“I demand satisfaction, sir,” Jodin said.
“Why?”
“He called me a coward, sir,” Jodin said.
“Did you?” Benthok asked.
“I did, sir,” Tovak said.
“Why?”
“It was in the heat of the moment, sir,” Tovak said.
“Jodin threw Tovak down a hill,” Thegdol said. “Words were exchanged after that. I was able to intercede before it became more, but not soon enough to stop the challenge, sir.”
Benthok turned an unhappy gaze to Jodin. His jaw flexed for a moment. “Jodin, you are on track for promotion to corporal. To this point, your service has been nothing if not exemplary. There is a chance that going through with a Circle could see all your hard work thrown away. You may lose your opportunity for promotion. Do you understand me on this?”
“I understand, sir,” Jodin said, “but I will not be called a coward, especially by the likes of him.”
Benthok blew out a long breath.
“Would you care to withdraw your challenge, should Tovak apologize?”
“Sir?” Tovak exclaimed. Would the lieutenant humiliate him even more, by forcing him to apologize to Jodin? The thought of such a possibility was maddening.
“Quiet, you,” Benthok snapped.
“I will not withdraw my challenge to the Pariah, even if he apologizes. I want satisfaction. I intend to put him in his place, sir.”
“Very well,” Benthok said, suddenly sounding resigned. “Jodin has made a legitimate challenge. We will see that he gets his opportunity for satisfaction, as Legend demands.” Benthok paused a moment and then recited the words of the Circle’s official arbiter. “The Circle shall be forged. As is our way, the two combatants shall face each other. The gods will judge this test of strength, skill, pain, and blood, as is their right, and choose the rightful winner. And in the choosing, this matter will be resolved, for the truth shall rest with he who stands victorious.”
Benthok glanced again at Tovak, a strange look upon his face. “You have been openly challenged and have accepted. It is your honor and right to choose the method of combat. That said, I would prefer to keep this contest nonlethal, and without weapons that might easily see one of you dead.”
“Then, sir, no armor. No weapons. I choose bare fists,” Tovak said.
Benthok raised an eyebrow, and for a moment his features seemed to hold a glimmer of approval.
“Bare fists are acceptable,” Jodin said. “I am going to pound you to pulp, boy.”
“So, shall it be,” Benthok said. “A Circle has been called and will be joined.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The suns were just disappearing behind the mountains, and deep shadows filled the field. A short distance from camp, near the collapsed farmhouse, the entire section stood in a circle ten yards across, facing inward. The archers had been placed on sentry duty to watch over the camp during the fight, and Shrike was once again busy cooking before the main fire. The smell of roasting heratta drifted over to them.
The Circle had been formed. With the exception of Tovak and Jodin, everyone wore full armor and held spears, butts set on the ground and tips pointing straight up to the heavens. Benthok stood in the middle of the Circle, and he carried a stout club he had fashioned from the branch of a nearby tree. Its purpose was to discipline any combatant who didn’t adhere to the rules of the Circle, specifically his rules, since he was the arbiter. If weapons had been involved, Benthok would have been armed with his sword and a shield.
Tovak stood on one side of the ring, stripped down to his boots and leggings. He’d removed everything else, so that Jodin would not have anything to grab hold of. Curiously enough, Gorabor had chosen to stand in the Circle, directly behind Tovak, as his second. It was a place of honor and his job was to morally support Tovak, should he have need. Since Tovak did not have any supporters in the company, Gorabor’s placement in that position of honor was likely Thegdol’s doing to see that Legend was satisfied.
Across the Circle, Jodin stood with his fists on his hips, looking deadly serious and confident. He had removed his armor and wore heavy leather leggings and a thick, woolen shirt that clung to his muscular body. His boots were laced up tight, all the way to his knees. Logath stood behind him as his second and was whispering something in Jodin’s ear, to which the other gave a vigorous nod.
Benthok raised the club, holding it out flat between the two combatants. “The Circle has been formed,” he said loudly, so those gathered could hear him clearly. “These two will now meet in single combat to determine who is just and who is not, who has been wronged and who did the wronging.”
Benthok paused and looked between Jodin and Tovak. “There are to be no killing blows. There will also be no crippling injuries, no breaking of limbs, no biting, no eye-gouging, and no strikes to the groin. When this is over, I expect you both to get back to work, regardless of who is victorious. And make no mistake,” he added, seeming to speak to everyone gathered, “when the gods have chosen the victor and this Circle is broken, I expect you to put aside any differences and accept the decision.” He looked at Jodin. “Agreed?”
“Yes, I agree,” Jodin said, eyes fixed upon Tovak.
Benthok looked to Tovak.
“Agreed,” Tovak said. He’d let the gods decide who was right. He had his faith, and he’d been wronged. He sent a prayer up to Thulla for strength.
Thulla, grant me—
He stopped himself. No. He wouldn’t ask Thulla for strength, not for this. The Circle was sacred, and all the gods would bear witness and decide. It would be inappropriate for him to ask for special favor from one and not all. Within the Circle, the will of all the gods mattered. It would be what it would be.
Tovak felt a tickle of nervousness. Over the years, he’d been involved in plenty of fights. The manual labor he had been forced to perform just to survive had made him strong, and more often than not he’d been able to hold his own when it came to bare-knuckles fighting. But this was different. He had never before entered an Adjudication Circle, and the thought that he was about to gave him pause.
“Let the combatants approach,” Benthok said, keeping the club held before him.
Tovak and Jodin moved forward slowly.
“Good luck,” a quiet voice said from directly behind Tovak. Tovak stopped and glanced back, surprised. Gorabor gave him an encouraging nod. Tovak answered the nod with one of his own and then continued forward towards Jodin.
They stopped a few paces apart, Benthok’s club suspended between them. They both raised their fists, preparing to do battle.
“You know the rules, and I expect you to follow them,” Benthok said in a low, warning tone. “Break them and you will have me to answer to. Are you both ready?”
Jodin and Tovak nodded at the same time.
The skirmishers around the Circle raised their spears together and began pounding them into the ground. They beat out a rhythm, and the sound of it fueled Tovak’s ire. Before him was a tormentor. Before Jodin, a long line of tormenters over the years had done their very best to make his life an unending ordeal of suffering. That was at an end. Tovak resolved to no longer stand by and take what was dished out. He would stand up for himself, and it started here, in this Circle, with Jodin.
“Begin,” Benthok commanded, raising the club and leaping backward out of the way.
Jodin rushed forward in a flash, cocking a fist. Tovak prepared to block it, but then Jodin’s foot came up in a quick kick to Tovak’s midsection, catching him by surprise. The air whuffed out of Tovak’s lungs and he staggered back as Jodin pressed forward. He shot a punch at Tovak’s head. Tovak blocked, but just a hair too late. It caught him on the cheek. A flash of pain stunned him, and the glancing blow spun his head sideways. Jodin sent his other fist low and under Tovak’s guard, catching him in the ribs with a dull thud that knocked the air from his lungs. Tovak grunted and leapt backward, raising his guard as he tried vainly to suck air back into his lu
ngs.
A cheer rose from around the Circle. It only served to infuriate Tovak, for he knew that many saw Jodin’s challenge as a means to put him, the Pariah, in his place.
Still struggling to breathe, he stepped backward several steps, an attempt to buy time. Jodin followed, a confidence in his bearing that spoke of someone who knew they had already won the fight. Tovak reached up to his cheek, which stung terribly, and pulled away a bloody hand. The blow had reopened the cut to his cheek that Logath had given him, and he could feel the blood running down his face to his chest.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Jodin growled.
The spears kept pounding as Tovak stepped backward and out of reach, his vision beginning to gray.
Then, he could breathe again. He sucked in a gulp of sweet air, relishing it like never before. Tovak took another deep breath and let it out slowly. With each breath, his ribs and side hurt. Pain was a teacher he knew all too well. Pain didn’t cow him; it spurred him on, fed his anger.
Tovak stopped his backpedaling and Jodin closed in on him. As he did, Tovak stepped forward, sending a quick jab at Jodin’s face. Jodin shifted sideways and countered with a hook aimed at Tovak’s head. Tovak leaned back, let it slide by, and ducked under, coming up into Jodin’s stomach hard with a right-handed uppercut. Jodin grunted with the blow and moved back, but Tovak stepped forward and shot a left cross that caught Jodin squarely in the face. The force of it hurt Tovak’s fist.
Jodin staggered back, blinking. He recovered quickly and let loose a flurry of hooks, almost haymakers, that forced Tovak to step back.
“It stings, doesn’t it?” Tovak said.
Jodin shook his head and then settled back into a fighting stance. A trickle of blood flowed from his nose. Jodin reached up and wiped at the blood that was soaking into his mustache. His eyes narrowed and he started forward, this time warily and with grim determination.
They squared off again, exchanging a few jabs here and there to see who would leave an opening first. They circled each other slowly, the spears pounding out a rhythm that seemed to carry itself into the punches being thrown. The rhythm took him. Punch, block, jab, dodge. And with every punch, Tovak let his right hand lower, opening an avenue to his jaw. It was a calculated risk, one he hoped Jodin would fall for.
Suddenly, Jodin twisted his shoulders and stepped in, aiming a left cross at Tovak’s head, just as Tovak had hoped. Tovak ducked, preparing to let it slide by and come up again into the left side of Jodin’s exposed ribs, but the attack was a feint.
Jodin reversed and sent a right hook up into Tovak’s jaw that connected with a meaty THWACK, sending lights flashing around inside his head. Tovak staggered. His knees went wobbly, and he tasted blood. Jodin came around with a haymaker that slammed into the side of Tovak’s head, sending him stumbling sideways. More flashes filled Tovak’s vision, and he could no longer hear the pounding spears. All he could hear was a ringing in his head.
He tried to regain his balance, but Jodin followed and kicked Tovak in the side. Tovak grunted and dropped to his knees, blinking furiously, but he never took his eyes off his opponent.
Another cheer went around the Circle, the sound of it a distant thrum in Tovak’s ears. Pain lanced across his head and chest, carrying with it fuel for the rage that was building within him.
Jodin stepped up and shot out a kick, this time aimed at Tovak’s head. It was a finishing strike and seemed to be coming for him in slow motion. Tovak leaned to the side, letting the boot slide by, a hairsbreadth from his head. He let his anger flow and rose, surging forward. His shoulder caught Jodin between the legs, and Tovak lifted him up off the ground, roaring in rage as he wrapped his arms around Jodin’s midsection and slammed him down onto the ground with a heavy THUD.
Tovak staggered to the side, almost tripping over Jodin’s legs, and as he did, a collective gasp went around the Circle. He turned back to face his opponent, who had rolled away, coming up to one knee in a defensive position. Jodin was clearly dazed, but not enough to leave an opening for Tovak to finish him. He rose to his feet. The confidence that Jodin had started the fight with was gone. He narrowed his eyes and raised his fists again as the spears continued to beat out their rhythm.
Tovak raised his fists as well and moved forward. Each step matched the beat of the spears, and he let that momentum carry him forward. He let a right jab fly. Jodin blocked it and loosed a right cross. Tovak was expecting it. He sidestepped the powerful blow, grabbed Jodin’s forearm as close to the wrist as he could, and stepped in, twisting with his whole body as he bent forward, a maneuver he had been taught back at the Academy by the hand-to-hand instructors.
He heaved with his arms and, using Jodin’s momentum, sent him flying to slam down onto the ground once again. The breath whooshed out of Jodin’s chest. Tovak was unwilling to let Jodin get back to his feet. It was time to finish this contest. He leapt on top of his stunned opponent, straddling his chest, and sent his right fist down like a hammer across Jodin’s jaw. Jodin’s head snapped sideways, sending bloody spittle flying. Tovak reversed and hammered down with a left, and more blood sprayed sideways.
Tovak raised his right fist again, staring down at his opponent with hate-filled eyes, and as he was about to strike, a firm hand clamped a vice-like grip upon his wrist.
“It’s over, son. You’ve won.”
Tovak blinked and tugged to try to break free and found he could not. He looked up, staring into the face of the lieutenant. Why was he being stopped? Then, he glanced back down at Jodin and realization hit home. Jodin’s eyes had rolled back in his head. Blood flowed thickly from his nose, and his right cheek was cut deeply, with a stream of blood running down the side of his face onto the grass.
Tovak wanted to continue pounding until his fists were drenched in Jodin’s blood. The savage fury beating within his chest demanded it, but the lieutenant’s grip was firm. Then something checked him, and a semblance of rationality returned. He sucked in a deep breath. It came out ragged and with it went his rage, hate, and fury. Tovak’s shoulders sagged a fraction.
He had bested his enemy. There was no need to punish him further. The Way taught the path to Legend. Punishing a defeated opponent was not honorable and there was no Legend to be had in that.
The lieutenant seemed to sense that Tovak understood the fight was over and he released his wrist. Tovak lowered his fist, climbed off Jodin, and sat down in the grass. His heart was pounding in his chest. He took another deep breath and puffed out his cheeks. His hands began to tremble.
“The decision has been made,” Benthok said. “The gods have spoken and chosen the victor.”
The spears had stopped pounding, and there was nothing but silence around the Circle.
Tovak rose unsteadily to his feet and stared down at Jodin. His vision swam a moment as a dizzy spell took him. He shook his head and it passed. Jodin’s eyes fluttered and then focused on Tovak and the lieutenant standing above him.
“You have lost,” Benthok said.
Jodin shook his head in disbelief and tried to stand. He fell almost immediately and lay on his side, dry retching. He spat up some blood, then looked wildly up. “No. It’s not over.”
“It’s over,” Benthok said firmly. “Time to accept it and move on.”
“Never,” Jodin said, and tried to stand again. He staggered drunkenly before falling backward to a sitting up position. He was clearly shaken up. “No. I will never accept this. I can’t have lost.”
Tovak felt his anger return. He advanced, reached down, and grabbed Jodin’s collar, gripping it tightly. The shirt was stained with blood. He lifted Jodin partway off the ground until they were almost nose to nose.
Benthok took a step closer, raising his club, but Tovak ignored him.
“I’ve been treated like dirt by people like you for longer than I care to remember,” Tovak said, loud enough for the whole Circle to hear his words, for this wasn’t meant just for Jodin, “and all for something I had nothing to d
o with other than an accident of birth.” He tightened his grip on Jodin’s shirt, drawing him closer. The other’s eyes widened in sudden fear. “Nobody gets to treat me like dirt, ever again. Not you”—Tovak shook Jodin, and then pointed with his free hand at those gathered around the Circle—“not them, not anybody.”
He dropped Jodin back to the ground and stepped away, casting his gaze around at those gathered.
“I am here to serve,” Tovak said, his voice trembling with emotion and exhaustion, “to be part of this company. Is that too much to ask, to serve?” Tovak fell silent a moment. He wiped blood off his cheek and in the dying light of the day glanced at his blood-covered hand. All eyes were on him. “Pariah or no, I follow the Way. Anyone who disputes that, a challenge and the Circle waits. Beat me you might, but I will never back down, never stop, for I claim a place amongst you . . . even if, in the end, it kills me.”
He turned and stared at Logath for a long, hard moment. Logath’s face was expressionless. Tovak shifted his gaze to Benthok. He locked eyes with the lieutenant, and the look on Benthok’s face was a surprise. The lieutenant appeared pleased.
“You gain Legend this day,” Benthok said quietly, so only the two of them could hear. “Your place is most assuredly with the company. I am proud to have you serve under my command.”
Tovak was silent for a long moment, thoroughly astonished. Then his legs wobbled as the world swam. Gorabor stepped forward and gripped his shoulder, helping him remain on his feet.
“May I go, sir?” The dizziness passed.
“Dismissed, soldier.”
Tovak gently pushed Gorabor away and steadied himself. He brought himself to a position of attention and saluted. The lieutenant returned his salute. Tovak turned, passed Gorabor, and staggered out of the Circle, headed straight back into camp.
He looked up to see Gulda standing guard atop the berm. Her eyes followed him, and as he passed by, she nodded to him once and then turned her eyes back to the perimeter. The other sentries standing watch had turned their gazes to him as he entered. Their faces were stony. But something made Tovak feel as if the world had turned for him, if even just a little. He was done allowing others to walk over him.
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