home

search

Chapter 6 - Pig Fighting

  "There's the one sack for your master, and here's another for that uncle of yours," the farmer said.

  Luos was already carrying one lumpy bundle, a shapeless burlap sack as nearly as big as him, when he was laden down with the second one. He tried to thank the man, farmer Jean, who owned the fig orchard a few miles out of Hill Hill, but couldn't. The fig he had started eating from the first sack was firmly between his teeth. He tried anyway.

  "Fffangh yoof."

  "Your old man's a wondercrafter. He charges through the nose, but I wouldn't let any other catch my tools twixt hammer n' tong."

  Luos watched the farmer pick up his thick mat and put it on the back of the cart. There was a deep grunt from the other end.

  "Berrie 'n I've got a long trip back, so we'll be seein' you 'round." The farmer stroked the coarse fur on the flank of the hawg yoked to the vehicle. "Isn't that right girl? You've got a nice trough of grain and citrons waiting for you."

  The farmer looked down at the hawgling tailing Luos. "What a runty thing," he said ponderously. "Are you raising it up for the yoke, Luos? Funny, I don't recall old Persimon raising hawgs."

  On hearing its name, the beast called Berrie looked back at them through droopy eyelids. Its tusks were much smaller than a male's, Luos noted as the creature chewed its cud. Asmod would have some growing to do.

  Luos watched farmer Jean climb onto the wagon, spur the hawg, and drive away at 2 mph. He watched the two crawl out of town until his arms started to get tired. The marketers weren't all packing up yet, but after the boor fight business would drop and they'd follow suit.

  The two found a spot off the main road and Luos put the sacks down next to some bushes. He finished the first fig and produced another from one of the sacks. They would be hard for him to carry if we was going to drop one off at his uncle's before bringing the other back to Samsian's.

  "Asmod," he said, chewing a piece of fig. "Can you do something about these sacks?"

  The hawg had been watching the fruit, but grumpily looked at Luos instead.

  "I could possibly roll them along," he said. He pantomimed snouting. "It won't be fast, but, there's an option."

  Luos rolled his eyes. "I mean with magic. Can you shrink them so I can put them in my pocket? Or make them lighter so they float on a string?"

  "I could make them lighter, sure, but only by making me heavier." He pulled open one of the sacks, spilling figs onto the ground.

  "No no no," Luos said. He began stuffing the fruits back inside before Asmod could eat any of them. They both made a grunt of frustration, but it was Luos who bridled. "You're doing this on purpose. If you're going to be this stubborn I should-"

  "Woah, hey," Asmod said, cutting him off. "It's not my fault. You heard what Master Samsian said. No using me for magic until you get the go-ahead. I don't know what he'd do to you, but me? I could face erasure for breaching a command like that. I've been talking to Peezle and while it's not likely, it's not unheard of."

  Luos, having replaced all but one of the figs, sullenly cleaned it on his tunic. "Your point is made, daemon," and bit into the fruit. He thought for a moment, the hawg again becoming fixed on the fig.

  "Hey, do you think you might perhaps maybe want to share one of those figs farmer Jean gave us?" the hawg wheedled. Luos immediately had issue with this statement.

  "He gave them to me, Asmod. Not us. There's no us in this exchange."

  "OK," the daemon sighed, "but he gave you enough to snack on while we deliver them. And you wouldn't believe how sensitive hawg noses are. It's almost like I can taste them, but just... not quite."

  Luos had almost bitten the one he held, but at Asmod's pleading he regarded the fruit instead. It didn't smell particularly strong to him, but then again he wasn't a hawg.

  "I suppose I could let you have one." He couldn't keep the guile out of his voice. "But if you can't help me with magic, and you're no help with carrying them, then you can go find me a sturdy stick in the bush over there. I'll make them into a bindle and carry them myself."

  "And you'll give me a fig?" Asmod asked brightly.

  "Like you said. I might perhaps maybe give you one. If it's a good stick."

  Asmod squealed in delight, then looked embarrassed. "Oh. Um. Oops. That was-... I didn't mean to do that."

  Luos looked at him archly for an awkward moment before Asmod, with all the dignity he had retained, trotted into the thicket to find a stick. He left Luos to sit by the road, eating his fig and thinking.

  He checked his internal clock. It told him he had a few hours to kill before he needed to leave if he were to drop by his uncle's and then get back to Samsian's before sunset.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  When Asmod came back, they could go to the pit to watch the boor fights. And, he decided, Asmod didn't need a fig for his efforts after all. Not when he had a nice trough of scraps waiting for him when they got home.

  ****

  With Luos shouldering the two sacks on either end of the pole and Asmod following grumpily behind, the two approached the crowd which formed about Hill Hill's pit arena, a fight already in progress.

  The pit arena was a circle a hundred yards wide dug eight feet into the earth and braced with stone, with a sturdy wooden fence surrounding the top. The only way out was by means of one of the winches at the top, which had buckets for willing participants and cages for every other kind.

  While it wasn't much to look at, the pit had a reputation for leagues in any direction. Luos had even heard of it before he had come to Hill Hill. Of the many attractions offered, this one was the most popular, the boor right. One man and one boor enter the pit, and only one comes out.

  Luos fought his way through the throng, leveraging his bindle to force a path through the excited, roaring crowd. Before long, he breasted up to the fence separating the audience from an eight foot fall into a pit with an angry boor.

  Down there was a man, armed with steel and armored in leather. The tip of his sword was red, and his stance was wide and low. He held his sword in his left hand, Luos noted as well.

  On the other end of the pit was the boor.

  It looked tired already, considering the fight had been going on for some time. There was a gash in its right flank, and it was favoring its rear leg on that side.

  It was big, bigger than a hawg by a whole hand, and its fur was short and bristly instead of long and shaggy. It also wasn't shaped like a hawg. Boors had huge shoulders, so they tapered towards the hips, their front hooves wide as a dinner plate and menacing with spikes. This one hunched as it walked, slowly circling the fighter, shouldering the wall of the pit.

  It bared its teeth through foaming lips.

  Boors didn't have big tusks like hawgs, though they retained the piggy snout. Hawgs had huge, flat teeth, less efficient at killing. Boors had small, sharp teeth. They ate meat.

  The boor reared suddenly, falling into a charge towards the fighter.

  "If he's smart," a nearby spectator said casually to another, "he'll jump at the last moment. Just the very last moment. Let it run itself smack" - he clapped his hands - "into the wall."

  This is not what happened, as Luos observed. The man leapt too early, giving the boor a chance to make a surprisingly nimble turn and snap at the man's leg.

  "Aaauuggh!" he cried from down below. His leg was caught in the creature's mouth, his shin armor being the only thing keeping it from biting the limb off. He was stuck in a runner's pose, both hands on the ground, his good leg coiled beneath him, the other outstretched.

  "Complete amateur," the observer said, his voice thick with disappointment. But his eyes remained riveted to the action.

  The boor was tugging on the leg in great, staggering heaves. The leather may be saving the man's flesh from rending, but it wouldn't stop the bone from breaking if the beast kept up like this. The fighter fell to his elbows, crawling away from the monster with his forearms despite his leg still caught in the creature's jaws.

  Then, as the beast tugged again, the man pushed up. He coiled the rest of his body around the boor's lower jaw. Luos saw a flash of silver light. He had been laying on his sword, and still held onto it.

  "Now, if he could only get his sword pointing the right way, he has a clear shot at its stomach from there," the observer said, noticing the blade as well.

  "True," said another man. This was the other neighbor to the critic. "But what will he hold onto? That patch of fur is soft, sure, but if he reaches up for leverage-..." but the responder's prophesy was cut off by another cry. The fighter had indeed reached up to the boor's shoulders for leverage, but the stiff hair had stabbed his hand like quills. Luos heard both men beside him wince.

  "Rookie mistake," the first said. "I've seen it dozens of times."

  "Yeah, it's like they forget or something."

  The first man gave a dry chuckle. "You wouldn't see me in there, forgetting where the sharp bits of a boor is."

  "You ever thought of giving it a try, then, boss?"

  "I can't," he said quickly, "I've got this...condition." But Luos had heard him hesitate a fraction of a second.

  When he looked back at the fight, the man had somehow wrested his leg from the jaws of the monster and gotten away. He was standing again, but he was wielding his sword in his off-hand, clutching his left as it bled freely.

  The boor shrieked a rumbling squeal. It was hungry, and hurt, and it smelled blood. So it uttered a challenge, and before the fighter could recover from wincing at the sonic blast, it charged him again.

  This would be his second chance to dodge, Luos knew. If he could time it right, the creature wouldn't be able to stop itself from plowing right into the wall. At this speed, it could be stunned for a good few seconds. All the time the fighter needed to land the killing blow.

  The boor ran, gnashing and slavering.

  But the fighter didn't dodge. With his injured hand, and the gash in his thigh, and the other leg ground to dust in its greave, he stood his ground.

  He ignored the crowd's calls to jump or move. Luos wasn't able to look away.

  His imagination predicted the man being overrun, the boor seizing him in his jaws. The seconds stretched. Blood dripped, and the beast's coat shuddered with every stride.

  It was gaining ground.

  It was within striking range.

  It was upon him.

  And the man collapsed. His knees hit the ground, but even as they did he leaned back and his shoulders did too.

  The beast did overrun him, but it halted even as it did, crouching over the fighter. Luos couldn't see the man for the immense size of the boor. He was stuck underneath. Luos wondered if he was being eaten even now. He thought he could see movement, the beast's body shuddering, like the boor tearing into its prey.

  The crowd was silent. Everyone strained for a clue, for a cry of horror or a squeal of bloody defeat.

  And then the boor fell aside, the fighter's sword stuck in its lower jaw up to the hilt. The fighter's hand was attached to the sword even then. They lay beside each other a moment, only the man visibly breathing. Shifting the creature's bulk off of him had completely drained his energy. He let the weapon go and rolled onto his back.

  "Is he dead?" the critic's neighbor asked. The critic himself remained silent.

  Then shudderingly, agonizingly, the man moved. He got slowly to his feet, as bloody and unstable as a newborn fawn. He stepped to his quarry and gripped the hilt jutting out of the creature's throat.

  "That one strike felled it," the critic's neighbor said, "Straight into the brain. It probably don't even know it's dead."

  The fighter braced the creature's head with his foot and pulled the sword out with great effort. Following through with the motion, obviously not one to waste momentum, he chopped down and sliced the creature's neck.

  The crowd cheered.

  "I knew he could do it," Luos heard the observer say over the uproar. "No doubt in my mind. I said it before, that Dover boy has got the warrior spirit."

  Luos looked down at the battered man, his fist high in triumph

Recommended Popular Novels