Page 5 of Hostile Holiday

“Would you like to eat?”

“Woo. Bread and cheese!” She grinned.

He stared at her. “We have an eating area. You can get other food.”

“I can’t pay for it yet.”

“No, but... what did the wolf tell you?”

“Nothing. Wolves don’t talk.”

He stared at her. “Right. Did it give you anything?”

“Nope. It licked my hand and shoved me through the portal.” She shrugged.

“I see.” He paused. “Which hand did he lick?”

She raised her left arm, still wrapped in the sweater.

“Got it. May I see your hand?”

Orla eased the green knit back, and Telurn gasped. “Oh, damn. You are now bound by a contract. Shit. That is going to be a problem.”

“What?” She looked, and there was a tiny silver ring on her pinkie finger. “What is that?”

“Guest mark. He didn’t send you here to fight; he sent you here as a guest.”

“Oh. Well, I am here now. Where is the eating place, and when can I start fight practice?”

Telurn gestured and walked with her as her orientation continued with some pretty good beef and barley stew. Well, she thought it was beef. Who knew?

Orla sat with a full stomach, warm, and sipped some tea. There was a magical display that was showing fighters beating the hell out of each other. Oh, goody. Well, tomorrow was another day.

The mace was coming for her head, and she ducked. Orla rammed forward and pressed the tip of the sword an inch into her trainer.

An arm came back and smashed her to the floor. “If you are going to strike, strike!”

Orla gasped on her back as he lumbered toward her. She gripped her sword and aimed for his toes. His eyes widened, and he collapsed. She slammed the hilt of her weapon into his chin and then the side of his head. He went over.

Gasping, she remained on her knees as he healed and slowly sat up. Tristan murmured, “Better, but next time, use the pointy end.”

“Will my opponents in the arena pop up like that?”

“No, they will be alive but brought to medical. The contract stipulates that this is for entertainment purposes. Some folk die, but they are rare and in the highest tiers.”

“Okay, but I am not in this to kill.”

Tristan nodded. “I understand. You are only here for the food.”

She grinned.

“Right. Start position.” Tristan smiled, and they started again.

After hours of attack and retreat, including one collision with the mace that made her ears ring and her skull feel tender after. Tristan helped walk her back to the dining area, got her food, and helped her sit down.

“Orla, my advice is not to get hurt.”

She massaged her skull. “Yeah, good idea. What tier would you be considered?”

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