The Destroyer Book 3 (47 page)

“Pretender. You carry the name of our Destroyer and the Betrayer of your own people. What boon will you choose?” The eyes of the gathered faced me. Most of their faces were painted with a look of amusement. Looks like the odds were against me.

I liked that.

“Five minutes alone with you in your tent, so that we may speak privately.”

Startled silence was the response from the empress and her generals. For a few seconds they stared at me with complete confusion.

“Absolutely not!” Fehalda spat down at me and the other generals nodded in agreement.

“Your boon will be granted should you be victorious,” the empress said with a careful smile. Fehalda looked like she was about to rip her white hair out in frustration. But maybe she thought better of arguing with her sister in front of Kannath and his guards.

Servants arrived at the end of the empress’s sentence and laid out plates of the narcotic meat in front of the three O’Baarni. I noticed their eyes began to glaze, and I shook my head to force the addicting scent from taking hold of my nose and fucking with my brain. I had to focus on beating Yillomar or else Nadea and I would be killed. Servants then set out other meats, more cheeses, wine, and fruit for the rest of the gathered Elven generals.

I turned to face Yillomar and he snorted a laugh at me.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said as he held his fists up to his chin.

“Not as much as me.” I smiled and got into my own stance.

My warriors did not spend a large ratio of time training in unarmed combat. In a battle situation we almost always had a weapon close at hand, either our own, or from a fallen opponent or comrade. But nevertheless, if one of our soldiers was ever disarmed, they needed to know effective methods to defend and kill. So while only a fraction of my training was spent learning how to punch, kick, and grapple, I had spent countless hours, over more than thirty years, practicing various ways of killing Elvens with or without a weapon.

Unarmed combat was simpler than combat with weapons. Sure, a punch to the skull might render even the stoutest O’Baarni unconscious, but we healed so fast that even a crushing blow to any other part of the body would be healed within seconds. Knowing that, the fighting stance we developed over the years focused on protecting the head area at the expense of being able to launch heavy haymaker type punches. My arms rose as high as my face, creating a cage that my face glanced out of sideways. My hands came up over my head and were held open, with palms facing the opponent. I could deliver quick, downward palm strikes or grapple easily. My strong left side was closer to my opponent than my weaker right side and I held my body at a bladed angle, with my left foot planted firmly into the ground and my right trailing at a comfortable angle pointing off to Yillomar’s right. The stance looked similar to one a mantis would adopt, but it was a comparison we had made many years after we had solidified the style.

“You look afraid, Pretender,” Yillomar taunted, probably assuming that the way I held my arms meant I was surrendering. I nodded and smiled. I felt the euphoric effects of the Earth and adrenaline screaming through my body. The rush of battle was a love that never seemed to leave me.

“Let the game commence.”

Before the empress’s words had traveled past us, Yillomar dove toward me. He had wound back his left arm and intended to drive it into my uncovered abdomen. He was fast, really fast, and I was almost unprepared for an Elven of his size to move with such quickness.

I brought my hands down and met his dash with a knee to his downturned face. His nose shattered into a dozen pieces and his swinging fist skipped harmlessly across my right hip. The force of his momentum should have sent me tumbling back and put us both on the ground in a grappling position, but I had pulled the Earth to me and stayed rooted, like a wall of stone, with which the massive Elven had just collided.

My knee hit him again and I felt the weakness of his skull. One more knee and the fight would end, with the large Elven’s body twitching on the ground as his brain struggled to send its last damaged signals to his muscles. But then I might not get everything I wanted from this battle.

So I pushed him away.

He was already pulling in that direction, so the movement sent him tumbling back comically. He rolled on the grass and then splayed out in a sitting position, completely dazed. I guessed that either he had never fought someone as skilled as me, or had risked an offensive attack right at the start in an effort to end the fight quickly. Under normal circumstances, I would have tried to finish him while I had his head in my hands. Or I would have pounced on him while he sat dazed on the grass a few steps away from me. But I did not want the gathered observers to explain Yillomar’s defeat as poor luck.

I wanted it to be clear to Telaxthe, her generals, and Kannath that I wasn’t merely a Pretender. Perhaps it was a foolish notion, or simple pride, and I should continue the farce that I was confused about my identity, but that wasn’t getting me anywhere productive with these Elvens. I needed them to fear me now so I could protect the people I loved. I couldn’t do that sitting as a prisoner in the empress’s camp.

After a few dozen seconds, Yillomar came around and sprung to his feet. His face was awash in embarrassment and he raised his hands back up to a fighting position. He moved toward me with more caution now and circled to my left side, forcing me to pivot to meet him.

“I got lucky,” I said with a smile. He grunted and pressed forward with a left jab that would have connected with my nose if I hadn’t slapped it away. As soon as my hand moved out he attacked with his right fist, aiming for the small space I had left open with my earlier defense. This was a move I expected though, and I pivoted my other arm to strike it off target.

He circled a bit more and sniffed to clear the blood out of his nose. Then he launched another group of punches, leading with this left and then ending with a savage hook from his right arm. I stepped away a few feet, parrying each of the blows as they were inches from my face but ducking under the final attack that might have ripped my skull from my neck. When I came back up from my dodge, his right side was exposed and I planted my left fist where the Elven kidney dwelled. As soon as I hit I pushed my right hand against the top of his head and pulled him across my body.

The movement threw him to the ground, but he kicked out and managed to entangle my left ankle with his thick leg. He pulled with his feet and grabbed onto my calf with his arm. The movement could have thrown me off balance and taken me to the grass with him, but I slammed down on his chest with my knees and forced him to block a flurry of punches. None of my strikes were particularly fast or powerful, they were just meant to distract and show that I could have hammered him hard if I wished.

I took a few steps away from him and let the large Elven climb back to his feet.

“I got lucky again.” I smiled and shrugged, raising my arms into my familiar position. Yillomar’s face was an impassive mask now and he threw out a roundhouse kick aimed for my left knee cap. I raised my leg slightly and turned my knee into his kicking leg. The impact jarred both of our bodies, but only he let out a gasp of pain.

The damage must have been short lived, because almost immediately after the collision he launched another series of punches. This time he varied these strikes between my head and my upper body. I blocked the first three aimed for my face and then only managed to deflect one of the attacks to my midsection with an elbow. The other two punches connected with my stomach and sounded like an axe handle slamming into a tree twice. Yillomar was strong, but I had trained with the likes of Thayer and had been used to taking hits to the stomach that would break the spines of most warriors. My brain did little more than acknowledge the brief pain and then work on healing the damaged muscle.

He teased a kick and then feinted a quick punch with his right hand. I didn’t block either ruse and his left jab got slapped away easily. His technique was almost perfect, but by staring at the top of his chest I could see a tiny turn of his shoulder that pre-empted each attack he threw with power. That slight motion only gave me a fraction of a second of notice, but that was all I needed.

Unlike Yillomar, my technique was perfect. My strikes also came from above his eye level, which was difficult for most fighters to defend against because they were used to the enemy’s weapons being easier to see. My left palm crashed down on his nose and sprayed more blood across his face. He reeled and managed to get his hands up in time to parry my next strike with my right hand. But by that time my left hand had punched his stomach and smacked against the hardened wood of his muscles. He pushed his arms down to block my next strike there, but I’d already moved back to his face, slamming my palms into his eyes and nose three more times before he fell away again; reeling from the assault and blood covering his eyes.

I stepped closer to him and delivered a roundhouse kick to his right leg while he retreated. The sound of his knee breaking and tearing reminded me of a celery stalk being crunched. He went down on his back but didn’t scream. His face however, did show that he was in serious pain and he moved his working leg around to position it between us so I couldn’t approach him as easily. Of course, I could have just jumped up a few dozen feet, and then landed on him, shattering his chest or skull, but that would have meant ending the fight too soon.

I stepped back carefully, keeping my eyes on Yillomar’s healing body, until I reached the edge of the wooden fence where Isslata stood. I glanced at her over my shoulder and saw her eyes wide with surprise. Then I risked a quick glance at the Elvens and O’Baarni on the raised wooden platforms and noticed similar looks of disbelief. Kannath’s eyes were a piercing blue and he was so engrossed in watching us that he had forgotten about eating his Mastkur.

Yillomar got to his feet and beckoned for me to approach him. He was favoring the knee I had just broken, but it looked like it had enough strength to stand. I smiled at him and waved him away.

“That’s okay. Take your time.” I leaned up against the fence and crossed my arms.

“I’m fine! Let’s finish this!” he yelled and took a few steps toward me with his fists raised.

“Very well,” I growled and the Earth flowed through my blood like lava. The Elven sprinted the twenty feet between us and launched himself in the air, coming down with his uninjured leg positioned like a dagger thrust at my head. It was a beautiful kick, risky, and one that would have probably caught a few of my lesser warriors unprepared. But it was too predictable for me and I decided that the best course of action would be to not stand in the spot Yillomar had aimed his jump.

I spun away and then ducked a back fist he intended for my skull. He responded with a roundhouse kick, using the momentum from his initial attack to continue the spin of his body. I hammered my fist into his groin and then grabbed his left leg in the crook of my right arm. Then I shot to my feet, carrying his leg up with me and pushing our weight down to where his left leg should have supported his body. This left his broken leg to hold all of our mass. As he tumbled to the ground he threw a last punch with his right hand. It didn’t have much strength in it though, and I easily parried it with my left hand.

He was strong for an Elven and he shook his massive leg like one of the wurms I had encountered in the caverns below Nia. I managed to hold on though, and stomped his groin twice again and then kicked him in the face, stunning the big man for a brief second. I used the opportunity to step across his body and bring his leg across the inside of mine, breaking his other knee with a quick snap of my arms. He didn’t scream or grunt from the pain and I felt a twinge of respect for the Elven's self-control.

But soon he wouldn’t be making any noises.

He grabbed onto my left leg with both of his hands and pulled with amazing strength. But I was rooted in the Earth again and could have been unmovable if I had wished. Instead, I allowed him to pull me down and rewarded his face with a sharp elbow from my right arm. The blow cut open the side of his cheek and broke his jaw.

For a few seconds we were a mess of arms, legs, and slick blood. The Elven tried to grab a hold of my neck and draw me into his chest, probably so he could buy himself time to heal. While he wiggled his arms against me I landed strikes against his throat and face while I moved my hips over his chest for better leverage.

Yillomar was in a horrible position beneath me. Blood coated his eyes, preventing him from seeing exactly where I was or where my next blow would connect. I could have finished him in one or two more punches, but I decided to prolong his suffering. I slammed his face and throat a few dozen more times with enough strength to crush and break bones, but not enough to end his life. Finally, his defending arms grew slack and he fell unconscious from the beating.

One more blow and he could be dead.

Another fucking Elven wiped from this world.

I raised my fist and looked down at the broken man. I had expected somewhat of a challenge, but I should have guessed that the fighting styles and techniques might have grown weaker since my time. It was not as if these O’Baarni Games were life or death competition. They seemed more of a political tool to keep the clans occupied in a fake power struggle.

I had battled every single day, not for sport or entertainment, but for my life and the lives of thousands of my brothers and sisters. These Elvens lacked the commitment and discipline we were forced to develop. Even in the war of my past, it was not until the Elvens realized that they were close to extinction that they began to unite their forces and take their training seriously.