Luke unfastened the cloak I’d lent him, came over, and handed it to me.
“Hold this till I’m done, will you?” he said.
“Yes,” I agreed, accepting it. “Good luck.”
He smiled briefly and turned away. Dalt was already moving toward the center of the square.
Luke advanced, also. He and Dalt both halted, facing each other, while there were still several paces separating them. Dalt said something I could not hear, and Luke’s reply was lost to me, also.
Then they raised their arms. Luke struck a boxer’s stance, and Dalt’s hands came up in a wrestler’s defense. Luke threw the first punch — or maybe it was just a feint; either way, it didn’t land toward Dalt’s face. Dalt brushed at it and stepped back, and Luke moved in quickly and landed two blows on his midsection. Another shot at his face was blocked, though, and Luke began to circle, jabbing. Dalt tried rushing twice then and got clipped both times, a little trickle of blood coming from his lip after the second one. On his third rush, though, he sent Luke sprawling but was unable to crash down on top of him, as Luke was able to twist partly away and roll when he hit. He tried kicking Dalt in the right kidney, though, as soon as he’d scrambled to his feet, and Dalt caught his ankle and rose, bearing him over backward. Luke landed a kick on the side of his knee with his other foot as he went down, but Dalt kept hold of the foot, bearing down and beginning to twist. Luke bent forward then, grimacing, and managed to catch Dalt’s right wrist with both hands and tear his foot free of the larger man’s grip. He doubled and moved forward then, still holding the wrist, regaining his feet and straightening as he advanced, passing under Dalt’s arm on his right side, turning, and dragging him face downward to the ground. He moved quickly then, bending the arm up into a hammerlock, holding it with his right hand and seizing a handful of Dalt’s hair with his left. But as he drew Dalt’s head backward — preparatory, I was certain, to slamming it a few times against the ground — I saw that it wasn’t going to work. Dalt stiffened, and his arm started to move downward. He was straightening it against Luke’s lock. Luke tried pushing Dalt’s head forward several times then, without effect. It became apparent that if he released either hand he was in trouble, and he wasn’t able to maintain the hold. Dalt was just too damned strong. Seeing this, Luke threw all of his weight against Dalt’s back, pushed, and sprang up. He wasn’t quite fast enough, however, because Dalt’s freed arm swung around and clipped him across the left calf as he moved away. Luke stumbled. Dalt was up and swinging immediately. He caught Luke with a wild haymaker that knocked him over backward. This time, when he threw himself upon Luke, Luke was unable to roll free; he only managed to turn his body partly. Dalt landed with considerable force, twisting past a slow knee aimed toward his groin. Luke did not get his hands free in time to defend against a punch that caught him on the left side of the jaw. He turned with it and fell completely flat. Then his right hand snapped upward, its heel striking the point of Dalt’s chin, fingers hooking toward the eyes. Dalt jerked his head back and slapped the hand away. Luke threw a hammer blow toward his temple with the other hand, and though it connected, Dalt was already moving his head to the side, and I couldn’t see that it had any effect. Luke dropped both elbows to the ground and pushed himself up and forward, bowing. His forehead struck Dalt’s face, where, I am not precisely certain — before he fell back. Moments later, Dalt’s nose began bleeding as he reached out with his left hand to grasp Luke by the neck. His right hand, open, slapped Luke hard on the side of the head. I saw Luke’s teeth just before it landed, as he tried biting at the incoming hand, but the grip on his neck prevented this. Dalt moved to repeat the blow, but this time Luke’s left arm came up and blocked it, while his right hand caught hold of Dalt’s left wrist in an effort to pull it away from his neck. Dalt’s right hand snaked in past Luke’s left then, to take hold, creating a two-handed grip on Luke’s neck, thumbs moving to depress the windpipe.
I thought that might well be it. But Luke’s right hand suddenly moved to Dalt’s left elbow, his left hand crossed both of Dalt’s arms to seize the left forearm, and Luke twisted his body and cranked the elbow skyward. Dalt went over to the left and Luke rolled to the right and regained his footing, shaking his head as he did so. This time he did not try kicking Dalt, who was already recovering. Dalt again extended his arms, Luke raised his fists, and they began circling once more.
The snow continued to fall, the wind to slacken and surge, sometimes driving the icy flakes hard against faces, other times permitting the snow to descend like a troubled curtain. I thought of all the troops about me and wondered for a moment whether I would find myself in the middle of a battlefield when this thing was finally over. The fact that Benedict was ready to swoop down from somewhere and wreak extra havoc did not exactly comfort me, even though it meant that my side would probably win. I remembered then that my being there was my own choice.
“Come on, Luke!” I yelled. “Flatten him!”
This produced a very odd effect. Immediately, Dalt’s torchbearers began shouting encouragement to him. Our voices must have carried though the wind’s lulls, for shortly there came waves of sound, which I at first took to be some distant part of the storm and only later realized to be shouting coming from both lines. Only Julian remained silent, inscrutable.
Luke continued to circle Dalt, throwing jabs and trying occasional combinations, and Dalt kept swatting away at them and trying to catch an arm. Both of them had blood on their faces and both seemed a bit slower than they had been earlier. I’d a feeling they’d both been hurt, though it was impossible to guess to what extent. Luke had opened a small cut high on Dalt’s left cheek. Both of their faces were beginning to look puffy.
Luke connected with another body combination, but it was hard to say how much force there was behind the blows. Dalt took them stoically and found extra energy somewhere to rush forward and attempt to grapple. Luke was slow in withdrawing and Dalt managed to draw him into a clinch. Both tried kneeing the other; both turned their hips and avoided it. They kept tangling arms and twisting as Dalt continued reaching after a better grip and Luke kept defeating the efforts while attempting to free an arm wind get in a punch. Both tried several forehead bashes and instep stompings, but all of these were avoided by the other. Finally, Luke succeeded in hooking Dalt’s leg, driving him backward to the ground.
Half kneeling atop him then, Luke caught him with a left cross and followed it immediately with a right. He tried for another left then, and Dalt caught his fist, surged upward and threw him back to the ground. As Dalt hurled himself upon him again, his face a half mask of blood and dirt, Luke was somehow able to strike him beneath the heart, but this did not stop Dalt’s right fist which came down like a falling rock on the side of Luke’s jaw. Dalt followed it with a weak left to the other side, a weak right, paused to suck in a great breath, then landed a solid left. Luke’s head rolled to the side and he did not move.
Dalt crouched there atop him, panting like a dog, studying his face as if suspecting some trick, his right hand twitching as if he were contemplating striking again.
But nothing happened. They remained in that position for ten or fifteen seconds before Dalt slowly drew himself erect, eased off of Luke to Luke’s left, then rose carefully to his feet, swayed for a second and straightened fully.