L.E.Y. 3150
Pertuli.
"Suns, it's hot in here," I complained, tugging at the starched ruff around my neck.
"Relax, 'Tuli," Koray chided. "It can't be helped with so many bodies; Tortelli's is normally comfortable throughout the year."
"Forgive me," I grumbled with forgivable petulance, "if I prefer to obtain my daily ration of body heat in an entirely different manner..." I scooted a little closer to our lovely chaperone to avoid sharing contact filth with a human acne farmer on my right. "...and from better sources."
"You're forgiven," smirked Tyella, who playfully jostled me back. "Need some perfume for your friend there?"
My eyes widened with hope. "Do you have any?" I asked.
"Elders, no!" She laughed. "But your face just now was priceless!"
"Keep your guard up!" Kor yelled abruptly, startling me and drawing my attention reluctantly back to the fight.
It raged in an iron cage, beyond seven paces of tightly packed, loudly cheering, human and dwarven flesh. To describe the throng as the 'unwashed masses' would be like styling myself 'confident,' or calling Tyella merely 'fair.' That is to say, a criminal use of understatement.
Happily, we were entrenched with the more properly funded of the crowd, on seating above and apart from the bullpen. Money, in a place like this, offered distinct advantages. Unfortunately these benefits were offset by the low fog of lamp smoke stinging my eyes and scratching my throat. There seemed too little air. Few doors led into the chamber, and these were watched hawkishly by monstrous guards in thick leather bracers and iron collars, as if the management sought to keep the very air out, if it failed to pay for admittance.
Shoving through the crowd here and there (I shuddered; there wasn't enough soap in all the world...) were the men of wagers, taking coin and noting bets in heavy ledgers chained to their left wrists. They were doing a brisk business. The fight had been anticipated for months, with actual flyers posted throughout Connorton and along the waterfront where the king's men hadn't torn them down.
The current champion, Ivy "the Untamed Vine" was defending her tenuous title against a brute of a man called "the Pommel" who had worked his way up from the lower circuit. The fight wasn't going well for the tilwenna swordswoman. Fav Furgev, her opponent, was massive, fast, and had the constitution of a horse.
"He's favoring his right side!" Koray yelled, again letting us know he was watching the fight.
"Thank you," I complained with a few sarcastic blinks and wiggling a finger in my ear to stop the ringing. Koray, being Koray, had bet on the slip of a girl, trusting her perseverance and skill to beat back the Pommel's raw power. He was a sucker for the dark horse. I had bet on the human just to be contrary, and it looked like I stood to gain a number of scales. Tyella never took sides, but had kissed us both sweetly for good luck.
"But here is the classic case I'm always talking about," Kor said by way of apology. "If she were using a longer blade that was thinner to minimize the weight, her reach would be greater, and she wouldn't need to move about so much to keep his heavier but shorter weapon at bay. She could poke holes in this guy before he ever came within reach."
"Yes, yes," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "The rapier is the weapon to end all weapons, we know."
"You know I'm always up for testing a long weapon, Kor," Tyella teased, oblivious to the scandalized stares she drew. "Especially when a man knows how to handle it properly. But this isn't an ideal forum... Why not start a new fencing regimen in the guard and see how it goes?"
"In due course," he answered. "For now, these prize fights are a genuine opportunity to study new ideas for one-on-one combat. The prize fighters use a variety of weapons, and come with a more varied skillset than my typical recruits. Some have spent their entire lives in the syndicate's hands, doing nothing but training with exotic weapons and learning to put on a good show."
In the pit, a good show seemed the furthest thing from the tilwen girl's mind. Her opponent was beating her soundly, having scored on one of her arms, both legs, and a poke in the middle, all of which were bleeding profusely. She was beginning to slow, and without her tilwen speed, she had no hope.
"Is that why you aren't putting a stop to this?" I asked him, grimacing as the tilwen fighter took an elbow to the back of her head and staggered across the ring, dropping her sword. "For science? It's barbaric."
She raised her blade in both hands just in time to deflect an incoming attack. They circled each other, a wolf feeling out a cornered cat. She literally hissed at him, completing the image in my mind.
"They say she never loses because she refuses to be beaten," Koray breathed as I shook my head, his aquamarine eyes transfixed on his desperate champion. "Look at her determination—she's magnificent!"
"Careful, Kor," Tyella warned, "One might think you've taken a fancy to the girl... How many times have you seen her fight?"
"No sense getting too attached," I agreed. "Chances are she'll lose a limb in a drip or two, and I'll be five scales richer."
Kor didn't answer. He was too caught up in the excitement of the match to care about a handful of gold coins. I should have doubled my bet. I yawned noisily and stretched, until unexpectedly coming into contact with the porcine merchant next to me. I recoiled, and quietly retched, a little, in my mouth.
Seriously, does this guy ever bathe? I shuddered. It wasn't so much the smell—his particular malodor was difficult to distinguish from the low-hanging reek all around us. Rather, it was the sheen of sweat glistening from every convex feature that had me regretting my most recent meals.
I needed to divert myself from this putrid contemplation. I tried watching the match, but it was nearly as vile. The Untamed moved through the longsword forms well, which gave her the discipline she needed to block, counter, and then spin away from a clumsy attack, but her loss was inevitable.
Bored, my eyes wandered to Tyella instead.
There was a beauty to brighten even Tortelli's Cage. She had the classic 'Old Blood' coloration that some called 'noble'—snowy skin, platinum hair and indigo eyes—most common to the tilwen of Old Oak. Her features were delicate but toned, her long, lithe body belying her strength even more than most tilwen of a physical nature.
Tyella had a ready smile, a quick wit, and a voracious appetite for reading, folk music and ancient ballads that even a brief study at Tena Bard College had not satisfied. Yet, for all her pedigree, she also liked watching brutal, bloody fights with Kor. As irresistible as the drowning tide and beautiful as the sun that blinds you; that was Tyella.
"Get him!" She encouraged her sister in the ring.
She told us once, laughing at the antics of fighters in another bloody, lop-sided fight just like this one, that she loved Dragoskala. "It's the only place in all the world," she had said, "Where savages have become civilized enough to hold events where they can pretend to be savages again."
As a swordswoman, Ty was incredible. Possibly Koray's better, although I knew enough not to say so where he could hear. She wore her longsword most days, while Koray had begun championing the new Kadenite weapon, but they would go on and on for hours, arguing the merits of long and slim versus heavy and bladed, or the importance of cross guards of certain makes under various conditions.
"There!" Kor exclaimed. "Right there! If she had but another hand or two of steel, she could have had him with a thrust just now."
"He would have known that and taken it into account," She argued. "If she had a lighter sword, 'the Pommel' could attack her blade, beating it out of position every time, and follow up with thrusts or strikes with his guard."
"Not if she evaded the blows," he countered. "Quick thrusts would reach his arm or torso before he came within range every time."
There they go again. I didn't care about one point of view or the other, because both were right in their own way, but now and again I chimed in to keep the banter going. I was perfectly happy with a sword if it had a pointed end I could stick in an opponent, but Koray was passionate on the subject, and I could listen to them argue pointlessly for hours.
After long moments of staring, Tyella's violet eyes on mine startled me out of my reverie. I realized that, for some time, I had been watching the pleasing shapes her pink lips made while she smiled and cheered.
Her brow creased upward in amused inquiry, and in answer I gave her a rakish smile.
"Tyella, darling," I said with pronounced bravado to cover the awkwardness that had bubbled up between us. "This fight is so very tedious; clearly, my man is dragging it out. Come spend the night with me somewhere less filthy for a change."
Her musical laugh was mesmerizing, even at my expense.
"What, my falcon, and leave your date?" She asked, lifting her chin toward my glistening neighbor.
"Mm-hm," I agreed, played along. "We haven't found a thing in common. I'm clean, literate, and cultured and he—" I paused with a little wave in his general direction for dramatic effect "—is not."
"I see," she chuckled. "Well I would Pertuli, but I can hardly leave Koray here alone. We're madly in love right now, you see." She gave him a playful hug to demonstrate, rousing Koray from his distraction.
Koray, who I had thought to be ignorant of our little sidebar, turned and smiled at her. It was this silly grin of such hope and boyish pleasure—so incongruous on his normally serious face—that it made me laugh. I thought he might have been blushing too, although it was hard to tell in the gloom. He had heard her off-handed profession of love, and was positively beaming.
He had feelings for her, of course; such a thing could hardly have gone unnoticed. Tilwen lives were long and their loves many and frequent, so I didn't think much of it at the time. That look on his face was odd, though. It stayed with me through the years since, like a puzzle whose workings I just couldn't sort out.
She noticed the honest strength of his attention, and I perceived a hint of embarrassment in her eye, even as she took his face in one hand and kissed his cheek. Her demeanor reminded me of an elder who has been confronted by an imp who proudly declares he has discovered the meaning of Life or Love. There could be no polite response that wasn't wholly patronizing.
"Very well, love," I teased, to dissipate the tension. "Another night, perhaps."