Chapter Nine The Forge
"Privilege blinds, because it's in its nature to blind. Don't let it blind you too often."
Adan hadn't left the confines of her room, but was met with the first snowfall of the year.
Winter had come and brought the cold chill with it.
No one had summoned her in weeks, and she was content to spend it brooding and alone.
She loved winter, and everything it brought with it.
It was the one season that reminded her of home the most--making it bitter-sweet.
She stared out her window as she sat on the bench built into the frame, creating an alcove.
Floor to ceiling bookcases hugged the sides making Adan feel safe.
The snow was beautiful from the warmth of her bedroom, where a roaring fire burned, and a romance book sat open in her lap.
She knew soon enough she would have to leave and go outside into that cold.
Even if her assassin black fur lined leathers kept her more than comfortable.
She had one destination in mind tonight. The only place that would calm her racing thoughts and sooth her nerves.
The Forge. Located in the city centre, not far from the castle. It was a regular haunt for Adan.
--
The guards on the front stone steps didn't stop her as she made her way toward the entrance. They knew who she was, and that she frequented the fighting pits often. A good fight and a bit of blood, always centered here--gave her a moment of peace.
The sound of yelling filled the wide open space.
Built from the same stone of the steps, the room echoed with the sound of cheers and outcries.
Booths were tucked away in the shadowy corners, but the cries of people came from the centre.
For which the crowd circled the massive dug out pit.
Where a fight was already commencing. Two burly men were going punch for punch.
People were passing notes around as the bookie took bets.
The bar off to the left of the entrance was full, and two customers deep. The energy at The Forge was unmatched to anything Adan had ever experienced. Nothing like the Gladiator Pits, that was a dog fight. This was liberation, or the closest Adan had ever come to it.
"Miss Byrd." The matchmaker of the Forge clapped her on the shoulder in welcome.
He was a nice enough man, with thinning grey hair and the laugh lines to prove his maturity.
It was rare to see someone with true signs of aging in Lymia.
It was one of the reasons Adan wisely respected the man.
Anyone who had wrinkles was cunning enough to still be alive.
"Mister Whitaker." She gave him a friendly smile that so few saw.
"Come to fight or to watch?" She only deadpanned him a look, "right then." He continued, "I'll call you the usual way when we're ready for you." He smiled tightly, and backed away.
Adan moved closer towards the pit while she waited for her turn.
Two males, bloody and fighting below. Both of them struggling to stay standing, evenly matched.
It wasn't until one of them swung too wide, opening themselves in their punch.
His attacker ducked and struck fast, landing an uppercut to the jaw, forcing his opponent arching backwards and onto his back.
He then pounced, getting him into a chokehold.
The rules of the Forge are simple, tap out or pass out.
Of course, deaths happen, it's part of the risk you take stepping into the pit, and the pay-out can be substantial.
Not that Adan was here for the money--she never was.
Not that she couldn't use it, more money was always essential to the cause.
Adan came here to release the constant build up of rage that never went away.
She watched as the man in a chokehold slammed his hand on the white sandy ground twice, signally his accepted defeat. Adan had never tapped out in this ring, but that didn't mean she wasn't defeated--more than once. She would rather pass-out or die, then yield.
Money was passed back out to the lucky few who had won their bets.
The triumphant fighter was granted ten percent of every bet.
The loser's only loss was their pride. The fighters exited the pit from the hanging net that was dropped in for them to climb out.
A cleanup crew came in to rake the ground, not that it did much to hide the blood from previous fights.
There was always a break between the next fight. "You're up." A guard's voice came from behind her. He was a towering, massive man, he must have had a troll blood in his line somewhere. He led the way, even if Adan could find her way blindfolded.
Pushing past the crowd she overheard snippets of conversations.
"I heard they're going to go door to door in the Loch..."
"Bernie demolished McDavid's face, did you see that uppercut!"
"If they think I will pay taxes on the purchase of my slaves, they have another think coming..."
"The Butcher..."
"Tally told me he beat her bloody. Said it wasn't his. She'll be lucky if her face heals up enough to work again."
"The Undine are working overtime in preparations for Yule."
"My girlfriend wants me to take her to Plaza Roe. She's fucking crazy if she thinks I'm about to spend that type of coin on her."
As they descended the stairs into the waiting room the noise of the main room dimmed.
She peeled off her gloves, and her jacket and hanging them on the available hooks against the stone wall.
Adan turned to face the pit and began wrapping her hands.
Bars were the only thing that separated her from her fate.
The other side of the ring awaited her opponent, waiting in similar fashion.
Adan stepped closer to the bars, looking up at the revelry above her that surrounded the sandpit.
The yells for bids and the whooping cheers of drunk onlookers filled the room.
The thing about the Forge is that underneath the fighting sand is an iron sheet.
It forces everyone to leave their magic in this room and fight as equals.
Weapons were forbidden, it was strictly hand-to-hand combat.
There were no classes or status. No slave and master.
Just winner vs. loser, at the most equal level.
The Forge made a point to slot fighters into weight classes so that the fight was fare--or as fare as they could be.
It was the most freeing thing Adan had to hold on to.
Her bars swung open on a phantom wind, and the crowds began to cheer louder as she and her opponent walked out. The man was about a foot taller than her, and wider in the shoulders, but he was lean. She cracked her neck and knuckles with every step in the soft sand.
The male in front of her only laughed as he took her in.
"You're sure you want to do this, little girl?"
He chided, chuckling to himself as the bell rang out to begin.
She grinned as she eyed up her opponent.
Adan never really saw his face--she only imagined one person.
With his thick onyx hair that was no doubt impossibly soft like silk.
She saw his full, lush lips that could spit vitriol better than anyone she had ever met.
Lennox is larger than the male before her, but she conceptualized him in her head.
Adan felt sorry for the male facing her that she had never met before.
He was about to be on the receiving end of her rage.
They ran towards one another as a dust of sand flew out from behind them with each lunge.
Once she was close enough, she snapped out her arm and ducked.
Slamming her stiff open hand into his throat, using the side of her hand to cause the most damage.
Adan felt her fingers connect with his Adams apple.
He coughed a strangled sound as stumbled back, bending over at the waist.
She drowned out the sounds of the people around and above her. There was only this, him and her.
"You bitch." He managed to get out.
He barrelled for her, he was big, but he was also slower than her, and she dodged his bulk with ease.
Not before landing a hard punch to his ribs.
She felt the reverberations against her knuckles all the way to her shoulder.
Adan heard the distinct sound of cracking bones.
He yelped in frustration. "You're dead, bitch."
He swung with his right arm as he held his left side.
"You males really need to think of a new name for us, little women." She blocked his attack by keeping her sides protected with her arms tucked in tight. It knocked her slightly unbalanced, and left her face open. She used that off kilter momentum to pummel his left side again and again.
She was close enough now for him to grab her, a mistake on her part.
He picked her up with ease and tossed her across the pit.
She skidded against those tiny pebbles of sand and smashed into the stone wall, cracking it on impact.
She heaved and inhaled sand dust as she pulled herself up.
Bringing her fists back up to cover her face.
A trickle of blood fell down the side of her head and the world swayed.
She was definitely concussed, but that would pass quickly enough. She just had to outlast him.
The brute charged for her again. Adan met him and went low, skidding along her knees to hammer her elbow into his stomach.
He instantly hurled as he was doubled over.
She slowed and pivoted to shove her boot into his stomach and his knees hit the ground hard.
Not before he managed to land a knee right into her middle, knocking the air from her lungs.
He landed another on her cheek and she felt the bone shatter.
She stumbled back, spitting out blood and a tooth.
At least she wasn't instantly sick like he was.
Adan breathed through the scalding pain in her face.
Her one eye already closing faster than her body could heal it.
One more punch like that, and she would be done for.
They both slowly stood and taking the measure of each other before facing off again.
She lunged for him again, quick and precise.
The crunch of his nose reverberated down her arm.
His hand went to his face, blood oozing out between his sausage fingers.
She pounced, swinging her arm wide, connecting with his jaw, knocking him out cold.
He fell backwards with a large thud, and Adan stumbled as the sound of the crowd hit her in full force.
Her face was already swollen, but healing and her stomach no doubt had a severe bruise, but no internal bleeding--that she could tell.