Page 56 of Stalk the Sky

To distract herself, she turned to him. He bent over to put his ear closer to her level, and she all but shouted into his also thoroughly moss-plugged ear. “These fights are pretty brutal.”

Fieran turned to face her, also all but yelling to be heard. “Yes. But I’ve been told they are better than they used to be. My dacha and uncles tell stories of what the fighting bouts were like back in the day. Fully bladed weapons and lots of bloodshed. But Uncle Rharreth and Aunt Melantha have worked hard to tone down the fights into something somewhat safer that still fulfills the purpose of proving honor in troll society.”

“Seems like they’re just an excuse to get entertainment out of brutality.” Pip shuddered as the one troll went down after getting clubbed on the head. When he stayed down, the other troll was declared the victor.

“There’s a little of that.” Fieran paused as the injured troll was helped up the stands. “Well, maybe a lot of that. It’s saying something about what these fighting bouts used to be if this is an improvement on safety and levels of violence.”

Queen Melantha stood as the losing troll was brought to her. Her fingers glowed faintly green as she pressed them to the injured troll’s head.

“Still doesn’t seem wise to go beat each other up right before a major battle.” Pip shook her head. That troll probably had a concussion. Not something to be just brushed aside lightly.

“No, but that’s troll culture for you.” Fieran tipped his head toward his aunt, who appeared to be waving to Prince Sontar to add his own magic into the mix, likely so that the troll queen could train him as she healed. “Back in the day, there were no elf healers. Participants weren’t even allowed to seek medical attention until the fighting bouts were over. Convincing the troll warriors that seeking medical help right away was not a sign of weakness was one of the first things my aunt campaigned for. Or so I’ve been told. I was only a baby back then.”

The injured troll blinked and the pale cast to his gray skin eased. He stood and raised an arm, showing he was all right.

All the gathered troll warriors cheered, acknowledging a warrior who had lost bravely.

Pip winced at the noise. Even her good, magically enhanced elven earplugs weren’t fully cutting it.

The winning troll fought one more round before he declined to challenge anyone else, instead making his way back to the stands amid raucous cheers, stomping feet, and applause.

“The limits on how many rounds a winner has to fight and the ability to bow out of a fight and still retain honor was another thing Uncle Rharreth and Aunt Melantha changed.” Fieran’s warm breath tickled her ear. “Apparently my dacha was forced to fight an inordinate number of rounds at my Uncle Julien’s wedding, until Uncle Julien finally defeated him. Well, my dacha says Uncle Julien defeated him. Uncle Julien claims Dacha purposefully threw that fight and let him win.”

“Sounds like your large family gatherings are rather interesting.” Pip glanced at Fieran, though her gaze was drawn to the two dwarves who were now making their way into the center of the arena, both toting large war hammers and the round bucklers favored by dwarven warriors.

“They are.” Fieran shrugged before his gaze, too, swung to the arena. “Looks like dwarves aren’t opposed to a bit of violent entertainment.”

The two dwarves were swinging their hammers at each other with such force that it was a wonder neither of them had crushed bone or split open a skull yet.

Pip gripped the edge of the stone bench, swinging her legs. “I was raised among elves, so I share more of their sensibilities than dwarven ones. But from visits to my grandparents, well, let’s just say dwarves enjoy a good brawl as much as trolls do.”

Of the two dwarves, the one with a little more red in his beard defeated the one with elaborate warrior braids. Both the winner and the loser trekked up to Queen Melantha to have various injuries healed.

As the winner also bowed out, the troll announcer stepped into the center of the arena and called out a name from the list of those who had signed up before the fighting bouts as challengers.

“Did he just…” Pip glanced from the announcer to Fieran. With all the noise and the troll’s accent, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard what she thought she heard.

Fieran heaved a sigh, his hands fisting at his side. “Yes, he did. Apparently, Lt. Rothilion signed up to challenge someone. One guess who that will be.”

Across the arena, Lt. Rothilion stood and glided down the stairs toward the arena.

Pip clenched her fists, tensing as Lt. Rothilion halted in the center of the arena and stared right at where she and Fieran were sitting.

Despite the noise, Lt. Rothilion’s contemptuous tone pierced the hubbub. “I challenge Lt. Fieran Laesornysh.”

Chapter

Sixteen

Fieran pushed to his feet, flexing his fingers as he wished he had his own practice swords for this fight. He’d left those back at Treehaven when he joined the army.

Pip lightly punched his arm. “You can take him.”

On his other side, Merrik nudged his arm with less force than Pip had. “Do not let him rile you. If you keep your head and actually focus on the fight, you can win.”

“Do you think so?” Fieran rolled his shoulders. He couldn’t delay long, otherwise the nearby troll warriors would drag him to the arena, thinking him reluctant to fight. “I’ve never seen Lt. Rothilion fight.”

“Nor have I.” Merrik’s mouth tipped in a hint of a smile. “But you have been trained by Uncle Farrendel, the best swordmaster in all of Tarenhiel.”

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