Page 40 of Wild Bond

Killing your opponent wasn’t a requirement to win these fights, but that didn’t stop most of the competitors from doing just that. There were no rules, after all.

My disgust for the whole thing must have shown on my face, because Rake observed, “I take it you’re not a fan of the fights?”

I looked at him as the maid dropped off my drink and scurried away. I shook my head. “I don’t have anything against fighting for sport, but fights like this . . . risking your life for something so trivial as the entertainment of others . . .” I took a drink and grimaced at the awful taste. “It seems like such a waste.”

His brow raised. “But risking your life to steal from the queen isn’t?”

I laughed harshly and raised my tankard in salute. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

His lip twitched and he shook his head, some of his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”

“What can I say?” I shrugged. “I’m a wealth of contradictions.”

Rake leaned forward then. “Whydidyou try and steal it?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, simply curious. “Of all the things to steal, why Lethara’s sword? You had to know you would be caught.”

“Byyou,” I reminded him pointedly. When I thought back on that night now, with a more objective lens, I realized that the man before me had not been unnecessarily cruel, and like he had pointed out, had just been doing his job. Could I really fault him for that?

“If not by me then someone else,” he reasoned. “Who were you even planning to sell it to? Or did you just want to see if you could do it?”

I took a small sip of the drink, feeling uncomfortable with this line of questioning. I didn’t like talking about that night. Especially not with him.

Rake’s unnerving eyes were still watching me closely, so I finally said, “It was nothing like that . . . and there was no buyer. Not that I know of, anyway. Let’s just say stealing the sword wasn’t my idea. I’m not suicidal . . . I was helping a friend.”

“And who is this friend?”

I shifted uneasily. “I’d rather not say.”

A roar went up from the crowd and we both looked down to see new fighters had entered the ring from opposite sides. Relief washed through me at the reprieve from Rake’s questioning.

The expression on his face when I glanced over at him, though, said that this discussion wasn’t over, just delayed.

Pushing that thought from my mind, I turned my attention to the fighting pit below.

The fighter on the left was shirtless and smaller than his opponent, but he was fit and looked quick as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. Tattoos covered most of his upper body and he had a hard look in his eyes that only came from a life spent surviving from one day to the next. Most of the people I had known in the lower city had that look. A large cheer went up when the announcer introduced him as The Hammer.

The other fighter was a large man with a mop of sandy hair and a sallow complexion. The stained tunic and pants he wore hung somewhat loose on his frame as if he had lost weight recently, and quite rapidly, and hadn’t had time to buy new clothes. Or maybe he just couldn’t afford them. He was already breathing hard, even though the fight had yet to start, and his eyes were glazed over with a strange, feverish light. He was introduced as Bear.

“Please tell me you’re here for that guy.” I gestured to the tattooed fighter.

Rake shook his head and motioned to the bigger fighter. “I’m here for him.”

“He looks unwell,” I observed.

Rake didn’t comment as a bell rang for the fight to begin.

Just looking at them, I would assume that The Hammer would have the advantage, since he appeared experienced and was all muscle, while the other man, though larger, looked softer and unfocused. For the first few minutes, it appeared that my assumption was correct. The Hammer got in several combinations of jabs and punches and the other man barely even fought back.

There were murmurs of surprise and confusion from the spectators as several more minutes passed and Bear seemed unaffected. Blows that should have had him crumbling to his knees hardly even seemed to faze him.

After a particularly brutal strike to his gut that had no effect, I murmured, “How is he still upright?”

Again, Rake didn’t answer, but his bright eyes remained trained on the man.

Finally, and without warning, Bear side-stepped a punch from his opponent, and while the man was off balance, reached out his massive arms and enclosed the other man from behind in a ruthless bearhug. He pinned the man securely to his barrel chest and held him several inches off the ground. The Hammer tried to kick and elbow the other man, but the giant man’s hold on him was unbreakable. He tried to headbutt him next, but that, too, proved unsuccessful.

Something like real panic filled The Hammer’s eyes as he writhed and pulled desperately to get free. But it was no use.

In the next second, Bear‘s arms bulged as he squeezed, and even over the noise of the crowd, I thought I heard the sharp snap as the man’s spine broke.

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