Grimjaw Stonehide's Arc

Chapter 3 of 15

The bear rose full onto the packed floor Grimjaw had earned. Spikes bristled down its pale back. Its red eyes locked on him. One swipe of those claws would shatter his capped tusks. Behind it lay the trampled ground he needed to drill his grip. His match with Kragmar came tomorrow. Grimjaw had to move that bear or lose his only training floor. He set his feet and raised his fists. The bear charged. Grimjaw ducked the first swing. Claws raked the air where his face had been. He drove a shoulder into the beast's chest. His feet held on the hard snow. But the bear outweighed him three times over. It shoved him back a full stride and swiped again. A claw grazed his cheek and drew blood. Hjalgrim did not move to help. The cleric stood on the drift's crust, spear humming with blue light. "You beat the snow with work, not tricks," he called. "The bear is no different. Find where it is weak." Grimjaw growled and watched the beast circle. The spikes covered its back and shoulders. Its head swung low and slow. Every troll wrestler knew that a low head meant a grip. Grimjaw stopped trying to push the whole mass. He waited for the next lunge instead. The bear reared and dropped toward him. Grimjaw dove under the reaching claws. He caught the beast's jaw in both hands, thumbs hooked past its teeth. His capped tusks he kept clear, tucked aside from the snapping mouth. He wrenched the head sideways with all his weight. The bear's own bulk turned against it. Its footing broke on the slick edge of the packed floor. It crashed onto its spined shoulder with a roar that shook loose snow from the drifts. Grimjaw did not let go. He drove the head down and pinned it against the ground he had made. The bear thrashed. Its claws scored the snow. But Grimjaw's feet were locked and his grip was iron. He held until the great body went slack, stunned and spent. Then he heaved the beast off his floor, rolling it down the drift. It scrambled up and fled into the white, favoring its bruised shoulder. Grimjaw stood alone on the packed circle. His chest heaved. Blood dripped from his cheek onto the snow. His tusks held firm in his jaw, uncracked. He had kept his grip on a beast that could kill him. Hjalgrim stepped down onto the floor. He tested it with one heavy paw. "The ground holds," he said. "So do you." He looked at Grimjaw's tusks. "But you fought a bear the way you cannot fight Kragmar. That ogre knows every hold a troll knows. Tomorrow he faces you first." He planted his spear. "You have your floor and one night. Kragmar capped those tusks. He knows exactly where they are weak."