Dakson Torellion
Baerlon had grown considerably since the construction of the Grey Tower. However, to a man who had grown up in Tear and visited every major city from Fal Moran to Ebou Dar, it hardly warranted the name of "town." Its dirt streets and wooden buildings were quaint at best, and Dax found the residents' pride more amusing than annoying. More importantly, on his last trip through he had discovered that the residents and visitors of south Baerlon had constructed a fighting ring open to any who cared to participate.
It was to that location that Dax now turned his feet, whistling off-key as he wandered the streets alone. Katrie had remained behind at his request; for what he intended to do that night, her presence would be a distraction he could not afford. I cannot do what I must if I know you are watching, he had told her. The bond had reflected nothing but trust in response, and he had walked away with a light heart.
As the sun sank behind a tall building to the west, the dark-haired man finally reached his destination. The building that contained the ring was quite large and had certainly seen better times; most of its weight rested against the southern wall of the town.
He stepped inside, and found himself wrapped in a scene straight from the hellish nightmares of his past. Smoke and the stench of stale beer washed over him, and the noise of too many voices in a small space assaulted his ears. An area in the center of the room had been fenced off with wood and wire; he thought it hadn’t changed, other than a few new marks, since his last visit. People sat on benches or stood around it, watching avidly as two bare-chested men grappled on the ground. A brawny arm got a solid hit, and some watchers jumped to their feet to yell their approval. The man who had been struck heaved himself up and the fight continued.
The Tairen would be in that space soon enough; it did little good to worry about it now. He closed his eyes, took a breath, then looked over the rest of the murky room.
A counter ran along the back wall to one side. Shelves containing clear glass bottles of different colors liquids spanned the wall behind it, and below them stood fat barrels of beer. Between the counter and the wall stood a whip-thin man with a gnarly scar across his face. He absently towel-dried mugs as he watched the fight; until it ended, he would have little else to do. The counter -or rather the contents of the shelf behind it- called to Dax with a musical allure he struggled to ignore. One drink. One drink and his tension would fade and he would forget how much he disliked what he was about to do. One drink and he would destroy every opponent they set against him. One...just one.
He closed his eyes and looked away. One drink was all it took for darkness to consume him, for Jemis’ voice to rise in his head, for him to forget the work he had done and revert to whom he had been. He could not subject Katrie to that chaos without preparation.
His eyes fell on three men who sat on a bench to the left of the door in various degrees of assumed indifference. Fighters, or at least men desperate for money. Their eyes warily sized him up as he approached, but he ignored them entirely. Instead, he settled onto the bench next to the Shienaran. Dax glanced at his new companion, abruptly remembering something Katrie had once said. Do your ears get cold? he thought, amused. The barrel-chested man cocked an eyebrow curiously, but the Gaidin merely smiled nonchalantly and looked away.
Time passed and more men gathered. Dax appraised each at a glance, then returned to his contemplation of the ceiling. A young woman with dark hair pulled into a strict braid and a dress that showed more bosom than it didn't came by shortly after the Shienaran was ushered into the ring. She asked for their names and explained the cadence of the evening, how prizes worked, what the rules were. There weren’t many of those, not compared to the sparring regulations that the Grey Tower observed. And so it begins, Dax thought as he signed his name where indicated.
Two rounds later, the crowd yelled as the Shienaran was pinned to the ground. He thrashed, but his shorter opponent simply shoved down once more, holding him face to the floor until a bell rang. The stranger pushed himself to his feet, swearing vehemently, but a man in rough clothes took his arm and led him away. The winner was also escorted away to rest, and for a moment the ring stood empty.
The woman with the braid tapped Dax’s arm. “You’re next,” she said with a flash of teeth. “You’ll be fighting Tad there.” She pointed to an Andoran. A farmer or a village wrestler. Dax thought. Tad’s face seemed pale in the dim light, but he nodded acceptance in time with the Gaidin. Dax stripped down to boots and breeches, and the woman took his belongings away with a murmured promise of safe-keeping.
As he ducked through the low door that led into the fighting circle, he heard the collective intake of breath from the onlookers, and abruptly something shifted in his mind. Anticipation of the impending fight rushed through him, burning away his misgivings and concerns. Towering confidence remained in its wake, invading even the ko’di with its strength. He felt Katrie’s interest sharpen, and wrapped his mind around her for a moment. I am fine, love, he thought affectionately. She could not hear him, but his attention soothed her. He straightened, pushed his shoulders back, and turned to face his opponent with a smile.
That fight did not last long. He saw acceptance of defeat in the farmer’s eyes as he approached, and the Gaidin delivered the man’s doom with restrained efficiency. No need to deal pain, he thought. The second fight went quickly as well, though the merchant’s guard tried to hide his fear behind verbal bravado. Dax simply wove behind him and wrapped his hand around the man’s meaty shoulder. A breath later and he slammed the guard chest-first against one of the posts on the outside of the ring with one arm. A count of three and the bell rang.He let his arm drop, ignoring the man’s curses and accusations of cheating. He had fought fairly even by Tower terms and an entire crowd could confirm that fact. The guard was escorted away, and silence stretched.
Dax turned to face the crowd, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He bowed with a broad smile, and they laughed and cheered. This is why you call me peacock, he thought, his mind drifting back to Katrie . Here I am in my element.
The braided woman ushered his third opponent into the circle. His name was Liam, he was from Arad Doman, and Dax knew him all too well. Liam had taken his training seriously, though he had focused on the sword, and had proven a difficult adversary in the past. The Tairen grinned, and the mercenary returned the favor, white teeth flashing against dark skin. Pushing his uncertainty away as the bell rang -surely if Liam had been sent after Katrie he would not be fighting in the ring?- Dax dropped into a low guard stance.
They circled each other on light feet. Liam still moved like he held a sword, and Dax emulated him at first, testing what had changed since they last met. The Domani stepped forward, right fist rotating up towards Dax’s gut. The Warder took a quick step back, then forward again, to the side, his left hand curling toward Liam’s head. The other man brought his folded arm up to catch the impact, and Dax’s right fist caught him in the opposite shoulder. The darker man stumbled, but quickly regained his footing and they circled once more.
And so it went. Dax fought with mechanical grace, his eyes fixed on Liam’s shoulders, his thoughts always one move ahead, his feet moving nearly as rapidly as his fists to counter Liam’s rapid fire assault. He ducked too slowly and the Domani’s fist connected with his cheek, the ring he wore tearing across the Gaidin’s face. Pain blossomed and he backed away rapidly, arms in front of him as he shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
Liam made a mocking sound, and his voice galvanized Dax to action. He dropped low and swung his body around, his knee connecting solidly with the other man’s hip. Then he dropped all pretense and moved, a snake in the grass, a whirlwind on the plains. Amused at the whimsy of his thoughts -is that how sword forms were named?- he circled Liam, trading blows without much care for safety. Finally he saw an opening and his palm jammed upward against Liam’s jaw, knocking his face skyward. The Domani swayed, and he wrapped one hand around Dax’s wrist. The Tairen simply yanked down, pulling the man off balance and then pushing him to the floor. Dax knelt on his back until the bell rang, chuckling softly.
He laughed outright as he scrambled off, offering the fallen man a hand. Liam declined his assistance, instead giving him a sour look as he pushed himself to his feet. “You did that last time you beat me, too,” he commented. Dax stared at him in silence for a moment before breaking into laughter again. He fell against the fence as the rough-clad man from before led the mercenary away,
“You’re punch drunk,” the braided woman commented, appearing at his side with a mug. “Drink.” Dax took it and swallowed half its contents before realizing what it contained. He sputtered and gagged at the bitter taste of beer as he thrust the cup back at the girl. She uttered a surprised oath and took it, giving him an annoyed look.
“I ca- don’t drink,” Dax said sharply, turning away. Already he could feel the familiar heat spreading in his core, and cursed vehemently. I am sorry, he thought, reaching along the bond. Katrie’s warmth reassured him; he took a deep breath, and settled into himself once more. “Water...please.” She departed silently, and returned a few moments later with a mug. That one he drained, and when she indicated he should leave the ring he followed without a word.
He settled on a bench at the back of the room, watching others fight with hooded eyes and not much interest. He already knew who he would be fighting in the end, it was simply a matter of time. And not much time at that, he thought. He fought one more match, a quick squabble that ended with a broken arm for his opponent and another set of bruises for Dax. He rested then, but soon enough he ducked back into the ring, this time spreading his arms and bowing acknowledgement to the crowd, both those who cheered him and those who simply glared. It was the last fight of the night, and the man he faced was the same who had slammed the Shienaran into the ground what felt like Ages before.
Renne was shorter than Dax, with the complexion of a Cairhienin, a lean frame, and speed that rivaled any Dax had seen in the practice yards. He wore simple leather bracers on his wrists, and Dax eyed them curiously. What purpose would he have for covering his arms? “May the better man win,” Dax commented lightly. Blue eyes met black, and he saw a flash of amusement cross the man’s face. You think this will be easy, do you? Perhaps he did, if those bracers hid what Dax thought they did, but he had no intention of satisfying the man’s expectations.
The bell rang, and Renne took a step. There was no hesitation in his movement, he simply flowed like water from one pose to the next. They had watched each other fight all night, sizing up skill, speed, weaknesses, strengths. When Renne struck, the Gaidin dodged to the side, his hand twisting to grab the other man’s wrist. The Cairhienin’s other hand chopped down on his arm; Dax let go and stepped quickly to the side, turning in place to face Renne again. He went on the offense without delay, a series of quick jabs at the pale man, then a solid knee to his side.
Renne’s arm clamped down on his thigh, pinning his leg in place. Dax cursed and tried to yank free, hands grappling against the smaller man’s chest, but the Cairhienin simply swung his body to the side, his momentum dragging Dax off balance. The Gaidin let himself fall on his forearms and rolled quickly away, pushing himself up behind Renne’s arm and scrambling to his feet to face his opponent once again. Renne had already turned; one fist connected with Dax’s shoulder, the other with the side of his head.
Dax stumbled back, his hands reflexively rising to protect his face. Renne pressed his advantage, and the Tairen found himself on the defense, backing around the ring. As he retreated, what had been a competition began to change in his mind, turning to something else entirely. Familiar shadows gathered at the edge of his vision, fingers of darkness forming and reaching for him through the smoky gloom. Everything beyond the circle faded. All that remained in Dax’s world were himself, the Cairhienin fighter who attacked him with dispassionate precision, and the thread of golden love that connected him to Katrie. That thread comforted without distracting, a part of his heart as assuredly as his fists were a part of his body.
Strength flowed through him, and he straightened, his focus returning with crystal clarity. The Tairen took a breath and moved forward with fluid grace. He slipped and slid around and through Renne’s strikes, every move fitting together smoothly. He met every assault with an equal defense, and tested and explored every perceived weakness. He pushed, and pushed, until at last the Cairhienin was forced to take a step back. Then a second. He saw Renne’s expression shift from bemusement to interest and finally to true concentration, and suppressed the surge of savage glee that rose in reaction to that change. Not so easy as you believed, he thought.
He feinted to the left, then again to the right, ending in a rapid elbow swing that Renne ducked away from. The Cairhienin man spun, his foot sliding in a wide circle. Dax jumped over his leg and leaped forward, his hands planted against the other man’s chest and pushing him backward with the full weight of his body. They went down together, rolling and grappling, and for a terrifying moment Dax felt an arm around his neck. His forehead touched the floor, Renne’s weight pressing him down, and he gasped for breath. I’m too bloody close to lose now. He inhaled sharply and shoved upward with both arms, jerking his shoulders around to break free, his hips following his body to shove the smaller man off him.
Again they circled the ring, the shadows creeping ever closer, Katrie’s love for him a lifeline to humanity that he had never known he needed. He clung to her presence as he traded blows with Renne, until at last, finally, he saw an opening. He slipped through with the speed of a wildcat, his fist driving up into the man’s gut, his other arm dropping to block Renne’s cover against a second blow. Thud. His leg swung out, hooking around the Cairhienin’s legs and pulling his feet from beneath him with almost casual disdain. They fell again, and this time Dax stayed on top, every ounce of strength he possessed working to hold the man’s face on the ground.
“3.” Renne heaved, and Dax adjusted his grip to hold him down. “2.” His opponent twisted beneath him, hands rising, fingers pinching at the nerves in the Tairen’s wrists. The Gaidin bared his teeth and ignored the pain. “1.” Renne heaved again, shoulders twisting, legs kicking, but Dax ignored him, blackness nearly consuming him as his hands inched towards the man’s throat. His struggle now was not with the Cairhienin man, but rather with himself. He does not need to die. Light, Dax, he doesn’t need to die. Katrie’s voice, soft and insistent, filled his mind.
The bell rang.
The man who had once been a sellsword pushed himself back automatically, letting Renne sit up. Sound returned like waves on the sand, and Dax realized that their audience was…..he looked up, confused. They were cheering? That’s right. I was fighting. I won. Dazed, he glanced around, realizing too late that the face he wanted most to see was at an inn halfway across Baerlon. He stood and bowed, then rubbed at his face as the action made his bruises throb. How long had they fought? Does it matter?
He left the ring, still breathing heavily, and was met outside the gate by the woman with the braid. “That was….impressive,” she said, giving him both a mug of water and a considering look. He blinked at her, struggling to understand the meaning behind her tone. As he drank, she laid her hand on his arm, peering up at him from beneath dark lashes. “My name is Meriem,” she said softly. Realization blossomed, and Dax felt his face flush darker.
He took her chin in his hand and looked down at her with steady blue eyes. “I am otherwise engaged, mistress,” he said quietly, “though I thank you for the compliment.” She pulled her chin away, lips thinning. “If I could have my possessions and my winnings?” She gave him an offended look, but turned away. Twice that night he had not behaved as she expected, he realized belatedly, and stifled a laugh as he sank onto the bench by the wall.
Renne found him before Meriem returned. He slid onto the bench and gave Dax a level look. “You earned more than a purse of gold tonight, boy,” the man said quietly. The Tairen cocked an eyebrow in distracted curiosity at that title, and the other fighter shook his head. “You noticed my wrists were covered, I saw the look in your eye,” he said, his voice amused. He loosened the laces on his left bracer, pulling the leather aside just enough to reveal a stylized heron picked out in black ink on his flesh. “I would plan on spending another day or two in Baerlon,” he continued, pulling the laces tight with his teeth once more. “I know an artist who is both skilled and discreet. I’ll take you there tomorrow.”
Confused, Dax met his eyes. “Why?”
The other man smiled slightly. “No artist worth your time will put these marks on your arms without proof that you deserve them,” he said softly, “And since I now owe you my life, it is only appropriate that I provide that confirmation. I’ll see you here after the midday meal.”The man heaved himself up without another word and disappeared into the smoke. Dax stared after hi, and then hm for a moment, then all the strength left his body in a rush as shock washed over him. Blademaster? He stared down at his wrists.
The braided woman returned shortly after, dropping a bundle of things next to Dax on the bench. “Here you go,” she said sharply. She pulled her braid over her shoulder, and looked at sidelong as she turned away. “If you change your mind, I have a room upstairs,” she said in a sultry tone, then walked away with swaying hips.
Dax wasted no time watching her; she held no interest to him, and he had other things to do. He dressed quickly, then counted the coins in the purse. More than enough. Six of them he slid into his pocket with a smile.Tattoos would not be his only mission on the morrow, and for that purpose he did not want Katrie asking questions. The rest he dumped into his own purse, leaving the leather bag on the bench as he strode outside.
Katrie! Before he had made it three buildings down the street he could feel her approaching. With every step they took toward one another, the shadows in his mind retreated further, chased away by golden warmth. When at last he found her and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, the only feelings that remained in his mind were love… and burgeoning pride.
((Paint the Sky with Stars follows this.))It was to that location that Dax now turned his feet, whistling off-key as he wandered the streets alone. Katrie had remained behind at his request; for what he intended to do that night, her presence would be a distraction he could not afford. I cannot do what I must if I know you are watching, he had told her. The bond had reflected nothing but trust in response, and he had walked away with a light heart.
As the sun sank behind a tall building to the west, the dark-haired man finally reached his destination. The building that contained the ring was quite large and had certainly seen better times; most of its weight rested against the southern wall of the town.
He stepped inside, and found himself wrapped in a scene straight from the hellish nightmares of his past. Smoke and the stench of stale beer washed over him, and the noise of too many voices in a small space assaulted his ears. An area in the center of the room had been fenced off with wood and wire; he thought it hadn’t changed, other than a few new marks, since his last visit. People sat on benches or stood around it, watching avidly as two bare-chested men grappled on the ground. A brawny arm got a solid hit, and some watchers jumped to their feet to yell their approval. The man who had been struck heaved himself up and the fight continued.
The Tairen would be in that space soon enough; it did little good to worry about it now. He closed his eyes, took a breath, then looked over the rest of the murky room.
A counter ran along the back wall to one side. Shelves containing clear glass bottles of different colors liquids spanned the wall behind it, and below them stood fat barrels of beer. Between the counter and the wall stood a whip-thin man with a gnarly scar across his face. He absently towel-dried mugs as he watched the fight; until it ended, he would have little else to do. The counter -or rather the contents of the shelf behind it- called to Dax with a musical allure he struggled to ignore. One drink. One drink and his tension would fade and he would forget how much he disliked what he was about to do. One drink and he would destroy every opponent they set against him. One...just one.
He closed his eyes and looked away. One drink was all it took for darkness to consume him, for Jemis’ voice to rise in his head, for him to forget the work he had done and revert to whom he had been. He could not subject Katrie to that chaos without preparation.
His eyes fell on three men who sat on a bench to the left of the door in various degrees of assumed indifference. Fighters, or at least men desperate for money. Their eyes warily sized him up as he approached, but he ignored them entirely. Instead, he settled onto the bench next to the Shienaran. Dax glanced at his new companion, abruptly remembering something Katrie had once said. Do your ears get cold? he thought, amused. The barrel-chested man cocked an eyebrow curiously, but the Gaidin merely smiled nonchalantly and looked away.
Time passed and more men gathered. Dax appraised each at a glance, then returned to his contemplation of the ceiling. A young woman with dark hair pulled into a strict braid and a dress that showed more bosom than it didn't came by shortly after the Shienaran was ushered into the ring. She asked for their names and explained the cadence of the evening, how prizes worked, what the rules were. There weren’t many of those, not compared to the sparring regulations that the Grey Tower observed. And so it begins, Dax thought as he signed his name where indicated.
Two rounds later, the crowd yelled as the Shienaran was pinned to the ground. He thrashed, but his shorter opponent simply shoved down once more, holding him face to the floor until a bell rang. The stranger pushed himself to his feet, swearing vehemently, but a man in rough clothes took his arm and led him away. The winner was also escorted away to rest, and for a moment the ring stood empty.
The woman with the braid tapped Dax’s arm. “You’re next,” she said with a flash of teeth. “You’ll be fighting Tad there.” She pointed to an Andoran. A farmer or a village wrestler. Dax thought. Tad’s face seemed pale in the dim light, but he nodded acceptance in time with the Gaidin. Dax stripped down to boots and breeches, and the woman took his belongings away with a murmured promise of safe-keeping.
As he ducked through the low door that led into the fighting circle, he heard the collective intake of breath from the onlookers, and abruptly something shifted in his mind. Anticipation of the impending fight rushed through him, burning away his misgivings and concerns. Towering confidence remained in its wake, invading even the ko’di with its strength. He felt Katrie’s interest sharpen, and wrapped his mind around her for a moment. I am fine, love, he thought affectionately. She could not hear him, but his attention soothed her. He straightened, pushed his shoulders back, and turned to face his opponent with a smile.
That fight did not last long. He saw acceptance of defeat in the farmer’s eyes as he approached, and the Gaidin delivered the man’s doom with restrained efficiency. No need to deal pain, he thought. The second fight went quickly as well, though the merchant’s guard tried to hide his fear behind verbal bravado. Dax simply wove behind him and wrapped his hand around the man’s meaty shoulder. A breath later and he slammed the guard chest-first against one of the posts on the outside of the ring with one arm. A count of three and the bell rang.He let his arm drop, ignoring the man’s curses and accusations of cheating. He had fought fairly even by Tower terms and an entire crowd could confirm that fact. The guard was escorted away, and silence stretched.
Dax turned to face the crowd, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He bowed with a broad smile, and they laughed and cheered. This is why you call me peacock, he thought, his mind drifting back to Katrie . Here I am in my element.
The braided woman ushered his third opponent into the circle. His name was Liam, he was from Arad Doman, and Dax knew him all too well. Liam had taken his training seriously, though he had focused on the sword, and had proven a difficult adversary in the past. The Tairen grinned, and the mercenary returned the favor, white teeth flashing against dark skin. Pushing his uncertainty away as the bell rang -surely if Liam had been sent after Katrie he would not be fighting in the ring?- Dax dropped into a low guard stance.
They circled each other on light feet. Liam still moved like he held a sword, and Dax emulated him at first, testing what had changed since they last met. The Domani stepped forward, right fist rotating up towards Dax’s gut. The Warder took a quick step back, then forward again, to the side, his left hand curling toward Liam’s head. The other man brought his folded arm up to catch the impact, and Dax’s right fist caught him in the opposite shoulder. The darker man stumbled, but quickly regained his footing and they circled once more.
And so it went. Dax fought with mechanical grace, his eyes fixed on Liam’s shoulders, his thoughts always one move ahead, his feet moving nearly as rapidly as his fists to counter Liam’s rapid fire assault. He ducked too slowly and the Domani’s fist connected with his cheek, the ring he wore tearing across the Gaidin’s face. Pain blossomed and he backed away rapidly, arms in front of him as he shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
Liam made a mocking sound, and his voice galvanized Dax to action. He dropped low and swung his body around, his knee connecting solidly with the other man’s hip. Then he dropped all pretense and moved, a snake in the grass, a whirlwind on the plains. Amused at the whimsy of his thoughts -is that how sword forms were named?- he circled Liam, trading blows without much care for safety. Finally he saw an opening and his palm jammed upward against Liam’s jaw, knocking his face skyward. The Domani swayed, and he wrapped one hand around Dax’s wrist. The Tairen simply yanked down, pulling the man off balance and then pushing him to the floor. Dax knelt on his back until the bell rang, chuckling softly.
He laughed outright as he scrambled off, offering the fallen man a hand. Liam declined his assistance, instead giving him a sour look as he pushed himself to his feet. “You did that last time you beat me, too,” he commented. Dax stared at him in silence for a moment before breaking into laughter again. He fell against the fence as the rough-clad man from before led the mercenary away,
“You’re punch drunk,” the braided woman commented, appearing at his side with a mug. “Drink.” Dax took it and swallowed half its contents before realizing what it contained. He sputtered and gagged at the bitter taste of beer as he thrust the cup back at the girl. She uttered a surprised oath and took it, giving him an annoyed look.
“I ca- don’t drink,” Dax said sharply, turning away. Already he could feel the familiar heat spreading in his core, and cursed vehemently. I am sorry, he thought, reaching along the bond. Katrie’s warmth reassured him; he took a deep breath, and settled into himself once more. “Water...please.” She departed silently, and returned a few moments later with a mug. That one he drained, and when she indicated he should leave the ring he followed without a word.
He settled on a bench at the back of the room, watching others fight with hooded eyes and not much interest. He already knew who he would be fighting in the end, it was simply a matter of time. And not much time at that, he thought. He fought one more match, a quick squabble that ended with a broken arm for his opponent and another set of bruises for Dax. He rested then, but soon enough he ducked back into the ring, this time spreading his arms and bowing acknowledgement to the crowd, both those who cheered him and those who simply glared. It was the last fight of the night, and the man he faced was the same who had slammed the Shienaran into the ground what felt like Ages before.
Renne was shorter than Dax, with the complexion of a Cairhienin, a lean frame, and speed that rivaled any Dax had seen in the practice yards. He wore simple leather bracers on his wrists, and Dax eyed them curiously. What purpose would he have for covering his arms? “May the better man win,” Dax commented lightly. Blue eyes met black, and he saw a flash of amusement cross the man’s face. You think this will be easy, do you? Perhaps he did, if those bracers hid what Dax thought they did, but he had no intention of satisfying the man’s expectations.
The bell rang, and Renne took a step. There was no hesitation in his movement, he simply flowed like water from one pose to the next. They had watched each other fight all night, sizing up skill, speed, weaknesses, strengths. When Renne struck, the Gaidin dodged to the side, his hand twisting to grab the other man’s wrist. The Cairhienin’s other hand chopped down on his arm; Dax let go and stepped quickly to the side, turning in place to face Renne again. He went on the offense without delay, a series of quick jabs at the pale man, then a solid knee to his side.
Renne’s arm clamped down on his thigh, pinning his leg in place. Dax cursed and tried to yank free, hands grappling against the smaller man’s chest, but the Cairhienin simply swung his body to the side, his momentum dragging Dax off balance. The Gaidin let himself fall on his forearms and rolled quickly away, pushing himself up behind Renne’s arm and scrambling to his feet to face his opponent once again. Renne had already turned; one fist connected with Dax’s shoulder, the other with the side of his head.
Dax stumbled back, his hands reflexively rising to protect his face. Renne pressed his advantage, and the Tairen found himself on the defense, backing around the ring. As he retreated, what had been a competition began to change in his mind, turning to something else entirely. Familiar shadows gathered at the edge of his vision, fingers of darkness forming and reaching for him through the smoky gloom. Everything beyond the circle faded. All that remained in Dax’s world were himself, the Cairhienin fighter who attacked him with dispassionate precision, and the thread of golden love that connected him to Katrie. That thread comforted without distracting, a part of his heart as assuredly as his fists were a part of his body.
Strength flowed through him, and he straightened, his focus returning with crystal clarity. The Tairen took a breath and moved forward with fluid grace. He slipped and slid around and through Renne’s strikes, every move fitting together smoothly. He met every assault with an equal defense, and tested and explored every perceived weakness. He pushed, and pushed, until at last the Cairhienin was forced to take a step back. Then a second. He saw Renne’s expression shift from bemusement to interest and finally to true concentration, and suppressed the surge of savage glee that rose in reaction to that change. Not so easy as you believed, he thought.
He feinted to the left, then again to the right, ending in a rapid elbow swing that Renne ducked away from. The Cairhienin man spun, his foot sliding in a wide circle. Dax jumped over his leg and leaped forward, his hands planted against the other man’s chest and pushing him backward with the full weight of his body. They went down together, rolling and grappling, and for a terrifying moment Dax felt an arm around his neck. His forehead touched the floor, Renne’s weight pressing him down, and he gasped for breath. I’m too bloody close to lose now. He inhaled sharply and shoved upward with both arms, jerking his shoulders around to break free, his hips following his body to shove the smaller man off him.
Again they circled the ring, the shadows creeping ever closer, Katrie’s love for him a lifeline to humanity that he had never known he needed. He clung to her presence as he traded blows with Renne, until at last, finally, he saw an opening. He slipped through with the speed of a wildcat, his fist driving up into the man’s gut, his other arm dropping to block Renne’s cover against a second blow. Thud. His leg swung out, hooking around the Cairhienin’s legs and pulling his feet from beneath him with almost casual disdain. They fell again, and this time Dax stayed on top, every ounce of strength he possessed working to hold the man’s face on the ground.
“3.” Renne heaved, and Dax adjusted his grip to hold him down. “2.” His opponent twisted beneath him, hands rising, fingers pinching at the nerves in the Tairen’s wrists. The Gaidin bared his teeth and ignored the pain. “1.” Renne heaved again, shoulders twisting, legs kicking, but Dax ignored him, blackness nearly consuming him as his hands inched towards the man’s throat. His struggle now was not with the Cairhienin man, but rather with himself. He does not need to die. Light, Dax, he doesn’t need to die. Katrie’s voice, soft and insistent, filled his mind.
The bell rang.
The man who had once been a sellsword pushed himself back automatically, letting Renne sit up. Sound returned like waves on the sand, and Dax realized that their audience was…..he looked up, confused. They were cheering? That’s right. I was fighting. I won. Dazed, he glanced around, realizing too late that the face he wanted most to see was at an inn halfway across Baerlon. He stood and bowed, then rubbed at his face as the action made his bruises throb. How long had they fought? Does it matter?
He left the ring, still breathing heavily, and was met outside the gate by the woman with the braid. “That was….impressive,” she said, giving him both a mug of water and a considering look. He blinked at her, struggling to understand the meaning behind her tone. As he drank, she laid her hand on his arm, peering up at him from beneath dark lashes. “My name is Meriem,” she said softly. Realization blossomed, and Dax felt his face flush darker.
He took her chin in his hand and looked down at her with steady blue eyes. “I am otherwise engaged, mistress,” he said quietly, “though I thank you for the compliment.” She pulled her chin away, lips thinning. “If I could have my possessions and my winnings?” She gave him an offended look, but turned away. Twice that night he had not behaved as she expected, he realized belatedly, and stifled a laugh as he sank onto the bench by the wall.
Renne found him before Meriem returned. He slid onto the bench and gave Dax a level look. “You earned more than a purse of gold tonight, boy,” the man said quietly. The Tairen cocked an eyebrow in distracted curiosity at that title, and the other fighter shook his head. “You noticed my wrists were covered, I saw the look in your eye,” he said, his voice amused. He loosened the laces on his left bracer, pulling the leather aside just enough to reveal a stylized heron picked out in black ink on his flesh. “I would plan on spending another day or two in Baerlon,” he continued, pulling the laces tight with his teeth once more. “I know an artist who is both skilled and discreet. I’ll take you there tomorrow.”
Confused, Dax met his eyes. “Why?”
The other man smiled slightly. “No artist worth your time will put these marks on your arms without proof that you deserve them,” he said softly, “And since I now owe you my life, it is only appropriate that I provide that confirmation. I’ll see you here after the midday meal.”The man heaved himself up without another word and disappeared into the smoke. Dax stared after hi, and then hm for a moment, then all the strength left his body in a rush as shock washed over him. Blademaster? He stared down at his wrists.
The braided woman returned shortly after, dropping a bundle of things next to Dax on the bench. “Here you go,” she said sharply. She pulled her braid over her shoulder, and looked at sidelong as she turned away. “If you change your mind, I have a room upstairs,” she said in a sultry tone, then walked away with swaying hips.
Dax wasted no time watching her; she held no interest to him, and he had other things to do. He dressed quickly, then counted the coins in the purse. More than enough. Six of them he slid into his pocket with a smile.Tattoos would not be his only mission on the morrow, and for that purpose he did not want Katrie asking questions. The rest he dumped into his own purse, leaving the leather bag on the bench as he strode outside.
Katrie! Before he had made it three buildings down the street he could feel her approaching. With every step they took toward one another, the shadows in his mind retreated further, chased away by golden warmth. When at last he found her and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, the only feelings that remained in his mind were love… and burgeoning pride.
