Epilogue #5
The rest of their guests clearly felt the same, praising Grum and digging in with astonishing speed, and as they ate, they were treated to a few dance performances, too.
Of course, Fengr was the star of the show, with his flying acrobatics, and as a surprise, he incorporated several trees into his routine, leaping and twisting off the branches, while his steel bars flew up through the canopy of leaves above.
Next, a dancer from the mountain named Thrand performed an impressive routine of stomping along to the combined drummers’ beat, in a rhythm so compulsive, soon the entire audience was stomping and clapping along.
And last was a more sensual — but still age-appropriate — dance from another orc named Leif, his lean body twisting and gyrating with impossible flexibility and grace.
After that, the drummers themselves put on a show, Othan leading an elaborate rhythm with a half-dozen other Bautul drummers, and several from the Ash-Kai clan, too.
The sound was so full and deep it thrummed through Raye’s chest, vibrated her against where Kalfr was now standing behind her, his arms slung around her waist, both of them swaying together.
And finally, of course, for the main event, was the Brawl itself.
Everyone loaded up on desserts and sweetcakes, and headed over to the training-grounds, which were now comprised of one large single ring.
And once everyone was settled — Svein and his friends had climbed up into their favourite nearby tree to watch — Gaelfr stalked into the middle of the ring, and began calling out terms. Apparently, in a Bautul Brawl, the warriors would divide into four separate teams, and the last team standing would be the day’s victors.
“Do we gain a prize?” Skirvir’s deep voice demanded, as he angled a hungry look toward a nearby Fengr, but Gaelfr shot him a quelling glare, and announced that the winning team would be the first to try Grum’s special new dessert of sweet honey nut tarts.
This led to cheers all around, and soon the participating warriors were milling about in the ring, choosing weapons and rousing their teams. Gaelfr ended up leading one team, including Kalfr of course, plus all the other warriors from the byrgi.
While Silfast and Olarr each led teams from the mountain, and a huge orc named Skroggr — one of Inga’s mates — led a team of orcs from the south.
And once they were all set up facing each other, Gaelfr let out a war cry, and the Brawl began.
It was an utterly overwhelming sight, with dozens of orcs all hurling themselves at each other at once, and at first, Raye could scarcely follow what was happening.
But Gwyn and Stella beside her were well used to Bautul melees by now, and gave her regular commentary between their loud cheering for their mates, who were both on the same team.
“Nobody’s going to try for Kalfr and Gaelfr yet, their bond-fighting makes them too overpowered for melee,” Gwyn rapidly explained, her eyes intent on the sight, “but damn it, Arne’s fallen to Tolkr on the southern team.
He’s a top contender, that was really brilliant swordplay, so Joarr’s going to target him for that, probably going to climb on Silfast when Tolkr isn’t expecting it — yes! ”
Joarr had just thrown himself off Silfast’s shoulders in a flying twisting leap, tackling the unsuspecting Tolkr to the ground, and hurling his wooden sword off into the trees over the spectators’ heads.
Earning a chorus of appreciative cheers all around, and Raye happily joined in, though she kept glancing back to Kalfr and Gaelfr, who were still holding their ground, but not pushing or being targeted either, like Gwyn had said.
Instead, they were picking out single targets one by one, catching stragglers from the other teams and defending their own warriors, especially Eyolf and Iyolf, who had continued to improve their own bond-fighting skills, but still didn’t have nearly as much experience as Kalfr and Gaelfr.
And Raye yelped when another pair of southern warriors nearly broke Eyolf and Iyolf apart, but Kalfr and Gaelfr swooped back in just in time, Gaelfr’s axe whirling in its usual deadly arc around his head.
But slowly, the field began to thin, as more sweaty, sheepish orcs staggered over to Rurik and Efterar, who had been commandeered to make sure none of the participants gained any lasting injuries.
This kind of care was still new for most of the clan, Gwyn told Raye with obvious relief, since apparently the Bautul at the mountain had used to fight each other nearly to the death, and it had taken significant ongoing efforts these past few years to make them see sense.
“Kalfr was a huge help with that, I must say,” she told Raye, “goddess bless him. And he was always a strong fighter back then too, but now, with Gaelfr — ach! Look at that!”
Kalfr and Gaelfr had just made their first real charge, taking out three of the mountain’s orcs at once, and Raye stomped and cheered as loudly as she could, and then kept cheering as they worked their way around the ring together.
They really were unfairly effective, and perhaps it was the home advantage too, the intimate familiarity with every clump of dirt, every tuft of grass.
And with the way Gaelfr still pushed all their band to train every day together, preparing for every possible outcome, keeping them safe at all costs.
Eyolf and Iyolf finally fell to the pair of southern orcs, and Skirvir to the always-impressive pair of Olarr and Aulis.
Egil lasted a little longer, thanks to his quickness and scenting, and Othan was the last of their teammates to fall, still fighting with surprising effectiveness with only his bare fists.
Until it was only the four team captains still standing, each still with their fighting partner beside them.
And by this point, Raye could easily see how much of an advantage the bond-fighting offered — clearly the two orcs from the south shared a deep bond, and Olarr and Aulis did, as well.
And though each of the pairs fought in their own ways, it was clear how they all anticipated each other’s movements, covering for each other, taking turns to conserve their strength.
“If only Joarr and Silfast had a bond, too,” Gwyn muttered, but then she blanched and shared a horrified glance with Stella. “Oh, good goddess, no. Please forget I ever said that.”
Raye merrily laughed along with Stella, and then cheered for Joarr as he executed a perfect flying flip to escape Olarr’s axe-blade.
But that put him far too close to Gaelfr’s axe, which he had to duck to avoid, and Kalfr was already waiting, lunging out from beneath Gaelfr’s axe with breathtaking speed, and tackling Joarr to the earth.
Beside Raye, Gwyn cursed and groaned, but she still smiled good-naturedly, and cheered for Silfast as he valiantly fought the three other pairs combined, until finally he fell, too.
Leaving just those six orcs left, and Raye could see Olarr and Aulis signalling and shifting together with the southern orcs, orienting their combined forces toward Kalfr and Gaelfr.
Four against two should have been impossible odds, and Raye’s heart kept leaping into her throat as she watched, shouting so loud her voice was hoarse.
But Kalfr and Gaelfr kept striking and dodging with purpose and power, Kalfr constantly returning to the safety of Gaelfr’s arms and his axe.
And even at this distance, Raye could taste their focused intensity, their heightened awareness of each other.
The way Kalfr was touching Gaelfr constantly now, making him wait, watching for an opening, for the perfect gift from the goddess…
And — there. One of the southern orcs lunged in front of Olarr, his axe sweeping up — and with a furious flying kick, Kalfr knocked him back into Olarr, who in turn reeled into Aulis, who had to dodge away to the right, straight into where the second southern orc was staggering back, too.
And in a dizzying flurry of movement, a spate of shouts and curses, they all collapsed to the ground at once, while Kalfr and Gaelfr thrust their weapons up in victory, and the audience erupted in shouts and cheers.
Raye didn’t even catch herself sprinting forward until she was hurling herself into Kalfr’s arms — but Svein was right behind her, and together they all toppled to the ground together, all of them laughing, while Kalfr and Gaelfr fought to catch their breath.
“Ach, I did not think we had it, ástin mín,” Gaelfr gasped, hooking his arm around Kalfr’s shoulder, giving him a hard shake. “Should have known I could trust you.”
Kalfr grinned back with mingled fondness and gratitude, and nipped at Gaelfr’s ear.
“Ach, always,” he murmured, his eyes angling toward Raye, and for an instant, it felt as strong as a vow, a sign of how far they’d come.
They trusted each other, and it had given them so much strength, so much peace. Home. A family.
Svein had been watching them closely, from where he was still sprawled atop them all, and when Kalfr fondly grinned at him, too, Svein betrayed a short sniffle, and hurled himself down into his arms. “You’ve done such a good job, Papa,” he said thickly. “I’m so glad you came home.”
Kalfr’s eyes blinked with sudden brightness, but he folded Svein close, stroking at his messy hair. Until Svein hurled himself at Gaelfr, too, squeezing him tight, and then twisted to hug Raye. “I love you, Mama,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”
Raye’s eyes suddenly spilled over with tears, and she squeezed him back, inhaling deep breaths of his sweet, beloved scent. “I know, love,” she whispered. “I love you so much, too.”