The young man sneered at me from the other side of the ring. Only fifteen feet of empty ground separated us. Four tentposts held up waist-high fences in an oval circling the ring—our battleground. On the other side of the fence, surrounding us, were the worthy spectators.
Since only active fighters could step foot into the Firehold, only active fighters could watch matches take place. That meant my peers were men older than me, including the middle-aged Antones and the unknown-aged Lukain Pierken.
Sixteen people in total stood on the other side of the blackened fence. At the front of the room—I assumed as symbolism—a bonfire raged. The carved stone ceiling in this room was higher than in other rooms, allowing smoke to billow upward. Small holes were chiseled in the ceiling, letting the smoke waft through in thin strands.
When I’d inquired about the fire and ceiling holes to Lukain before the match, he’d told me, “So those on the Floorboards know there is a duel taking place, and know not to intervene. A section of the street above will be drizzled with smoke, heat, and fumes. Passersby will avoid that section of the street. It’s a show of respect.”
He cleared his throat and went on. “Conversely, it is also a lodestone for fight-seekers. If, after this match, I go aboveground and find someone standing in the patch of smoke, or unconscious from its fumes, then that person will be brought to the Firehold as a potential new member of the Grimsons.”
My brow furrowed at the explanation.Either avoid the smoky street or run toward it.“You’re telling me some people come herewillingly? No offense.”
“Some youngsters have nothing, Sephania, as you well know. They get passed up at auction, too, because they’re either too scrawny or weak or unworthy at the time. So they grow, build themselves, and come seeking us out. It’s rare, but it does happen.”
His words lingered in my mind long after. I found it unfathomable people would come seeking this out.
Truehearts flog me, who am I kidding?Isought this out! I practically begged Lukain for a fight, and he’s given me my opportunity.
All other thoughts dwindled away as I locked my mind tight to focus on the challenge at hand.
Culiar.
He stood in front of me, casual stance, eyes narrowed dangerously. He was half a head taller than me but lighter in weight because of my natural curves and the broadness of my body.He has the height and reach advantage, I have the weight advantage. Which means he might have speed on me, too.
It was a daunting truth to recognize.
Culiar was at least a summer older than me, which meant he had trained longer. I doubted he had trainedmorethan me, however, even with the extra time. He and Rirth were two of the biggest hound dogs in the fucking Hold, finding more interest in chasing girls than chasing glory or freedom.
I wondered how much advance notice Lukain had given him about this duel.How much time has he spent preparing?I hoped he’d only known about it for the same two weeks I had.
Antones opened the fence at one end and stepped into the ring. He held two wooden longswords and two wooden daggers. They were the weapons of choice for Grimsons; we were all taught to dual-wield from an early age. The constant training with both our left and right hands forced us to be ambidextrousso we wouldn’t have a natural “weak side” adversaries could expose.
Antones handed us a sword and dagger then stepped to the swinging door. “Only rule is don’t kill each other. Anything else goes. There are no fouls. The loser is the one who ends up unconscious.”
With those curt instructions, he gave each of us a tiny nod and exited the ring.
“Begin.” This from Lukain, said loudly with no fanfare.
Immediately at the word, Culiar charged me. He kept his body low, all lanky arms and legs as he tried to make himself smaller. His boots padded across the floor lightly, bouncing on the tips of his toes—ready to extend his momentum.
Culiar gritted his teeth and held his sword and dagger out to create a natural barrier. He spun them in a blur as he advanced, attempting to trick me into following the movements of the wooden blades.
I studied his feet instead, as I’d been taught. My right leg slid back into a sturdy foundation. I bent my knees to prepare to defend myself, holding my sword and dagger up near my face.
Culiar came in fast. He hacked at me with both weapons at once. He was surprisingly skilled with each. It took every bit of concentration to keep my wood cracking against his, avoiding his blows. He aimed for my body, not my swords, and I had a larger body to work with.
I pivoted with my front foot, backpedaling a step as he pressed his charge and snarled at me.
The spectators watched in eerie silence as the thudding of our wooden weapons parried and echoed. There was no cheering, no hollering—this was an audience of fighters, analyzing us as potential adversaries and allies in the future; gauging our worth and skill.
The presence of the fence loomed behind me like a suffocating cloud.
Culiar lunged—
I watched his left knee push down before he sprang at me, and I was already sliding to his right before he completed the maneuver.
My sword came down and banged against his leather armor, his ribs. A satisfying “Oof” puffed out of him as he spun to meet me before I could deliver another hit.
The leather we wore was strong enough to prevent massive damage yet thin enough that a well-placed strike with enough force could break bone. I had no illusions it would keep me safe.
