Death Flag

by Richard Haygood

  Randall leaned over until his face was just above hers and said, “Consider this a lesson learned, brat. Maybe now you will understand your place.” He stood upright again and pressed his hand flat against her face and then shoved. The young girl was sent flying back several paces before landing on her rear, her eyes growing wide with the added insult and humiliation even as she sucked in huge breaths, struggling to catch her breath again.

  There was a round of laughter from the throng and a smattering of applause from a few. Madison looked around at the gathered faces on the opposite side of the circle from where he was and realized that not everyone was actually as enthralled as they initially seemed. Although most people had bought into the fight hook, line, and sinker, there were a few people shaking their heads, and a few others were already turning away. He noticed two people on the far side, a young man with dark hair and tan skin and a dark-haired woman with slightly-darker skin, staring at Shayna where she had fallen on the ground. The young woman was clutched onto the man’s arm, and concern was plastered all over her face.

  Randall threw his head back and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly reveling in the mob’s adulation. He slowly turned around in a small circle, a huge, self-satisfied, shit-eating grin on his face. He caught sight of the few people who had already turned and started walking away, and the faintest trace of a scowl flickered across his face, but it quickly returned to the conceited smirk.

  Warren leaned up into his ear, and in a hushed tone just loud enough to be heard over the noise everyone was making, he said, “This is what I wanted to avoid. The guy is a real jerk in case you can’t tell.”

  Madison could tell. A small seed of loathing had been planted the minute he laid eyes on Randall, and it had only continued to grow in the short few minutes since then. He had to admit that the other man was somewhat skilled. After all, he had put the young girl on the defensive and never let up. It had only been a short bout, but Madison had seen enough to know that Randall knew how to handle himself. Madison nodded his head in understanding and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  As he turned to leave, and his eyes swept over the defeated girl, however, his vision dragged for a moment. She had collapsed forward and was on her hands and knees, actually trying to push herself back to her feet. She was panting raggedly, still unable to breathe properly, but she was trying to get up.

  Randall realized it just as Madison did as well, finally turning back to Shayna. “Now, you see?” he taunted. “This is more like it. Exactly how a young woman should behave.”

  Shayna shot him a glare that might as well have conveyed daggers instead. She held up one hand, still clutching her weapon, shot him a bird, and then spit in the ground at her feet. She might not have been able to speak for lack of oxygen, but she was clearly determined to get her message across one way or another.

  Several people laughed at her open defiance, and there was a chorus of ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s from numerous others.

  But Randall wasn’t amused. His previously-conceited visage was instantly replaced with derision and contempt. His lip curled up at the same time his foot moved back, that strange, yellow light surrounding it again. He hopped forward a half-step with his leg, planted, and landed a massive kick into Shayna’s midsection that looked like it was fit to launch a football downfield. The small girl was lifted off the ground and spun around as she went flying. She hit the ground hard and rolled over until she hit the edge of the circle, several people dancing around and others jumping back in an attempt to avoid her rolling body.

  Warren pulled at Madison’s arm and said, “Let’s go. Before this is over and everyone rushes to breakfast. I was serious about getting there ahead of everyone else. We’re just wasting time here, and I really don’t want to watch this.”

  Madison felt Warren tugging against his arm, but he kept his gaze locked on the two combatants. I know I said I was going to just go with it, but what type of barbaric crap is this? I get the fact that they can just heal someone back up with magic or potions or whatever, but what the hell? Surely, someone must be going to stop this. She clearly can’t continue fighting. Enough is enough. He scanned the throng of people again, looking for someone who might step in and intervene now that the fight was clearly over, but no one made a move.

  Shayna rolled over onto her side clutching her stomach and coughed. Even from across the circle, he saw a small spray of blood cross her lips and fall onto the grass.

  That’s it. That has to be the signal to stop. Madison set his jaw in place and gritted his teeth. This was almost just too much for him to accept. No matter how willing he was to just observe for the time being and learn what he could, there was still only so much he could accept. There were certain things he just couldn’t swallow down. He wasn’t exactly a white-knight—his internal moral compass wasn’t screaming at him because a girl had been attacked—but he had been raised by a civilized society. People didn’t just go around randomly attacking someone else without provocation. People didn’t just walk up to strangers on the sidewalk and try to chop their heads off or start fist fights with them just because they were bored and looking for something to do or so that they could show off. Even in the medieval ages, such barbaric behavior wasn’t something that was heard of. Sure, there would always be instances of schoolyard fights or drunks getting to brawls, but those were usually squashed before they got too far out of hand or someone was seriously injured. This was just glorified torture at this point—and everyone was celebrating it.

  Madison watched as Randall stepped forward, that strange, yellow light building around his foot again. He could only guess that it was some type of magic: some spell making Randall’s attacks stronger and more powerful.

  No way. He’s going to—

  Randall moved in for another kick, but Shayna didn’t even flinch. She was well beyond the point of defending herself at this point, and all she could do was helplessly stare up at him from the ground. Randall pulled his foot back, and Madison wrenched his arm free from Warren’s grasp. He cleared the span of the circle in two large strides and slammed into Randall. He planted both feet into the ground and shoved off as he hit him, driving through the other man. Pretty boy grunted as Madison plowed into him and then went flying, tossed forward several feet into the crowd before anyone realized what had happened. He flew into several people, bowling into them and getting tangled up in a heap as they crashed to the ground.

  Madison looked at the girl crumpled up on the ground. She stared up at him through wide eyes, and he watched a dozen different emotions run through them in that same instant. She turned her head and coughed again, bright-red blood spattering the green grass and dribbling down her chin. He looked over at Randall next. The young man was looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and astonishment that ebbed toward unadulterated rage.

  Madison held his gaze, refusing to look away. He realized that the crowd had gone completely silent. All the previous jeers and taunts, shouting and applause had died the moment he stepped forward. “Enough,” he said in a low, even tone. “This is over.”

  Randall shoved another man, who was halfway to his feet, out of his way and stood up. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. He looked Madison up and down, his gaze dragging as it raked over Madison’s hands.

  So, he’s not a complete idiot. At least he’s trying to figure out how strong I might be before he gets into something he can’t handle. Well, that or he’s wondering who was dumb enough to attack him from behind. Madison laughed at the idea as he realized what was happening, and it must have shown on his face as a sly grin of his own. “This is over,” he said, using the same tone as before. He felt like he was talking sternly to a wild animal: he didn’t want to startle it and cause it to suddenly attack, but he wasn’t going to leave any room for mistaking his meaning for some type of weakness either.

  “I don’t know who you think you are,” Randall said, striding forward and puffing out his chest until he bumped up against Madis
on and was inches from his face, “but you’re about to get a lesson just like she did.”

  Madison locked his eyes on Randall’s and forced a smile onto his face. Now that they were face to face, he could tell that he had a good couple of inches on Randall in height, and that meant he probably had the younger man in reach as well. He calmly put his hands on Randall’s shoulders and then stepped away until he was at arm’s length. “I’m going to need you to back up a step,” Madison said slowly. “And then come up with a new line because that one’s already played out.”

  Hatred flashed through Randall’s eyes as he swiped Madison’s arms out of the way with one hand and aimed a glowing-yellow punch as his jaw with the other.

  Oh, shit, that’s fas—Madison caught the blow across his jaw before he had time to react. Pain exploded through his face where the fist made contact, and he instantly tasted the coppery tang of blood as it filled his mouth. He was rocked back onto his heels by the force of the blow, but he refused to give ground and step back. He stepped forward into Randall before he could gather his fist back for another attack. He paid the price for stepping forward and closing the distance by catching a quick jab in his ribs, but he chalked it up as a win when the other man danced back, once again bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  Randall launched himself forward for another attack, and a black blur interposed itself between them before solidifying into a solid mass. A single hand caught Randall’s fist before he came anywhere close to Madison, stopping it dead in the air, and a split-second later, Randall was unceremoniously flung to the ground for the second time. The only difference was that this time it was straight down and not into someone else.

  There was a collective gasp from the crowd as Madison studied the back of a man’s head as he tried to figure out exactly what, or who, had just happened. He could make out a heavy, black jacket covering the man’s shoulders and long, black hair that was tied back into a ponytail by a black ribbon. He studied it curiously as he puzzled it out, and a wry thought crossed his mind as he realized who it probably was.

  “What the hell?” Randall swore from the ground. “You’re so dea—” The words choked in his throat as he looked up and made eye contact with whomever it was standing in front of Madison.

  Yup. Thought so. Now, the question is: Why?

  “You seem to have made your point, Randall,” a cold voice said calmly. “I would hate to have to punish you for getting too enthusiastic and breaking a tradition unnecessarily.”

  Randall stared up at the man silently, and then his gaze flickered back and forth between the stranger and Madison a few times. A mixture of fear and hatred alternated between his eyes as they landed on each person individually. It was as if he couldn’t exactly decide how he wanted to respond or to whom. “But—”

  A single black boot snapped out and caught Randall in the chest, silencing his complaint before it ever started. The blow wasn’t hard enough to drive the air from Randall’s chest, but it was more than enough to punctuate the man’s point. “That wasn’t the correct answer,” he said calmly. “Would you like to try again?”

  Randall fully switched his gaze to Madison, staring around the man as if he wasn’t even there. If looks could kill, Madison felt like he should be gutted, spitted, and keelhauled. Randall quickly pushed himself to his feet, and without another word, he turned and stormed away. He didn’t even bother to wait for the crowd to part for him: he simply pushed through them as if they weren’t even there.

  Someone let out a huge breath of air next to him, and Madison looked over to find Warren standing next to him. He was wide-eyed, slightly pale, and he looked a bit shaky. Madison returned his gaze to the man’s back in front of him.

  “Well, thanks for that,” he said somewhat honestly to the man’s shoulders. He hated the idea of having someone come to save him like a damsel in distress, but a part of him also knew that it wouldn’t have gone well if someone hadn’t interposed themselves between him and Randall. No matter how much or how little respect he chose to give the pretty boy for his fighting skill, Madison knew that he would have likely been outmatched. Randall simply had more experience and training on his side—not to mention the fact that he used magic to hammer home several blows.

  Ryder turned around to look at him, and he met Madison’s own gaze with a level glare. His face was as emotionless and unreadable as ever, but Madison would have sworn there was a small glimmer of curiosity in his eyes for a fleeting moment. After several long seconds, Ryder turned and looked at Warren. “It seems that your tour guide isn’t doing the best job of keeping you out of trouble and explaining things,” he said at last, though there wasn’t any real condescension in his voice.

  Madison could only see Warren out of the corner of his eye, but he knew that Warren had finished going completely pale the moment Ryder looked at him. Warren was practically wilted after the accusation as well, his shoulders slouching forward, and his eyes turning downcast to study the ground. It was clear that he put a lot of stock into Ryder’s opinion of him just from the way he reacted.

  Madison wasn’t exactly sure what was going on or what would be expected from him, so he forced himself to smile again, although it wasn’t nearly as broadly as before. He had a feeling he was going to be doing that a lot in the upcoming days. “He’s done an excellent job!” he said proudly, slapping a hand on Warren’s shoulder. “Better than anyone else, in fact. He’s really taking the time to bring me up to speed. But . . . Well, I got a little too exuberant. Despite everything to remind me to the contrary—“he waved a hand around at the massive buildings and expansive grounds—“I keep forgetting where I am.”

  That wasn’t exactly a lie. There was no way he could ever forget the fact that he was in a different world where everyone was hellbent on killing everyone else just for the fun of it. But he did have a problem with getting lost. He hadn’t been able to find his way around for shit.

  Ryder raised an eyebrow slightly and looked at him with an expression as if he immediately saw through Madison’s half lie. “I warned you not to get yourself killed before our meeting,” he said quietly and pointedly. “I was serious about.” Then, without another word, he turned and walked away. People in the crowd practically pushed one another over as they hurried to get out of his way.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Well, I think that went well,” Madison said to no one in particular.

  Warren just groaned from beside him in response. Madison gave him a passing glance and saw that he was still on his feet, no matter how defeated he might appear, and then turned to the girl behind him. Now that the fight was over, the excitement had died down, and he was even closer to her than he had been before, he realized exactly how small and fragile she looked. She was still crumpled up on the ground in the fetal position clutching her stomach, her breathing was fast and shallow, and she was staring up at him. She hadn’t yet wiped away the blood that was splattered on her chin, and her hair had come loose and was all over the place. He studied her for a moment, and there was a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. It certainly wasn’t gratitude, however.

  He turned back to Warren, rested his hand on his shoulder, and leaned in so that only he would hear what Madison had to say. “I think it would be a good idea if someone helped Shayna to the infirmary,” he said quietly. “The fight’s over now, so that’s allowed, right?”

  Warren nodded weakly, and a bit of color started to come back to his face.

  Ah. So, you just need something to focus on and distract you from . . . Distract you from what? What are you hiding from me? What was it you didn’t want to tell me earlier? The old suspicions immediately returned now that the tension had been resolved. So many things that people aren’t telling me. What has you so shaken, Warren? You didn’t exactly strike me as a coward, so what’s going on? You struck me as being both competent and confident when we first met. So, what’s the reason for such a drastic change?

  “Come on, Shayna,
let me help you,” Warren said, crouching down and extending a hand to the wounded girl. “We need to get you to a healer.”

  The young woman stared up at his proffered hand, her gaze still glaring daggers. “I . . .” She suddenly sucked in a ragged breath of air accompanied by a wheezing sound and fell into a fit of coughing again. “I don’t need your help,” she said weakly once she had regained her composure.

  “Shayna, please, you’re seriously hurt,” Warren said, almost pleadingly.

  “Shayna, let us help you,” a man said. The darker-skinned man and woman Madison had spied out before rushed over and crowded around, one on either side.

  She looked up at them by rolling her eyes almost all the way into the back of her head then grimaced as she rolled over onto her knees and feebly began pushing herself up. She made it halfway before she fell into another coughing fit, clutched onto her midsection and collapsed back down to the ground.

  “Please, you’re seriously hurt!” the woman cried out.

  “I don’t want your help!” Shayna shrieked shrilly and irritably.

  All three of the people crowded around her visibly recoiled at the piercing sound. The young girl huffed in several breaths and pushed herself back to her feet with determination. She was wobbly and almost quit again halfway through, but she eventually made it onto her feet, her face going completely white with the effort and strain. She remained hunched over, clutching her midsection, but she took several slow, shuffling steps forward.

  “Shayna . . .” the tan-skinned woman whispered, rising to her feet beside the other young girl. “Please . . .”

  Madison twisted his mouth around into a scowl and chewed on his lip while he thought it over. That’s definitely one tenacious young woman, but what kind of person refuses help from someone when she’s seriously injured? Why is she so determined to do it on her own? Or is she so messed up that she doesn’t realize she’s hurt that badly? That Randall did punch her a few good times, but I never saw him connect with her head . . . Of course, it might have happened before we showed up . . . but still . . .