Won't Back Down: Won't Back Down

by Unknown

  "Was he there?" Cartimmar asked quietly and cryptically, lest anyone nearby hear him.

  "Yes," said Maltroos, beaming a broad smile.

  "What did he have to say?"

  "He begged me not to enter the competition," Maltroos answered, the corners of his mouth receding from their smile to a sad downturn. "He's afraid to lose me if I am not triumphant in one of the rounds and die."

  "Did that not occur to you?" Cartimmar asked.

  "Well, of course the thought crossed my mind, but really, how can I not enter the competition. I am a good pledger, a good fighter, and I usually win my battles."

  "'Usually' isn't the same thing as 'always,'" Cartimmar reminded Maltroos.

  "That's exactly what he said," Maltroos said sadly. "But how can I not enter when everything I want in the world is at stake? If I don't enter the competition and another pledger wins, he's as likely to claim Saxtry's hand as Regnilux's. Then I would be in worse condition than I am now. No, my friend. I have no choice. I must enter the competition." He was silent a moment before speaking again. "Did any of the pledgers sign up while I was out in the apple orchard?"

  "No. Nobody has signed up yet."

  "I take it you haven't signed up yourself and aren't planning to?"

  "That's correct. I don't have any interest in your beloved, and I certainly don't want to win the hand of Princess Regnilux. No, there's nothing in it for me. I'll be in the stands, watching."

  Indeed, when Maltroos, determined to sign up and win his beloved's hand, approached the sheet of parchment on which the pledgers were to indicate their participation, it was blank except for the heading indicating what it was for. When he proudly and carefully signed his name, it stood out as the only one on the sheet. For a short time, Maltroos had hopes that after all he might win by default, but by evening, three other names had joined his, and by the next evening, there were a total of eight pledgers registered to compete.

  The morning thereafter, Maltroos met with Saxtry amid the haystacks. They greeted each other ardently, and after making sure that no one was around, they fell to the ground together and made love extravagantly but silently. When Saxtry emitted a strangled shout on reaching his climax, Maltroos stifled his cry with his forearm. "My love, what were you thinking?" Maltroos chastised him. "We must be more guarded than that."

  "You excite me beyond the point where I can contain myself," Saxtry confessed. "It is all your fault." He put his finger on Maltroos's nose.

  Maltroos laughed and nipped at the accusatory finger. A mock battle ensued, with the two men biting at each other gently so as not to leave telltale tooth marks. Occasionally Maltroos's shoulder still pained him, but it was healing.

  "I wish my upcoming battles were this innocent—and this free of peril," Maltroos said.

  "You can still back out," Saxtry said imploringly. "You can still change your mind. There is no penalty."

  "And join the ranks of the cowards? I shall not!"

  "I would not think the less of you," Saxtry said. "If anything, I would think more of you, that you removed yourself from the competition to save your life so that I may enjoy you to the end of my days."

  "What kind of enjoyment is this?" grumbled Maltroos. "Furtive meetings, clandestine lovemaking, times when we don't see each other for days on end, pretending when we encounter each other in public that you are nothing to me but the son of our ruler, and I am nothing to you but one of the men who does battle for the amusement of your father and the populace at large. That is no life. That is no way to love. I want more for us. I want more!"

  He yelled the last sentence quite loudly, and now it was Saxtry's turn to stifle Maltroos lest he call someone's attention to them. "Hush! Be discreet!" Saxtry warned him as he covered Maltroos's mouth with his hand.

  "I love you so much it hurts," Maltroos told his beloved. "And what hurts the worst is not having you at my side, not having you in my bed, not having you full-time and openly in my life. I can be brave and face injury or death in the arena, but it takes more bravery than I have to face spending the rest of my life living like this."

  "The rest of your life may be very short indeed if you enter the competition."

  "I mean to survive no matter what it takes. You are my prize! You are well worth fighting for. But if you fear my life may be cut short, let us make the most of the time we have. Can you meet me here again tomorrow, around the same time?"

  "I am not sure what my father expects of me as regards entertaining the delegation from Montoyone, but if I can at all be here, I will. You know that."

  "Yes. I know that."

  "And now I had best be going, before I am missed."

  "Until tomorrow, then—I hope." Maltroos kissed Saxtry softly on the lips, and Saxtry put his arms around Maltroos and hugged him. Then they parted ways, Saxtry leaving first as was their custom.

  Later, in Maltroos's rooms, Cartimmar stopped in to talk over the upcoming competition. "Are you nervous?" he asked.

  "Yes, but more so over losing Prince Saxtry than over losing my life," Maltroos admitted.

  "If the count remains at eight contestants, and you win each time, you will have to fight three times," Cartimmar pointed out. "When do the battles begin?'

  "Next Tuesday," Maltroos answered, and a shiver ran through him as he stopped to contemplate that he might die as soon as then.

  "Who are you paired up against in the first round?" Cartimmar asked.

  "They have not yet posted the pairings," Maltroos answered. "I know it is in elimination format. On Tuesday there will be four fights, and on Thursday two more. On Saturday afternoon, the two fighters remaining will meet in the final contest. I mean to be the last man left. I mean to fight to the finish. Not only do I not wish to die, but I mean to win my prince's hand!"

  "Good luck to you, my true friend. May you emerge victorious."

  "May your wish bear fruit," Maltroos replied.

  *~*~*

  Tuesday arrived with much fanfare. The pairings had been posted only that morning, so Maltroos now knew that his first opponent—and a worthy one—was Bienbanel. A skilled swordsman and fearless fighter, Bienbanel had vanquished many a foe in his more than five years as a pledger.

  The two combatants sat in the stands as they watched the first round of the contest featuring two other men, Smirtlow and Redonz. They bowed low to each other from opposite ends of the arena, and then approached the center.

  Maltroos barely saw what he was supposedly watching, however. Instead, his mind replayed past fights he had witnessed that Bienbanel had participated in. He wanted to be aware of what his opponent's moves were likely to be when they encountered each other in the arena.

  In fact, it barely registered when Smirtlow pierced Redonz's abdomen, sending him tottering to the ground. Since this was a fight to the finish and the king would show no mercy, nobody looked to the stands for a signal from the king or listened for the sound of trumpets calling for a merciful end to the fight.

  If Smirtlow wanted to win, it was incumbent on him to finish off Redonz, a task he might not enjoy but was, in this case, necessary. As Redonz lay cringing on the ground, blood spurting from his belly, Smirtlow aimed for his jugular vein and pierced it.

  Now there was blood erupting from two places on Redonz, his neck and his belly, and soon his body stilled as he fell into blessed unconsciousness and, soon thereafter, death.

  Two of the king's men carried the lifeless body out of the arena while Smirtlow bowed to the assembled onlookers four times, facing north, east, south, and west respectively. Then he exited the arena in triumph, and the next pair of combatants entered the arena at opposite ends, bowed low to each other, and advanced.

  Hamrick and Tollivent lasted longer in the arena than the previous pair had. Each time one lunged toward the other and plunged his sword toward a vital spot on his opponent, the other ducked and dodged, evading the blow. Cartimmar, chuckling, observed to Maltroos, "It looks like they are dancing, doesn't it?"

&
nbsp; "A bit, yes, but it is the dance of death," Maltroos replied. He tore his mind away from Bienbanel's likely maneuvers and focused on Hamrick and Tollivent in combat in the arena.

  Hamrick was the first to land a blow with his sword, though he merely nicked Tollivent's arm as Tollivent dodged the lunging sword but didn't quite evade it totally. Swinging around, Tollivent speared his sword toward Hamrick's chest but missed as Hamrick sprang backward and to the side. Then Hamrick plunged his sword toward Tollivent's neck. Although he failed to lodge his sword in Tollivent's jugular, he pierced clean through Tollivent's right shoulder, grossly impeding Tollivent's use of his dominant arm.

  Tollivent attempted another lunge at Hamrick, but the spurting blood was testament to the damage Hamrick had done, and Tollivent's sword failed to find its mark. His face a mask of pain, he paused momentarily, and that was his fatal error. Hamrick charged forward, taking two steps in the bleeding warrior's direction, aimed his sword at Tollivent's chest, and landed a lethal piercing blow that felled Tollivent and left him writhing in pain on the ground.

  It was incumbent on Hamrick now to put Tollivent out of his misery, and he accomplished this with three more pierces of his chest delivered in rapid succession. A final gurgle emanated from Tollivent's throat, and the blood stopped spurting as his heart quit beating.

  Once again two of the king's men carried the vanquished combatant's body out of the arena while Hamrick, in the usual custom, bowed low to the spectators once in each direction of the compass. The assemblage applauded him, and then he strode out of the arena, his head held high and his gait almost prancing.

  Maltroos got up from his seat in the stands. Vandrume and Nashling were scheduled to fight next, but then it would be Maltroos's turn to face Bienbanel in the final match of the day. He had to be ready to make his entrance. He hurried from his seat to the edge of the arena, from where he could still see the fight, although not as well as from up in the stands.

  Hapless Nashling struck the first blow, but landed it on Vandrume's collarbone, where his sword stuck, momentarily preventing him from leaping back out of the way. Vandrume took full advantage of his opponent's predicament to pierce first his jugular vein and then his heart, vanquishing Nashling immediately. Nashling sank to the ground, dying, and Vandrume finished him off with two more stabs at his heart.

  Yet again the king's men carried the lifeless loser out of the arena while the winner took his four victory bows.

  Now, almost before he was ready, it was Maltroos's turn in the arena. He bowed to Bienbanel, waiting at the opposite end of the arena, and cast a quick glance at the stands to see if Saxtry was watching. Flanking the king in the stands were both Princess Regnilux and Prince Saxtry, watching intently. Saxtry was sitting forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on the arena. Maltroos tore his eyes away from his beloved and vowed not to look at him again till the fight was over lest he be distracted and fall victim to Bienbanel's sword.

  Maltroos and Bienbanel advanced on each other. As they neared, Maltroos struck out at Bienbanel while simultaneously leaping to the side. Just as he leaped out of the way, Bienbanel lunged forward with his sword. Maltroos heard the whssh as the sword passed harmlessly by his arm, and he whirled around, got behind Bienbanel in a maneuver he had rehearsed over and over in his mind, and quickly thrust his sword into Bienbanel.

  He caught Bienbanel where the back meets the shoulder, his blade meeting some resistance as it made its way into Bienbanel's body. Bienbanel sprang forward, wrenching free of Maltroos's sword, and he spun around and lunged at Maltroos. It happened so fast that Maltroos was tardy in ducking out of the way, and while Bienbanel failed to land a seriously damaging blow, he did pierce Maltroos's left arm.

  While Bienbanel was pulling his sword out of the arm, Maltroos struck at close range and pierced Bienbanel's belly, causing fresh crimson blood to spout out and sending Bienbanel reeling and staggering backward. Maltroos closed in, thinking he was going for the kill, but Bienbanel was not to be vanquished that easily. Although staggering, he lunged at Maltroos and succeeded in gouging his hip.

  Maltroos hopped a step away from Bienbanel, whirled on his uninjured leg, and took another swing at Bienbanel. Blood was still spurting onto the ground from the wound on Bienbanel's back. Although Maltroos could not see his Bienbanel's back, he could see the blood falling quickly to the ground and knew he was seriously injured.

  Even if he couldn't immediately land a lethal blow, he figured he would still prevail if he kept Bienbanel at bay long enough for the wound in his back to weaken him. Maybe, in fact, the way to win this round was to simply inflict a barrage of stabs into Bienbanel that, taken together, would be his downfall even if none landed in a vital organ. If Bienbanel lost enough blood, he would bleed out and die even without Maltroos piercing his heart, lungs, or other crucial spot.

  The element of surprise would be in Maltroos's favor. Bienbanel would be expecting a lunge to his chest or perhaps his abdomen and would not protect his less vital spots. In his weakened condition he could not sprint away from Maltroos's sword as readily and would be reduced to defending his vital organs while staying more or less in place.

  These calculations raced through Maltroos's mind at the speed of a pouncing jaguar, and he acted accordingly, lunging at the base of Bienbanel's rib cage and landing a telling blow, then immediately after that piercing Bienbanel's shoulder.

  Bienbanel was as heavy-footed as Maltroos had expected. Wounded and weak, he was unable to dash away from the oncoming sword, and when he feebly attempted to lash out at Maltroos, his lunge was as harmless as the paws of a newborn kitten. Maltroos next stabbed Bienbanel in the meatiest part of his thigh, a maneuver Bienbanel had not at all anticipated or defended against, and he staggered even as the blood began to gush freely. At that, he staggered and momentarily bent forward. Maltroos took the opportunity to stab him in the back, aiming for Bienbanel's lung.

  Bienbanel crumpled to the ground. "Kill me. Finish me off," he begged. His voice was weak and his words gasped. He dropped his grip on his sword as a signal of his submission, and Maltroos raised his own sword high in the air in victory before plunging it straight down into Bienbanel's chest. Three fast lunges and it was all over. Bienbanel was no longer suffering, and Maltroos was the clear winner.

  As the king's men came into the arena to remove Bienbanel's body, Maltroos took his four victory bows. When he was facing the royal family, he looked up at Saxtry, who looked completely white and exhausted. The strain of his fear showed plainly on his face. Well, he could relax for now—at least till Thursday.

  They met by prearrangement in the apple orchard; the victorious Maltroos and the concerned Prince Saxtry, who was now more concerned than ever that death would come calling for his beloved.

  "Every time I watched one of them die, I thought it could be you," he said to Maltroos without preamble. He hadn't even kissed him hello or embraced him yet. He was digging his fingernails into his arm as he begged Maltroos, "Drop out of the competition now—please! There is no penalty for withdrawing. Your opponent gets a 'free win' and you get your life spared."

  "But I don't get to marry you. That is the whole object of my entering this cursed competition in the first place. I want to be free to love you openly. I want you and me to be mated to each other for life."

  "There is nothing I desire more, either," Saxtry agreed, "but not at the risk of losing you altogether. As much as I would love to marry you and live openly with you, it is not worth the possible cost. Please withdraw from the competition. Do it to please me. You don't have to give my father a reason. Just say that you value your life. Just say that seeing four combatants killed today brought home the reality of the danger in this contest.

  "Or tell him, if you wish, that killing Bienbanel was unpleasant for you, and you do not wish to have to kill two more men in order to come out the top man in this competition. Tell him you prefer it when the king calls for a cessation of the fighting and spares the life of the vanquished pl
edger. Tell him that under these rules of a fight to the death, your instincts are offended.

  "Oh, hell—tell him anything you please. Just get yourself out of this damn competition. I do not know if I can even take watching you fight twice more, knowing your very life could well be forfeit. Please withdraw—for my sake."

  "I will not," said Maltroos resolutely. "As much as I love you, and as much as I love to please you, I cannot and will not withdraw from this competition. I must win! I must win the competition and win the right to marry you. I love you too much to back down now."

  "Please reconsider. Please!" Saxtry begged, putting his hands on Maltroos's shoulders and looking into his eyes. "Please don't do this to me. You're tearing me up. I can't take it. I am consumed with worry about you and fear of losing you. And you are going back into the arena injured. The next round of combat is in just two days. Your wounds will surely not have healed by then."

  "They are not deep or severe. I will be fine. Do not worry, my love," Maltroos reassured him. "Whoever I fight against will also be fighting under the weight of having fought two days before and incurred some injuries in the process."

  Saxtry let go of Maltroos's shoulders and enfolded him in his arms. Holding him tight, he declared, "I don't think you know how much I love you. I don't think you realize how totally it would destroy my happiness, my world, my life, if I were to lose you."

  "Don't think that way, my love. Think of how happy we will be when we are married, living together openly, and free to love each other with all our hearts to the end of our days."

  "It is the rapid approach of the end of your days that concerns me," Saxtry said. "This whole competition is ill conceived. It is cursed. If you lose and the winner chooses me, I will be consigned to a marriage with someone I don't love. But the worst part is that I will lose you altogether. I will not even be able to meet with you as we do now. I couldn't bear it!"