Chapter
Seven Page 2
lock. That was her focus, and her only focus. If she lost control
of his blade, it was over. He was too quick, and much too strong.
The spectators were in a frenzy of approval and adrenalin.
The match had already gone longer than anyone expected, and
on this last attack they expected to see a real wound opened
up on her thin body. It was moves like this, forged on pure
body knowledge that made her a crowd favorite, no matter what
the odds on her were. It was also why she was slated with a
much stronger challenge. Or so the common conversation through
the crowds would say.
Domanar was the real reason, and Ashi knew it. Domanar was
her owner. Her handler. Of the six knife fighters he had in
his stable, she was the jewel. Domanar knew that as well. His
own pride pitched her against Edric.
She wondered, briefly, if Domanar even took the time to asses
Edric before putting her against him; Whether he noticed the
lack of vital area scars; Whether he cared at all.
Only briefly she wondered this, because the answer was obvious
to all questions. No. He didn't know, or care. If she died,
he would loose his wager, and she would be replaced. It was
that simple in Domanar's world, second in command of the largest
Cartel in the Ghelspad.
With all of that, one could easily feel the victim.
Ashi never felt the victim. She knew who was really in control
on this floor, in this arena, and it wasn't Domanar. She might
loose to Edric, and she might even loose her life to him, but
it would be her choice.
As Ashi made it under Edric's arm, she feigned a break in the
blade lock. Edric would expect her to break the lock, so she
could run and get distance between them again. The feign worked.
She felt Edric's body weight shift so he could turn quickly
to grab at her, or defend a blow if she turned to fight.
As he started to turn, she dropped her left knee to the dirt
and sawdust floor, and twisted her blade lock with every ounce
of strength she possessed. But it was Edric's own size that
broke his wrist.
The twisting snap of the wrist, cracking like an oak branch
in a storm, silenced the room. Edric continued his turn, and
stepped forward before noticing the pain. His blade fell to
the floor, a silver tear. Ashi winced as the edge of the blade
met the grit.
Then the thunder of the crowd washed in on her. She had won.
The match was over. She laughed, realizing that Edric would
still not have a fatal wound scar on his body the next time
she saw him.
