Fight And The Fury (Book 8) (15 page)

“What sort of contest is this?” Nath said, eyeing the pile of crude-looking clubs in the center of the arena.

“Have you never watched the legendary Battle Royale of Narnum?”

He shook his head no.

She clutched her chest and said, “You? Nalzambor’s greatest hero? I’m shocked.”

His muscles pulsed under his scales. He’d fought plenty of battles but didn’t recall watching many.

Eyeing the warriors and leaning forward, he said, “Tell me about this.”

“Once a year,” she said, “a champion arises from a group of warriors who all want to prove they are the greatest fighter. They come from all over.”

“It seems brutal. And only once a year in this oversized yard?”

“Now Nath,” she said, “the arena isn’t always used for fighting. The people of Narnum are more sophisticated than that. They have jousts and concerts most of the time. But this time of the year is special.”

Nath recalled hearing some of the women he’d known blabbering about it before, but he never paid it any mind. Soldiers were tossing helmets, gauntlets, and shields over the wall into the arena. Some of the brawlers were picking them up. Others were ignoring the soldiers. That’s when the name-calling started going back and forth.

“What are the rules?”

“At my word, or yours perhaps, they’ll rush into the middle and beat one another until only the last fighter is standing.”

There were big men in there. Bigger than Nath in some cases. Others were smaller. Lean and muscular. The bug bears and gnolls had muscles up to their necks.

“People will die,” he said.

“Only if they don’t submit. And there is no shame in submitting,” she said, taking a goblet of wine a serving girl offered her. “They can even fight again next year if they want.” She chuckled. “Assuming they’ve recovered.”

“People will die,” he said again. “I see no way around that.”

“It’s their choice. Warriors wage war. It gives their life meaning.”

With that, Nath agreed. He’d been around enough fighters to understand their way of life. But a mad dash for a pile of clubs? By the look of things, skulls would be crushed. Except for the dwarves’.

Still, Nath’s blood was charged.

“So, what does the winner receive?” he said.

“I’ll let that be a surprise.” She nodded to one of her acolytes. He motioned to another, and a moment later, brass horns trumpeted. The crowd sat down and fell silent.

Selene rose from her chair and said to Nath, “Stand up and say it for them.”

Slowly he came to his feet and said, “Say what for them?”

“Say, ‘Let the battle royale begin’,” she said, “and use your dragon voice. Say it with some flare.”

Caught up in the moment, Nath raised his arms over his head and shouted with his power,

“LET THE BATTLE ROYALE COMMENCE!”

CHAPTER 30

It was a mad dash to the middle. The smaller, quicker warriors arrived first, snatched up clubs of metal and wood, pooled their forces, and started swinging. Three men, wiry and lean, clubbed down a lizardman and an orc in seconds.

Nath clenched his fists.

“Yes!”

He hadn’t considered that the smaller warriors would form teams and take it to the bigger threats.

“You
like
this,” Selene said, keeping her eyes fixed on the games.

“I am a warrior.”

Clubs went up and down, banging off shields and metal helmets.

An orc broke a wooden club on a red-bearded dwarf’s head. The dwarf ripped the club away and dashed the brute across the knee. It teetered into a heap, and the dwarf whacked it into submission.

The fast, hard-fought spectacle ignited screeching cheers from the crowd.

Man fought gnoll.

Orc fought lizardman.

Women fought men.

Speed verses skill versus strength.

Four fell in the first seconds. Soldiers scrambled in, wearing yellow smocks draped over full armor. They dragged the wounded out by their arms and legs, but one man managed to walk on his own power, holding his broken arm by the elbow.

“Once you surrender, you cannot return,” Selene said, “but so long as you are in the arena, you are fair game. The games are merciful.”

Three warriors, two men and one woman who carried shields and swung clubs, hemmed in another warrior, a brute who swung two clubs like a wild man. He busted one man’s shield, knocking him to the ground, and caught a striking blow in his ribs by the woman.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

The club came down with wroth force on all three of them, splintering chips off her shield. She collapsed on her knees. The third warrior slammed his club into the back of the towering fighter’s knees, dropping him.

Sticks clattered on sticks with feverish madness.

The woman rolled out of harm’s way from a thunderous blow. She scrambled back to her feet and twisted behind the third fighter and slipped behind the brute.

Well played
, Nath thought.

The monster fighter didn’t see it coming. She clobbered him in the back of the skull. His clubs slipped from his fingertips. The pair of small men dashed him from knees to shoulder.

Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!

The frenzied crowd howled.

“Yield!” the brute cried from bloody lips. “Yield!”

The three warriors paused, conversed, and pounced back into the fracas.

Nath felt his blood churning in his veins. The fighters were rugged, hardy, and well-trained, all of them. They were fierce. Some showed compassion. Others did not.

A gnoll crushed a man’s helmet with a two-handed blow.

An orc had a long-haired woman in a choke hold.

They bit, they scratched, they smashed.

Wang!

A large man adorned in dark purple robes and wearing a helmet of iron clocked a gnoll in the head. Its body collapsed and shuddered. He slung the blood from his gauntlets and eased into the fray once more. The heavy-shouldered warrior caught a club in his armored hand, ripped it away from a lizardman, and struck.

Crack!

The lizardman crumpled and threw his arms up.

Crack!

The warrior broke his wrists and moved on.

“He’s quite the fighter,” Selene commented. “Size, skill, and speed.”

Nath’s eyes darted from battle to battle. Over a score of fighters had fallen and withdrawn, leaving less than a dozen. His fingers twitched.

“You want to jump in there, don’t you?” Selene said, sipping her wine.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” he said.

“So sure of yourself, are you?” she replied.

He glanced at her, then back in the arena.

“They might surprise you,” she added, “if things were a little more even. After all, you’ll still be here next year. Maybe we can make the stakes higher.”

He huffed a silent laugh. He’d battled and killed full-grown dragons. It was absurd to think one of those warriors could best him.

“Why? Next year do you plan to have dragons fighting dragons?”

“That would be interesting,” she said.

“That’s what poachers sell them for,” he said, glaring at her. “Being a dragon, you should be ashamed of what you say.”

She shrugged it off and said, “I say if they want to do it, as warriors, then let them. No one is making them do it. If you wanted to fight, wouldn’t you want me to let you?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he kept his eyes intent on the battle in the arena. Iron Helm held the dwarf down by the neck and hammered into his ribs. It stirred Nath’s blood. Dwarves never yielded, whether you were beating them to death or not. The battered dwarf struggled to rise, only to be beaten down again by the superior foe until it moved no more.

The three warriors walloped a pair of orcs that had been fighting as a team. A swift clattering of sticks disarmed the dismayed orcs, and another succession of blows drove them to their hands and knees. Knotted and bruised, covered in dirt and sweat, hairy chests heaving, the pair feigned surrender and tossed dirt into the eyes of the three aggressors and pounced.

The crowd went wild, pumping their fists up at the sun.

One of the team of three warriors went down under the weight of the two orcs. His head slammed into the ground. The orcs stomped and kicked him. The warrior curled up under his shield, screaming for help. The woman charged, ramming her shield into the back of one orc and barreling him over. A swift strike of her club caught him in the chin, knocking him out cold. She whirled back towards the remaining orc.

She’s a fine fighter. All three are.

The warrior on the ground wrapped his arms around the second orc’s legs. The second warrior wailed on the orc with his club until it pleaded for mercy.

Thunder boomed, startling the crowd. The skies darkened. Drizzling rain came.

“They’ll be fighting in the mud soon enough,” Selene said, holding out her hand to feel the rain. “I like this weather. It’s so … soothing.”

It could have been raining buckets, and Nath would not have noticed. His eyes were glued on the conflict. Amidst the moans and groans, only four fighters were left standing: the large robed man in the iron helm, and the three crafty warriors, one of which, a man, was limping. Shields raised and clubs ready, they surrounded the larger fighter and barked commands to each other.

Interesting
, Nath thought,
if they defeat this goon, they’ll have to battle one another
. Nath rested his chin on his knuckles.
Humph.

The rain came a little harder, plittering off the three warriors’ metal helmets. In perfect synchronization, they advanced. They struck.

Cat quick, Iron Helm caught a club of the flanking men in each mailed hand. The woman, in the middle, smote him in the chest with a thud. In a heave, Iron Helm twisted the clubs from the men and slung them to the ground. He drove his boot into the woman’s gut, knocking her off her feet.

The crowd exploded. The big warrior was fast.

Too fast,
Nath thought.

The warriors scrambled over the muddy dirt, snatched more clubs off the ground, and charged.

Wood clocked off wood. Iron Helm parried, deflected, and countered. Clubs licked out, popping him in the arms, knees and legs. The woman rapped on his helmet with a metal rod, clanging it like a bell. The mighty fighter waded through it all. His blows became fierce. Harder. The three warriors’ chests were heaving now. They looked back and forth at one another. It was fatal.

Iron Helm attacked the limping man, drumming him all over with his mighty clubs. Snakes couldn’t have struck faster.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

The man crumpled.

A blistering series of blows rained down on Iron Helm’s backside. He spun, grabbed the nearest man’s arms, jerked him off the ground, pushed him over his head, and slammed him head first into the ground.

“Ooooooooooh,” the ignited crowd said.

Iron Helm was a giant compared to the woman. Her shoulders sagged, and her arms were shaking. Slowly, she raised her sticks up.

“She should yield,” Selene said, leaning back, “don’t you think?”

It would be wise
, Nath thought. Be he didn’t see it happening. She’d fought harder than anybody.

“Someone once told me, ‘The best surprises come in small packages,’” he said.

Iron Helm dropped his clubs and beckoned the woman with his metal fingers.

She let out a battle cry and charged. Her clubs slammed into his ribs. His fingers locked around her throat and hoisted her off the ground. With his free hand, he ripped her helmet off.

The crowd gasped.

She was dark-haired and pretty, but one eye was missing. She kicked at Iron Helm’s chest. His grip was a vice, and her skin began to purple. Life drained from her face.

Selene leaned towards Nath and said, “You were saying?”

Nath’s jaw muscles tensed.

“He should release her!” he said to Selene, astounded.

“She hasn’t pleaded. She hasn’t withdrawn.”

“She can’t speak. He holds her by the neck.”

Selene leaned back in her chair and said, “There are no rules against that.”

Nath rose to his feet, watching the woman slap at Iron Helm’s arms.

“She’s tapping his arms. That’s a submission!”

“She’ll be well remembered,” Selene said, looking at her nails. “A funeral. Flowers, perhaps.”

“This isn’t a death match! End this!”

“Mercy!” someone screamed.

“Release her!” shouted another.

“If you won’t stop it, I will!”

Selene shrugged.

Nath turned to leap into the arena. The woman stopped flailing. Heart sinking into his toes, he fell down into his seat.

Crack!

CHAPTER 31

“You are a monster,” Nath said to Selene. “A monster.”

“Oh come now. She died with honor. And with a bad eye, she didn’t have much to live for.” Selene huffed. “Nath, I didn’t kill her. That warrior did. Perhaps you should speak to him about it.”

The emptiness inside him stirred. His claws dug into the arms of his chair.

“But first,” Selene said, “we must honor the champion.” She rose from her seat and quieted the crowd with her arms. Heavy drops of rain pelted her face.

Nath’s eyes were fixed on the warrior woman’s broken form, lying still in the mud.

She didn’t deserve that.
His scaly biceps flexed.
But he does.

“Champion!” Selene said. “You have won the Battle Royale. Your skills are without equal. And now, anything in the city is within your grasp. Fame. Fortune. Notoriety. An army of your own men to lead, perhaps.”

Boots sinking into the mud, the warrior came forward and stood before the thrones. The eyes behind the helmet leered at Nath and focused back on Selene.

“High Priestess,” the champion said. His voice was gruff and throaty. “I do not desire any of those things.”

“Then what is it you wish?” she said.

“I want to fight Nath Dragon … to the death!”

The silent crowd ruptured in howls and cheers.