Enflamed (Book 2)

by R. M. Prioleau

“Looks like it’s just you an’ me, mate,” the brownie said. He craned his head to try to peer through the throng of people. “’Ey, what’s goin’ on?”

  Aidan turned his attention to the middle of the gathering. “Aidan is not sure.”

  “... And three hundred gold to the winner!” the portly man announced.

  Nester blinked. “What was that about three ’undred gold?” he asked Aidan.

  Aidan shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “What do you mean, ‘Does it matter?’ We could use that gold!” He jumped, trying to get a better view. “I can’t see a soddin’ thing!” He knelt and peered among the many pairs of legs.

  The sea of people parted as the announcer began addressing prospective competitors. “Who will be our next challenger?” He looked left and right, his grin never leaving his face. He suddenly turned toward Aidan.

  Aidan met the man’s gaze.

  “What’s goin’ on, mate?” Nester asked Aidan.

  “You there!” The announcer pointed at Aidan.

  A hush fell as the crowd turned. Dozens of pairs of eyes widened.

  Nester struggled back to his feet, his expression contorted with confusion and frustration.

  Aidan uncrossed his arms. He swallowed once, feeling the uncomfortable tension in the air. Why is everyone staring like that?

  The announcer approached Aidan, topping off at just above Aidan’s waist. “My good man ...” He examined Aidan’s features more closely. “You look like someone who can give these people the show of the year. Show off that power! That strength! That size!”

  Aidan shook his head. “No, thank you. Aidan is quite fine.”

  Several people in the crowd snickered.

  The announcer reached up and patted one of Aidan’s bulging, rock-solid biceps. “A big man like you? Modest? Come, now. These people want a show!” He turned to address the people. “Don’t you all want a show?”

  The crowd responded with cheers.

  Aidan yanked his arm away. “No, Aidan does not like violence.”

  A wave of laughter swept through the crowd.

  Nester glanced from the announcer to Aidan in disbelief. He grabbed a handful of Aidan’s trousers and tugged him aside. “I wanna talk to you, mate.”

  Aidan looked down at the brownie’s feeble attempts at budging him. He finally walked on his own, following Nester’s lead.

  “’Scuse us a moment.” Nester said to the announcer as they walked by.

  The smile faded from the announcer’s face.

  The crowd began impatiently chanting, louder and louder.

  Nester led Aidan away from the crowd and waved his finger up at him as he spoke. “See ’ere, Aidan. We’re goin’ on a long trip tomorrow. We could use that money, y’know? Ghaeldorund ain’t exactly a thrifty city. There’s a reason why that place is among th’ most prestigious cities in Aransiya—no, th’ world!” He paused and then grumbled, “Damn pompous fiddlers....”

  Aidan remained silent. He found Nester’s ‘seriousness’ slightly amusing.

  Nester cleared his throat. “Ah, anyway, so, ’ere’s th’ deal. You fight, you win th’ money, and we can survive comfortably in Ghaeldorund, no problem!”

  Aidan shook his head. “What is point of fighting? What is point of hurting someone for gold?”

  Nester groaned. “Oy! ’E didn’t say you ’ad to ’urt no one. Just make it entertaining, aye? C’mon, mate. It’ll be fun. Just a friendly sparrin’ match, that’s all.”

  Aidan scratched his chin. “Well ... all right. Aidan will have fun—so long as no one gets hurt.”

  Nester’s smile brightened, and he clapped his hands together. “Really? Great! All right, you get ready to fi—I mean, ’ave some fun. I’ll let that loud bloke know, aye?”

  Before Aidan could respond, Nester had already run off into the crowd. Aidan’s gaze trailed toward the open center of the ring, where he spied patches of dirt, grass, and cobblestone. The spectators waited attentively for the event to begin. A man, clad in extravagant silver breastplate, stood not far from Aidan, watching the crowd. The silver scales of his armor glistened in the light. The man’s gaze briefly locked with Aidan’s, before narrowing and returning to the center of the ring.

  The crowd parted as Aidan slowly made his way to the center to meet with Nester and the announcer.

  The smile returned to the announcer’s face. “Ladies and gentlemen! Aidan has accepted the challenge! He will be the next to face Hugo the Mauler in a no-holds-barred fight to victory!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers.

  Moments later, a burly man stepped forward into the ring. His body was as solid as Aidan’s, but he was a whole foot shorter. He wore a confident expression on his face as he casually cracked his knuckles. “I can take him.” He snatched a full tankard, sloshing with ale from a nearby spectator, chugged the contents within a few gulps, and then slammed the empty tankard to the ground. He roared like an animal, which also further riled the crowd.

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less out of you, Hugo,” the announcer commented with a smirk. He addressed the rest of the crowd. “Without further ado, let the fight begin!”

  Nester looked Hugo up and down and smirked. “Pah! There ain’t enough luck in th’ world for you to beat Aidan ’ere!”

  Hugo glowered at Nester and raised his hand, as though about to slap him.

  “Eep!” Eyes wide, Nester scrambled out of the ring. He yelled over his shoulder, “Knock ’is soddin’ ’ead off, Aidan!”

  Aidan stared at his opponent, ignoring Nester’s words. He respectfully bowed to Hugo and extended his fist as a show of good sportsmanship. “An honor to meet you, sir.” He cracked a small smile, awaiting Hugo to bump fists.

  Hugo scrutinized Aidan up and down, and then snorted. “What in the bloody hells are you? No, I don’t think I want to know.” He stepped back into a defensive posture.

  Aidan’s smile faded, and he lowered his fist. He spotted Nester at the ring’s exterior, wandering aimlessly about the crowd. The brownie casually approached an unaware spectator, quickly glanced about, and carefully untied a small hanging pouch from the man’s belt. Nester snatched the pouch and skittered away, disappearing in the crowd.

  Aidan gawked. Did he just—? Frowning, he looked around for the announcer. “Sir! Sir! Aidan requests that—” He caught sight of Hugo’s fist coming toward the side of his face and leaned back to dodge the blow. Hugo missed wildly, and his momentum sent him flying forward. He tripped over Aidan’s solid body, rebounded, and fell flat on his face with a loud grunt.

  The crowd was in an uproar.

  Aidan gasped and rushed to the fallen man. “Aidan is sorry! Are you all right?”

  But Hugo remained out cold.

  Aidan knelt down beside Hugo and shook him, attempting to rouse him.

  Nester broke through the crowd and ran over to Aidan. One of his belt pouches was fatter, nearly sagging off his hip. “That was amazin’, Aidan! You beat ’im without even liftin’ a finger!” He gasped. “That means we win the 300 gold, aye?” He smiled broadly and slapped Aidan on the back. “Good on ya!”

  Aidan scowled at the brownie. “This man is hurt, and all you can think about is money?”

  “Ah, ’e’s not ’urt. ’E’s just ... ah ... takin’ a nap, that’s all.” Nester climbed atop Hugo’s broad chest and slapped him across the face a few times. Nester seemed to be enjoying it, by the way his lips crept into a smile despite his twisting them.

  Hugo groaned.

  “See?” Nester pointed. “Good as new!”

  Aidan opened his mouth to protest, then winced as the announcer’s blaring voice resounded over the crowd.

  “And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! Hugo has fallen in less than a minute’s time! Aidan has won the three hundred gold prize!”

  A mixed reaction of cheers and boos swept through the crowd.

  The announcer approached Aidan, smiling. “Now that you’ve defeated the champion, why not
make things a little more interesting, hm? What say you increase your earnings to four hundred?”

  Nester’s eyes bulged. “Four ’undred gold?!”

  Aidan stood up and waved his hand to the announcer. “No! Aidan does not want to fight anymore. Aidan does not want anyone else hurt!”

  The announcer leaned over and muttered, “You’re doing great, Aidan. Keep it up.”

  “But—!”

  “Aidan agrees!” Nester exclaimed, getting the announcer’s attention. “Didn’t you ’ear ’im?”

  The announcer looked confused. “He—he did?” His attention locked on Nester, who smiled and gave a few quick nods in agreement. “Oh! Yes! He did! He did!”

  Aidan glared at Nester and then turned to the announcer. “No! Aidan did not—”

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer continued. “Aidan has agreed to put forth his earnings into an even larger purse! Four hundred gold is the new prize! Who will be the first contender to challenge him?”

  Another man stepped into the ring and said, “I will accept the challenge. My name is Caiyn.” He ripped off his tunic and tossed it into the crowd. The rippling muscles in his bare chest and arms were more toned than Hugo’s, and he was taller and leaner. However, Caiyn’s height barely reached the middle of Aidan’s chest. After observing Aidan carefully, Caiyn stepped back into a fighting stance.

  Aidan’s head tilted to the side, studying his opponent’s movements. That stance is familiar. Light weight on the front foot, hands open, body angled ninety degrees ... He will most likely favor his feet. He briefly reviewed his training as a youth, when his master had introduced him to the many arts of fighting.

  “Caiyn has agreed to challenge the reigning champion, Aidan!” The announcer bellowed. “Place your bets, everyone!”

  Cheers of anticipation surged through the crowd, and people began scrambling to the betting booth. A few people patted themselves in a frenzy, realizing their money pouches were gone.

  “I’ve been robbed!” One of the spectators cried. But the man’s voice was soon drowned out by the crowd’s murmurings. Aidan watched as the man joined a small group of spectators who had also apparently been robbed and scoured the sea of people in search of the thief.

  Frowning, Aidan scanned the crowd for Nester, but the brownie was nowhere to be found.

  When the last bet was taken, the announcer addressed everyone again. “And now, without further ado, may the best man win!” He quickly shuffled out of the ring.

  Aidan bowed and extended his fist, hoping Caiyn, whom he sensed was more of a seasoned fighter than Hugo, would return the honorable gesture. “It is an honor, sir. Aidan will be careful this time and make sure no one gets hurt.”

  To Aidan’s relief, Caiyn understood his gesture and bumped his fist. “Never underestimate your opponent, Aidan,” he said, then returned to his stance. The fight commenced. Caiyn shifted the weight on his foot and sprang forward through the air, aiming a side-kick toward Aidan’s lower ribs.

  Aidan sidestepped before Caiyn’s foot made contact.

  Appearing surprised, Caiyn tumbled to the ground, then rolled back toward Aidan to recover his attack. Aidan peered over his shoulder at Caiyn, who attempted to drop him with a back-sweep. Caiyn’s leg impacted the back of Aidan’s, and a loud snap was heard.

  Caiyn let out an earsplitting cry of pain. A hush drew over the spectators as he collapsed to the ground, holding his ankle.

  Aidan gasped. He spun around and knelt down to tend to the injured man. “Aidan is sorry! Aidan is sorry! Stay still! Aidan will get you to healer!” Picking Caiyn up, Aidan looked around frantically for the nearest aurorium.

  “Put him down,” a gruff voice ordered, breaking the shocked silence of the crowd.

  Startled, Aidan looked toward the voice. It was the armored man he had seen earlier. He approached Aidan. Like everyone else, Aidan easily towered over the armored man, but Aidan’s size didn’t appear to intimidate him.

  The man crossed his arms and looked at Aidan expectantly. “I said, ‘Put him down.’”

  A bitter taste came to Aidan’s mouth. Something about the armored man bothered him. He carefully set Caiyn down and backed away.

  The armored man smiled and then nodded toward an unseen person within the crowd. Moments later, another armored man emerged. He approached, hefted Caiyn’s body, and carried him off.

  After his comrade left, the man turned back to Aidan. “My name is Gaston, and I will gladly take up the challenge.”

  Aidan gaped. He tried to protest, but no sound came. He felt small nudging on his side.

  “Did you ’ear that, mate? This bloke wants to challenge you! Give ’im a good one, an’ we’ll be soddin rich after this!”

  Aidan glared at Nester. “No! No more fighting! No more violence! Too many people got hurt today! Aidan is tired!”

  Gaston stroked his thin black beard in thought and then smirked at Aidan. “Entertain me, creature. Entertain us all. It’s amazing that someone like you has been spared from death.”

  Aidan met Gaston’s gaze. “Aidan does not cause trouble, so people do not bother him.”

  “Surely not. They know better than to wrestle with a half-breed.” He paused and scrutinized Aidan more closely. “That is what you are, I presume.”

  Soft mutterings swept over the crowd. Even the announcer looked stunned.

  “Soddin’ ’ells, Aidan! You’re gonna just stand there an’ let ’im insult you like that?”

  Aidan shook his head at Nester. “Aidan does not know what this man is talking about.” He faced Gaston and then sighed heavily. “If it means Aidan can get some food and warm bed afterwards, then fine—Aidan will entertain.”

  “That’s it, mate! Knock th’ sense outta ’im!” Nester quickly scrambled out of the ring and disappeared in the crowd.

  “Wonderful.” Gaston grinned and stepped backwards, beckoning Aidan to make the first advance.

  Anticipatory cheers erupted from the crowd, and people started placing bets.

  Aidan regarded the man, attempting to assess his movements, but Gaston’s cool demeanor was difficult to figure out. What is it about him that’s unnerving me? Aidan wondered. That armor, perhaps, or ... He paused and sniffed at him. Gaston reeked of blood, though Aidan saw none on his attire. Though it made him feel awkward, Aidan didn’t bother attempting to bow formally to him; Gaston seemed ready to prove a point.

  Gaston circled him slowly, the smirk remaining fixed on his weathered face. “Come, Aidan. Your audience awaits.”

  Aidan sighed. He reluctantly threw himself toward Gaston, to grapple with him.

  Gaston stood as still as a statue as Aidan approached. When Aidan was mere footsteps away, Gaston turned his body slightly and braced for impact. Aidan’s mass moved Gaston a few steps, but Gaston’s armored body otherwise stayed firm. Aidan prepared to bear-hug Gaston, but Gaston surprised him with a gauntleted fist to the solar plexus.

  Aidan grunted, and his body folded. Gaston came at him again, aiming another punch at Aidan’s lowered head, but Aidan leaned back just as the punch brushed past his chin. Aidan countered by grabbing Gaston’s arm and attempted to sweep him off his feet. Gaston, his arm still locked in Aidan’s grip, spun backwards and elbowed Aidan hard in his side. Aidan gasped, feeling one of his ribs crack, and collapsed.

  He landed on his back with a loud thump. The ground trembled.

  The crowd roared.

  Nester’s jaw dropped. “That’s not fair! ’E cheated, ’e did!”

  Gaston stood over Aidan, planting his scale-armored boot upon Aidan’s chest. He glowered down. “You disappoint me, Aidan. I was hoping to make this a worthwhile fight.” Gaston pressed his foot harder into Aidan’s chest.

  Aidan stared up at the man and then coughed briefly. He eyed the scales on the man’s foot. The armor appeared rough—like actual scales—despite their metallic shine. He stared at his own arm, similarly scaled—only the ones on Gaston’s armor were much larger.<
br />
  “What’s wrong, Aidan?” Gaston jeered, smiling with amusement. “You look rather confused about something.”

  Aidan snorted. The scent of blood, underlined by a sweetness, grew stronger. Strength rekindled in his body. Sadness and rage welled in his mind. Aidan somehow recognized the scent from long ago, but could not recall where. He wrinkled his nose.

  In a single motion, Aidan heaved up, tossing Gaston onto his back, knocking the wind out of the man. Pinning Gaston to the ground, Aidan stared into his eyes. All around them, the crowd cheered.

  Gaston stared back at Aidan, smiling weakly and huffing, out of breath. “What ... are you waiting for? Finish me ... off.”

  “No,” Aidan said promptly. “No more violence.”

  Gaston scoffed, “What does your kind know about pacifism? Look at you. You’re a savage. Born with power you know nothing about. And bred to destroy.”

  A low growl rumbled in Aidan’s throat. He glared at Gaston, baring his fangs slightly. “No. Aidan is done with this. All of this. There is no need for violence. Someone always gets hurt.”

  Unfazed, Gaston continued looking at him. “Sometimes violence is needed.”

  “Now is not time. Aidan is hungry. And tired.”

  “Then go. Run like the scared little boy that you are. It sounds like the crowd has been entertained enough by our little scuffle, anyway.” The announcer returned to the ring, and Gaston turned his head.

  “Aidan has successfully pinned Gaston in submission!” the announcer declared to the cheering crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, Aidan prevails once again!”

  Another deafening cheer arose, and the crowd began chanting Aidan’s name.

  Aidan pushed himself off Gaston and stood back, frowning and watching him a moment. Ignoring the chants, Aidan turned and hastily left the ring. The crowd made a path for him as he walked.

  The announcer suddenly ran in front of him, holding out a filled pouch heavy with coin and yelling, “Wait! Wait! Wait! You forgot to claim your prize!”

  Aidan shook his head and brushed past the man. “Aidan does not want.”

  “But—but this money is rightfully yours! You won the competition! Four hundred gold was the prize!”