life’s endeavor.
He had been in the arena perhaps a hundred times, defeating every opponent except for his first, his brother Ethan. The two had never rematched, for Ethan had soon left the arena, and while Luthien would have liked to try again his skills against his undeniably talented brother, he did not allow his pride to blemish his sincere respect and love for Ethan. Now Luthien was the finest of the group. Katerin O’Hale was swift and agile as any cat, Bukwo of the cyclopians could take a tremendous amount of punishment, and Garth Rogar was powerful beyond the normal limitations of any human. But Luthien was a true warrior: fast and strong, agile and able to bring his weapon to bear or to parry at any angle in the blink of a cinnamon-colored eye. He could take a hit and growl away any pain, and yet he carried fewer scars than any except the very newest of the warriors.
He was the complete fighter, the shining light in his father’s aging eyes, and determined now to honor his father this day, to bring a smile to the face of a man who smiled far too little.
He brought a whetstone singing along the side of his fine sword, removing a burr, then held the weapon out in front of him, testing its balance.
The first fight, two cyclopians beating each other about the head and shoulders with light clubs, had already commenced when Gahris led his four visitors into the seats of honor at the front of the balcony directly opposite the tunnels that opened onto the circular fighting grounds of the arena. Gahris took his seat in the middle and was promptly sandwiched between Elenia and Avonese, squeezing in tight beside him, with their respective consorts flanking them on the outside. To increase the eorl’s discomfort, three of Aubrey’s personal cyclopian guards were close behind the seated nobles. One carried a crossbow, Gahris noted, an unusual sight among cyclopians. With only one eye, the brutes lacked depth perception and were normally not adept with distance weapons. This one seemed comfortable holding the crossbow, though, and Gahris noted that it had been fitted with a curious device, opposing and angled mirrors, atop its central shaft.
Gahris sighed when he noticed that only a handful of islanders were in attendance this day. He had hoped for a cheering crowd and wished that he had been given the time to assemble one.
But Aubrey was obviously impatient. The viscount was here only so that his pestering consort, Avonese, would stop her incessant nagging.
“Cyclopians?” Avonese whined. “If I wanted to watch cyclopians brawl, I would simply throw a piece of uncooked meat into their midst at Castle Montfort!”
Gahris winced—this wasn’t going well.
“Surely you have better to offer than two cyclopians battering each other, Eorl Bedwyr,” Aubrey put in, and his look to Gahris was both pleading and threatening. “My cousin Morkney, the duke of Montfort, would be so disappointed to learn that my journey to your island was not a pleasurable one.”
“This is not the primary show,” Gahris tried to explain against a rising chorus of groans. Finally, the eorl gave up. He signalled to the marshal of the arena, and the man rode out from a side stable and broke up the fight, ordering the two brutes back to the tunnel. The cyclopians gave their customary bow to the eorl’s box, then walked away, and were promptly fighting again before they even got out of sight.
The next two combatants, red-haired Katerin and a young lass from across the island, a newcomer to the arena but with promising speed, had barely walked out of the tunnel when both Avonese and Elenia took up cries of protest.
Gahris silently berated himself for not anticipating this. Both women warriors were undeniably beautiful, full of life and full of health. Also, their warrior garb, cut so that they might have full freedom of movement, was something less than modest, and the looks upon the faces of Aubrey and Wilmon showed that they had been cooped up in the company of the two painted “ladies” far too long.
“This will not do!” Avonese cried.
“I do so want to see some sweating man-flesh,” Elenia purred, and her ample fingernails drew little lines of blood on Wilmon’s arm.
Gahris couldn’t tell if it was Wilmon’s anticipation of what the sight of sweating man-flesh would do to his eager escort, or if it was simply fear of Elenia that led him to demand that they move on