Our eyes met, and something electric passed between us. His powerful hand came up slowly, covering mine where it rested against his arm. The contrast was stark with my dark brown skin against his reddish fur, his fingers nearly twice the size of mine.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Eight
Redmon
The challenge arena reeked of anticipation and blood. Ancient stone formed a perfect circle, worn smooth by generations of combat. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy above, creating dappled patterns across the gathered crowd with mapinguari and humans alike, drawn by the rarity of an ancient challenge ritual.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the protective salve Kalyndi had applied tightening on my skin. The herb-infused mixture tingled, a constant reminder of what, who, I was fighting for.
Elder Sarrok approached. "This is foolishness, Redmon. You risk not just your body but your position. The council is already questioning your loyalty."
"Let them question," I growled, watching as officials from Magnus Terra took their places in the viewing stands. Their presence confirmed what I already knew. This was as much political theater as it was combat.
"The Fanghorns will use this to undermine you," Sarrok continued, his voice low. "Thorne has been waiting for such an opportunity."
I met the elder's gaze. "Some things matter more than politics."
"The human girl's sister?" Sarrok scoffed. "You would risk everything for that?"
Before I could answer, drums pounded, signaling the arrival of my opponent. The crowd parted, and my stomach tightened.
Gristholm of the Fanghorn Tribe emerged from the shadows, his giant body dwarfing even mine. His hide bore the distinctive russet coloring of his clan, marked with ritual scarification that enhanced his already intimidating presence. Where my kind evolved for forest stealth, the Fanghorns developed for pure, brutal strength.
"Still time to withdraw," Sarrok muttered.
I didn't respond, my eyes fixed on Gristholm as he entered the circle. The Fanghorn warrior outweighed me by at least eighty pounds, all of it muscle. His claws were longer than mine, specially honed for tearing flesh. A ridge of bone spikes ran along his spine, extending when he rolled his shoulders in an intimidation display.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement in the human section. Kalyndi stood rigid, her face a mask of controlled fear as she clutched her sister's hand. Our eyes met briefly across the arena. In that moment, I understood with perfect clarity that I couldn't lose this fight.
The ceremonial horn sounded, calling us to the center of the arena. Gristholm's lips pulled back in what might have been a smile, revealing rows of yellowed teeth.
"War Chief Redmon," he rumbled, his voice like stones grinding together. "Come to die for a human pet?"
I stepped forward, keeping my stance relaxed despite the tension coiling in my muscles. "I come to invoke the Right of Tribal Protection under the Ancient Accords."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Rarely, anyone used the Right of Tribal Protection, a pre-war provision that allowed a tribal leader to challenge for guardianship of any being they deemed worthy of protection.
The ritual master, an ancient mapinguari whose hide had faded to gray with age, stepped between us. "The challenge has been issued according to the old ways. War Chief Redmon of the Sylvan Tribe invokes protection rights over Selene of the Western Terramares, currently matched to Gristholm of the Fanghorn Tribe."
Gristholm's eyes narrowed. "I reject his right to challenge. The human was matched to me through proper channels."
"The Ancient Accords supersede modern matching protocols," the ritual master intoned. "As they have since the First Peace. Do you accept the challenge, or forfeit your claim?"
Pride would never allow a Fanghorn to forfeit. Gristholm's chest expanded with a deep breath. "I accept. To first blood or surrender?"
"To incapacitation," I stated firmly. "As the ancient rite demands."
Another ripple through the crowd. Incapacitation meant a fight that could easily turn lethal.
The ritual master nodded solemnly. "So be it. The terms are set." He raised his staff. "Challengers, speak your declarations."
I drew myself to full height, projecting my voice to reach every corner of the arena. "I, Redmon, War Chief of the Sylvan Tribe, stand as protector of those who cannot protect themselves. I claim Selene of the Western Terramares as a ward of my household, to be sheltered under my protection until such time as she chooses her own path."
The formal words echoed in the sudden silence. From the corner of my eye, I saw Magnus Terra officials franticallyconsulting their tablets, clearly unprepared for this ancient protocol.
Gristholm's declaration was shorter, more brutal. "I, Gristholm, claim what is mine by right of matching. The human belongs with me, and I will tear apart any who say otherwise."
