killed?’
Both men nodded without taking their eyes off each other. Nelath aggressively stepped closer to Brighton. No more than half an arm’s length separated the men.
The referee retreated to the sideline.
Brighton gripped the walking stick just below the knob. He had already called his sense forth but extended it only to cover the fighting ring. Lady Jaclyn was in the crowd and he did not want her knowing he was using his talent. The moment the referee shouted ‘Fight’, Brighton’s right hand flashed forward. The thick oak slammed into Nelath’s face, knocking three of his teeth out. Nelath staggered a few steps back, blood and teeth fragments flying everywhere. Brighton stepped back and waited for Nelath’s attack.
In a fit of anger, Nelath stormed forward, sword high above his head. Brighton stepped into the attack before Nelath could bring the sword down and landed a crushing blow to the elf’s midriff. Nelath doubled over as the air was driven from his lungs. Brighton avoided the falling sword and swung the walking stick. Bones crushed as the wood connected with Nelath’s nose.
The pain was too much for the elf. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Brighton stepped away from his opponent and looked at the referee.
‘Uh…Brighton wins,’ the referee stuttered.
For just a moment, there was silence around ring three and then a deafening cheer rose from the crowd. Brighton picked up the sword and knelt next to the fallen elf.
‘You got what you deserved,’ he whispered as he gripped the elf’s long hair in his free hand. He used the razor sharp blade to cut Nelath’s hair close to the scalp.
He rose amidst cheers of ‘Brighton, Brighton’ and made his way to Peter and Brac.
‘I’m glad you listened to me,’ Peter said as he shook Brighton’s hand.
‘Well done my friend,’ Brac also pitched in.
Brighton did not respond. His eyes were fixed on Lady Jaclyn. Her face was a mixture of shock and surprise. The two stared at each other until Jaclyn finally dropped her gaze.
‘Let’s go home,’ Brighton said.
‘Don’t you want to stay and watch the other fights?’ Peter asked.
Brighton shook his head.
‘I’ve seen everything I need to see.’
Over the next few days, Brighton became the clear favourite at ring three. Asdargh dominated ring one, a local man called Luke was supreme at ring two and there were no clear favourites at ring four. The Warrior Trials continued for another seven days until only four men remained - Brighton, Asdargh, Luke and another Fenton local called Ivan. The women decided to join Brac and Peter in watching the penultimate fights.
Brighton was carrying the twins, one on each arm, as the group entered the town square. Brac carried the walking stick. As before, Peter rushed off to find out whom Brighton would be facing.
The four fighting rings were gone, replaced by one large ring right in the middle of the open ground. On one side, a platform had been erected. Lady Jaclyn occupied one of the chairs on the platform giving her a good view of the fighting ring.
Peter returned looking pleased.
‘Brighton is facing Ivan,’ he announced.
‘Good, he is the weakest and smallest,’ Brac commented.
‘True, but he is very fast,’ Peter replied.
Brighton hardly heard, he was sharing some apple-and-berry bread with the children. Earlier Nicky had bought a few slices from a vendor just outside the town square. Clarissa and Thomas each had a piece of bread in their tiny hands and took turns offering their father bites.
‘This is delicious,’ Brighton said before accepting another bite of Thomas’s bread.
‘If you win today, I will bake you a loaf of apple-and-berry bread tonight,’ Nicky promised.
‘I should have entered the Warrior Trials,’ Peter grumbled. Apple-and-berry bread was one of his favourite treats.
‘I will not forget about you, my sweetheart,’ Nicky replied with a smile.
Adri pulled on Brighton’s shirt to get his attention. He bent down to her and she whispered worriedly, ‘That elf is looking at you with intense hate.’
Brighton did not need to look up to know who the elf was.
‘It’s Asdargh,’ Brighton replied.
‘Who?’ Adri frowned.
‘It’s a long story,’ Brighton replied.
The men had not told the women about Brighton and Asdargh’s confrontation. Lilian was close enough to hear the whispering between Brighton and Adri.
‘Perhaps it’s best if we steer clear of him,’ she commented.
Brighton smiled at her and said, ‘Don’t worry about him, my love.’
The group found a spot close to the fighting ring. Town square was filling up rapidly. Some people even climbed on top of nearby buildings to get a good vantage point.
A young elf approached the group. He greeted them in the traditional elf way, then pointed to the platform, put his palms together and said, ‘Lady Jaclyn, friends of Brighton.’
Adri and Lilian looked puzzled so Brighton quickly explained.
‘Lady Jaclyn has invited us to join her on the platform.’
‘It will give us a good vantage point to watch your fight,’ Peter said.
Brighton nodded and Peter gestured to the elf that they accept the invitation.
‘I wonder who will fight first,’ Brac mused as they made their way to the platform.
His answer came a few moments later. A referee walked to the middle of the fighting ring. The crowd went silent as they waited for the announcement.
‘Asdargh and Luke.’
A mild cheer rose from the crowd.
Brighton and the others reached the platform.
‘Come, sit down and have some refreshments,’ Lady Jaclyn invited them.
‘Thank you, Lady Jaclyn. It’s very kind of you,’ Peter replied respectfully.
Everybody sat down just as the two fighters entered the ring. Asdargh carried only a sword while Luke had a sword and shield.
In a loud voice, so that the crowd could hear, the referee said, ‘Thi
s match can only end if one of the warriors yields, gets knocked unconscious or is killed.’
‘Do you understand?’ he asked the two warriors.
When he received a nod from each of them, he retreated to the sideline.
‘Fight!’ came the command.
Both fighters immediately went into a defensive stance.
Slowly they circled each other, trying to stare the other one down. Luke feigned an attack to draw Asdargh out but the elf was far too experienced for that. The warriors continued to circle one another.
Someone in the crowd shouted, ‘Fight, fight, fight.’
Some spectators joined in and a rhythmic chant of ‘Fight, fight, fight’ started.
Asdargh turned sideways, looked at the crowd and raised his hands in exasperation. Luke, believing that this was his opening, charged forward, the point of his sword aimed for Asdargh exposed ribcage.
The elf was ready. He swayed out of the way and, as Luke raced past him, brought his sword down in a wide arc. Luke realised he had made a mistake as soon as his sword missed its mark and dove forward to avoid the blow he knew was coming.
It saved him a great deal of pain. The blow, which was intended to cut through his calf muscles, only grazed the back of his leg. He rolled onto his feet and turned to face Asdargh in a single motion.
When Asdargh did not attack, Luke looked at the blood trickling from the shallow cut on his calf. He smiled and nodded to the elf.
The fighters started circling each other once more. Every time one of them tried to attack, the other was ready. For a while longer, it went on like this until Luke suddenly stopped, blinked and shook his head as if to clear it.
Asdargh launched a vicious attack, which Luke was barely able to fend off. The elf pressed his advantage, cutting Luke deeply on his arm and chest.
Luke retreated, still shaking his head. He looked unsure of where he was. As Asdargh came in for yet another attack, Luke dropped to his knees and yelled, ‘I yield.’
Asdargh did not stop. Blow after blow hit Luke’s shield.
‘Yield! Yield!’ Luke shouted repeatedly, holding the shield above his head for protection.
Asdargh knocked the shield from Luke’s hands, leaving the man completely defenceless. The elf raised his sword high.
Panic showed on Luke’s face, he knew this would be the killing blow. A moment before Asdargh brought the sword down, a knife flashed through the air.
It slammed into Asdargh right arm, just below the elbow. The elf screamed, more in surprise than pain. For a moment, he stared at the knife sticking out of his arm, then looked up and shouted, ‘Who?’
Brac was standing on the platform, another knife ready.
‘The man yielded. There is no need to kill him,’ he shouted at Asdargh.
The elf yanked the knife from his arm and stormed forward. Brighton was up in a flash, placing himself between Brac and the oncoming elf.
‘Stand down,’ Lady Jaclyn’s voice rang over the noise of the crowd.
Asdargh stopped; silence fell over the town square.
‘Lady…’ Asdargh started but Jaclyn cut him off.
‘Stand down,’ she said in a tone of voice that left no room for arguments.
Slowly she got up from her chair and made her way to Luke. As she passed Asdargh, she said quietly, ‘You will stand down or face my wrath.’
Asdargh glared at her but she did not stop to see if he would obey. Luke tried to get up but Jaclyn gently put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Don’t, you are hurt,’ she said.
She knelt next to him and placed her hands over the cut on his chest. Closing her eyes, she concentrated. A few moments later, she took her hands away. The cut was gone. Repeating the same procedure, she healed Luke’s other wounds.
Slowly she rose.
Luke also got up, looking at his arm and then down to his chest.
‘Lady Jaclyn, how can I ever thank you?’ he whispered.
‘There is no need,’ Jaclyn smiled at him.
She turned around and approached Asdargh.
‘Lady Jaclyn…’ he started but the look in her eyes made him slam his mouth shut.
She took his injured arm in her hands and closed her eyes. When she took her hands away, the wound was healed.
Softly, so that no one else could hear, she said, ‘You were supposed to injure him, not try to kill him.’
‘Kill knife hadishi,’ he hissed back.
‘No, you will not. You will leave Brac and the rest of Brighton’s group alone,’ Jaclyn whispered.
Asdargh was not pleased about this, but bowed his head in respect, indicating that he would do as she commanded. Jaclyn turned to the match referee and looked at him expectantly.
‘Uh…Asdargh wins,’ he announced in an unsure voice.
A few boo’s came from the crowd.
‘It was a fair match. Asdargh is the winner,’ Lady Jaclyn confirmed.
This time some cheers came from the crowd although it was probably more for her than Asdargh’s victory. On the platform, Brac and Brighton had taken their seats again.
‘Hardly fair,’ Peter spat.
‘Why do you say that?’ Brighton asked.
‘Did you see how disorientated Luke became? I would wager all the horses I own that Asdargh’s sword is coated in yellow berry juice,’ Peter replied.
‘Yellow berry juice?’ Brac said slowly.
‘It’s a berry that only grows in the elf forest. If ingested, it makes you dizzy and disorientated. As far as I know, it is not lethal. Lady Jaclyn’s honour guard coats their arrows and swords with it. Even if an arrow or sword just grazes a person, some yellow berry juice will get into the blood,’ Peter replied.
‘Do you think that is why Luke became so disoriented?’ Brighton asked.
‘Yes, I am sure of it. If you win your match today, you will face Asdargh tomorrow. You will need to be very careful not to get nicked by his sword,’ Peter warned him.
‘Is this allowed in the Warrior Trials?’ Brighton asked.
‘No, but Lady Jaclyn already declared the fight fair. Nobody will argue with her,’ Peter answered.
Lady Jaclyn returned to the platform, cutting their conversation short.
‘Brighton, are you ready?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Brighton confirmed.
Lady Jaclyn nodded to the referee.
He walked to the middle of the fighting ring and said, ‘Ivan and Brighton.’
A cheer that could rattle the branches right off an oak tree erupted from the crowd.
Raising her voice to make herself heard, Jaclyn said to Brighton, ‘You are very popular.’
Also speaking loudly, he answered, ‘Perhaps that cheer is for Ivan.’
He got up and made his way to the centre of the ring. Ivan only had a sword; Brighton carried the walking stick. The two fighters met in the middle, Brighton towering over Ivan. The referee waited for the crowd to quiet down and then explained the rules again. Both fighters indicated their understanding and the referee retreated.
An expectant hush fell over the town square.
‘Fight!’
Ivan tried the same trick Brighton used on Nelath, but the big man was ready and avoided the blow to his face easily. He immediately swung the walking stick in a counter attack, aiming for the smaller man’s knee. Ivan used his speed to dance away from the swinging cane. The two fighters glared at each other, each waiting for the other to attack.
Ivan moved first. The small man was incredibly fast and Brighton had to concentrate hard to fend off the attack. He was glad the walking stick had a protective barrier around it. The oak took hit after hit from Ivan’s razor sharp sword without breaking. Ivan attacked repeatedly but it was like fighting against a solid wall. Sweat was starting to drip from both men’s faces.
Ivan attacked once more, sword held high and this time Brighton spotted an opening. Instead of deflecting the sword, he swayed to his left to avoid the sharp weapon.
Ivan, e
xpecting the sword to make contact, overbalanced slightly.
It was all Brighton needed. He grabbed the smaller man by the shirt and yanked him forward. Ivan tumbled to the ground face first, sword flying out of his hand. Brighton planted his knee on Ivan’s back, pinning him down.
‘Yield!’ he commanded.
Ivan struggled with every bit of strength he had but could not free himself.
Brighton exposed the tiny blade in the knob of the walking stick, pressed it to Ivan’s cheek, and said again, ‘Yield!’
The smaller man stopped struggling.
For a moment, there was silence and then Ivan reluctantly said, ‘I yield.’
Brighton immediately stood up and held his hand out.
‘Let me help you up, friend,’ he offered.
Ivan rolled over onto his back. He took the offered hand and Brighton pulled him to his feet.
For a moment, Ivan stared into Brighton’s eyes, then gripped his hand tighter and said, ‘Do me a favour and beat that elf tomorrow. You’re the only one who can.’
He grabbed Brighton around the shoulders and, not waiting for the referee, shouted, ‘Brighton wins!’
Another cheer erupted from the crowd and this time Brighton thought it could rattle an old oak right out of the ground.
Only one person in the crowd stood quietly. Asdargh glared at Brighton. He pointed at Brighton, made a cross over his heart and then pointed to the ground with two fingers.
Tomorrow, you die.
Brighton pointed back at Asdargh and then beckoned him closer with his finger.
I am not scared of you.
The crowd rushed into the fighting ring. Amidst hand shakes and back slaps Brighton made his way to the platform. Lady Jaclyn held her hands high. Quickly the crowd went silent.
‘Tomorrow, Brighton and Asdargh will face each other in the final match of the Fenton Warrior Trials,’ she announced.
Another big cheer came from the crowd.
‘Brighton, Brighton, Brighton,’ some of the people started chanting.
He climbed onto the platform and said to his friends, ‘Let’s go home.’
‘Will you do me the honour of dining with me tonight?’ Lady Jaclyn asked politely.
