Chapter 9 - Fighting chance

I step off the sand and back into a shaded area in the stands, my opponent follows after me, sitting down beside me with a frown. He is silent for a while, thoughts swirling behind those amber eyes. The shade makes his dark brown hair almost look black and It makes me wonder what region he is from. Most men with such a deep complexion hail from the south, but he has the sharp cut facial features of an easterner.

"My name is Quentin." He tells me stoically, as we watch the next match commence, two men facing off against each other with flawless footwork. "You know...I think it wouldn't be half bad if we were paired together in the duel matches." He comments.

"Duel matches?" I ask.

"You don't know?" He asks, eyebrows raised as I shake of my head in answer. "This first part is meant to filter out the rabble, those who have no skill or instinct when it comes to fighting. The Duke Verdean doesn't even attend it."

"And the second part?"

"The second part is meant to test our teamwork, we are to work in pairs." I think for a moment before grimacing.

"And let me guess, the third part is a melee, 2 sides clashing as if we were in battle." Quentin nods his head in accent, his features ever stoic.

"Yur sharper than you look."

"Thanks?" I say wincing as a warrior deflects his enemies blade upwards and into his own throat. Quentin shakes his head at the display in disapproval.

"That lad even had some good training.... shit instincts though." He comments as his corpse is dragged away.

"No kidding." I reply dryly. After a few more relatively uneventful matches, a horn bellows and the crier roars out his announcement.

"The second stage of testing begins in two hours! Get your meals and gather your wits! The Duke himself will be attending to see you in action!" I stand and stretch like a cat, the leather under armour I wear, feeling uncomfortably tight. I never have liked wearing it, but when I am at risk of my clothes being torn I wear it anyway. If such a thing where to happen I could pass it off as some kind of brace, so It limits the risk that I will be discovered, making my body seem as if it is shaped more like mans. It is something that has become more difficult the older I get, although I usually compensate for it with cloaks and layers of clothing; those methods are becoming more effective as the men my age grow increasingly masculine.

"See you soon." I tell Quentin, wandering off to find something to eat. I feel someone catch my arm, pulling me around to look into angry blue eyes. Devin stares back at me indignantly, glaring as if I am his most ardent enemy.

"You didn't even say goodbye." He accuses me.

"Isn't hello so much better." I say with a smirk. He looks lost for a second and so I ruffle his soft blond hair. "I didn't realize you'd wanted me too, if I had I would have done so."

"I hope your my partner in the second round." He tells me earnestly, that frown still frozen on his brow.

"That I don't hope, not on either of us. We share to much of the same weaknesses to be an effective team. I hope you get someone who can compliment your agility by holding their ground." I wave to him as I slip off to find something to eat at the vendors outside. "See you later Devin."

"Later you bloody bard." He shoots back with a grin as I grimace at the name. I was hoping it wouldn't stick, but it seems that the chances of that are slim.

I end up finding a vendor that sells fresh buns stuffed with diced meat and fried onions, so I order a dozen to bring back to the stands with me. When I go to slip back into the arena, Devar is waiting at the entrance and tapping his foot impatiently, a peevish expression on his face.

"I damn near missed your match, you little ingrate." I accuses, pointing at my chest. "I cannot believe you failed to wake me, I demand recompense!" He huffs. I hand him a bun as I walk by and I can see the gratitude try to slip in over the haze of irritability. "Don't think you can bribe your way out of this one." He grumbles, munching on it. "You do this every time." He accuses me.

"Only because it works." I tell him, wincing when I see a dark look flicker over his features. He looks down at the bun as if it is the enemy. I reach for his arm almost unconsciously, meeting his eyes and placing my hand over my chest. He knows what the gesture means, a promise to the little boy he used to be. The one who spent too many nights with an empty stomach as his mother slaved away, fighting for a pittance.

"I don't know if I'll make it Devar, If I get paired with the wrong partner then we are almost guaranteed to take a loss; especially if I'm matched against any of the skilled fighters." He gives me a clouded look.

"You will, it's our only chance Rowan." He tells me, peering into my eyes and placing a hand on my shoulder. I feel my stomach turn a little as he looks at me and so I fight to break the mood, handing him another bun as I go to stuff one into my own mouth. He doesn't come with me to the fighters section, he's not allowed; but when the second round is about to commence I meet his eyes from across the arena. They bore into me as if trying to will my success, as if a promise could guarantee that I can make it out of this okay.

"The second round of our selection will commence shortly!" Announces the crier, standing on a pedestal and swing his arms. "Contestants are to select their own partners for this section, any who are leftover by the end will be automatically paired by me." Me and Quentin meet each other's gaze and he nods his accent to me. I head over and sit next to him, placing the food between us and offering him some.

I watch the other pairs as they slowly draw together, a surge of relief welling up within me when I see a heavy built knight approach Devin. They shake hands and I feel a little smile tug at my lips, remembering the man's fight and knowing he just raised Devins odds by a good margin.