Something raced toward me from the left, and I ducked instinctively. I caught sight of Reaver from the corner of my eye. She spun like a dervish, expertly blocking and striking against her three opponents, each of whom was armed with a spiked weapon that resembled a big stick with a nail going through it. Primitive, but effective.
Reaver, on the other hand, was armed with a frying pan. How a spectator could have confused a skillet for a weapon was beyond me.
At the moment, I had more immediate and pressing concerns. Beatrix tore her tentacle-hair from my grip and then coiled them behind her head. Obviously she thought that tactic wouldn’t work anymore on me, and now she was disposing of her dented pieces of armor. It looked like throwing her into the ground by her own hair had savaged her equipment.
Good. It meant we’d be on even footing. Minus the tentacles, of course.
Beatrix ripped the final chunk of damaged metal free with a grunt and threw it at me. I evaded the crescent-shaped piece of steel as she charged toward me and ducked under a kick aimed at my head.
“Bloody Beatrix!” a voice said from the stands. A moment later, she was holding a three-foot-long maul with an ax blade on one side of the rusted head and sledgehammer on the other. She twirled it a couple of times and bounced it in her hands as we circled.
Her face settled in a sad smile, and I knew she considered the fight over.
All I needed to do was take out Beatrix, and I could go help Reaver. I risked a glance at her, and she appeared to have broken her frying pan and was defending herself with, of all things, an egg-beater.
Beatrix came after me, and I dodged a swipe from her mace. Beatrix was wielding the weapon like a toy, but she still needed a fraction of a second to bring it around again. I caught hold of its shaft, rammed her with my shoulder, then easily snapped the mace in half.
Beatrix barely hesitated. She dropped the ruined weapon, threw a haymaker punch, and lashed out with a kick. I covered up, blocked the punch, and retaliated after her last kick went a little wide. I gave my own kick, straight at her ass, just as her leg swung around. She was thrown forward feet-first and came to an undignified halt when her tumbling body hit the forcefield at the edge of the arena.
For a moment, the wavy lines of the field became more distinct and brightened to a sunburst shade of yellow. Beatrix’s flailing form bounced from the energy field, but it didn’t look like she’d been hurt by it. The crowd booed and hissed until she regained her footing.
“I’m your number one fan, Beatrix!” someone cried out as they tossed her another weapon.
It wasn’t a household item like Reaver tended to get. Someone had spent a lot of ping currency to get a full-sized battleaxe. The tentacle-haired woman picked it up, measured its weight, and glared at me as if she knew exactly where she wanted to bury the thing.
Behind her, a small skirmish broke out in the stands. At least six other aliens attacked the one who’d given Beatrix her new weapon. The giver was the same species as the Execution Squad. I guessed they thought it was unfair and wanted the match to last longer.
Beatrix took two measured steps my direction, paused to allow the head of one of the Execution Squad to roll by, and continued her march. She leaned forward, dug her toes into the dirt, and charged as she began drawing her ax over her shoulder with both hands.
I met her in the middle with a resounding crash of muscle and steel. The ground trembled under our feet as we wrestled for control of her ax, and something occurred to me.
She was almost as strong as I was.
Beatrix extended her left arm out at neck-level, obviously to clothesline me with the short hooks and barbs on her bracer. She found nothing but air as I rolled under her hasty move and kicked her for good measure. She sprawled to the dirt, but her tentacles flung forward to ensnare me.
“Humie!” a voice yelled from the stands and tossed a sword to the ground.
I dropped to the ground, rolled twice, planted my feet, and found the sword. I figured the wafnugu who’d thrown it wanted me to stand a chance. That was nice of him.
“The wafnugu offer weapons in exchange for matrimony,” Beatrix teased as she came to her feet. “Congratulations?”
I deflected her attack and offered her a grin back. At least I’d gotten her talking.
She spun, preserving her momentum, and attacked again, lower this time.
I blocked her strike, and the next three that came in rapid succession. She disengaged to regain her balance before she lunged forward. Her ax was a blur of steel, but I managed to evade every attack. I was even starting to pick up a sweat, and I could see Reaver had the Squad handled, so I decided to play a little.
“You should surrender,” I offered with a grunt as I stabbed at her forward leg, then deflected a gauntleted fist. A tentacle came for my head, and I chopped off the head with a broad sweep of my sword. Beatrix didn’t cry out; she didn’t even bat an eye, so I figured the tentacles lacked nerve-endings.
“Why would I surrender?” she asked.
“You look like you hate your job,” I told her honestly.
Beatrix caught one of my kicks to the gut and staggered backward. She was breathing hard and sweating profusely but still refused to stop or even slow her assault. All I could do was duck, dodge, parry, and, occasionally, counterattack.
Beatrix ignored the many small wounds I’d caused her. A few had stopped
