Chapter 8
Daniel returned from his trip to the Meadow Isles just before the winter solstice.
“Are you coming to watch the contest?” Eleanor asked, rolling over to face him on the morning of the shortest day.
“I think not.”
“It’ll be fun. Come on, I know you’d rather watch them poison each other, but you have to admit that hand-to-hand makes for a better visual spectacle.”
“You go. They are your students.”
“Oh, I’m going.” She sat on the edge of the bed and started to pull on her clothes. “I just thought you might want to come with me.”
“No, thank you.”
She left him in bed and jogged across to the academy practice hall, where Karl and Nicholas were setting up ropes to demarcate the fighting arena. She helped Albert to move a few benches into position around the ring, then went to see how the draw had turned out.
Raf’s first fight was against Nate. There was never any real question over the outcome, but Eleanor cheered and applauded with the rest of the audience at every feint and parry until Raf had Nate face-down on the ground, stiletto poised at the back of his neck.
By the time they broke for lunch Raf had annihilated a second opponent, putting him in a strong position going into the final round. He stayed in the hall when the others left, stretching in the middle of the ring.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Eleanor asked.
“Later,” he said, dropping into the splits. “Afterwards.”
She perched on the end of a nearby bench. “I’m not sure why anyone else is bothering when you’re so clearly going to win.”
“I haven’t won yet.” He sprung back to his feet and offered her his stiletto. “Want to help me keep warm?”
She took the knife and dropped into a low stance. “But I’m not wearing my leathers,” she said. “So you’ll have to play nicely.”
“Okay.” He reached up to his shoulders and loosed the straps of his own leather breastplate, dropping it to the ground just outside the ring. He threw his greaves and vambraces down after it. “Fair?”
“First to five touches,” she said. “I don’t want to wear you out.”
They fenced carefully at first, in contrast to the vicious attacks of the contest bouts, but neither of them was naturally good at holding back. Eleanor drew blood with her first touch, and didn’t quite know whether to laugh or apologise for the scratch.
“I’ll get you for that,” Raf said, lunging straight back into the fight.
They were still at it – with three points each – when the others started to return from lunch.
“Ellie, get out of the ring,” Greg shouted from the sidelines. “You can’t win two years running!”
She didn’t feel the need to point out that she’d only come second in her own contest, but she turned to Raf: “Want to call it a draw?”
“A draw? No, I want to win. We can finish this later.”
They stepped over the rope and Eleanor sat down to watch the next fight while Raf strapped himself back into his leather armour. He should have been tired from the exertion but if anything he seemed to have drawn extra energy from the practice. He faced Greg and Stefan in the final, and both opponents quickly found themselves with blades to their throats.
“Congratulations,” Eleanor said, throwing her arms around his neck. “See, I told you you’d win.”
Revolution (Chronicles of Charanthe #2) Page 21