The Dragon Games

Sparring II

"Begin!" Instructor Finnegan shouted.

Rick flew back, somersaulting through the air to land flat on his belly, fifteen feet outside the ring. I froze, my hand still splayed out. I blinked rapidly, sure that my eyes had deceived me, but when the black haze cleared, Rick was still lying on the ground, groaning. 

The rest of the pledges stared in stunned silence. Grace's lips were parted. Gordo looked at me as if he had never seen me before. Only Bianca moved. 

After she recovered from her shock, she cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered, "Whoop, whoop! Nice throw, Raven!"

She tried to start a clap, but no one joined. A spike of fear rolled down my spine. I hadn't meant to throw Rick that hard. If he was injured, of course that was terrible and all, but what would happen to my parlay?

"That was ruthless," Instructor Finnegan said.

All the blood drained from my face.

Then his mouth curved, his eyes shinning under the afternoon sun. "I'm relieved to see you have some fight in you, Black." Then he turned to Rick. "Alright, pledge? Need a doctor?"

Rick sat up, slapping the dirt off his shirt. "Fine," he grunted and then stormed back to the Windsors.

The following matches either ended in seconds or not at all. Grace and a few others made quick work of their opponent, flicking them out of the circle like a rag doll, but the vast majority fell into the latter group. 

When they entered the ring, they'd lift their hands and stare awkwardly at each other, their eyes more gray than black, until Instructor Finnegan got fed up and ended the match. Occasionally, someone's hair would ripple, but it was unclear if that was due to the divine or the breeze.

Before I knew it, it was my turn to fight again. I stepped into the circle, facing down a burly, vaguely familiar-looking face. While he stretched on the other side of the circle, Rick approached me. Instructor Finnegan – divided between four other matches running alongside mine – took no notice.

"How's the back?" I joked. My smile dimmed when I saw the look on Rick's face. His jaw was tight, and the tips of his ears tinged red. "Er, sorry. I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

Rick tipped his head toward my new opponent's direction. I squinted, taking a closer look. He towered over me, packing muscles as big as my head, but that was pretty standard for a pledge. "You don't recognise him, do you?"

"Should I?"

"Tobias."

"Tobias Smalls," I blurt out, remembering at once. "We fought at bidding night."

Rick smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. "Fortunately, Grace knew Tobias before bidding. If she didn't testify on his behalf, he probably wouldn't have received any bids at all. The other squads were more inclined to think he was weak than you were strong."

"You fought me. What do you think?"

"I think you strike fast without warning."

"Instead of striking slowly and announcing my moves beforehand?"

"Do you know what a roundhouse twist is?"

"A what?" I said, startled by the abrupt change in topic. "No?"

"Too bad." Rick leaned forward, his eyes sparking in anticipation. "Because if you can't block it, Tobias will break your arm."

The air prickled by my ear. That was my only warning before Tobias fired his divine. I got my hand up just in time, and Tobias' divine ricocheted, hitting him square in the face. His head whipped to the side, and he hit the ground like a rock. When he peeled his face up from the dirt, blood gushed from his nose, which bent in half at an ugly angle.