As soon as the ring was cleared, the Redwolf guards took up positions spaced evenly around the battleground. Each of them turned their bladed pike to a horizontal position, and then passed the tip end of it to the guard on his left. When the synchronized maneuver was finished, each soldier had the butt end of his own spear in his left hand, and the business end of his neighbor’s spear in his right. The pike shafts created a waist high rail that was intended to keep the pressing onlookers out of the fray.
There were very few rules to the Brawl. The main rule was that were no weapons that were to be used by the brawlers. Other than that, it was a battle to the death, unless one of the fighters yielded, or was incapacitated due to unconsciousness, or severe injury. Once a fighter yielded, the other man couldn’t continue to beat on him. If a fighter went down, and lay still for any length of time, he could not be molested until he made it back to his feet. Biting, eye gouging, hair pulling, and blows below the belt, were sometimes booed by the crowd, but were all legal maneuvers.
A hush fell over the crowd as the two combatants began to slowly circle around each other. When his back was to them, Hyden saw that Bludgeon’s tattoos formed the skeletal shape of a winged creature, whose skull and beak climbed over the top of the man’s head. Its wings and body spread out across his back, the wing tips reached around the back of his arms to his elbows. When Bludgeon’s arms were held at his side, the wings looked to be pulled back, as if the creature were in a dive. When he threw out his arms to dart in at the Lion Lord, it looked as if the tattooed skeleton was spreading out its wings to take flight.
Bludgeon attacked first, feigning a grappling hold, and then throwing a looping right handed punch. The Westland Lion leaned back, letting the huge fist pass a hair’s breadth in front of his determined face. Then he ducked under with his head down, throwing a thundering flurry of blows to the bigger man’s gut. It sounded like a butcher’s tenderizing hammer, smashing into a thick slab of fresh meat. The Seaward Monster roared and flexed his body. He growled at the crowd, as he took each and every punch without faltering. Then, he brought both his fists down like war hammers into Lord Gregory spine, and sent the Lion Lord to his knees.
Gerard jumped to his feet, shouting his approval with thousands of others. At the moment, Hyden thought that his brother might have made a good bet. He only hoped that the steadily rocking scaffold they were perched on would hold until the fight was over. Already, it was rumbling and swaying more than he would’ve liked.
Lord Gregory seemed stunned, but only for a heartbeat. He lunged forward from his lower position, into Bludgeon’s knees, and lifted the big man’s feet clear of the ground. The thump of the Seawardsman’s body when he slammed flat onto his back, into the trampled grass, caused an audible gasp from the crowd. The onlooker’s collective intake of breath sounded in perfect unison with the whooshing exhale from the Monster. Since Bludgeon was still moving around on the ground, the Lion Lord didn’t hesitate to pounce. He leapt to the big man’s waist, straddled him, and began throwing violent hammer blows at his opponent’s head. Left and right, left and right, over and over, he pounded, to the cheers of the Westlanders in the crowd. Lord Gregory’s shoulders rolled with the force of his blows, and soon his hands were slinging blood.
Just when it began to look hopeless, Bludgeon somehow managed to heave, and bring a knee up into the Lion Lords back. With a scream of fury, he took advantage of the moment of imbalance, twisted, and rolled out from under the Lion, then staggered to his feet.
His face was a bloody mess. Already, one of his eyes was swollen closed. The white of his other eye was as red as the blood pouring out of the gaping gash above his brow. His nose and lips were battered flat, and a tooth was missing from his jaw. A triumphant cheer exploded from the groups of Westland spectators when they saw him.
“Come on Bludgeon!” Gerard yelled down at his fighter. His voice was but one of thousands urging the big man on. He glanced nervously at Hyden, who was already looking at him worriedly. They both cringed in unison and shared that old excited, anything can happen, look. Hyden turned back to the fight and yelled for Bludgeon to “Stomp the Lion!” Gerard joined in the call as the Seawardsman attempted another attack.
Bludgeon stepped in, just like he had the first time, throwing that same looping right handed punch that had missed. This time, when Lord Gregory leaned back to slip the blow, the Monster took another step forward and kicked out hard. His heavy boot hit the Lion Lord square in the chest, with such force, that the Westlander’s hands slapped his boot tips in midair as he was launched backwards. A cheer and a sympathetic “Oooh!” swept through the mass of people simultaneously when Lord Gregory crashed into the ground in a heap. He tried to roll to his feet, but ended up clutching his chest and yelling out in anguish. Bludgeon saw his chance and dove in at him.
Momentarily satisfied that his wager was safe, Gerard scanned the edges of the fighting circle for Shaella. If Bludgeon went on to win the fight, there would surely be a celebration. He wanted to be there to see her, to taste her lips again. He wanted to tell her that he was going to go with them to the Dragon’s Tooth Spire. In his mind’s eye, he had seen her betray him there, while the old crone had been telling him his future, but he knew in his heart that he could change that outcome. If he could make her love him, then there would be no betrayal. And if that didn’t work, he knew he could always use the ring to keep her from it. The other things he’d seen happen in that black rocky cavern were dark and grand, and far too tempting to resist. He pondered those vexing thoughts while he searched for Shaella. He looked at the faces, but didn’t see her again. He did, however, see a face that commanded his full attention.
“There Hyden! There!” Gerard pointed down at a person standing between the farthest two Redwolf guards that formed the pike rail.
“What are you pointing at?” Hyden was fully focused on the Brawl and glad that his brother seemed to be winning his bet. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“The witch that bought our eggs!” Gerard yelled, as he shook his finger towards the fighters below. “That woman, over there, with the whistle! She’s the one that tricked father and I this morning!”
Hyden looked around, and found her at the very edge of the pike rail. His focus zoomed in on her unexpectedly, causing his head to spin. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. She looked close enough to touch now. The wild visual shift was unnerving, but he didn’t let it distract his mind. He wanted to know what this woman was about. It wasn’t a whistle she held to her mouth. Was it a flute? A strange kind of smoking pipe maybe? What was it?
Suddenly, she paused, and looked up directly at the boys. It was as if she had sensed them staring at her across the great distance that separated them. Hyden swallowed hard when he saw her eyes. There were no whites at all, just jet black orbs that chilled his blood to the bone.
“Charm me will ya?” he heard Gerard say. He knew, without even looking, what his brother was about to do.
The witch jerked her head up a fraction and locked her eerie gaze on some other part of the crowd for a moment. Hyden realized what the tubular item in her hand was then. Her attention returned to the fight, and she put the thing to her mouth, and pointed it at the entangled combatants. Hyden watched on helplessly as she took in a deep breath and blew into the tube with a burst of force. A look of shock crossed her face then, and she twisted her black eyes up at Gerard, but Hyden didn’t see the gesture. He was looking at the tiny little needle dart protruding out of Lord Gregory’s shoulder. His attention was drawn from the dart when Gerard elbowed him excitedly, but not before he saw the Westland Lion swat the thing away into the trampled grass.
A gasping sound, as the entire crowd drew in a breath at the exact same moment, resounded again when the little witch ducked under the pike rail and stepped into the fighting circle. One of the Redwolf guards snatched at her robe and spun her, but she screamed out with wide, terrible eyes, causing the guardsmen to take a step back. The whole crowd fell silent then. Even the brawlers stopped, as the witch started spinning in a blurring circle, howling out with rage in a voice that was far from human. When she stopped spinning, she was no longer a woman. Instead, a child-sized, red-scaled devil stood there. It hissed and snarled, its dead eyes looking at Gerard. Then, it leapt into the air and flew away on thumping leathery wings.
Both fighters had staggered to their feet, and we’re looking up at the wild little creature, as it disappeared into the darkened sky. After few moments of bewildered silence, the battle slowly resumed.
By the smug look of satisfaction on Gerard’s face, Hyden knew his brother had caused the witch to step into the circle and reveal herself. He wondered if Gerard knew that the witch had put a dart that was most likely poisoned into the Lion Lord. No, he reasoned, Gerard wouldn’t have brought attention to the witch had he known that she was doing something that would ensure Bludgeon a victory. The idea that Shaella had something to do with it crossed Hyden’s mind though. He scanned the crowd for her, and noticed that his eyes were still focusing extremely sharp for some strange reason. Shaella was nowhere to be seen. He dismissed her, as he noticed the Lion Lord faltering. The Westland fighter was stumbling to and fro, like a drunkard trying to keep his balance. He wasn’t giving up the fight though, even though the bigger man was having his way with him. The lion was battered and bloody now, and taking sledge hammer blows to the neck and to the side of his head. In the middle of one such flurry, he slumped forward, put his hands on his knees, and heaved for breath.
The giant Seawardsman was breathing as hard as a forge bellows, but, he stood alert and ready to continue the pounding he was giving. He spoke a few words to Lord Gregory, asking him if he was ready to surrender yet, but no answer came. The Western Lord only swayed a little to one side, as if he were about to topple over. With a look of regret, tinged with sadness and frustration, the man known as the Seaward Monster took a quick step forward, and kicked up at the Lion Lord’s face with all he had. He was going to end it here.
As quick as a flash of lightning, the Lion rose up, letting Bludgeon’s foot glance off of his pectoral muscles. He twisted his entire body in place, and came around from the spin, with sickening speed and force. The back of his clenched fist cracked into the Seawardsman’s temple with a crunch of breaking bones that was heard over the din of the crowd. The Monster was left stumbling and dazed, unconscious on his feet.
Lord Gregory fell then, the poison had completely stolen his equilibrium. Face first, he went into the ground. The Seaward Monster stumbled as well, but, he caught himself. He reared back his head and let out a brutally primal roar. When the chilling sound subsided, the whole place was deathly quiet. Bludgeon bent over forward, and spat out a long, slimy string of thick, crimson muck. When he rose back up, his hands went reflexively to his grossly misshapen head, as if to feel if it was still there. Then, he too fell, face first towards the ground. It was nothing more than random chance that caused him to land right on top of the Western Lion’s poison saturated body.
After the Brawl, the night’s excitement ended abruptly for Hyden. Gerard followed him back to the clan’s bonfire, which was relatively deserted at this late hour. A lot of other clansmen had attended the Brawl, but they were either still out among the crowds, or had already retired for the night.
Hyden presented Gerard with the pair of expensive horsehide boots he bought for him earlier in the day. Gerard thanked him, and gave him a long hug of appreciation, and then begged off, saying that he needed to go collect his winnings. Hyden figured that he just didn’t want to face their father, or any of the Elders, with his decision to leave yet.
Hyden didn’t mind Gerard’s departure. He was tired and his eyes ached. He still had to compete against that blasted elf in the morning, and he couldn’t get to bed until he cared for the hungry hawkling chick that he had neglected all evening.
He took the nest bucket from his tent and carried it over to the dying bonfire. The chick ate greedily, and Hyden saw that its eyes had finally cleared.
The memory of the old crone’s prophecy, and of his eyes zooming in on the tiny dart that the little witch-devil had shot into Lord Gregory’s shoulder came to him. His stomach knotted and churned, and he sat down hard in a cross-legged hunch.
He finished feeding the bird, and scooped it out of the bucket gently. He put it in his lap and began stroking its new feathers with his finger.
The feathers were brown, with traces of red and silver running through them. In the dim fire glow, they seemed to hold an illumination of their own. The bird’s beak and head had taken shape as well, but all in all, the little hawkling was still no bigger than Hyden’s hand.
“Are you really a gift from the gods?” Hyden wondered aloud.
As if in response, the young bird fluttered its wings and managed to fly a few feet. It didn’t land well. It toppled sideways on a half open wing and made a little shriek of pain, or maybe it was frustration, after righting itself. It turned around then, and leapt from the trampled ground. With a quick double flap of its wings, it flew back to Hyden, and landed almost gracefully on his knee. Hyden had to chuckle, for the bird seemed to be puffing out its chest, proud of the accomplishment.
Hyden stroked the back of its head with one finger, and put the index finger of his other hand out before it. Somehow, the bird understood his intent and stepped onto the offered perch. Hyden marveled at how strong its tiny claws gripped him.
“I suppose the gods didn’t name you yet, did they?” Hyden whispered. “Your tail feathers haven’t lengthened enough for me to tell if you’re male or female. We need a name that will suit you either way.”
The hawkling cooed at him, then dug its claws into his finger deeply. Instinctively, Hyden yanked his hand away, and shook it. The bird flapped and fluttered back to the ground awkwardly.