Venture Unleashed (The Venture Books) (12 page)

Venture was determined to tear into him like there was no tomorrow, and that was just what he did, winning with a choke in just over two minutes. Then he faced a fierce opponent, Carter, his friend from Warrior’s Way. That match dragged on and on, while Carter took his time, wearing Venture down with one painful leg kick after another. Venture could barely stand when the right hook came smashing into his nose, sending an explosion of pain through his face. He held his hands up protectively, but the blows kept coming.

He had to do something. He couldn’t lose. He got one jab in, and another, and managed to close the distance, to lock up with his arms around Carter. He was safe there, too close to strike. And he could take Carter down from there, he knew it. He spat out a mouthful of blood so that he could breathe. And then—the whistle blew.

Why? Carter let go and gave him a slap on the back. Venture blinked at the official. He was ending the match. Venture looked to his bench. Earnest. Earnest had done it; it was written all over his face. He’d surrendered on his behalf, and his first Championship was over, just like that.

Venture snatched a towel from Earnest’s hands and pressed it against his gushing nose. He followed Earnest into one of the back rooms intended for the finalists’ privacy between tomorrow’s matches and slid down to the floor with his sweaty back against the wall, glaring at his trainer.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s broken, and you know it.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Justice wouldn’t have known that,” he spat through the blood, rising to his feet again.

“Look, we’ll talk about it later, when you’ve got some sense back. I’ll get the healer and get you fixed up.”

“How could you do this to me, Earnest!”

In his imagination Venture wadded up the blood-soaked towel, hurled it at Earnest’s face, and threw in a curse for good measure. In reality he turned his back on Earnest, unable to even look at him. Now, even more than a few minutes ago, he could win another fight, broken nose or not. A living outlet for his frustration was just what he needed.

After the healer had come and done his work and gone, Venture lay down on the floor, holding a bundle of ice to his face. His nose had been pushed back into place with an agonizing crack. The inner rush of excitement was wearing off, the throbbing reality setting in. He knew Earnest was right. His nose was swelling shut; he couldn’t breathe through it. Even if he could’ve fought and won with a badly broken nose, the injury had happened because he was getting sloppy from exhaustion, unable to effectively defend himself. Justice wouldn’t have approved. It might have been the end of his fighting career until he turned nineteen. But his disappointment was too deep for him to admit that to Earnest.

“You’d better go watch the rest of the competition with Dash,” he said instead. At least Dasher had the sense to know when he wanted to be left alone.

Venture was sitting up on a wooden bench, leaning his weary head against the wall, when Earnest returned.

“You should be proud,” he said, with no shortage of his own pride. “No one could’ve expected you to come this far.”

“I expected to go farther. I didn’t even know it, but I did.”

“That’s why I came after you,” Earnest said quietly. “When you were at Champions. You always expect more.”

“So do you. You always expect more from me.”

Earnest gave his shoulder a gentle push. “You think you could keep that in mind next time I pull you out?”

Venture smiled, even though it hurt. “I’d rather make sure you never have to make a call like that again.”

Venture gripped the edge of the bench. He’d promised Earnest he would keep his mouth shut, stay absolutely silent, so as not to distract Dasher during this, his final match, against Will Fisher.

As Dasher dominated Will, the crowd stood and shouted for him. The attacks came swifter, fiercer, crisper, Dasher’s love of the action growing with the spectators’ enthusiasm. Then Fisher was caught around the waist in Dasher’s clenching grip, and Dasher lifted, turned, and swept Fisher’s foot at the same time, bringing him down to the mat with a great smack and a roar from the crowd. This was not where Fisher wanted to be, and everyone knew it. No one wanted to be on the ground with Dasher Starson on top, but Fisher especially preferred to fight standing up, to knock his opponent off his feet with a left hook, preferably to knock him out.

Yet he wasn’t so stupid as to neglect training in groundwork in favor of his preference for striking. He worked well from his back, grasping the back of Dasher’s neck, maneuvering him with his feet, swinging a leg over Dasher’s head, nearly in position to choke him between his powerful thighs. But as Fisher reached for his own foot to tighten the hold of his legs, Dasher grabbed that arm and kept it, swinging his way free.

Venture could hardly keep the cheers contained in his chest as he watched Dasher reverse the superior position Fisher had momentarily held and pull him into position for an armlock. Dasher lifted Fisher’s hairy, thick arm further, further back. Fisher tried to wrest his way free, but he was stuck.

“There you go, Dash. Lock it up. Lock it up tight,” Earnest said. “Keep that pressure on. Give him more, Dash! Break it! Break it if he won’t tap!”

There was a last, brief pause Dasher gave his rival out of generosity, a whisper of a moment just before the breaking point, when Will Fisher ought to have tapped the mat frantically. But the tap didn’t come, and so the very next instant came with a snap and the official’s cry for Dasher to release him. Fisher’s arm hung at an unsightly angle, but he didn’t cry out, just sweated anew and paled.

A broken limb was as good as a surrender. Dasher had won.

“He’s done it! Once again, Dasher Starson has defeated his former teammate and former champion, Will Fisher, for the title!” shouted the announcer.

Venture leaped up from the bench with Earnest, who shouted, “Yes, yes!” and embraced him.

The dark stubble on Fisher’s round head sparkled with perspiration and his arm dangled sickeningly at his side, yet he stared at Dasher piercingly, willfully, with bloodshot blue eyes. Dasher, glowing with effort and victory, met Will’s stare with a knowing smile. The official stood between the pair, prepared to raise his hand in the winner’s direction, but before he could, Dasher lifted his own arm, streaked with sweat and blood.
I am the winner
, his gesture said. The crowd roared even louder, a noise beyond sound, more of a shaking of walls and floor and even the earth below. Dasher Starson loved the crowd, and they loved him back. He was their champion still.
 

But before he waved to the crowd, Dasher went to Venture and Earnest and gave them both a squeeze.

“Beautiful work,” Earnest said. “Let’s hope that arm’s never the same again.”

“Will doesn’t know the difference between determination and stubbornness,” Dasher said. He waved to the crowd as he walked with Venture and Earnest to the room set aside for the Champion to rest and change.
 

“Vent,” Earnest said, “I’d better not ever see you show a man of Fisher’s caliber such mercy. You ever get in a position like that, you go ahead and rip his arm off faster than he can blink, let alone tap.”
 

“He’s right, Champ. And Will deserves mercy least of all. But I gave him no more than I could afford.”
 

Earnest shook his head emphatically.

“I knew he wouldn’t surrender. And knowing I gave him that chance makes the win even sweeter. There’s no question I was in total control, the better fighter and the better man.”
 

“Risky,” Earnest muttered. “Since when is the Championship about who’s the better man?”

“Only slightly risky.” Dasher grinned. “And it usually isn’t about being the better man. But Fisher’s such a dirty fighter and a disgrace of a winner it makes me want to beat him being a better man. And you just wait. You’ll have your hands full arguing that point with our Champ here.”

“If we’re not careful, one day that kind of thinking is going to cost him.”

“I’m still here,” Venture said.

“That’s the price you pay for tagging along with the Champion of All Richland, Vent,” Earnest said. “You get to share your trainer with him, and listen to us bicker about you.”

“I guess you’re going to make me celebrate with you now, too.”

“Oh, yes. Earnest hasn’t done his job very well training you in that area. I think I’m going to have to take over for him.”
 

When Venture glanced back at Dasher, his smile disappeared. Parker was standing right there. He leaned close to Dasher and pointed his finger in his face.

“You’d better make sure that kid never wins the title, or it’ll be the end of this for all of us—the last nail in the coffin the Cresteds are already building for our sport.”

Venture tensed, but before he could make a move to remind Parker what he could do to him, he felt a firm squeeze on his shoulder from Earnest. He was the first bondsman to compete in the Championship. He couldn’t afford any trouble.

“Venture Delving is exactly what this sport needs, exactly what this country needs,” Dasher said, “whether the Cresteds like it or not. If you ever so much as speak to him again, you’re going to pay. And if anything happens to him, I’m coming after you, understand, Parker?” Parker shrank back from Dasher’s touch and his threat, and Dasher straightened up. “Come on, Champ, let’s go celebrate my Championship and your future.”

Dasher bought everyone supper at Regal’s Respite House—Earnest, Venture, Justice, and a crowd of friends, who packed into one of the inn’s dining rooms. The table was heaped with roast beef, baked ham, fried vegetables, fresh fruit, and pastries. The smell amplified the aching emptiness of Venture’s stomach, but there was little hope of filling it. It hurt his nose every time he moved his jaw.

Venture said nothing about the pain, just sat and listened to the others recount the day, but Earnest noticed; Venture knew it from the way he looked at him, from the way he pretended not to notice. To Venture’s great appreciation, his fighting friends saved the jokes, jabs, and commiseration about it, no doubt because Justice was there.

“Champ,” Dasher said, “It’s hot in here. Let’s go get some air.”

Venture was glad to follow him out to one of the gardens behind the inn, where he could groan in pain and sink onto a cool stone bench and lean his head on the wall.

Dasher stood and put a hand on the wall next to him. “It hurts everywhere, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Dasher paused as though he had some thing important—or difficult—to say. “So now you know what it’s like, what you’re going to have to keep going through . . .”

“You think I should quit?” Had his performance really looked that bad to Dasher? Dasher, who’d always believed in him?

Dasher laughed. “No, that’s not what I was getting at. I’m retiring,” he said casually, as though it were no big deal.
 

“What do you mean, retiring? You’re too young.”

“But I’m done.”

“You’re going back to your family?”

Dasher put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not leaving you. Yesterday, that was an incredible performance. It made me realize it’s time for me to retire now, not in another year or two. If I coach you full-time, next year, you’ll have a real shot at winning this thing.”

“Come on, Dash, of course I want you to coach me, but this is crazy. You’ve got another one in you. I’ll give it another shot next year, but win it?”

“I’ve won four Championship titles. I’ll quit while I’m ahead. And yes, you can win it.”

“I’m not ready for this. I don’t know what I’m doing the way you do. The way those other guys do.”

“You’re a smart guy. You underestimate your ability to strategize. Besides, that’s where we come in. You know Earnest will do his job keeping your head in the fight, putting you back together if you start falling apart. He always knows what to tell you to get you to keep going, to reach deeper for that extra something you always seem to have stashed away. And this time I’ll be able to give coaching you my full attention. With Earnest, and with all of your strengths, plus my mat sense, even the best of them won’t be able to stop you.”

“It’s not right. You’re the better fighter.”

“You’ll be just as good as me before you know it. Better than me when it’s all said and done.”

“If you sit out next year for me and I fail—I’m a long-shot and you’re favored to win, and Calling behind you. It just doesn’t make sense. Are you doing this because of the things they say, because they’re going to outlaw the Championship? Because this might be my last chance?”

Dasher shook his head. “The next Championship isn’t going to be the last. I don’t believe that.”

Venture still wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t willing to insult his friend with any further argument either. That must be it. Dasher was stepping aside because next year could be his only shot, whether he was ready for it or not. The last time he’d been in this kind of situation, trying to place high enough in the Youth Western Quarter Championship, even though he was too young and inexperienced, he’d barely made it. And this was no youth competition. Venture shrugged it off. This wasn’t going to be his only chance. Whatever Dasher’s reasons, he’d made his decision and Venture was going to make the best of it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next afternoon, Venture, Dasher, and Earnest left Regal’s to find someplace less crowded to eat, for Regal’s was still swarming with fighters and hangers-on. They would stay in Founders Rock another couple of days to rest up and buy some supplies. Justice, who couldn’t be away from work for long, had gone back home.

As he reached the sidewalk in front of the inn, Venture felt someone tug on his sleeve. Venture jerked his arm away with an instinctive, skillful swiftness and turned around, ready for a fight. There were all sorts of drunken men wandering around after the big event, looking for trouble. But the culprit was merely a dirty little boy. Startled by Venture’s response, the boy stumbled back a step. Instead of running away, he straightened up. Nervous and visibly struggling for courage, he shook his greasy blond hair out of his face.