"If you think so little of my chances, come ahead," Ruen said, opening his arms.
The dwarf shook her head. "I'm not to be baited like that, Morleth. I was giving you a chance." She dodged to the side when his list came in, hooking an elbow around his arm. Securing her hold, she squeezed.
Ruen felt the bones snap. His mind momentarily blanked, but he kept his feet, largely by holding onto the solid dwarf. When he looked into her face, he could see she'd put very lutle effort into the attack.
"I'm the only person in the Cradle who knows how much pain you're in," she whispered. "I know how many of your bones are broken, and if I wanted to, I could drop you to the floor or the sharks. You can't win without your ring, and you know it." Her eyes softened. "One last chance, Morleth. Give this up."
"I have a better idea," Ruen said. He licked blood from his lips. The ribs must be broken, not cracked, he thought. "How about a side bet of our own?"
"You're mad," Bellaril said sadly. "What is it you want? Why are you fighting for those two?"
In response, Ruen jerked the dwarf close. He wrapped the palms of both his bare hands around hers. BellariPs eyes widened in shock. She had not seen him remove his gloves. They lay discarded on the platform.
Ruen did not attempt to strike her. He waited a breath for her to see the blue light, to realize what he was doing, then he whispered against her ear. When she drew back, her expression was unreadable.
"Fine," she said, breaking his hold. "It's a bet. I'll try not to kill you, Ruen Morleth, but I make no promises."
"Fair enough." Ruen set his feet. He didn't trust his speed anymore. He would have to work on the defensive.
She struck at him again, hitting his jaw, his collarbone, his shoulder. Each time her fist glanced off a bone, Ruen felt himself come apart a little. She left him his legs. Aside from the blow to his knees, he could remain upright and maneuver enough to dodge the worst of her attacks. It wouldn't last. She would bring him down soon.
He took another blow to the shoulder, but this time he snagged her arm before she could dance back. Immediately, she began punching with the other, struggling to free herself. Ruen absorbed the blows, letting his weight shift against her. She stumbled, off balance by the sheer dead weight of him.
Ruen brought his good knee up, planting it in her stomach. She gasped and bent double, but he struck again before she could fold. Wildly, she clawed at him, but he kept pressing down with his weight, until they were both crouched on the platform.
He forced his knee across her throat, pinning her. Choking, she tried to sit up, but he kept her down. Her reach wasn't great enough to get around his long legs. She could keep punching him in the gut, but Ruen was beyond the pain.
The dwarf snaked an arm up, grabbing his leg. She twisted viciously, no longer concerned with his balance. Ruen bit his lip; blood" filled his mouth. The Cradle wavered, the faces of the crowd blurring into indistinct smudges. He kept Bellaril down with his ruined leg. She hissed and sputtered and cursed him.
"You'll never… stand," she said. "Your legs are ruined." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. He'd cut off her airway. If he could hold on long enough, she would lose consciousness.
"Maybe you are the better fighter," he said, as her body went limp. "The only thing that separates us is where we keep our pain."
He looked up. The crowd was on its feet, screaming and stamping at the turn the match had taken. Icelin and Sull were still watching from across the Cradle.
Directly behind him, the guards were clustered around a figure coming up the stairs. Long, meticulously trimmed gray hair fell across his shoulders. His face was pale, his skin wrinkled but not yet taken heavily by age. He might have been a handsome figure, but his eyes were yellowish, his jaw tight, as if some hidden strain were working on his mind.
The man stopped ten paces from Ruen. His gaze moved from the crowd to BellariPs unconscious body and finally to Ruen's face. He raised his hand, and the Cradle noise died instantly.
"You know the rules, Morleth," he said, his rich voice pitched loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Stand and declare your victory. Stand, or forfeit."
He's playing the scene for all it's worth. A part of Ruen had to admire the man's gall. Whatever the outcome, there'd not be an empty seat in the Cradle after tonight.
Ruen slid his knee off Bellaril's prone body. He felt the grating of bone against bone, the pull of muscles and tissue twisting in ways nature had never intended. He shivered. Cold sweat stood out on his skin. The blood was still hot in his mouth.
Best to do it all at once, Ruen thought. It was the only way he would be able to gather the strength. One quick thrust to his feet, and the bastard would have to give him healing. The crowd demanded the rules be obeyed. Even the master of the Cradle couldn't deny the crowd.
Ruen closed his eyes and breathed. "Keep the pain locked away," he murmured. He pushed it all-the broken bones, the torn muscles-to a far corner of his mind, a box whose lid he could fasten tight and push away from conscious examination.
He waited until the pain was safely contained, then forced himself to stand.
Icelin covered her ears against Ruen's scream. She knew the cry was involuntary. He would probably never remember uttering such a sound, but she would forever remember the terrible, animal whimper that followed the scream. She'd known
His wounds were severe, but now she was terrified he might have killed himself just by climbing to his feet.
He swayed. Icelin dug her nails into the rail, willing him to stay upright. His head lolled to one side; blood dripped in tiny rubies from his lips. But he stood, facing the tight-lipped man and his retinue of guards.
"I stand," she heard him say into the silence of the Cradle.
Arowall didn't react. He stood, watching Ruen with amused curiosity. A smile played at his lips.
"No," Icelin hissed. She grabbed Sull's arm. "No, no! He's going to wait until Ruen falls."
Sull cursed. He grabbed Sheems by the back of the neck and hauled him aside. "He can't do that! Tell me he can't."
Sheems cowered in the face of the butcher's livid expression. "Rules aren't clear on how long he has to stand. Depends on the master's mood. Makes for a good show-" He caught himself when Sull bared his teeth.
Icelin reached for her neck pouch, frantically searching its contents for a spell focus.
Sull grabbed her shoulder. "Lass, I appreciate the sentiment, but that's a good route to getting us killed."
"He's going to fall, Sull. Where in the Nine Hells is that wood!" She searched her memory to unearth the spell. "It's not an attack," she assured him. "He just needs to stay upright."
Magic for simple tasks. She could hear her teacher's words. " The spells you '11 use most often in the early days are spells to imitate simple tasks. Don't let the ease of their use make you complacent. A servant, unseen, should never replace your own two hands."
A servant unseen. An invisible hand to keep him standing that would escape the master's notice. Icelin's fingers closed on the focus in her pouch. She didn't bother to pull it out but chanted the spell, her will centered on Ruen.
"Go. Hold him," she chanted, mixing the plea with the arcane phrases.
A swirl of brilliant gray mist shot from her fingertips. The loop of magic descended from the deck of the ship to the platform, taking on shape, if not substance, as it went. The crowd shouted in warning and awe.
"Gods-cursed magic!" Icelin clutched her head, feeling the familiar pain behind her eyes. Sull tried to support her, but she shook him off. She had to see how the wild spell would manifest, and control the damage if she could.
The gray mist coalesced into a human shape. The unseen servant was now a woman in a flowing dress, her colorless hair drifting around her face. Arms swathed in ghostly lace encircled Ruen's body from behind. The spectral lady stepped forward, taking Ruen's weight against her chest.