“Okay,” he said finally, holding up both hands. “I yield. I yield!”
“Really?” Setien paused in mid-stride, one hand still raised behind her. “You yield?”
“Yes.” Ronon dropped to his butt on the hard ground, wincing a little, and leaned back on his hands. It was a vulnerable position — he wouldn’t be able to defend himself properly like this, with his weight on his arms — and he’d chosen it deliberately. “You win. This time.”
He’d hoped she’d be gracious in victory, but he couldn’t prevent himself from tensing as she lowered her hand and crossed the distance to him. She stared down at him for a second, hands on her hips. Then she favored him with a wide grin and extended a hand to help him to his feet.
“Well fought!” she said, laughing as she hauled him up without effort. Then she hugged him, which surprised Ronon completely — and apparently shocked the others, given the wordless exclamations he heard all around him. “You almost had me several times there!”
“Just wait till next time,” Ronon assured her, giving her a quick squeeze back before pulling away. He didn’t want her or anyone else getting the wrong idea — including his own body. Right now his blood was singing from the recent combat, senses alive and pulse pounding — it would be all too easy to give in to the adrenaline. But his grief for Melena was still far too raw. “I won’t give in so quickly.”
She slapped him on the back. “Good!” she said, and he could see that she meant it. “It’s nice to have a proper opponent again!” For a second he saw sadness in her eyes, before she banished it deliberately. “Only a few of my own people could ever come close to matching me, and I’ve met no one since who could last more than a few seconds.”
“She’s right,” Adarr volunteered as Frayne led the way back to the fire. “Setien’s amazing in a fight. It’s a wonder you lasted as long as you did.”
Privately, Ronon disagreed. He hadn’t been beaten, though there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have been — Setien really was good. But so was he. He’d felt it was wise to let her win this first match, though. He didn’t want any bad blood between them, or with any of the other V’rdai. Next time he promised himself he’d keep going until one of them was actually unable to continue.
Of course, the way his ribs protested when he sank down onto a crate by the fire, that could easily be him.
Either way, it would be one hell of a match. And he was happy to know his fighting skills wouldn’t suffer any. Sparring with Setien would definitely force him to stay sharp.
Ronon had fully expected Setien to be a strong combatant, given her size, physique, grace, and attitude. Likewise, he was unsurprised to discover over the next two weeks that Adarr and Frayne were both solid but unexceptional fighters, though Frayne did have impressive reach and strength for a man his size. One of the other V’rdai, however, proved to be a revelation in the training ring.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Ronon gazed down at Turen, frowning. He was nearly twice her height! And he probably weighed twice what she did, as well.
But the tiny white-haired Hiñati just smiled at him, those slanted green eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry — you won’t,” she assured him.
Ronon glanced around. As with his match against Setien, the others were gathered at the edge of the training circle, watching intensely. He couldn’t really blame them — judging by what he’d seen so far, between missions there was little else to do but train, sleep, talk, play cards, and eat. And watching a fight was more entertaining than playing cards any day.
He caught Banje’s eye, and the other man — Ronon had learned he was Desedan, but little more — gave him a slight nod. Well, if Banje felt it was all right to spar with Turen he’d have to accept that. Still, Ronon resolved to go easy on her. One solid hit could break her into pieces!
He gave her a slight bow, really little more than a dip of the head, eyes on her the whole time. Concerned didn’t equal stupid and he knew better than to take his eyes off an opponent, even one as unassuming as his current foe. Then, without any windup, he swung at her, a powerful backhand that would knock her to one side and send her flying from the ring. One step beyond its boundary and you forfeited the match. A quick and easy end, and nobody got seriously hurt.
Except that Turen wasn’t there. She slipped under his blow, stepped into his space, and hit him once, twice, three times in the stomach. The blows weren’t hard but they were fast and perfectly aimed, and Ronon doubled over, exhaling in a great whoosh of air despite himself. His arm was still extended but he chopped down with the other one, aiming for the juncture between neck and shoulder. Turen sidestepped it, but at least it gave him the second he needed to regain his balance and back away again.
His stomach ached from her blows, and he was gasping to refill his lungs. She wasn’t even breathing hard, and her smile was just a little bit sharper.
“Okay,” Ronon muttered, “I guess I don’t have to worry about hurting you, then.” Apparently Turen’s ears were as sharp as her smile, because her grin widened.
This time Ronon was careful not to overcommit. When he closed the distance again, he thrust forward with both hands at once, intending to grapple Turen. Once he had a solid grip he’d simply fling her out of the ring and be done with it.
That didn’t work, of course. Fast as a whip she ducked under one hand, hitting him on the wrist with the edge of her hand instead. She found a nerve there and Ronon felt his fingers go limp. Damn! He wasn’t able to make a fist but he still snapped his hand back toward her — the back of it caught her shoulder and the force of the blow staggered her, though she recovered almost at once. Hells, she was fast!
Clever, too. She knew he had only one good hand now, and she was clearly determined to take advantage of that as long as it lasted. She was already weaving her way toward him, shifting from side to side so he couldn’t get a clear shot at her, and staying on his weak side to protect herself further.
But Ronon had some tricks of his own. He spun away slightly, then back again, and at the same time lashed out not with his numb hand but with the elbow. It caught Turen on the chin, and this time she did lose her balance, though she managed to jab him in the forearm as she went down.
Ronon threw himself after her without a second’s pause. By the time she hit the ground he was in mid-air, and though Turen twisted to one side she wasn’t able to evade him completely. He hit the ground hard on both knees, but his bruised forearm was across her neck, and he put just enough pressure there to let her know how easily he could crush her throat. She stopped struggling immediately.
“I yield,” she gasped against the pressure, and Ronon sat back at once, releasing her. Then he rose to his feet and offered her a hand — his good one — back up.
“Ancestors, you’re fast!” he told her once they were both back on their feet. His fingers were starting to tingle back to life again, and he rubbed at them absently.
“So are you,” Turen admitted, brushing herself off. “I’m impressed — most non-Hiñati can’t even touch me.”
“I believe it.” Ronon shook his head. “I thought you had me there for a minute.”
She grinned at him, a friendly smile but one filled with clear pride — and perhaps a little longing. “You should see me with blades in my hand,” she assured him quietly.
“It’s true,” Adarr agreed from the sideline. “When we hunt Turen prefers blades to guns, and once you see her in action you’ll know why. They’re like flickers of light!”