Damsel Indeed

5. The Prize

It had taken a whole ten minutes to quiet the crowd after the bloodbath. It was nearly an execution, really. To her secret delight, it couldn't have been helped anyway. It cut the fight short, as Feichner would have only gained momentum and prolonged the fight had she not cut him short. It also had a fifty fifty chance of making the second champion withdraw, which only helped her reserve her energy.

Merit stood aloof to the commotion and cries for her disqualification. But there was nothing in the rules suggesting that even killing was anathema. It was a sobering draught to the masses that they were indeed at a gathering of thieves and murderers. They eventually watched with quiet murmuring and anticipation.

The master of ceremonies approached her with the suave and polished looking Tremolo. His pale golden hair shining in the sun, his velvet cape draping majestically down his shoulders. He was the picture of posh.

"Merit, I can't say I'm surprised. Obviously I'd like to congratulate ya and shake yer hand, but the crowd is a bit... Anyway, let's try for a cleaner fight this time, aye? From both of ya."

Silver green eyes met hers and a shiver went down her spine.

This man reminded her of Eckles. A snake in human skin. Saying pretty words even as he slipped poison into your wine. He even shared a vague resemblance to him about his mouth.

All pleasant smiles hiding his true nature.

"Of course, what else would you expect, Flynn?"

The eye patch moved up with the little man's brow. He shook his head, muttering to himself as he left them to it. He turned back for a second to give Merit a meaningful look.

It was a warning.

Watch your back.

The lithe looking gentleman raised his sword and tapped hers, signaling his willingness to begin. Merit stood with her stance unguarded, her blade out to the side. She merely stepped back and nodded to him.

He struck first.

And he was fast.

The cutting edge sliced through the suede of her tunic though she'd backed away enough it would not touch her. He advanced with a teasing face and a disturbed look in his eyes. The spectators all began to gasp at the fight that was unfolding.

Or rather...wasn't.

Merit did not raise her sword even to guard.

He came quicker, frustration in his face deepening as she dodged each stroke of the blade. His smile turned sinister as he lunged for her retreating form. She kept her mind on her foot work, and her eyes on his.

It was quickly becoming clear to the crowd that even though their masked contender and favorite did not attack, last year's champion could not touch them.

"Merit, Merit, Merit... Am I not a worthy enough opponent for you that you do not fight me?"

He struck out over and over, wheeling and slicing at her. Still, nothing. Then all at once Merit ducked in close and tripped him, enough she had time to speak.

"I'm simply giving our audience the clean fight that was asked for."

She spun out in time that he couldn't touch her. And the crowd roared.

Anger.

Pure anger filled Tremolo's face as he went for the throat. For anyone slower, it would have decapitated them instantly. But she dodged and was quickly behind him.

"Clean? Clean? Fighting is never clean. There's always filth behind every move."

He kicked out and hit her knee, her body going down with a thud as he dared to skewer her to the earth. She rolled out of it just in time, but her arm was cut. The crowd gasped together. She was bleeding.