Neither the heat nor the blooming bruise beside his left eye was enough to deter him as he ducked and side-stepped another punch. His hair flew in the wind as his muscles rippled beneath glistening skin.His opponents were three large bruisers, faces alight with mischievous smirks. They were the champions for three years in a row and were looking to keep the flawless victories going. Their desire to retain the championship was so fervent that they had already thrown the first punches before the referee officially began the match.Gilgal raised his left forearm on time to guard his temple against another blow. The hook still staggered him and he backed up to distance himself from his opponents. The crowd of spectators seemed to grow madder with glee, chanting on the top of their voices for more. Some of them even called down unhelpful advice to the fighters, all in a bid to see more brutality.Gilgal managed a lopsided smile, then winced as the action flexed the muscles around his brui

Gilgal sat up when he heard a knock on the door of the physician’s shop where he was staying. The room he was given was small and scanty, with a bed taking up almost all the space. The single window let in some chill to cancel out the heat from the small fireplace.His washed clothes were hung by the fire to dry them off quickly, so he was clad in only a towel wrapped around his lower body. The bandage on his thigh had been replaced and what remained of the wound cleaned.“Come in,” he said as his fingers drifted close to the sword lying beside him on the bed.The door swung open and Jedaz stepped in. He looked pale and frail, shrouded by a faded tunic and ragged trousers. His hair was no longer long and he had a limp.“Old chap,” he proclaimed, limping to sit beside Gilgal on the bed. He stretched out his back and legs, groaning with the audible pops. “I’ve gone down a ways,” he declared.“Jedaz,” Gilgal acknowledged with a respectful and familiar nod.“How goes it, son? When I heard

Gilgal walked away from the burning pile, keeping his distance from the tongues of flame and smoke rising from it. He didn’t bother this time with a kerchief, and neither did anybody else. He suspected their reasons must be similar to his; giving honor to the dead by not rejecting even the last embers of their sacrificed lives.He turned to see Jedaz and the mayor still standing vigil over the burning bodies and wondered if Wharfdale will ever return to her former glory. He knew of course that the mayor had already sent a report of the events to the King, but he also knew that King Rovenard the second of Laos was never one to support what he considered lost causes. And Wharfdale could be described as nothing else now.The guardsmen were all dead, so she was left defenseless. The fishermen were all devoured by the Demon Austinphas, and what remained of them wouldn’t be hauling any nets for the better part of a year. With the war looming, Wharfdale had no chance of making a return, espe