It was clear to all now that the tribe would stay here another day. Rather than fight immediately, both sides had retreated to prepare. A duel was a ritual after all.
A spectacle that would take the rest of the afternoon.
Oppositions in the crowd had become much more vocal. Advocates of the chief blamed those who refused to consider the flesh, their only path back to dignity. Opponents blamed those who lost themselves in crazy promises and ignored the risk.
Tunu's side was confident. Why wait for the result when they knew the victor already. Friends of Tuorka, much more combative, were looking for ways to prevent it.
In the midst of it all Tunu wanted was to find Elua.
"Elua?" Another female pretended to think. "Oh, she is with the traitor."
She meant Tuorka. And indeed, when he looked he saw his friend near the warrior, talking passionately. At that distance he could not tell what she said, only that she was worried.
It hurt, he could not lie, it hurt to see her with his enemy.
"Don't look down on Tuorka." The chief told him. "What he lacks in strength against you he makes up with experience. Warriors like him are used to pull way above their weight."
"So, I will lose?"
"Ah ah, no. You are Tunu! My advice, get close. Sparring at range would give him an advantage so get through and let sheer strength carry the day. You have claws, consider no weapon and two shields to get through."
The scaled kobel nodded at all of it, then kept silent.
Essentially, he was told to fight like a beast. And part of him found that perspective exhilerating. At the same time, to win that way felt to him like making the warrior right.
"Where is our shaman?"
The chief frowned: "Lutuk will come, don't worry about him. For now, he doesn't want to look at the mess he made."
The shaman would arbiter this fight. Even though there was no doubt as to which side he favored, it was his role in the ritual. Once he declared a victor, it would be sealed in the stars.
"One last thing." The chief added. "Spare him if you can. Tuorka... no, do what you must."
The captives had finished raising a small fence in the middle of the village, a space large enough for the duel. The more nervous the kobels got, the more violent their treatment. They still had to help clean the ground while both sides equipped themselves.
When Tuorka approached the fence, he held a hammer, the same heavy kind used to plant stakes. That wasn't considered a weapon. The real weapon was the axe at his side.
To face him, Tunu had picked a spear and shield. He hardly knew how to use them but those were the typical armament of a kobel, so this was what he wanted.
In a way, he wasn't taking this duel seriously.
The shaman broke the crowd, entered that field and harangued the crowd. Nobody really cared what he had to say; part was formulaic, part repeating the grievances. Once he was done talking, both combatants would enter.
And there she was, Elua, still at Tuorka's side. She was looking at him with a worried look.
"Let fate talk!"
The crowd repeated those words. At that both warriors entered the pen and approached each other. Kobels cheered each for their side.
Tunu stopped to talk: "This is pointless! We all agree it's gross, but if it works it works! If it doesn't we'll stop!"
The warrior facing him had not stopped his walk, nor said a word.
"Don't you want to have scales? Don't you long for your heritage? I don't get you!"
He had not realized how close they had got. The hammer rose and that was why it was no weapon: it was so slow as to be easy to avoid. But Tunu offered his shield and saw it crack and break. His own arm felt the hit, a painful throb.
It was Tuorka who sought to close the distance.
And when his opponent thrusted his spear the warrior simply crouched and swinged the heavy hammer to hit the legs. Again, it was so slow and again, in the moment Tunu failed to see it coming.
He found himself crumbling on the ground, barely understood what had happened when the axe fell to hit his neck.
The scales cracked but held and the weak blade, damaged at the shock, only left a shallow wound.
But it hurt. It hurt and all of a sudden Tunu realized his life was in the balance.
He thought he had known it already, obviously, until that moment revealed his recklessness. Now survival had kicked in, his body was moving without waiting for anything anymore in a mad and blind rush to save itself.
He punched the warrior, got hit on the head by the hammer's weight, hit once more and when he lunged to grab his prey Tuorka had slipped away, up and ready a few steps away.
But now that window of uncertainty was gone. The scaled kobel just threw himself, seized the hammer's handle with both hands then broke it with his maw. He had moved faster than ever before, almost enough to overwhelm the warrior who, in response, hit Tunu's eye.
The handle's wood had ripped just above on that filthy red fur, then plunged in the eye itself and he fell back screaming at the pain.
Immediately the axe struck, right at the neck, at the exact same spot it had wounded.
The blade, of poor quality, shattered this time, pieces left in that deeper wound that, for a moment, started to gush. Tunu's sight blurred during that time; head heavy, ears whistling.
But it all came back in an instant and he leaped on his now unarmed opponent, threw the warrior on the ground, cracked an arm just by holding it. It was Tuorka's turn to scream, to punch that kobel as hard as he could before the claws forced his face on the ground.
Tunu had his maw on the warrior's neck, ready to bite.
He was holding him tight, ready to bite, his drool on the pitiful fur of his enemy.
He was itching to close his jaws on that flesh.
Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he calmed down. His eyes went from frenzy to anger, to fear, to so much fear. He inched away, and more, and more, until he could finally turn away from the veteran.
"Tunu is the victor!" The shaman declared.
His voice was barely audible: the crowd had not waited. The moment Tuorka had hit the ground they had been chanting his name. Yes, the legend had defeated the strongest among them, and survived hits that would have killed anyone else.
That should have killed him as well.
A hand on his neck, dizzy from the extatic crowd, he looked around and saw Elua, the relief on her face, the joy. He smiled in her direction, walked toward her and it was as if his wounds had already healed. Not even his eye suffered anymore.
The shaman still talked, barely audible: "The tribe will feed! It is decided! Now, sons of the wyverns, feast once more!"