The Unrepentant (Skharr DeathEater #6) - Michael Anderle Page 0,81

well.

And she didn't look like she could be a year older than thirty.

"You won't take Thatch's word, then?" Skharr asked. "We could probably trade our way out of here if you prefer."

"Do we look like a trading post to you? All those who board my ships must sail them and fight for them on equal standing. As for Thatch's word…well, I'll say his standards for fighting and sailing differ from my own. And my boys are in need of a little entertainment today so if you don't mind?"

She raised a hand and motioned for him to join her as the others began to follow them into the trees with the roots that kept them off the sand. They were high enough that even he could walk through them and they wandered to a small clearing where a small arena had been erected, supported by the roots.

"Wait here," Reed snapped and jogged lightly up the seats of the arena to where he could see a hut. It was built into one of the trees as well. She didn't bother to knock and simply pushed inside.

"I think they want you to fight," Graves said when shouts issued from the cabin. "I would say that is where their finest fighter lives."

A couple of women rushed outside the dwelling as the yelling continued, mostly from Reed.

"They want me to fight him?" Skharr asked as she exited the cabin again and looked angry.

"Yes," she answered.

"I wouldn't suggest it," he stated. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of a fighter."

"If you're injured, we haven't lost anything."

"Aye. And if your man is injured?"

"We haven't lost much of anything either. Did you think we would have you fight to the death?"

He regarded her with open curiosity. "Yes… Yes, I suppose I did think that."

"I don't gamble lives lightly, barbarian. A little fun and pain are all you have to fear from this."

Skharr focused on the cabin as the occupant exited. A tall man with broad shoulders, it was clear he was a skilled fighter, although he walked with bowed legs.

He did not appear to have just woken up and he seemed ready for a fight. Reed's shouting had no doubt riled him sufficiently and he had a freshly painted bright blue “X” on his chest. With barely a glance at the newcomers, he marched to the center of the arena.

"I'd say that X marks the spot." Graves laughed.

"Say I should beat him," Skharr said and turned his attention to Reed, "would you allow us passage on your boat?"

"And you needn't even pay for it." She smirked. "But you will be expected to work. You and the dwarf."

He looked at Brahgen, whose eyes were suddenly wide.

"That is fair," Skharr agreed. "But I'll need my horse to remain here until I return."

"That you would have to pay for."

It was a fair condition as well. He took a deep breath and turned his attention to the man in the arena, who stretched and rolled his neck while he waited.

"Right then," he muttered. "It’s been a while since I've been in a real fight."

"You fought a kraken only a few hours ago," Graves protested.

"Krakens aren't intelligent creatures," he returned, shrugged his packs off his back, and removed the weapons he carried. "Throw them a handful of thieves and cut into their tentacles and they decide they've had enough."

The barbarian grinned before he shrugged and stepped into the arena. A few dozen of the Followers had already gathered in the seats provided. Already, a few of them were casting bets as he approached his opponent, who looked like he was in the mood to start a fight.

"I hope we didn't interrupt anything important." Skharr cracked his knuckles.

"There were two women in there with me," the fighter snapped. "Do you honestly think I'm interested in trading blows with you?"

"You'll want it over as quickly as possible, then?"

"Aye. With you chewing on the sand."

He grinned. "We'll see."

The man was almost as big as Skharr was, but he was certainly stouter and his face and head were shaved clean. He certainly moved with the balance of one who had been in enough fights. The warrior, on the other hand, hadn't fought much on sand and tested his balance on the soft surface while he watched his adversary advance, draw his arm back, and throw a punch.

It was slow and obvious, but he decided to put it down to the man being angry and more in the mood to end the fight than win it. While he