Liridia

Chapter 19: Little Bull

Liridia
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The camp always did smell musty, a mix of horse, iron and wood. It smelled like home.

'Liridia. Commander Swonjabi wishes to see you immediately in his tent, if it please you.' A young page asked, his eyes stone cold. I sling my arm around his shoulder and walk with him to the Commander.

'So, are you still pining for that girl we talked about, Mack?' I asked quietly. He goes bright red and shakes his head dejectedly.

'No. Jon hooked her in with his rat claws before I could even get the chance. I tried doing what you said, Liridia... but she said her heart belongs to another.' He ends sadly. I draw circles onto his arm as he walks to calm him down, Jon was always a troublemaker.

We stop at the tent door and I spin him to look at me. 'Now you listen here, Mack McHames, son of Tread McHames II and Danil Kiops. You were not born to be second best, to lose to Jon and his rat claws. You go show that girl what she's missing out on. Right?' He nods determined and marches off to find his girl.

That's my boy.

I step inside the tent and Swonjabi is writing in his journal. A girl stands at attention and I nod so her back doesn't scream in agony by the time me and Ravi are finished.

'You called?' He looks up and nods silently, going back to his book.

'Who's the girl?' I ask, almost taking the quill from his hands. After what feels an eternity, he puts the quill in its inkwell and closes the book.

'Her name is Ayala Mahtria. She's the fresh meat for today. Train her well like you always do, and do keep the animals from touching her.' He says folding his arms over his frail chest.

I exit with a salute and the fresh meat follows like a bad smell. I lead her to the sparring field. The racks that adorn the wall are full with weapons. I point at it and she chooses two short sabres, for quick jabs and fast manuevers. I smile as I pick the same, while secretly sliding a dagger into my boot, pretending to itch a particularly nasty bug bite. She hasn't noticed.

We enter the circle and I recite the rules.
'All duels are fought until one is subdued, or has tapped out. Not to the death. If one is pushed from the circle, the fight is over. No grabbing more weapons when your's are lost. Understood?'

She nods and the fight begins. Her quick jabs prove a tough fight, hard to move when a dagger nearly pieces your chest while doing so. Though the fight is tough, it's not impossible. I determine that the amount of times she has attacked with her right side instead of her left makes her weak on that side. So I exploit it. I duck and weave, I could kick her out of the circle, but I want to see where this goes. I slice into her arm with an easy swing and she grunts in pain.

I swing the sabres playfully, and she huffs like an angry bull. She charges and at the last second, slides into my ankle.
I fall onto my back and she pins me to the ground. She smiles in feline victory. I slowly bring my leg up and grab the dagger. I smile back and her face crumples in bewilderment.

I stab my dagger into the soft part of her shoulder, just below the bone. She hisses in pain, but won't give me the satisfaction. I roll from under her grip and she pushes herself up with one arm. She closes her eyes and wrenches the dagger from her arm with a face contorted in agony.

I pace like a cat, my eyes flashing, waiting for her to move. She rolls her shoulder slowly and takes one deep breath before lashing out in calculated rage. She pushes me back to the near edge of the circle, our blades singing in sharp harmony. I kick her knee and she falls onto one knee. She grabs the dagger from the dirt and shoves it into my thigh. I grit my teeth, but remember the many agonies that were far worse in my training days. Her wrist still grasped firmly onto the dagger, I wrench it the other way, a wet crunch signalling broken bones.