Chapter 15 - The first fight

To Raborast's pleasure, Avia turned up early for the fight. When asked for her weapons of choice, she opted for her own blades, setting aside her bow and arrows. He nodded in approval. Using a bow in the arena was not feasible due to the safety of the audience and the short distance. It was a good thing she understood this, avoiding any argument. He counted three blades—two swords and a knife.
He guided her to one of the arena's entrances before walking past his row of cells. For most of the scraps, it came as a surprise to be locked up, but it was necessary. When he was new to the business, he had considered everyone asking to fight as free men or women, but he quickly learned that free people had a habit of changing their minds, no matter the agreement made. When their lives were at stake, fulfilling a contract became less important.
For him, it was a matter of keeping to plan and being able to give his audience what he promised. They had offered to risk their lives voluntarily, and these days, he had no second thoughts about forcing them to keep their promises. Their deaths were a far less problem than having no fighters in the arena for a paying audience.
He had, however, not placed Avia in a cell and turned the key. She had every reason to turn up, and even if her grandson had not been in his custody, he was quite confident this woman did not make this kind of agreement on a whim and then abandon it. He felt too much respect for her even to consider that treatment.
A younger fighter, maybe with a little too much to drink and an idea he was a hero, desperate for money, was something else. After all, he had several regular fighters who stayed in the building with unlocked doors, as the free men and women they were.
Raborast passed the doors and glared through the bars. Three scraps for Avia to fight. Which ones? He wanted her to win the first fight, but it could not be too easy. She had to show skill. She had to appear legendary to spread the rumors for the next battle wide and well.



Avia strode into the arena, both swords drawn, feeling the weight of the crowd's eyes upon her. The circular area was surrounded by high walls, with a rood-loft and gallery filled with eager spectators. The arena's surface was firm but absorbing, designed to prevent slipping on blood pools. Avia noted this with grim satisfaction.
From the opposite gate, her three opponents emerged. The first was a hulking figure, solid as a piece of walking rock, armed with a long spear and a shield. The second was a younger, edgier version of herself, wielding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. Avia had never understood the point of shields—too cumbersome, too slow.
The third opponent was a young man, gripping a sword too large for his frail frame with both hands. His eyes darted nervously between the audience, his allies, and Avia. She pegged him as an easy target.
She quickly assessed her strategy: the young man first, then the woman, and finally the rock of a man. She advanced with her eyes on the woman, but at the last moment, she dived to the right, slicing both calves of the young man. He went down with a wail, and she kicked his sword away. One down.
She positioned herself so the woman was between her and the rock-man. This one would be trickier. Her opponent seemed confident, but the way she waved her shield suggested inexperience.
Avia feinted with her right sword toward the shield, watching as the woman's eyes followed the movement. With a swift, deadly strike, she aimed for the throat with her left. The woman managed to block the strike, but Avia anticipated this. She let go of her left-hand sword, diverting the woman’s attention, and dived with her right. Her blade found its mark, sinking deep into the woman’s gut. Blood spurted as Avia pushed the dying body toward the rock-man. Two down.
The rock-man seemed to shrink before her. Covered in blood, Avia drew lines across her face with it, grinning savagely. The man turned pale. Avia growled, a primal sound that sent shivers through the crowd. In a desperate move, he threw his spear, but it was clumsy, born of terror. The spear missed, and he fell to his knees, a wise move if he wanted to keep his life.
A rotten apple hit the man's face, snapping Avia back to the present. She raised her sword in a victorious gesture, and the crowd erupted in cheers. The thrill of victory surged through her. Three enemies down, and she hadn’t taken a scratch. It spoke volumes about her skill—or perhaps the lack thereof in her opponents.
She retrieved her left-hand sword from the bloodstained sand and approached the young man she had immobilized first. She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet.
"You'd better use whatever you've left of your legs, son," she hissed in his ear. "I know what usually comes out of those gates when the winner has left."
The young man, eyes wide with fear, seemed to understand. He had likely seen enough games to know what fate awaited him if he didn't move. With significant support from Avia, he managed to limp out. The rock-man, too slow to react, was left behind as the gate closed.
As she exited the arena, Avia heard the roars of the animals and the man's screams. She was grateful she didn’t have to witness it.



Raborast approached his winner with a measured stride.
"I'll pay for his healing," she said immediately. She turned to the bleeding young man at her feet. "If you promise me to stay away from the fighting arenas in the future." The young man nodded eagerly, gratitude spilling from his eyes as he thanked her profusely.
"You rob me of my fighters?" Raborast asked, though he was more curious than angry. Avia shot him a glare. "No need to worry," he soothed, calling for his healers. The injured man was swiftly carried away. "Well done," he expressed with genuine admiration. "Pity the big boulder was such a chicken. I was hoping he would be the grand finale for you."
The screams from the arena had ceased, a grim reminder of the fate that awaited those who failed.
"It probably would have been a better end for him to fight me," Avia noted.
“Why did you save the boy?” Raborast asked, “and not the big boulder?”
“I had robbed the boy of the chance to leave on his own. Seemed only fair.”
"Shall we go and fetch your grandson?" Raborast suggested. They headed toward the cells. "I guessed you didn't want him to see the fight. It may seem harsh to keep him here, but it was the safest place."
He unlocked one of the cell doors. Raborast noted that Avia took great care not to enter the cell, but stayed in the doorway. She had been around a great deal, he mused. She knew not to trust anyone with cells and keys to not lock you up.
The boy sprang to his feet and threw himself around Avia with a resounding cheer of joy. She hugged him tightly and moved backwards, away from the cells, keeping Putt close.
"I'll be here tomorrow for the fight," Avia assured Raborast.
"I'm sure you will," he agreed. He knew that gold would be tempting enough for a warrior in desperate need of money.
"Granny! You don't have to!" the little boy protested. "Please, granny, don't!" Avia hushed him.
"I'm good at this, Putt," she replied, irritation creeping into her voice. "Have some faith in me. Now hush!"
"Don't worry, boy," Raborast grinned. "Your granny's fight tomorrow will become legendary."
It did not hurt to add a little extra temptation for someone already a legend.