Pirvan’s one drummer started to reply, then cheers drowned out all the musicians as the tent opened and Waydol and Darin stepped out. Pirvan swept his staff onto his shoulder, took Haimya’s hand, and began walking toward the line of stakes, as their own men began cheering.
The cheering fought its own battle, as Pirvan studied his opponents. One gamble he’d won: neither of them wore armor. Darin had even forsworn his armored fighting gauntlets, which could turn those massive arms of his into deadly war clubs. Indeed, neither he nor Waydol wore anything at all except heavy loinguards.
Pirvan listened intently for any undercurrent of discontent with him and Haimya having weapons against opponents with none. He heard nothing, and breathed brief prayers of thanks.
Darin looked like a champion out of some tale of the days of Vinas Solamnus. Big he was, but there was nothing uncouth in his proportions or clumsy in his movements. As for Waydol, Pirvan had never seen any living creature so embody raw physical strength. He wished he could have seen Waydol in his youth.
The Minotaur might be showing his age, but his heir was in his prime fighting years. Both had a huge advantage in reach and striking power over any unarmed opponent. Without their staffs, Pirvan’s and Haimya’s efforts might prove more entertaining than useful.
Haimya now stepped away from Pirvan and began marking circles in the ground with her left foot. Pirvan could not see what need she had of rituals or testing the ground, as it was as level as a tabletop and neither hard nor soft in any pattern he could make out. But if it eased her, then so be it.
One herald from each side stepped forward and, with drums rolling again, read out the rules of this trial by combat. Mercifully, the trumpeter stayed silent until the reading was done, then he brayed forth all alone, like an ass being whipped.
“Waydol!” Pirvan shouted. “When you give me oath after this fight, I will demand one thing at least.”
The Minotaur tossed his horns. “What is that?”
“You find a new trumpeter, or teach the one you have how to play!”
Laughter joined cheering, and from both sides. Then the drums rolled again. The two heralds raised their staffs of office (they looked to have been carved from whale ribs), and held them aloft while the drums rolled.
Then the drums ceased, the heralds scampered for the sides of the square, and the four fighters advanced to battle.
* * * * *
The first few minutes passed in feints and maneuvers, as each side tried to learn about the other without revealing anything about themselves. This put a burden on Pirvan and Haimya, to not show their team-fighting too soon or weary themselves using their greater speed to stay clear.
There was only a single touch in this part of the fight, when Waydol launched a full-strength, straight punch at Pirvan’s staff. The blow was only glancing, but it jarred Pirvan’s arms all the way up to his shoulders. He rolled with the punch, turning a somersault that opened the distance, then rose, spat out dirt, and looked at Waydol with new respect.
The Minotaur laughed. It was not a cruel laugh of pleasure at another’s pain. It was instead the laugh of one caught up in the joy of combat.
I want to live through this fight, Pirvan thought. It will be one to remember. Even talk about with Waydol and Darin, if we all live to grow old in comradeship.
Future camaraderie did not seem to be much in Darin’s mind, however. He was faster than Pirvan had expected, not agile but able to gain speed swiftly with those long legs. Several times he ran at Haimya, and only her darting left or right faster than he could change direction saved her from a close and perhaps final grapple.
Twice she thrust at Darin’s knees with her staff, and once she got home hard enough to make him stop for a moment and test the knee. But it could still bear his weight at any pace he needed to use; Haimya could not even claim first blood.
Pirvan also had to move faster, in order to try a few strikes at Waydol. He would have been willing to strike from behind at first, but saw no way of doing any damage there. So he played at Waydol’s elbows and hands, and struck three times without doing more than make the Minotaur stop to suck a knuckle.
But the knuckle was bleeding; that tough minotaur hide could be broken. Also, it was first blood.
Pirvan went through the first blood ritual, as he had with the archer. Waydol’s reply was another boisterous laugh; Darin, less polite, spat on the ground near Haimya’s feet.
The fight began anew.
* * * * *
Before much longer, both sides were pouring with sweat and breathing heavily. Pirvan did not mind the sweat; over the fish oil it would make him and Haimya still harder to grasp firmly. But they would need to hold back some breath for the inevitable climax of the fight, which would come, barring a miracle, when Waydol and Darin thought their opponents were slowed enough.
Then would come a rush to close, a grapple of strength and size against speed and quarterstaves, and only the gods knowing how it would end.
All four fighters also showed more than sweat and heaving chests. Darin favored one arm, where Pirvan and Haimya had each caught him with a clean, hard strike. Pirvan had grazes and bruises from too-close escapes from both of his opponents.
Haimya had an ugly swelling on one hip, where Waydol had caught her with an unexpected kick. Had the hoof struck with its intended force, it would have shattered her bones like a dropped pot. But she rode with the blow, Pirvan knocked Waydol farther off balance with a blow to the stomach, and Haimya nearly put him down altogether with a thrust at his throat.
But Darin came in behind Haimya, and she had to dart aside again, without even a chance to strike at his weak arm. Waydol seemed slower on his feet after that, but his arms could still fling those massive fists about in a way to make any sane opponent wary.
Wariness, however, could take one only so far. Sooner rather than later, Pirvan and Haimya would also have to risk closing, to strike a vital spot that would slow one or both opponents.
If that minotaur has any vital spots, Pirvan added to himself. Any minotaur’s vitals were as well protected by his bulk as a human’s would have been by armor, and Waydol had more bulk than the common run of minotaurs, nor much of it fat, either!
Knight’s and lady’s eyes met, and they looked at Darin. Then they ran in, swinging wide to each side of Waydol to close on the heir. The Minotaur was less vulnerable, and had so far fought a coolheaded battle that would keep him that way. Pirvan and Haimya needed to heat Waydol’s temper, and taking down his heir seemed to be the best way.
They closed and struck, and for a moment it seemed they had succeeded. Shouts and cheers roared all around them. But Darin’s arms and legs flew out at impossible angles and with unbelievable speed.
Pirvan felt his staff brushed aside like a twig, and a hammerblow to his cheek. He rolled with the punch as much as he could, went down, and rolled without getting up while holding his staff over him as protection.
He lurched to his feet and nearly went down again, but stayed upright with the aid of his staff. Haimya was between Waydol and Darin, a position that spelled doom, and Pirvan could not force his feet into movement!
Instead, he saw Haimya wait until the last moment, as both the Minotaur and his heir lunged at her. They had not agreed on who should pursue and who should block, and both tried to pursue. They pursued straight toward each other, and when Haimya darted out from between them, it was too late for them to stop.
Six and a half feet of human and eight feet of minotaur collided with a slaughterhouse noise. The impact knocked Waydol backward off his feet, and staggered Darin. He still had the wits to lunge at the escaping Haimya, but he lunged with his weak arm. He missed a firm grip on her slippery shoulder, caught her upper strip of leather, tore it free, then went to his knees.