by A. Giannetti
Elerian looked neither right nor left, but out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the looks of intense interest on the faces of those seated at the tables. He heard Orianus laugh.
“I see that you are in haste to give me more of your fortune Ascilius,” said the king, for Ascilius’s disapproval of Elerian’s acceptance of Merula’s challenge had not stopped him from making a sizable bet with Orianus on the outcome of the match. “With my own eyes, I saw Merula in the thick of the fighting in the battle against the Goblins, yet he emerged unscathed through his skill with the sword,” continued Orianus.
“He will not prevail this time,” said Ascilius confidently.
“I wish to bet on Elerian too, father,” Elerian heard Anthea say in her clear voice. “I think it perilous to bet against a Dwarf twice and expect him to lose both times.”
“Good lass!” said Ascilius with a twinkle in his eye. “Make the bet substantial and you may come into your inheritance early.”
“I, too, will bet on Elerian to win,” said Dacien, who had said little up to this point.
The betting around the tables became spirited when people saw that Ascilius and both the King’s children had backed Elerian.
Orianus laughed again and threw up his hands. “I am outnumbered, I see, but I will stand by my champion. What are your wagers?”
“I will wager Mylachen’s four year old foal, a stallion without peer,” said Dacien.
“Done,” said the king to his son. “What is your wager daughter?” he asked Anthea.
“Two handfuls of mixed gems, the same as Ascilius’s wager,” replied Anthea.
“A bold wager,” said Orianus. “I will accept that too.”
All four now turned their eyes to the square where Elerian and Merula had already donned the hardened leather shirts presented to them by an attendant. The leather was reinforced with large steel bosses, polished but without any device on them. A second attendant brought a set of matched swords to Elerian, for as the challenged, he had the first choice of weapons. He was surprised to see that these were real swords, made of sleek gray steel with razor edges and fine points. As if guessing his thoughts, Merula spoke up.
“I thought our match should be a real test of skill, not a game played with blunted steel. The first to draw blood will win the contest. Unless, of course, you are afraid to use real swords.”
“Neatly done,” thought Elerian admiringly to himself. “If I refuse, I will appear to be a coward. If I accept and I am badly wounded or slain during the match, he is absolved of all blame since I agreed to use edged weapons.”
“I have no objection to using real swords,” said Elerian with a slight, hard smile. He noted with satisfaction the surprise on Merula’s face. Clearly, the Tarsi had expected him to refuse the match once real swords were brought out.
Elerian took a sword hilt in each hand. Deftly, he spun them several times so that each sword made a circle of steel through the air and gave out a bitter, hissing sound. Observing the skill of his hands and his fearless demeanor, some of those who had bet against him began to regret their choice, but all leaned forward eagerly, certain now that they would observe a rare contest of skill. Merula narrowed his eyes in surprise at Elerian’s display of dexterity, but his confidence in his own abilities remained unshaken.
After Elerian selected the sword that came most readily to his hand, Merula took the second sword. Both attendants left the square, leaving Elerian and Merula standing face to face at a distance of about ten feet.
“Magic, needless to say, is not allowed in this contest,” said Merula with a warning look in his eyes.
“I will not need magic to beat you,” said Elerian calmly
“Let us begin then,” said Merula, and the pavilion suddenly fell silent.
THE CONTESTS
Merula saluted Elerian with his raised sword and immediately sprang to the attack. He rained a series of quick, strong blows on Elerian, seeking to slash his face or arms with the tip of his sword. As Merula’s shining blade wove a web of steel around him, Elerian fell back on the lessons learned long ago from Balbus. Despite the variety of Merula’s attack, he found that Balbus had taught him a ready counter for each varied thrust. With his quick eye and strong arm, Elerian anticipated and countered each blow with a deftness and economy of motion that allowed him to hold his ground and eventually forced Merula to fall back, breathing hard with a black scowl distorting his handsome features.
A round of applause for Elerian went round the tables for withstanding Merula’s initial onslaught, and a frown of displeasure wrinkled the Tarsi’s brow. Immediately, he attacked again, but this time his moves were crafty and subtle as he probed for a weakness in Elerian’s skill. He used a quick, elaborate sequences of strokes designed to confuse Elerian or to open a gap in his defenses, but Elerian anticipated every deadly motion of Merula’s gleaming blade, blocking now with the edge of his sword or again with the cross guards above the hilt or, most dangerous of all, flicking away Merula’s blade with a precise, powerful movement of his sword point.
Now that the contest was joined, Elerian found that he was enjoying himself immensely as he immersed himself in the deadly dance of blades. He forgot about the cheering spectators at the tables and did not hear the clear ring of steel that filled the air at each stroke and counterstroke, concentrating instead on following and rebuffing Merula’s shining blade.
Merula’s confident look had long since faded away, replaced by one of cold resolve. He was determined not to lose this contest with Anthea here to witness his defeat. As the match continued, however, a sense of desperation began to creep over Merula, for he was beginning to tire while Elerian looked as fresh now as when the contest had begun.
Merula had one last desperate trick to play. He made a cut at Elerian’s face, which Elerian easily blocked. In the moment when his right fist was not far from Elerian’s face, a brief beam of light shot from the gold ring Merula wore on the ring finger of his right hand.
Merula had given a bag of gold to a mage of dubious reputation in exchange for that ring. The large diamond set in the gold band sent out an intense beam of light which the wearer of the ring could direct wherever he pleased. It was a dishonest trick worthy of a Goblin, but it had served Merula well in many deadly contests. Only desperation forced him to use it now where he ran the risk of being discovered.
To the spectators around the tables, it appeared that a facet of the ring’s stone momentarily reflected one of the mage lights hung around the pavilion, but Elerian eyes felt the full intensity of the brief beam. Momentarily blind, he felt Merula withdraw his blade and knew the next stroke would draw blood, for Merula would show him no mercy now that he had the advantage. Desperately, Elerian opened his third eye and saw Merula’s golden shade step back away from him. He could not see the look of triumph on Merula’s face, for shades like shadows had no features, but he was able to see the Tarsi’s sword as a dead, black shape clenched in his right hand. When Merula suddenly thrust his sword, point first, at Elerian’s chest, Elerian swiftly pivoted to his right on the ball of his left foot and leaned back. Merula’s blade slid across his chest, grating on the metal bosses that reinforced the leather. Lifting his right arm, Elerian brought the pommel of his sword down on Merula’s right hand. He could easily have broken bones with the round, steel pommel, but he struck lightly, numbing Merula’s hand so that his sword hilt slipped from his nerveless fingers. As Merula’s sword fell toward the thick turf by his feet, Elerian pivoted to his left before raising his blade and holding the razor sharp edge against the right side of Merula’s neck.
“First blood,” shouted someone from the tables.
Elerian closed his third eye and found that his sight had begun to clear. He could now see his sword edge. Because of the imprecise nature of the sight granted him by his third eye, he had put his blade closer to Merula’s neck than he had intended. The razor sharp blade had nicked the skin, and a thin trickle of red blood was running down the Tars
i’s tanned neck, disappearing inside the collar of his leather shirt. Merula’s eyes were wide with shock at the suddenness with which the contest had ended.
Gray eyes shining with a cold light, Elerian took his sword away from Merula’s neck. He was furious with the Tarsi’s underhanded trick that might have cost him the contest and perhaps his life, for there was no knowing how deep Merula would have driven in his blade had it struck Elerian’s chest.
“Keep quiet,” Elerian silently warned himself, keeping his face impassive. “It will be your word against his, and it is unlikely that anyone will take your side. Merula is wildly popular among his countrymen while you are nothing more than an unknown stranger.”
Stepping back, Elerian brought his sword tip up in a salute to his opponent. Applause and cheers broke out from the tables. Rising over the din, like the rumble of distant thunder, was Ascilius’s deep voice, cheering lustily.
Merula smoothed over his face and also stepped back, graciously saluting Elerian with his right hand and acknowledging his own defeat. Despite his dislike of the man, Elerian had to admire his self-assurance. Smiling at the audience, Merula held up his right hand again, this time asking for silence.
“The stranger from the west has proved himself a master of the sword,” he said in an admiring voice that masked his true feelings. “Perhaps now, he would like to test his strength in a bout of wrestling.”
Elerian was certain Merula was setting another trap for him, but without hesitation, he said, “I would be happy to wrestle a match.”
Having beaten Merula in a contest of arms, he was sure that he could best him in a contest of strength as well. After returning his sword to the attendant who had come forward again, Elerian waited to see what would happen next.
He started slightly when a clear voice from behind him said, “It was foolish to accept that offer.”
Elerian half turned to his right and found himself staring into Anthea’s enigmatic blue eyes, for the contest against Merula had brought him near to Orianus’s table.
Tearing himself away from her gaze, Elerian looked away and said firmly, “I have had some practice in the art of wrestling. I am sure that I will give Merula a fair contest.”
He glanced back at Anthea and was stung by the pitying look on her fair face, as if she had before her someone lacking the greater part of his wits. “You are not fighting Merula,” she said sharply. “You will contest a bout with Gram Hammer Hand, the reigning champion of our nation.”
Elerian looked around the grass square and saw that Merula had left it, resuming his seat at his table, a small smile of triumph and anticipation twisting his lips.
“The better the challenge, then,” said Elerian to Anthea without turning around. His voice filled with feigned indifference, although inside he felt like a fool. Merula had tricked him again, and this cool Tarsian maiden now thought he was a half-wit as well as being unattractive. In that moment, Elerian began to understand Merula a little better, having some inkling now of his torment. Although Anthea obviously despised him, Elerian felt that he would wrestle a bout with a dragon if it would impress her. A great roar went up from the tables, and Elerian had his first view of the Tarsi champion.
Gram was just walking through the gap between the tables. He was a man past middle age, but he walked with the stride of a much younger man. Tall, even for a Tarsi, he was bare to the waist, and his bulky upper body was layered with corded muscles that rippled beneath his sun-browned skin. His head and face were clean-shaven except for a large black mustache whose ends drooped down to his chin, and his gray eyes had the fierce look of a bird of prey.
Elerian swallowed hard. This sun-browned giant looked almost as formidable as a Troll. Silently, he cursed Merula for outwitting him a second time.
“Withdraw while you can,” advised Anthea’s clear, mocking voice from behind him, pitched low so that it would not carry far.
“Listen to her,” Elerian heard Dacien say suddenly in a soft, worried voice. “There is no shame in it Elerian. I have seen Gram bend an iron bar as thick as his thumb.”
A core of stubbornness surged through Elerian, stiffening his resolve. Having agreed to this match, he would not back down now in front of all these people and especially not in front of Anthea. Grimly, he removed his doublet and shirt, handing them to an attendant. Around the tables, there was a sense of disappointment that was almost palpable, for Elerian looked weak and insubstantial next to the brown giant Gram. His skin was still white from his time in the mines, crisscrossed by pale scars and burn marks, and his body was little more than bone and long, lean muscle. He did not look in any way a match for the powerful Tarsi that he faced.
Gram regarded Elerian with amazement, as if he suspected that he was being made the butt of some elaborate joke.
“I cannot wrestle you little man,” he rumbled in a deep voice. “You look delicate as a maid and would doubtless fall apart in my hands.”
Laughter greeted his words. Out of the corner of his right eye, Elerian saw Merula wearing a look of anticipation on his face.
Suddenly, from behind Elerian, Ascilius’s deep voice called out, “I will bet on Elerian to win. Come now, who will step up to take my money?”
Elerian heard more laughter. Clearly many of those around the table thought Ascilius far gone into his cups, and there was a rush to bet against Elerian who groaned silently to himself. Not only would he look like a fool in front of Anthea if he lost, he might well bankrupt Ascilius. Taking a deep breath to settle himself, Elerian called out to Gram.
“Let us begin my friend. I promise not to hurt you too badly.”
“Hurt me!” roared the giant in disbelief.
Clearly angry, he charged across the square, extending his right arm and powerful, knotted hand toward Elerian’s left shoulder. Fending off the giant’s hand with his left arm, Elerian stepped smoothly to the right. Hooking his left ankle in front of Gram’s left ankle, Elerian tripped the giant Tarsi, using his own momentum to send Gram sprawling face first onto the ground in front of Orianus’s table. Gram sprang up at once, a look of surprise on his weathered face.
Exercising more caution this time, he attempted to put a hand on Elerian several more times, but each time, Elerian easily batted away his powerful arm and slipped free.
“Bless you Balbus,” thought Elerian to himself, remembering all of the bouts he had wrestled with his foster grandfather.
Suddenly, Gram crouched and lunged at Elerian, attempting to wrap his arms around his waist and throw him to the ground. Elerian sidestepped to his left and quickly slipped behind Gram. As the Tarsi began to straighten up, Elerian leaned over his broad back, attempting to slip his right arm under Gram’s shoulder, intending to place his hand over the back of the Tarsi’s corded neck. Seizing Elerian’s forearm with his left hand, Gram reached back with his right hand, gripping Elerian under the right shoulder with his powerful right hand. His mighty muscles rippled as he effortlessly lifted Elerian off the ground. Pulling Elerian over his right shoulder, Gram threw him forward as easily as if he weighed no more than a small child. After Gram released his hold, Elerian flew a good ten feet through the air.
Gram rushed forward, intending to pounce on his opponent when he struck the ground, but Elerian twisted in the air and landed on his feet facing Gram. Displaying the reflexes of a big cat, Gram slowed his rush, pivoted on his left foot, and aimed a powerful kick at Elerian’s chest with his right foot. Elerian spun to his right, avoiding the blow and seizing Gram by the ankle with both hands. With a powerful wrench of his arms, Elerian pulled Gram off balance so that he fell heavily to the ground onto his back when Elerian released his ankle. Gram immediately leaped lithely to his feet, but not before Elerian had circled behind him, smoothly slipping his hands and arms beneath his opponent’s shoulders before clasping his hands tightly behind the Tarsi’s corded neck.
Elerian now felt as if he had locked his hands on a column of stone, for the Tarsi had sinews that felt as hard as
granite. Calling on all his strength, his slender frame became taut as a bowstring, each sinew and muscle in his arms and back standing out in bold relief as he applied pressure to the mighty Gram’s neck. The audience drew in a sharp breath of disbelief as Elerian, displaying strength out of keeping with his slender frame, bent Gram’s head down, slowly forcing him to his knees. Gram’s corded muscles bulged to the point where it seemed they must burst as he contested every inch of the descent, straining mightily to break free of Elerian’s hold. A hush fell over the pavilion as, sinews creaking; they silently battled against each other. Beads of sweat broke out on Gram’s forehead, and his eyes bulged from his efforts to break free.
“I yield,” he said suddenly and unexpectedly in a deep pain filled voice.
Elerian immediately released his hold on the Tarsi and stepped back, still breathing easily despite his exertions of the past few moments. He stood lightly on his feet, waiting to see what Gram would do next, for in Hesperia, it was common practice to wrestle three bouts. Gram slowly rose to his feet, his chest heaving. Rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand and grimacing in pain, he examined Elerian curiously.
“You have a man’s strength in that wispy body,” he said in his deep voice.
“Thank you,” said Elerian with a smile. “I will take that as a compliment. Would you care to go another bout?”
Gram looked at him in disbelief and suddenly roared with laughter. “I think not,” he said still laughing. “I had better quit now while I am still in one piece.”
He turned and bowed to Orianus and then left the square still laughing. Around the tables, the silence was suddenly broken by applause and animated conversation. One of the attendants came forward with Elerian’s clothes. As he donned his shirt and doublet, Elerian was sure that he caught a brief, speculative gleam in Anthea’s eyes.
When Elerian sat down at his place at the table again, Ascilius clapped him heavily on the back. Every one of the Dwarf’s pockets was stuffed with jingling coins, and he was in a jubilant mood.