Chapter 9: Breakpoint
~Alex~
I had been in eight fights in a quarter as many days. I had killed eight people. The ninth fight was in three minutes and Ranwon knelt beside me, pressing ice to my swollen eye. I clutched the sword that had been given to me at the start of the first match. I had thrown up just recently, the product of a nasty kick to the stomach. I just wanted to lay down and sleep. Sleep would be nice.
The bell rang, three sharp clangs that barely registered in my brain. I had one minute.
Ranwon looked at me, at the bruises on my face. "You can stop. They'll kill you quickly if you ask them to. This can end."
I shook my head, then immediately regretted it. "I'm not – it's not – I just – no." He wouldn't understand about Peter. Or Becca. Or Jason or all the others that my death would leave behind. Luas would have to wake Corin up by himself for the rest of his life, not just a month, and that's a fate that no one can bear.
I stood up, shakily, and Ronwan guided me over to the starting tunnel.
"You're fighting the Ox. He's built like one and he prefers axes. Do you want a different weapon."
"No," I said, and gripped my sword tighter, determined to not allow the sweat dripping down my palms make me lose my grip.
I step out into the sunlight, to the deafening roar of the crowd and thrust my sword into the air. Separate chants of "Ox!" and "Lioness!" filled my already pounding ears, and I planted my feet firmly into the ground to keep from swaying.
The Ox was bigger than me, which admittedly doesn't take much, and he carried an axe stained with blood. He wore a helmet with, true to his name – ox horns, with a chain As terrifying as that affect may be, I have no respect for warriors who don't take care of their weapons.
"I'll eat you for dinner, little girl! But not before I get my fill of you." I didn't suppress the grimace. "And when I'm done, I'll hang your pelt in my hut!"
"Ew," I muttered.
He charged.
I sent a silent prayer to Aslan and brought my sword up –
The axe swung –
Blades met –
Mine shattered.
Much as I would have liked to, I didn't have time to stare, dumbfounded. Years of training kicked in, letting my foggy brain take a rest. I let go of the useless hilt and ran forward, leaping up onto the Ox's broad shoulders, and locking my arms around his neck. He roared in rage - a common thing among large, overly-muscular (I've always preferred lean guys) men with names that sound like their over-compensating for something. I ripped the chain off his horns and wrapped it twice around his neck, and then hung on for dear life.
I'll spare you the details of his choking.
Needless to say I won.
It was my last battle of the day.
Ronwan told me, as he bandaged my wounds that night, that at dawn my first opponent would be Peter.
When he left, I curled up in a ball on my mattress, too exhausted to cry and too upset to sleep.
