The Sands of Rhun: A Middle Earth Story(Book 2)

Chapter 5: Preparations

I slept fitfully that night, and the next morning was heralded in all too soon by the sound of the other fighters practicing, praying to their respective deities, or eating a hurried breakfast. I didn't eat; I felt sick to my stomach. I wasn't scared of the fight itself; I had fought countless times before. It was more the thought of possibly losing Layala that upset me more than anything else.

I glanced over at Layala, who was picking at a bowl of porridge. I noticed that the hand she was holding the spoon with was shaking. She was staring blankly at the porridge, her mind clearly on other things. I walked behind her and looked over her shoulder at the food.

"That porridge must be fascinating," I said jokingly, trying to lighten her mood.

She broke out of her daze and laughed softly. "No, it's actually quite repulsive." She poked at it halfheartedly. As the mealy substance separated in the thin milk, I felt my stomach turn as I realized that she was probably right. 

"It'll be alright, you know," I said, trying my best to sound reassuring.

"Do you really think so?" She said, worry filtering into her voice.

I didn't know, to be honest. In fact, the chances of it turning out alright were slim. But there was no point in telling her that. Besides, I felt like I needed to be assured myself.
"I hope so," I murmured, trying to project confidence I didn't feel into my voice. I slowly walked over to the other side of the room, looking out the tiny barred window.

I could see a long line outside. People were gathering for the fight, I assumed. Many of them had bags of money at their belts, and several groups were huddled together counting coins and exchanging them. What kind of people would enjoy watching such a spectacle, much less bet on it? I looked at each person in the line individually, and as I studied them and their rich, colorful robes and soft hands my answer came. Only those who had never experienced such horrors firsthand.

The thought took me back to the first time I had killed... Over six years ago, when I was just a boy of twelve.

*Flashback*==================

I spit out a mouthful of blood as I got back onto my feet. My opponent, one of my friends named Edil, stood a short distance away holding a bowstaff. I reached for my weapon, a short halberd with a hook on the end, and stood tall, ignoring the pain from the previous blow. My right eye was already swelling, and it was difficult to see through it.

Edil wordlessly lunged at me, using a quick combination of strikes that put me into retreat. His skill with a bowstaff was unparalleled among the younger fighters, and the quick spinning of the weapon unnerved me. Instead of blocking the attacks I focused on getting out of the way. I was letting him have the upper hand, gauging his attentiveness.

The staff whirred as Edil rapidly spun it around, pushing me further back until I was nearly to the edge of the ring.

It was now or never.

I rapidly sprang into the air, my momentum carrying me over Edil as I used the outer wall as a launching pad. As I passed overhead I managed to land a kick on his face that knocked him back. As soon as my feet made contact with the ground I spun around, the blade of my halberd making contact with my opponent's back. He let out a cry of pain that he quickly silenced. We had been trained not to show emotion in a fight, no matter the pain.

I looked over to where my father and several other of our tribe's leading members sat. They were shaking their heads in disapproval and murmuring amongst themselves.

I looked back at Edil just in time to duck a swing that had been aimed for my head. He had recovered to some extent, though his breathing was heavier and I noticed blood dripping onto the ground from his back. I now had the upper hand.