The First Girl Child by Amy Harmon

Author:Amy Harmon [Harmon, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-19T18:30:00+00:00

The clans were a warring people, but the tournament was not about bloodshed. Clansmen killing clansmen was not in the best interest of Saylok, and the events were more about skill than destruction. Six events took two weeks to complete. Some contests had so many entrants that bracketing was designed, each chieftain choosing how their warriors were stacked up against opposing clans. The bracketing was an art in itself. A chieftain didn’t want his best warrior out in the first rounds of competition or too tired too soon. Some events required less time and fewer rounds—the footraces took place within the clans first so the fastest warriors moved ahead into the final contest. The clanless ran a race of their own, the fastest five advancing to compete again.

Bayr won the first race by several seconds, the next race by more, and even in the final race, against the fastest men in the clans, by a full body length. He was dominant in contests of strength—outlifting men twice his age and weight. He was not yet as tall as some warriors, nor as broad, but he was big. His power was impressive, but his speed took many by surprise. He did not have the experience of some of the best archers and was defeated by a bowman from Ebba who congratulated the boy when it was over, claiming Bayr’s arm strength alone would have worn down the competition eventually.

“Accuracy is key, Temple Boy, but an archer without stamina is no good to his clan. He’ll weaken on the wall. You don’t weaken.”

Bayr threw the axe with such force, even from thirty paces, that the handle vibrated like a lute string. He was viewed with awe by the shifting crowds and a begrudging respect from the warriors, who considered themselves the best Saylok had to offer. He wrestled the winners of past tournaments with a gleeful innocence, tossing one and then another from the circle with the joy of a child and the prowess of a seasoned competitor. He didn’t study technique or prepare mentally for the bouts. He simply stepped into the circle and battled with all the fervor in his heart.

He was clapped on the back and roundly lauded, and he smiled and nodded and offered his hand, but he avoided conversation so completely that many assumed he’d been born with strength and not sense. Some even suggested he couldn’t hear and forgot themselves in his presence, assuming he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—repeat what they complained about. He let them believe what they would, slipping away when the competition was done to guard the king’s daughter and toss his winnings among the temple tithes.

At the end of the first week, flush from a triumph, Bayr was approached by a warrior he’d never met before. The man had not competed in the contests, nor had he sat among the chieftains who occupied positions of honor on the king’s dais. But he looked like a man of consequence in Dolphys, the blue cloak all the indication one needed to determine his clan.

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