It was a strategy that had produced a guard not only lethal, but clever. It was exactly what the queen wanted and they knew it. Pleasing her meant a life of boons… at least while still in the Black Guard. On this one day a year, no one was safe.
A man sauntered over to Tressa, his sword gleaming off the sun’s rays.
“Taking a break, are you? I think I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.” He huffed the words out between quick breaths.
He seemed winded, but Tressa wouldn’t trust it for one second. She only nodded, grasping her sword tighter in her fist.
“Quite a day, isn’t it?” He removed the leather hat from his head. “The men are going down faster than last year. I suspect the guard will be chosen by midday.”
She didn’t respond.
“You’re a quiet one. What’s your name?”
She glared at him, not taking her eyes off his arms. If he made a move, that would be the first place she’d see it. Muscle contractions couldn’t be hidden.
He laughed, the braid on his long black beard danced from side to side. Yellow and red beads decorated the length of it. “I can tell this is your first time here.” He coughed, phlegmy and thick. “You won’t win.”
He nodded to the throng of men fighting. “Twelve of the men left are from the last guard. They’re all working together. I’m sure they planned their strategy ahead of time.”
Tressa let her eyes wander to the group. She could see it now. They moved in unison, helping each other. One would strike the first blow, another would finish the man off. “They’re conserving their energy.” Her hand flew over her mouth. She hadn’t even thought to disguise her voice.
She looked at the man. He didn’t register a hint of surprise.
“If you want to win, you’ll have to take out at least one of them.” He didn’t comment on her voice. Maybe he assumed she hadn’t reached puberty yet. “The best way to do that is to get one to break off from the bunch. They’re much less lethal alone than together. Not that they aren’t great fighters alone, don’t make that mistaken assumption, but it’s easier to kill one at a time.”
Tressa wanted to ask him why he was telling her all this. She didn’t trust her voice. Discovery could mean instant death. Her mind reminded her of one of her dreams: her top torn open, her feminity discovered, dozens of men hacking her body to pieces for trying to fool them. No, she wouldn’t say another word.
The man nudged her with his elbow. “Watch this.” He ran off toward the fray, his sword waving in the air.
He jumped on the back of one of the wolves, forcing the man away from his comrades. They fell to ground. The braided man pushed off the ground, rolling away into an open area.
The wolf elbowed him in the stomach. The man grunted, then leapt to his feet, the blow not affecting him at all. He brandished his sword, sticking it into the wolf’s heart. With a sucking sound, he withdrew it, along with a gush of blood. The wolf’s eyes widened as he stumbled backward. He opened his mouth to scream, but instead of a cry for help more blood spurted from his lips. His knees buckled. His sword dropped to the ground. His body crumpled in a heap on the dirt.
The braided man picked up the wolf’s sword in his left hand. With a flourish, he spun them from side to side in a blur of steel and vital fluids. “Got to clean the blood off,” he yelled to Tressa. After a quick wink, he chose another victim.
Tressa decided she’d waited long enough. She walked the circle, looking for the right victim. The man with the braid wasn’t it. Despite herself, she liked him. If she had to fight alongside someone, she’d choose him just as quickly as she’d choose Leo.
Twenty left. No, nineteen. It was shocking to her how quickly they fell. Exhaustion was setting in. She knew that as well. Her arms ached. Her legs burned like they were on fire. Her palms were covered in blisters, most of them already swollen and broken. She’d need a lot of ointment to stave off infection in the days ahead.
If she made it that far.
If she survived.
Before she could choose her next victim, someone chose her. With his sword in the air, his war cry echoed in the quiet afternoon. The crowd had gotten bigger, waiting for the time when there were only twelve left in the arena.
Tressa planted her feet on the dirt, squatted, and braced herself for the attack. As his sword came rushing down at her, she stepped back and parried. The clang of metal on metal was followed by the screech of grinding. She knew she didn’t have the upper-body strength to force him off. Instead, she let her sword drop, then spun out of the way. He stumbled, following his sword to the ground. Tressa kicked him on the arse, forcing him all the way down. He sprawled out, his sword just out of his grasp.