The Bear takes the first swipe. I suck in a breath but Fox dodges the mace with ease, his reflexes as sharp as a knife. This goes on for some time, the Bear lunging and Fox darting out of the way. The crowd grow impatient, stomping their feet and chanting.
Fight.
Garrick sniggers into my ear. Next to us, the Baron is pouting, his patience already waning. They don’t know that this is how Fox operates on the battlefield, getting the measure of somebody while revealing nothing about himself.
I watch him analyse the Bear’s movements and footwork.
Fight.
Another swing of the mace, another evasion. The Bear snarls.
Fight.
The Bear swipes left; Fox darts right. The Bear swipes right; Fox darts left. The Bear lifts the mace above his head and brings it down hard, but Fox has already rolled between his legs and slashed the back of his knees. The brute roars in pain as blood streams down his calves. Fox smiles, having reached his conclusion – and I think I know what it is. Strength and size are one thing, but speed is quite another. The Bear is bigger, but Fox is faster.
A spark of hope ignites in my chest.
Fox keeps his tread light, making every step count. He’s conserving his energy while slowly depleting his opponent’s. Those who placed bets are beginning to look uneasy.
I let out a shaky huff of laughter as Fox uses his sword to trip the Bear, sending him sprawling into the sawdust.
Garrick grips me tighter. ‘Show’s not over yet.’
It seems the Baron is in agreement. He’s bouncing on the soles of his feet like an overeager schoolboy as he addresses the crowd. ‘Who here thinks I should up the stakes?’
The Bear heaves himself off the ground, panting heavily. I frown, confused. What higher stakes could there possibly be?
The Baron’s gaze falls on me. The look on his face is so revoltingly slimy that I feel sullied by it. He raises his voice above the din and declares, ‘Whoever wins gets the girl.’
Everything slows as his words land, and my heart beats out of time. Magic hums through my veins, sparking like flint on steel, begging to be unleashed. It takes everything I have, and more, not to turn the entire province to ice.
Down in the pit, Fox has gone very still. Something primal flashes in his eyes – rage so powerful I can almost feel it pouring off him, red-hot and ferocious.
I watch as the Bear peers up at me, his mouth twisted into a toothless smile. To my utter disgust, he licks his lips. The crowd hoot and jeer. I struggle in Garrick’s grip and he presses his blade harder into my throat. I fear if I swallow, it’ll break the skin.
Fox cracks his neck as the Bear advances once more. The Baron’s announcement seems to have given the brute a new lease of life. His mace flies through the air with precisionand catches Fox on the arm. Blood soaks the sleeve of Fox’s shirt and he snarls. I barely have time to blink before his own weapon slashes out in a blur of silver.
The Bear howls and Fox decides to switch hands, tossing the sword high with his right and catching it in his left. The crowd respond with enthusiasm. I shake my head incredulously. Even now, with his life on the line, he can’t resist putting on a show.
Yet to my surprise, Fox begins to back off, retreating slowly until he collides with the lowered portcullis. He’s hemming himself in, making himself vulnerable. But why?
The Bear grasps his opportunity. He raises the mace above his head and throws it with all his might towards Fox – who ducks before it can meet its mark. With a deafening clang, the mace collides with the portcullis and lodges in the steel grate.
Fox darts out of the way as the Bear lurches towards it. But try as he might, the Bear can’t pull it free. Behind me, Garrick curses. The Bear whirls on Fox, but Fox is ready for him. I watch, open-mouthed, as Fox plunges his sword deep into the Bear’s abdomen.
The crowd gasps. The Baron is on his feet, his monocled eye blinking in disbelief.
Fox takes a step back, breathing heavily, his sword still protruding from the Bear’s flesh. I wait for the Bear to keel over. Instead, he grips the hilt of the sword and pulls. Blood bubbles from the wound in his stomach and drips on to the ground. With a savage cry he tosses the weapon across the pit. It collides with the stone wall and breaks in two.
My relief is quickly replaced by horror as the Bear takes a staggering step forward, then another. He’s bleeding out, but he’s still standing. He’s going to fight to the end. Except now Fox has no weapon.
The Bear flexes one hand, his set of brass knuckles glinting in the torchlight, studded with the razor-sharp teeth of his victims.
Fox dodges the first swipe and the second, but then he stumbles over a pile of broken spears and almost loses his footing. The third blow catches him on the shoulder. Grimacing with pain, he reaches down and snatches up a rusted spearhead.
He’s covered in blood, green eyes blazing, and in this moment all the feelings I’ve tried to drown and burn and bury come shooting to the surface, almost painful in their intensity. I can deny them no longer.
Fox has to win. He has to win because …because I don’t want to lose him.
