He spins, glaring at the female. “She disrespected her own mother! You're going to let her get away with that?”
Huedda, who I now recognize as a distant maternal cousin of Leick’s, crosses her arms over her chest. “Iloni rightfully accepted a challenge on behalf of her sister.”
Leick snorts. “Sister. This wench is no sister of?—”
“She's Rathhur's wife. Even if she wasn't, she's Harry’s daughter. She should've been blooded into the clan years ago, but we let Idunna set the tone. We thought she’d get it out of her system—we coddled you both. We’ll answer for that. Either you and Idunna turn from this path, or we’ll beat you down another.”
Close to a hundred gathered adults, adolescents, children. No one speaks, no one contradicts her. Though Idunna is technically head of the female’s circle, Huedda is stepping out as the real Matriarch.
“Why hasn't Huedda challenged your mother?” I say very quietly to Iloni, stepping close so I can whisper in her ear.
Iloni shrugs a single shoulder. “They still feel bad for her. What she and Da went through. All that’s dried up now.”
Leick faces Rath. “You’re going to choose vermin over your own, boy?”
He’s lean and cold and lethal looking next toLeick’s worn down belligerence. But still oddly respectful. “You and Mother suffered. We made excuses for you both. Deal with your shit, Da, or I will to protect my wife and our young.”
I don’t miss the implication I’m already pregnant. No one else does, either. I suspect he’s trying to cement me in with the female’s circle.
Leick laughs harshly. “It’s a challenge, then? You think you can defeat me, a boy tried by nothing more than a few raiders and the occasional beast? I fought in the Wars!” His voice rises to a roar.
Iloni grunts and sits back down, dragging me with her. “Here we go.”
Rath watches him. “You've spent the last thirty years drinking yourself into a nightly stupor and nursing your wounds when you should've been strengthening the clan.”
Leick lunges at him; it's fast, vicious, and everyone scatters except for Iloni and I. We don't move.
Rath spins, his only weapons now his unsheathed talons. He’s fast, light on his feet, his expression shut down and focused.
“You've gotten slow,” Rath says. “You and Ma deserve some time to yourselves. Work on your marriage, travel. Get ready for grandbabes.”
They’ll be grandparents to our children over my dead body, but Rath is being a politician. I think.
Leick snarls, spittle flying from his tusks. “I'll show you slow, boy.”
They circle each other, the gathered Uthilsen forming a wide berth.
Leick taught Rath how to grapple and it shows as they engage; Leick anticipates his son’s moves. Rath allows this then engages his Da in a series of breathtakingly fast strikes I know he didn’t learn from any Orc. Maybe the suggestion about travel was from experience.
“Is that all you've got? Fae tricks?” Leick sneers. “Pathetic.”
Rath stays silent now. He’s like Iloni that way. Talk game at the start, then buckle down and get to business. It’s clear he’s not enjoying himself, which is unusual.
Decades of pent-up rage fuel the clan leader. He recovers from a blow quickly, swiping Rath’s legs out from under him in a surprising show of agility. Leick presses his advantage.
Rath explodes upward, his head connecting with his father's jaw. There's a sickening crack, and Leick stumbles back, blood trickling from his mouth.
“Come on, Da, yield,” Rath said. “I’m your son. It’s no dishonor.”
“I'll yield over the defiled corpse of your bitch.”
I close my eyes. I almost don’t want to see what happens next. The merciless flurry of blows as Rath unleashes—he’d been holding back.
It’s brutal, and if I wasn’t used to violence I might sicken.
Leick is on the ground, groaning, clutching a broken jaw which is the least of his injuries.
Rath stands over him, lips peeled back in a snarl. “If there will be any corpses tonight, it’ll be yours. Yield, Da. Or I'll end it now.”
