15 Chapter 14

"You could have beaten him," Johan remarks as I took my seat, to which our fathers agreed loudly. "Why'd you guys go for a draw?"

"I could win the entire tournament, but it'd be hard," I reply simply. "This way, I'll probably have a friend in the final two matches and we'll probably face each other again in the actual finals. Originally, I really wanted the gold, but I can make due with just the knife. It's a pretty big knife. Plus, somebody as good as him would be a good friend to have."

Both my parents suddenly went a little stiff and looked at me with mixed emotions. I could tell what they were thinking without even looking at them and I felt the gap between us that almost seemed to be shrinking return to its original size. They knew I was making connections because of what I fear will happen in a couple years.

"To each their own," is all the complacent Johan says, unaware of the slight shift in moods that had taken place around him.

Mr. Hiel, though, was nowhere near as oblivious even though he was currently drunk and kept silently pestering my father with questioning looks. I did my best to ignore this, much like my father, but I could not help but watch out of the corner of my eye. More than likely, my father would end up confiding in him soon enough.

The current fights were somewhat interesting, on Johan's stage was another youth wielding a pole as a spear facing a youth with a large two-handed wooden sword. On my stage were a couple of kids my age wrestling as usual. In all honest, watching these people more or less fumble around was agitating, there were so many chances to end a fight in one hit that I wanted to pull my hair our from frustration.

To distract Johan's father, my dad started up a commentary on the fights that covered all of the flaws that I was struggling to overlook while Mr. Hiel did his best to speak in favor of the fighters. Most of them really were just kids flailing about, but every now and then a real fight would take place. I did my best to keep track of who was talented and who was not, but my mind was flooded with my own worries about either the future or my upcoming fights.

As the strong whittled away the weak from the tournaments, I could not help but wonder how my small size and strength would match up to theirs. Even if I had a lifetime of experience, my last fight had proven that I would be hard pressed to make it through to the finals. I just could not hit hard enough.

Even in my first fight, it took an unexpected jumping knee to render the fat boy unconscious while a heavy falling punch could only stagger him.

Fights came and went and I ended up returning to the stage before Johan because my tournament was steadily shrinking. For a moment, I expected the organizers to make the boy I had fought earlier face me again in a tie breaker, but it seemed that they thought it would be better to even out the final fights like I did. Instead, a boy around my age was my opponent.

Instead of climbing up on the stage, though, he quickly called out his forfeiting and the judge announced me the winner before I had even finished climbing up on the stage. I had officially made it into the semi finals. With luck, my co-conspirator would be beaten in his next fight and I could claim all of the first place prizes for myself.

I really wanted that gold as well as the knife.

The second place winner from last year, who was originally expected to win this year, was up next and climbing on stage at the same time was the boy I had made the deal with. Both of them seemed calm- almost casual- but I could tell that my newfound friend was excited. He obviously had high expectations for this fight, much like the suddenly quiet audiences.

Unlike when we fought, my comrade did not talk to his opponent to make things interesting or try to taunt like I would, instead he dove in head first with little regard for himself as he practiced the hammer fist and blocking techniques he had seen me use. His opponent, though, was no pushover and responded in kind with the same vigor.

It seemed like as soon as my friend scored the first hit with a heavy hammer to the neck and shoulder the other boy used an uppercut straight into his chest. The two separated briefly and then jumped right back in, jabbing and swinging almost wildly as they rained blows upon one another. In all my years, I had never seen kids fight like this and I was suddenly grateful that one of them had taken interest in me and was now friendly.

Of course, the fact that I was at least two years younger than either of them did not hurt. Even if I was a good fighter, Johan had a point about fighting a little kid. Regardless of if I won, I would be in a sorry state.

Ducking low under the outstretched arms of the other boy, my friend responded in kind by wrapping his arms around the other boy's waist and lunging up and forward. Despite being young, they were both relatively the same weight and strength so it was not surprising that my friend managed to lift the other boy off his feet and shove him a few feet forward to crash onto the stage, However, he maintained his easy-going personality and hung back while the other boy got up once again.

The fight had only been going for about a minute and both of them were already bleeding from the face, one from the nose and the other from the mouth. Taking a page out of my book, the other boy feinted a wide punch from the side and then immediately ducked into a jab at my friend's knee. Unperturbed by this blow, though, by friend clasped his hands together and hammered them both down on the other boy's back between his shoulders.

"These kids are vicious," my father can't help but remark on the fight, watching with obvious surprise on his face.

"The one I made a draw with earlier enjoys fighting," I say in response to his remark. "More than likely, he's having the time of his life right now. That's one of the reasons I like him."

He was probably hurting as much as he was enjoying himself as the fight continued, landing several blows about the face and gut of his opponent while they were all returned in kind. However, the other boy soon ended up turning the tide in his favor by landing two more blows on my friend's knees. In seconds it became obvious that his mobility had been lowered as he focused less on evading and blocking and focused more heavily and punching.

Despite his advantage, the other boy made a severe mistake that cost him the fight. He tried to kick and only ended up having his leg grabbed and jerked so that he was forced almost into a split. My friend's reflexes were still on point despite a slight limp similar to what I had given him.

Sure of his victory, my comrade tried to push the advantage only for last year's second place winner to roll sideways on the stage and out of reach. As if he had been learning from me since my first fight, the other boy pushed himself from the ground with his arms and kicked out both feet straight into my new friend's chest. Even I could hear the harsh huff of air leaving his lungs as he fell straight back on his rear and clutched at his chest.

As last year's second place swiftly got off the ground and limped toward him, my comrade held up a hand and shook his head as he tried to breathe. It was obvious the fight had literally been knocked out of him with that devastating kick. However, the other boy had none of my friend's chivalry and went on the attack regardless to try and tackle my friend and get on top of him.

Just as he was raising a fist to start punching, the judge called for the fight to stop and waited before announcing the victor. It would obviously have been last year's second placer, but the judge probably wanted to see if he would disqualify himself by attacking after he called a stop. It was bad enough that my friend had already given up and he continued, but without a proper forfeit he could have just been buying time.

When the obvious winner did not throw the punch and instead got up to walk away, the match was finally called in his favor and my friend was helped down from the stage by local healers.

Instead of going back to his seat, though, he came over to sit by Johan and I while wiping blood from his face with his short and said, "He's a mean one, you'll need to look out when fighting him."

"Even worse, he's smart," I reply thoughtfully. "He knew he would have been disqualified if he threw the punch, especially after hesitating when he heard the judge. I'm Hugo, by the way."

"Irka," is his brief reply. "Friends call me Rik, though.