The Wheel of Osheim (The Red Queen's War 3)

“What?” Isen leaned forward, craning his neck as if he thought he’d misheard.

“Fisticuffs! The sport of kings,” I said. “No gouging, no biting, no blows below the belt.” I knew from painful experience that they taught the art to young princes, and I imagined young countlings were not excused the rigours of such an education either.

“I’m not going to brawl on Her Majesty’s road like some drunken commoner—”

“Have a care, Isen. My grandmother encourages the pugilistic art in the very highest of circles—I trust you aren’t going to criticize her judgment any more than you would deny the challenged party the age-old right of choosing his weapons.” I brandished both fists. “And here they are!” I didn’t exactly relish the prospect but I’d beaten a few opponents into the dust in my time, and Isen fulfilled one of my acceptance criteria, standing no taller than your average twelve-year-old boy.

Isen scowled. “If I must beat you to death with my bare hands, Prince Jalan, then that is exactly what I will do.” He passed his sword up to Sir Thant, of whom I could see little but a beard bristling below his pot helm and fierce eyes glinting in the shadows behind a visor.

“Well and good.” He had big balls, I gave him that. I’d expected him to bluster and call the whole thing off.

I passed my sword to Snorri in its scabbard. “Your dagger too.” Snorri motioned with his eyes to my other hip. “I’ve seen men stab each other in brawls without meaning to—once the blood gets up instincts take over.”

I clenched my teeth and managed to thank him through them whilst handing over my knife.

The knights rode into position so as to mark out the four corners of a fighting ground and the front ranks of Isen’s command filed around to watch, completing the square. Snorri loomed over the soldiers on one side, frowning.

“Well . . . all right then,” I said, squaring up to my opponent and feeling slightly embarrassed. Somewhere in the sea of faces Kara and the boy would be watching. I wasn’t sure that flattening a half-crazed midget would raise me in their estimation.

Isen came at me, fists raised, ducking and bobbing like some enraged chicken. Somewhat embarrassed for both of us, I took a swing at him, knowing I had at least a foot more reach, not to mention two or three decades and seventy pounds. The little maniac ducked under my arm and surged up to loose a flurry of blows at my stomach and ribs. It felt rather like being struck by small iron mallets. Iron mallets, small or large, are incredibly painful. Yelping, I leapt away, only to find him bearing down on me immediately.

“Steady on . . . I don’t want to hurt you.” The jab I threw his way had everything I could muster behind it. Isen blocked the punch on both his fists, just before his face, then hit me in the wrist with a vicious uppercut before I could pull my arm back. It hurt like fuck and left my wrist aching.

I glanced at Snorri for inspiration. He mimed a punch, and I turned back to find Isen doing exactly that. At nearly full stretch he struck me on the jaw. It felt as if my head had exploded: I saw lights flash, the world spin, and a bone-rattling reunion with the ground allowed me to deduce that some falling had been involved too. Lifting my head and squinting I could make out two smaller figures advancing on me. Was I really going to end my illustrious career by being beaten to death by midgets?

A shake of my head reunited the two images of Count Isen as he closed on me. All the parts of me hurt and I lay still while he paced around me.

“Confess your crimes, Prince Jalan!” he roared. “You pressed your unwanted and degenerate attentions on my sweet Sharal!”

I stared up at the sky, hoping his theatrics would let me get some much-needed air into my lungs. Around the periphery of my vision I could see Isen continue to stalk around me as if I were some trophy kill, an eighteen point stag he’d brought down on some hunt perhaps.

“Confess your crimes! You forced yourself on my innocent—”

I swept my arm out taking Isen’s feet from under him. He fell backwards, landing heavily as I sat up.

“I fucked her!” I got to my feet as Isen rolled to his front. “But she wasn’t an innocent.” I stooped down and grabbed the back of Isen’s belt in one hand, the back of his collar in the other. “And she liked it!” The last with a roar as I hoisted him above my head, holding him firm despite his struggles.

Isen bucked like a fish on deck but I held him. “Yield!”

“It’s to the death, you fool!”

He might have been a small fellow but already it was starting to feel as though I had a full-grown man held above my head.