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his mouth as the referee entered. The vamps retreated. They talked
amongst themselves as the gnome needlessly explained the rules.
Everyone knew them. No technology was allowed. Ancient
weapons were the only ones allowed. The vampires were able to use
their fangs and claws. If Cian had been here, Beck would have been
allowed to use their psychic connection. Other than that, there were
very few rules. Mercy must be given if asked for. If a combatant
requested quarter, the warrior fighting him must give it. The fallen
fighter would leave, and the battle would resume. If no quarter was
asked, then death was an acceptable outcome.
Beck felt the weapon in his hand. It was his sword, once his
father’s. He had managed to save it as he fled Tir na nÒg. He had
heard that his uncle mourned its loss. It was the traditional weapon of
the Seelie King. No amount of money or power could replace what it
meant to their culture. Some said that as long as Beckett Finn still
carried the sword, there was hope. Beck wasn’t sure about that. A
large part of him simply wanted to live out his life in some form of
comfort. The idea of being king was a vague dream. Now he only
wanted to save his brother and find a stable life. Winning Meggie was
the first step.
There was a roar in the crowd as the referee held up a small black
flag. A battle horn sounded, and the tournament began.
There wasn’t a burst of fighting. Beck knew that the vampires had
used their time well. The vampires stalked him, attempting to distract
him while some worked their way around to his back. Beck sighed.
They intended to surround him. They would work together to take
him out, and then they would fight each other.
They didn’t understand a thing. He very much preferred it this
way. Chaos was his enemy. If he knew they were all coming after
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