Sidhe-Devil by Aaron Allston

Author:Aaron Allston [Allston, Aaron ]
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science fiction, Fantasy, Epic, General, Science Fiction - General, Fiction, Fantasy - General, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fiction - Science Fiction, Contemporary, Fantasy - Epic, Sidhe, Doc (Fictitious character), Fantasy - Contemporary
ISBN: 9780671319939
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2001-06-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Two matches of the day's eight were scheduled before Zeb's. The field of play was a square made up of four of the previous day's squares, about twenty feet by twenty, right next to the reviewing stand. The red-clad judges stood upon the stand, and the athletes not involved in the current match, as well as their trainers, stood on the ground immediately before it. The crowd lined the other three sides of the competition square and stood many ranks deep.

The first bout was between a man who looked to Zeb like a potbellied Viking—blond-bearded, blue-eyed, with a cheerful manner but an intensity to the way he watched everything—and a paler but brown-haired man who had the most extraordinary build Zeb had seen yet on the fair world. His muscles were practically sculpted; he could have been a grimworld body builder. Yet his narrow face and long, thin nose were pure fairworld, and his features in general, which looked like they were crafted to laugh and laugh while bloodbaths were taking place before his eyes, were far from appealing.

The two men were made to stand three paces apart in the center of their square while one of the judges spoke to them in Burian. Then the judge lifted his hammer high and took two steps back, and the fight was on.

Both men crouched in wrestler's poses. The noise from the crowd rose and flashes of light erupted from the crowd as front-line photographers began snapping pictures.

The competitors moved toward one another, arms bent, hands open, then came together with a sound of collision like two sides of beef being swung into one another. The muscleman got his arms around the Viking's waist and toppled him, but the Viking's hands settled on his throat and began choking. The referee kept close, his mallet up over his shoulder in case he should need to hit someone.

"By the way," Harris said, "in these regular matches, being hit by that hammer doesn't mean you're disqualified. It just means you're doing something you're not supposed to. They keep hitting until you stop."

"So can you be disqualified?"

"Not at this stage, no. You can just surrender, pass out, or die." Harris offered a cheerless smile.

The muscleman got his hands under his opponent's and broke his grip. He rolled away, surprisingly fast in spite of his lack of breath, but the Viking scrambled after him. The Viking got his hands on the muscleman's right foot and twisted hard, attempting to break his ankle.

The muscleman shouted, a noise made hoarse and raspy by the fact he still hadn't caught his breath, and rolled in the direction of the Viking's twist. As he rolled over onto his back, he kicked, the blow smashing the Viking's nose flat. The crowd roared in appreciation. The Viking rocked back and the muscleman had enough time to get to his feet. Though still red-faced, he seemed much recovered.

They came together again, but as they grabbed, the Viking lowered his head and smashed it into the muscleman's face, knocking the fighter's head back and breaking his nose as well.

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