Grimjaw Stonehide's Arc

Chapter 8 of 15

Grimjaw walked off the arena floor with the crowd still roaring. The champion's banner waited, but his body did not answer him. Three bouts had wrung him dry. His shoulders shook. His hands would not close all the way. He looked at his right fist and watched the fingers tremble. A grip that shook would fail against the last opponent. He had one night to make his body whole, and he did not know how. He found a bench in the back room, where log lockers lined the wall, each fitted with curved tusks. He sat and pressed his palms flat on his knees to stop them from shaking. It did not work. He had beaten the undead champion an hour ago. Now his own arms betrayed him. Heavy steps crossed the floor. Gromak Ironjaw stood over him. The orc had faced Grimjaw earlier in the tournament and lost, his tusks caught by the sound right one. He had given Grimjaw the counsel that beat Kragmar. Now he looked at the trembling hands and said nothing kind. "Your grip is gone," Gromak said. Plain. No pity. "It will come back," Grimjaw said. "Not by morning. Not on its own." Gromak crouched. He took Grimjaw's right wrist and pressed his thumb hard into the meat below the palm. Pain shot up the arm. Grimjaw hissed. "The muscle is knotted from the last grip. It locks the hand. You knead it out, or it stays." Grimjaw watched the orc dig his thumb along the tendon, slow and rough. The trembling eased under the pressure. His fingers curled an inch more than before. "Show me," Grimjaw said. Gromak set Grimjaw's own thumb on the knot. "Push until it hurts worse. Then hold. Both arms. All night." He stood. "I did this before my last three fights. It is why I lasted as long as I did against you." Grimjaw pushed. The knot fought him. He held through the burn until the muscle gave. He moved to the next cord and dug in. Sweat ran down his tusks. Hour by hour he worked both arms, kneading the ropes of muscle loose, forcing blood back into dead fingers. Gromak did not leave. He sat against the lockers and watched. Near dawn he reached over and closed his hand around Grimjaw's right fist, testing it. Grimjaw gripped back. His fingers held firm. No shake. "It holds," Gromak said. He let go and stood. "Now it is on your tusks, not your hands." Grimjaw opened and closed both fists. The trembling was gone. His grip had returned, hard as before the three fights. He looked at the wall of tusks and knew his body would answer him now. But the final horn would sound at midday. His cracked left cap still could not take a left-to-left grip, and the champion's challenger would know it.