The ax bit deep into the heavy wooden shield, slicing clean through part of the metal banding. The impact buckled even Barquark’s stout, muscular legs, and drove him to one knee. His arm went numb to the shoulder as he struggled to keep the shield over his head. He planted his other fist in the tightly packed sand to steady himself, still gripping tight to the hard wood handle of the flail.
With a bellowing roar, the giant heaved the ax upward, taking the shield with it. Barquark let it go and swung the flail low. Five pounds of wickedly spiked steal whipped out at the end of its chain, arcing toward the giant’s thick knee. To Barquark’s astonishment, the huge creature leaped back, nimbly raising its leg to let the ball pass just under its knee. Barquark recovered instantly. In one fluid movement, he rose to his feet, continuing the arch of his flail and swept arm over head to bring the spiked ball around for another blow. Before he could even take aim, blinding pain exploded across the whole left side of his body. His vision flashed bright white as he felt himself hurling through space. He lost grip on his flail and landed with a bone jarring thumpf in the hard pack. Instinct forced him to roll to his feet and stagger back a step. The motion brought a wave of pain and nausea, and his vision grayed out to a mere pinpoint. He took another step back and shook his head trying to clear his mind. His back slammed against the tall rough wood wall, and he nearly stumbled back down on this butt.
He recovered just enough to see the giant rushing toward him with long purposeful strides. The long handled ax, shield still stuck fast to the blade, swung at its side. The giant swung ax and shield into a huge circular motion before bringing it crashing toward Barquark, still weak kneed against the wall. He dropped and dove clear just as the ax smashed into the wall. With an ear shattering crack, the shield finally broke apart, wood fragments flying in all directions.
Barquark scrambled on hands and knees, his only thought to get clear of this monster, when he spotted a long fragment of splintered wood with a stiletto sharp tip.
The massive blade had stuck deep in the wall, and the giant was pulling with both hands to free it.
Barquark dove for the wood shard. He snatched it up and rolled into a crouch before driving the point deep into the giant’s leg, just behind the knee.
The giant bellowed with rage and pain. It let go of the ax and turned to grab for Barquark, but when the huge creature pivoted and put weight on its leg, the ruined knee joint buckled and the giant came down with a crash that shook the ground.
Barquark spotted his flail and scrambled toward it, still on hands and knees. He lunged, but was jerked short, feeling the giant’s massive fist grip his ankle. The giant, now sprawled flat on its stomach, started to pull Barquark away from his weapon. The giant squeezed tightly, the knuckles on its hairy fist turning white with the effort. Pain shot through Barquark’s entire leg. If he had been human, no doubt all the bones in his ankle would have splintered. Barquark clawed at the dirt with both hands and his free foot. Corded muscle quivered all over his body, and drool sprayed around his tusks with each labored breath, but it was like fighting against a team of oxen.
Another few inches and the giant would get both hands on him; that would be that.
With his free foot, Barquark scraped up as much loose sand as he could and flung it into the giant’s sweaty face. The giant reflexively jerked its head away. At the same moment, Barquark replanted his free foot and heaved for his flail. The giant didn’t release his foot entirely, but stopped pulling long enough for Barquark to make some ground back to his weapon. He lunged, long arm stretching. He landed hard, fingertips just brushing the long spikes on the flail ball, enough to roll it closer. He snatched up the ball, chain and handle clanking behind and brought it crashing down on the giant’s fist, still gripping white knuckled on his ankle.
To Barquark’s horror, the fist didn’t release him. Instead he felt himself being dragged on his butt toward the giant’s howling face, twisted with rage and pain. The spiked ball crunched into the giant’s fist again, then a third time, before the bloody pulp finally became slack, and Barquark was able to pull free and tumble backward. He rolled to his feet in a cloud of dust, chest heaving, and took up his flail by the handle. The giant’s fist was a bloody mess as was its knee, the jagged piece of wood still stuck through. It wobbled as the huge creature slowly dragged itself after Barquark. Something must have broken within the knee because the giant didn’t seem capable of bending it.
Barquark’s first instinct was to spin his flail around in one long arch and cave in the back of the giant’s scull. Instead, for reasons he didn’t really understand, he began stalking around the giant, away from its good arm.
With tiny black eyes, the giant watched him, teeth bared in a grimace of pain and fury, dirt clinging to its bald head beaded with sweat. Its nostrils flared with each ragged breath, like some bull about to charge. With a roar, the giant tried to heave itself up, and Barquark rushed in. As he sprang onto the giant’s back, he looped the flail’s chain around the creature’s thick neck. Simultaneously, he wrenched on the chain and drove his knee into the giant’s spine. The force of it drove the creature back into the hard pack and all the breath out of its lungs. The giant writhed and tried to pitch Barquark off, but it was already exhausted and weak from loss of blood. Barquark strained at the chain, muscles and veins standing out across his long arms and back.
The giant planted its good hand in the dirt and pushed, trying to flip itself over, but Barquark kicked out, crashing his heal into the massive elbow. After several blows, the giant’s arm finally gave way and it collapsed face down in the dirt. It was making low gurgling sounds as it tried unsuccessfully to drag air into its lungs, face turning from red to a blotchy shade of purple.
Barquark’s own exhaustion was telling as his arms and legs began to quiver with the effort. Finally, Barquark felt the giant’s body go limp. Immediately, he released pressure and slid the chain free. He jumped from the giant’s still body and backed a safe distance away, chest heaving.
With the immediate danger passed, the razor sharp hyper-focus that always gripped him during a fight began to subside. The outside world flooded back in. The roar of the crowd was first to assault his senses. Some cheered, some booed, some even chanted his name. A few brawls had broken out, no doubt both coin and drink were involved. It was a seething, bloodthirsty mass of humanity. They packed the bleacher seating, which rose steeply from behind the rot iron railing that topped the high wooden walls around the killing ground.
The pit.
In truth this was a pit in name only. Well within the capital city, with a killing ground more than fifty yards in diameter and a seating capacity of nearly twenty thousand, it was perhaps the finest venue of its type in all the empire. A far cry from the true fighting pits of the frontier towns and border territories. Places Barquark knew all too well. He shuddered at the memory of that first time, still so clear, even after eight winters: being thrown into that muddy hole, already beaten, without a weapon. He reached up and touched the iron collar welded around his neck. Had it really been eight winters?
He looked up at the still roaring crowd, the late afternoon sun obscuring his vision. His work was not done for the day. He knew what they wanted, what was expected of him. With an inward sigh he raised both long arms and began to spin his flail in long, whistling arcs. Roaring with animal triumph, he circled slowly while the crowd’s frenzy grew even greater. After a few turns, he dropped his weary arms, looped the chain and spiked ball around the handle, and walked back into the fighter’s tunnel.
End – Barquark: Troll pit fighter – Episode 1
Keep an eye out for the next exciting episode!
Scott Kirkman Books 