Chapter 10: Melee, Part 1

Rath spat out blood and dodged the screaming woman coming at him, catching her soundly in the stomach as she passed him and stealing her single remaining flag as she fell to the ground. He shoved it into his jacket just as a pair of men came into view, both clutching weights that would add a nasty heft to their punches. They were also against the rules, but when had that ever stopped anyone?

He avoided one, but took a clip to the jaw from the other that sent him stumbling into someone behind him. That got him a rough kick and a flag lost—but sent him crashing into the first pair and knocking them all to the ground. Rath punched them both, kneed one in the groin, stole two flags apiece from both, and got out of there while they were still trying to figure out which way was up.

How much longer was this nightmare going to last?

He was down to two flags out of five himself, which meant he was probably going to be out of the fight soon, though hopefully he'd leave with enough flags to qualify him for the duels.

Though what he was going to duel with was a mystery. Common folk didn't learn martial skills the way the nobility did. They had six months rudimentary training and then were allowed to go back to their lives. High City folk had to learn far more—and spent a good deal of money doing it.

Rath knew the sharp end of the sword and where to stick it, but only from required lessons taken back when he was fourteen. His skills with a knife were more suited to household chores than hurting people. If his fists weren't enough to get him through the first two rounds, then he was out of luck.

He dodged around a fellow roughly the size of a ship and with all the grace of a sinking ship. He'd just gotten into it with a woman who seemed to have soldierly training when the horns blew, making him start. Rath bolted away from the woman as quickly as he could manage, every single bone and muscle in his body hurting, and returned to the edge of the field.

A field that had started out a pristine stretch of swept earth was now littered with unconscious people, bits of torn clothes, and splashes of blood. One of the criers ordered them to form lines in front of the tables and be ready to have their flags counted. If they had no flags, they were to go to the table at the farthest end.

But that was not Rath's problem. When he finally reached the table, he dumped his collection of flags on it, then handed over the single one of his own he had remaining.

"Four lost, twenty-three gained," the clerk said. "Go stand beneath the blue tent."

Giving the flippant version of a soldier's salute, back of his hand facing out, fingers touched to his brow before flicking them sharply out, he spun away and stamped over to the blue tent. Where he promptly dropped to the ground and lowered his head to keep from throwing up. Maybe drinking five or six ales before getting into a massive brawl hadn't been the wisest choice. Fates grant him mercy, how was he supposed to work for Trin that night when he could barely move?

But that was a problem to deal with in a few more hours. Hopefully he would be free of the damned tournament soon and could get some rest before facing the long night ahead of him.

He looked up at the sound of a ruckus, saw a man bellowing and shouting, a clerk sprawled on the ground. Angry guards came up and dragged the man away. Wincing, Rath hauled himself to his feet and leaned carefully against one of the poles supporting the tent. "What's going on?"

"If I had to guess," said a rough, but pretty, voice with an accent definitely not from the city, "I'd say he tried to cheat. Maybe bought the flags off those who only had one or two and obviously weren't going to make it."

Rath grunted. Smart, but not worth the risk. He turned to look at the speaker, a handsome woman with skin slightly darker than his own and reddish-brown hair that had been woven into a thick, heavy braid that stopped just past her neck. Definitely not from the city, because in the city, only nobles could afford to keep their hair long. For everyone else, hair kept long rapidly became filthy and vermin-infested. "See it worked well for him."

The woman shrugged. "Gotta be smart and careful, and anyone cheating in line is neither of those things." She held out a hand, palm up. Rath laid his own it; they curled their fingers together in a formal greeting that no one in the city bothered with ever. "Kelni of Rier Village."

"Rath Jakobson. So where is Rier?"

"Dead south of here, about six days on foot. Fishing village."

Rath grinned. "Is that why you smell like fish?"

"Shush your mouth, city boy. What excuses you smelling like a pub?"

"I was in one for three hours, and I'm a day laborer losing wages to get beat up for scraps of cloth," Rath replied.

Kelni laughed. "Fair enough. Going to retrieve my sisters after this and find a drink or three of my own. What's a good place to rent rooms that won't lose me every penny to my name?"

"Cart Street, seventh house on the left coming from the south end. It's got a red bird painted on the door. She lets room to folks with a recommendation. If you tell her I sent you, she'll let you stay. If she's already full up, she'll know a good place to send you. For food, try the Blue Minstrel. Good and cheap, they don't water the drinks overmuch, and the ale doesn't taste like piss."

She beamed at him, lightly touched his arm. "Thank you, you've been very kind."

Rath shrugged. "Plenty of others could have helped you just the same. Uh, looks like they're summoning us. Fates lead you to Fortune."

"May they lead you to the same, city boy." She winked and slipped away to join the crowd milling toward a beckoning crier.