In Which Isidro Sets the Course

July 25, 1177

"You know, I definitely thought for a second that Pink Tunic had killed that blond guy."

"Oh, that was nothing. What about that first race, when that brute got pissed about finishing second and tied the winner to the fence with his own limbs?"

"Not something you see every day, for sure. But what about the jousting? Did you see the look on Jadin's face when that kid landed on him?"

"Good thing his wife wasn't drinking anything, or it would have shot straight out of her nose." Casimiro tossed back his head and laughed, as if he'd had that much more self-restraint at the time. Isidro hadn't had the best view of the competitors' holding area, but there had been no mistaking his cousin's hearty guffaws from the other end of the arena. Good thing Casimiro hadn't been drinking anything; at least Xeta had a petite nose with proportional nostrils. "God, what a fantastic tournament! So exciting and hilarious and needlessly violent."

"Agreed." And to think--if Casimiro hadn't come to town, he probably would have sat it out. "This is one for the bards, no doubt. I just hope whoever ends up telling the story actually focuses on the fighting and doesn't just use it as a stage for some god-awful human drama."

His cousin groaned. "Oh God, that would be even worse than an account of our crusade that skipped all the bar fights and pillaging in favor of your mounting sexual tension with Riona. How could they possibly make it less digestible? By throwing in some magic?"

"Magic?" Isidro snorted. Where the hell had that come from? "Now that's just ridiculous. Did Neilor hit you on the head during the last fight?"

"He might has well have." And probably would have, had he not thought it would jeopardize his chances--not that these marshals were the most attentive of officials. "I can't believe I got all the way to the semifinals only to lose to that ass."

And 'that ass' was now picking a pre-fight fight with his next and final opponent. Isidro had to wonder about Neilor's motives. That family wasn't exactly known for being friendly, but to their credit they had mastered the art of subtlety--or at least, the rest of them had. And from what he'd heard of Neilor, he didn't sound like a complete idiot. What was his angle here?

Was he just trying to intimidate Ashe? If so, it wasn't working; Ashe looked far less anxious than he did simply vexed. Or maybe he was trying to provoke Ashe into hitting him, disqualifying himself for out-of-ring blows and leaving Neilor the winner by default. That didn't sound unreasonable...

"Looks like the finals will be interesting."

"Hmm?" Casimiro glanced over his shoulder at the pair of them, then shrugged. "Yes, providing they don't kill each other right here. Neilor said something before the jousting started; I wasn't close enough to hear it, but I guess it was enough to put Ashe a little on-edge."

And maybe that had done him a favor. Most of Ashe's fights so far had been quite brilliant. "You don't say."

His cousin gave a sheepish smile. "Ah... oh well. When I get my new castle, you and Riona and the girls will come for supper on the first night, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm going to see if I can find a spot along the fence for the finals." The grin tensing, Casimiro gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and set off toward the gate. "Should make for a good fight."

"Indeed."

His cousin waved, then hopped the short fence and hurried off toward the holding area. He'd probably get a better view than Isidro would from the seat he'd paid for, but at least Isidro didn't have to stand. And what did it matter how well he could see, really? It wasn't as if he had anything at stake in this match.

Or did he? Riona's face flashed in front of his eyes, furious on her friend's behalf. She wanted a good man for Rona, to the point where even kindly, easy-going--albeit disinterested--Casimiro wasn't nearly enough. If the better man won, then Rona won... and Riona won. And then Isidro won too.

"Excuse me? You're Neilor del Marinos, right?"

Frowning, Neilor turned his head as Isidro approached the finalists. The other man had probably heard of him, but he didn't seem to make the connection. Good. "Who's asking?"

A man who is definitely getting laid tonight, that's who. "Oh, no one in particular if you mean me... but you might be interested to know that her ladyship would like a word with you."

That seemed to do the trick. "You mean her ladyship my future wife?"

...No. "Providing you win the match, yes. She asked for you personally."

As Neilor chanced a glance outside, Isidro shot a wink toward the scowling Ashe. This fat cat had just been presented with the cream all other creams aspired to be--or so he thought. "I can't very well refuse her, can I?"

"It wouldn't be advisable, no."

"Very well, then." His mouth curling into a satisfied smirk, Neilor turned back to Ashe and nodded. "As much as I'd love to stay and chat, my lady beckons. I suppose we'll have to continue in the arena."

And with that, he was off, heading straight into a less-than-pleasant surprise. Poor Rona had been approached by a few of the competitors already--and none had fared well.

Ashe glowered. "Rona didn't ask for him, did she?"

He sounded concerned, almost insulted. Isidro sighed. At least it had come down to two men who actually seemed to want the girl? "I'll apologize to her later. I need to tell you something about your opponent."

The kid sniffed. He couldn't have been much older than Riona, really; he probably still thought fighting was all about the body. "What, that he's an arrogant prick?"

"No, you've clearly picked that up yourself, but I've got something you might not have noticed." Just to be sure, Isidro scanned the room before muttering, "He's left-handed."

Ashe blinked. "But he fights with his right."

"Because he was trained to do so; that's why he hasn't switched hands at all." Ashe's eyes narrowed. He wanted proof, no doubt. That was fine. "He's obviously good enough with his right, but if you catch him at a tricky angle or get him in a corner, his movements become panicky and counter-intuitive. He can only fight if he can think it through. If you can get him under pressure and keep him there, you should be able to win."

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