Beside me, I feel the pang of anger and disappointment emanate from Evander. His challenge was a ruse – one that had a fifty-percent chance of working. He’d known that the Bullfrog would never agree to gamble for the slave Evander had chosen – simply because he wanted to deny the Aurelian the girl he’d thought we wanted.
Therefore, the Bullfrog had automatically decided to trade the slave we’d selected for one of the others; and there’d been a fifty-fifty chance it would have been Danielle...
But, no. It was the other poor wench instead.
But this is just our opening gambit – and our contention with the Bullfrogs is far from over, no matter what the outcome.
“Very well,” Evander nods – his face an emotionless mask. I can feel the disappointment flowing through the Bond; but to all those who merely look at the towering man, they’d have no idea – assuming he was as blithe and nonchalant about these human females we were gambling over as the Bullfrogs are.
I turn to our leader and nod. If we’re able to win one of the four slaves from the Bullfrogs, it gives us additional leverage to use in a later gamble for Danielle. There would be a sick pleasure in winning all four of their slaves from the Bullfrogs in honest games of chance and skill; and leaving the disgusting creatures with nothing – not even the satisfaction of fighting us.
The crowd is moon-eyed as they hear this huge wager. Four-thousand credits is more than most of them would make in an entire year of work.
In fact, even my own blood surges at the thought of such an enormous sum hanging in the balance – and I realize that perhaps I have some of the Toad’s love for a wager inside of me as well.
The Bullfrog snorts, his bulbous eyes twitching.
I know he wants to take Ashley from us – but the thought of winning four-thousand credits with ten-to-one-odds is just too tempting for him to resist. I just hope Evander knows what he’s doing.
From down in the pit, there’s an angry snarl.
“Too much talking! Let’s fight!”
It’s the scar-faced brawler Daroo, who lacks the showmanship of our sword-wielding champion.
I peer down into the fighting pit. It’s a sand-covered circle, and the sand is replaced after each bout. Even so, traces of dull reddish-brown remain – dried, splattered blood left from where the cleaners missed a soiled spot.
A hush descends across the crowd, and we all turn to look at the engagement down below. Now that our wagers are secure and official, the bell rings – and the confrontation commences.
Daroo charges instantly. The bulky man has a layer of scarred fat across his body – one that protects him as he bull-rushes our cocky prizefighter.
He slams his club forward - and almost instantly, it looks like it’s about to be over for Draven…
My heart starts. Could Evander have been foolish to choose that champion?
…but, no. At the last moment, Draven stumbles to the right, avoiding the lethal swing of that spiked club. It was perhaps by nothing more than luck, but our champion is still alive.
The crowd jeers as the two men circle each other again, and from beside us the Bullfrog leader chuckles slowly, confident that he’s going to win our bet.
I’m apt to agree with him.
But when we lose, we lose credits only. Credits are replaceable – and they’ll whet that bastard’s appetite. He’ll be eager to win more, and may even agree to wager Danielle against money, which would keep Ashley from any risk.
Down in the pit, Daroo scowls. I can tell he’s used to killing his opponents on the first rush – enduring any glancing blows they land so he can score a killing one himself. That’s why his body is so-covered with scars.
Now, the game has changed.
But Daroo’s strategy hasn’t. Down in the pit, the bulky man charges again. His club – that gnarled wooden shaft with the rusty nails sticking out of it – swings with immense power.
At the last second, Draven falls to his knees, tumbling across the ground and narrowly avoiding getting his head smashed like rotten fruit by his opponent. As Daroo wheels around to attack him again, Draven scrambles to get away.
I suddenly notice there’s a tiny cut on Daroo’s leg, dribbling blood. Somehow, Draven’s scimitar nicked him – either by accident, or on purpose, as Daroo rushed past him.
Snarling, Daroo wipes the blood from his leg. He’s used to being cut.
The burly fighter charges again, but this time Draven’s expression of fear turns to one of concentration.
We watch as, like a matador from Old-Earth history, he dances to the side as Daroo charges for him – slashing a keen wound across Daroo’s chest as the bigger man blunders past.
The crowd suddenly gasps, as we all realize that we’ve been played.
None of Draven’s dodges were an accident. They were a feint.
I’m suddenly reminded of an Earth text we studied at the academy – before embarking on our ill-fated hundred years of service. At the time I’d scoffed – what did the weak and childlike culture of humanity have to teach Aurelians about war? But now the quote comes back to me – from an ancient general called Sun Tzu.
“Appear weak when you are strong,” he’d advised. That had been Draven’s strategy all along.
Down in the pit, Daroo is huffing and puffing from exertion. Blood is now dripping down his chest, and still bleeding from his leg. He looks confused.
The bigger man holds his huge club up and his biceps flex as turns and approaches Draven more slowly and cautiously. His strategy has now changed – and he’s become wary of the newcomer to the pits.
The Bullfrog notices, and his bulbous eyes narrow. He slaps a warty hand against his huge chest. “This was a set-up!”
I resist the urge to smile. As always, Evander’s strategy was three steps further ahead than any of
