Demir pretended to think hard about this, letting a grin sneak its way onto his face. “All right. I’ll give you the chance to win your money back. Another match here and now, Montego against Fidori.”
Ulina gasped. “You’re kidding!”
“Not at all. Baby, how are you for a fight?”
“I don’t have my cudgels,” Montego complained. He drew out the words like a petulant child, though Demir could practically feel how badly Montego wanted to put the younger fighter in his place.
Ulina practically leapt at him. “We can get you cudgels. Oh, this will be the most glorious match of the century! And all for just us! We’ll clear the arena, pay off the manager. Old champion against future champion!” She actually squealed, an ecstatic sound that made Demir’s ears hurt.
“Let the audience stay,” Montego rumbled. “Give them a show.”
“Of course! Whatever you want to make this happen!”
“What will you bet?” Demir asked.
“Cash. Just tell me the amount.”
“Come now, let’s make it interesting. I have a new lumber mill I just purchased the other day. Put down some property.” Demir spoke casually, but every inflection was purposeful and chosen with care. He wanted to pull her in like a master fisherman, not scare her away. From her file he knew exactly what properties she had.
“I could put down a mine in Fortshire,” she said.
“What kind?”
“Copper.”
“Done. How will we validate?”
Ulina gestured dismissively as if she’d done this many times. “The manager and porters will be our witnesses. And Montego, of course.”
The arrangements were made in a secret whirlwind. The arena manager was paid off, a new referee summoned, and the porters cleared a large area immediately in front of the ring so that Demir and Ulina could watch from the very best seats. There was an announcement about the surprise fight and Demir could feel the excitement ripple through the crowd. People who’d grown tired from standing all afternoon were back on their feet, cheering and laughing at the prospect of seeing Baby Montego step into the ring once more.
Demir consulted with Montego while Ulina did the same with Fidori. Montego did not, Demir had to admit, look great. In a cudgeling girdle he seemed even more obese, his arms flabby, his stomach drooping. Montego reached down and touched his toes while Demir eyeballed Fidori.
“You are,” Demir asked quietly, his words almost drowned out by the roar of a reenergized crowd, “sure you can win?”
“Eh,” Montego responded.
“What the piss is that supposed to mean?”
“He is actually quite skilled,” Montego admitted. “It will be a good fight.”
“Even if you lose?”
“Even if I lose.”
Demir groaned. “Please don’t. Aside from the money, this is our best chance to rescue Thessa.”
Montego didn’t answer him, pulling himself up onto the raised ring and taking a few experimental swings with his cudgel. Fidori watched him skeptically – and so did Demir. Montego was not a young cudgelist anymore, many years retired, and Demir wondered if he’d made a mistake.
Forgeglass was handed to both men. Montego examined his distastefully before fixing it to his ear, and the match began slowly, the pair circling each other. There was no time limit and the crowd did not seem to care. It was clear both fighters wanted this to happen in its own time. Demir took up a spot beside Ulina and glanced at the arena manager, who held a promissory note for both properties and the pile of cash from earlier.
“You really think Fidori could beat Baby Montego in his prime?” Demir asked Ulina.
“Well,” Ulina said, watching intently as the first blows were exchanged. “Perhaps not in his prime, if I’m being honest. But now? Look at Montego. Your friend can barely move his cudgel without wheezing.”
Demir resisted the urge to defend Montego. It wasn’t that bad. On the other hand, he couldn’t actually tell whether Montego was acting as he barely blocked a flurry of blows from Fidori. The Balkani champion pressed the attack, putting Montego on the back foot, hammering at his thighs and shoulders mercilessly.
Montego took the beating without so much as a groan of pain. His own ripostes were slower, stronger. When they landed they certainly staggered the younger Fidori, but they did not put him down.
“Up the bet?” Ulina asked slyly.
Demir responded with a negative gesture.
“Two-to-one odds,” Ulina said.
Demir let her hang herself on that rope. “How could you possibly back up a bet like that?” he asked. Fidori was practically chasing Montego around the ring now. On any other day it would be a good fight – it was always fun when an outmatched fighter refused to back down – but for a world champion it was comically pathetic.
“I have a sixteen percent stake in the Ivory Forest Glassworks. It’s a big complex just outside of Ossa. I’ll put down my whole stake.”
“And what would I have to answer that with?”
“Let’s say four hundred thousand.”
“Fine. A coal mine in the Glass Isles.” He glanced at the manager and the accompanying porters, who nodded that they’d heard the bet.
Montego stumbled and fell heavily to one knee. The crowd screamed – some in jubilation, some in anger. A group of women just behind Demir shouted for Montego to get back up. He managed to get his cudgel up between his face and Fidori’s, but the barrage of blows was so withering it looked like he might drop it.
“Forfeit, Montego,” Fidori shouted between blows. “There’s no shame in it. I don’t want to kill you in an exhibition match.”
Montego’s arm drooped, but he did not go down.
Fidori backed away a step and glanced at Ulina. “He won’t forfeit.”
“Then finish him!”
In that moment, Montego’s eyes met Demir’s. Demir gave the slightest of nods, and Montego took a deep breath. Fidori turned back toward him and raised his cudgel. “Last chance, old man!” He waited half a second, then swung with all his might.
Montego surged to his feet, catching the haft of the cudgel in his left hand. With his right, he swung low, the weighted bulb of his cudgel catching Fidori on the side of the knee. It did not look like a powerful swing, but it was impossibly precise. Fidori’s knee shattered sideways, collapsing unnaturally in a way that almost made Demir throw up. Fidori fell, screaming loudly. Those screams were immediately swallowed up by the crowd, who went absolutely wild at the reversal.
Demir glanced sidelong at Ulina, doing his best to keep the smile off his face. He climbed up into the arena, ignoring Fidori as the referee, the arena manager, and Ulina hurried to help him. Demir clasped Montego by the hand. “Very good fight.”
Montego stifled a yawn. “Amateur,” he muttered, glancing at one of the welts on his arm as if it bored him. The exhaustion had left his eyes, and his breathing was no longer heavy. Glassdamned showman. “How did I do?”
“I am now the proud owner of sixteen percent of the Ivory Forest Glassworks.”
15
Idrian’s sword rang like a bell as it clashed with that of his opponent, each blow reverberating through his hand, up his arm, and spreading through his body with terrifying force. He caught a swing, shunting it to one side, keeping his shield tight against his left shoulder as a ferocious patter of bullets cracked against it like hail on glass.
He did not recognize the Grent breacher, but he’d heard of the feathered sigil on his shield. The Hawk was a young man, probably no more than twenty-five, with a goateed face and a wicked grin. All Idrian knew was that the Hawk was ambitious, and it showed in the way he pressed hard, with little consideration for the company of infantry backing him up. His entire focus was on Idrian.