Scarlett Emberheart's Arc

Chapter 6 of 14

Scarlett drank water and watched Konic across the sand. He had not sat down. He rolled his shoulders once and set the axe butt against his boot. She had three minutes and she knew the truth of it. Another round the same way and she would fall. Her ribs burned under the plate. Her arms hung heavy. She could not out-last him. She could not out-reach him. The axe head was long and the haft was longer and every pace she gave him was a pace he used. She looked at the weapon rack by the marshal's post. A short blade rested on the third peg, half the length of the sword in her hand. She stood up before she had finished thinking. She walked to the marshal and asked to change her weapon at the break. The marshal frowned and checked the charter roll. The rule named one weapon per bout, not per round. He nodded and stepped aside. Scarlett set the arming sword on the rack and took the short blade. It sat light in her palm, no longer than her forearm. The crowd noticed. A murmur ran through the tiers of the arena and the banners on the wall shifted in the wind. Konic saw the blade and laughed once inside his helm. He lifted the axe and came forward as the horn blew. Scarlett did not wait. She ran at him. He swung high, expecting her to duck and circle wide. She did not. She stepped inside the arc of the swing before it finished, close enough to smell the oil on his gorget. The haft passed behind her shoulder. She drove the pommel of the short blade up under the edge of his helm, into the soft place between jaw and neck. His head snapped back. His knees folded. The axe hit the sand a beat before he did. The marshal raised his baton and named her the victor. Konic's second was already at his side. Then a man in a red sash pushed from the stands and shouted a challenge. He called the weapon change a breach and demanded a rematch. The marshal listened, then lifted his baton again and declared the bout would be run a second time. The crowd rose as one and booed. They booed the marshal and the man in the red sash and the whole box behind him. The booing did not stop. It grew until the marshal bent his head to his clerk and read the charter line once more. He straightened. He struck the baton against the post and reversed his ruling. The first result would stand. Scarlett walked from the field with the short blade still in her hand. Her ribs still burned. But the bracket had moved, and she had moved with it.