Black Leopard, Red Wolf

He looked at me, his eyes sharp, waiting for an answer. I said, “How shall we deal with these men? We have no weapons, but we do have fists. And feet.”

“Are they—”

“Do not turn around, they are upon us.”

The two men looked like monks, tall and very thin, one with the long hair and the cultivated face of a eunuch. The other, not as tall but still thin, looked at us for less than a blink before looking past us. Mossi clutched at his sword but there was no sword. They walked past us. Both smelled heavy of spices.

On the way back to my room not even the thought of the gods at peace could stop me from cursing.

“I cannot believe you fucked her.”

He spun around to me. “What?”

I stopped and turned back. Only one cart passed us. The street stayed empty, but you could hear buying, selling, and yelling down the bazaars in the lanes.

“You heard what I said. Thank the gods, I am just a low jungle boy,” I said. “She must think you’re an eastern prince.”

“You think that’s how it is, that you’re too low to be used and killed,” Mossi said.

“If she conceives you can thank the gods you are a father of multitudes. Like a rat.”

“Listen, you bush-fucker. Don’t judge me for something you would have done. Was there any choice? Do you think I even wanted to? What would you do, insult the Queen the night she gives you hospitality? What would have happened to us?”

“This is new waters for me. Never had I had a man fuck somebody else for my benefit. If she conceives they will come for you.”

“If she conceives they will come for everyone,” Mossi said.

“No, you.”

“Then let them come. They will learn there is one man who is not a coward in Dolingo.”

“I could strike you so hard right now.”

“You, the hound on two legs, thinks he can strike a warrior? I wish you would.”

I walked right up to him, my fists clenched tight, just as several men in the gowns of scholars came out of an alley and walked past us. Three turned around, walking with their group, but backward to look at us. I turned away and walked to my room. I didn’t want or expect Mossi to follow me, but he did and as soon as he came through the door I pushed him hard against the wall. He tried to push me off but could not, so he kneed me in the ribs, and they shifted like he broke one. The pain hit my chest and ran up to my shoulder. He pushed me off hard. I staggered, tripped, and fell.

“Fuck the gods,” he said, and sighed.

He offered a hand to pull me up, but I pulled him down, punching him in the stomach. He fell, yelling, and I jumped on him trying to punch him, but he grabbed my hands. I pulled, and we rolled and hit the wall, rolled to the terrace door, which opened and we almost fell out. I rolled on top again and grabbed his neck. He swung his two legs up from behind me, crossed them at my shoulder, and pushed me off, then jumped on me when I slammed into the floor. He punched but I dodged and he hit the wood and yelled. I jumped on him again, wrapping my arm around his neck, and he flipped backward, slamming hard into the floor with me underneath him, and the air pushed right out of my nose and mouth. I couldn’t move or see. He flipped under me, choking me with one arm and locking down my legs with his legs. I swung my one free arm and he caught it.

“Stop,” he said.

“Go fuck the prickle palm.”

“Stop.”

“I will kill—”

“Stop or I start breaking fingers. Are you going to stop? Tracker. Tracker.”

“Yes, fucking whorseson.”

“Apologize for calling my mother a whore.”

“I call your mother and your fath—”

I screamed the rest of the word out. He had pulled my middle finger so far back I could feel the skin about to pop.

“I apologize. Get off me.”

“I’m under you,” he said.

“Let go.”

“By the gods, Tracker. Flush this fury from you. We have bigger fusses than this. Will you stop? Please.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“Give me your word.”

“You have my fucking word!”

He let go. I wanted to turn around and punch him, or slap him if I couldn’t punch, or kick him if I couldn’t slap, or head-butt him if I couldn’t kick, or bite him if he caught my head. But I stood up and squeezed my finger.

“It is broken. You have broken it.”

He sat on the floor, refusing to get up.

“Your finger is no more broken than your ribs. Fingers are spiteful, though. If it is sprained it will stay sprained for a year.”

“I will not forget this.”

“Yes you will. You picked this fight because another deceived you long before I even met you. Or because I fucked a woman.”

“I am the biggest fool. You all look at me, the fool with the nose. I am just a hound, as you say.”

“I spoke harsh. In the middle of a fight, Tracker.”

“I am the hound from the river lands, where we build huts from shit, so I am nothing but the beast to all of you. And everybody had two plans, or three, or four, plans so they win, and everybody else lose. What is your second plan, prefect?”