Page 58 of Stalk the Sky

Perhaps Fieran had never wanted to win one of those fights as he wanted to win this one.

Lt. Rothilion bashed his shield toward Fieran, trying to dart in with his sword. But Fieran was faster, parrying each strike or dancing away from it.

Fieran leapt back a few steps. Time to finish this.

With something almost like a growl, Lt. Rothilion hurled himself forward, and Fieran matched the movement. Instead of taking the lieutenant’s shield with his sword, Fieran leapt and planted a foot on the shield, using the lieutenant’s own momentum to give him an extra boost into the air.

Fieran wasn’t quite as agile in the air as his dacha, but he still spun, kicking Lt. Rothilion’s sword out of his hand. As Lt. Rothilion stumbled, Fieran came down on the lieutenant’s back, taking him to the ground.

Lt. Rothilion grunted as his chin smacked into the sand, sticking out his arm to keep from taking the edge of his shield across his face. But the edge of the shield struck the ground instead, and Fieran might have heard something pop in the lieutenant’s shoulder. Lt. Rothilion gave a louder grunt edged with pain.

Fieran pressed the edge of one of his swords to Lt. Rothilion’s neck. “Do you yield?”

“I yield.” Lt. Rothilion’s voice was strained, but he otherwise did not make any other sound of pain.

Fieran stepped off Lt. Rothilion’s back, finally letting his magic settle deep in his chest again.

Lt. Rothilion climbed to his feet, his shield arm hanging awkwardly at his side. He used his good arm to slide the shield free before dropping it on the ground. The lieutenant halted next to Fieran, the anger replaced with his cold arrogance once again. “At least your damasha taught you well.”

It should have been a compliment—perhaps even respectful with the more formal elvish word for father—but something in Lt. Rothilion’s tone still held a hint of insult.

Fieran just grinned back, though the expression lacked its usual warmth. “He is Laesornysh.”

As Lt. Rothilion stalked toward the stairs that would take him to Aunt Melantha for healing, the two troll attendants brought out the weapons racks again and retrieved Lt. Rothilion’s sword and shield.

The troll warrior approached Fieran. “Do you wish to issue a challenge of your own?”

With his magic still burning hot within him despite the magic practice with Pip earlier in the day and the fight with Lt. Rothilion, Fieran itched for another fight. But who would he want to challenge? He’d already fought the only person he actually wanted to beat up.

As his gaze swept over the benches, his gaze flicked from Pip, who was grinning and clapping, to Merrik, who was smiling, to the rest of the flyboys. Stickyfingers, Lije, and Pretty Face were all standing and cheering for him.

Only Tiny seemed less than enthusiastic. Not that he seemed disappointed in Fieran. More his gaze was darting to where a row of other trolls sat, the ones who had hassled Tiny earlier.

Well, Fieran might not want to fight anyone else, but Tiny had a few scores to settle.

“Yes, I’d like to issue another challenge. But I’d like it to be a group fight.” Fieran adjusted his grip on the swords.

The troll warrior raised his voice, making the announcement of a challenge and a group fight.

Merrik’s brow scrunched as he began to climb to his feet.

As much as Fieran would love to fight with Merrik at his side, Fieran swung his gaze farther down the bench. “My first ally is Donkyn Sairdror.”

Tiny’s jaw dropped. It took him a rather long moment to finally push his way to his feet and make his way down the stands. Once he halted at Fieran’s side, he peered up at him. “What are you doing? I’m no warrior. I passed the army’s hand-to-hand combat just fine, but I’m not good enough to stand against a troll warrior.”

“That’s why this is a group fight.” Fieran grinned, then slightly tipped his head toward the group of trolls, who were now pointing and snickering. “How many of those do you want to beat up? I think the rules allow up to a ten-on-ten fight.”

Tiny grimaced, then mumbled, “There are five of them that have been targeting me specifically. Six, if you want to count the one who sometimes joins them.”

“Five or six then.” Fieran faced the crowd again, raising his voice. “My other allies will be Merrik Loiatir…”

Merrik sighed and pushed to his feet yet again, working his way down the stands. Something that seemed more difficult than it had a few minutes ago. With the lull in the fighting while this group fight was organized, many of those in the stands were taking a moment to get up, grab refreshments, or run to the nearest latrines.

Fieran swept a glance around the tiers of seats again, hoping to spot the ones he was looking for in the milling crowd.

There, sitting among a cluster of trolls and humans dressed in naval uniforms, he found who he was looking for.

Fieran’s smirk had an edge. This was going to be fun. “And Rokyd, Lucien, and Sathrah Ardon.”

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