reigning champion, after all,” he said with a cocky smirk. “You just can’t beat that.”
“Excuse me,” the registration official said pointedly, “Mr. Delving.”
Venture turned his attention to the table, where the official had risen and was leaning over to him.
“Yes?” Venture steeled himself for the worst.
“Here are your papers. And here’s this.” He held out a competitor’s badge. “People are waiting.”
“Sorry. Thank you.” Venture slipped the badge over his head and tucked his papers back in his pocket. He was in.
Venture stretched out alongside a handful of other men in a corner of the arena, on a row of mats laid out there for the fighters to warm up. He watched Dasher, who was on the other side of the arena, feeling out the competition in his own way, talking to the other finalists from the year before, all clearly marked by their yellow badges.
The first matches were about to begin, one in each of the three rectangular competition areas. Two announcers climbed the ladder to a small, raised wooden platform, where they would view and comment on the matches. They took their seats and began calling out the first competitors’ names through their horns. The crowd, the whole colorful mass of them, rose to its feet, stomping and whistling and hollering for the fighting to start.
The fifth match in area three would be Venture’s first, against a man he’d never fought before, but whom he’d seen compete in the past. He was tough, Dasher had warned him, no novice. Venture bent one leg back behind him and leaned over the other to stretch. He thought he was doing fine until his stomach gave a sudden, sickening lurch.
“Earnest!”
Earnest knew that look. He grasped his elbow and dragged him over to a bucket, placed in the corner for just that purpose. God, help me , Venture pleaded silently as he retched. For a moment he feared his stomach would never stop. But just as suddenly as the nerves had overcome him, his heart was calmed, his stomach settled. He waited there, on his knees by the bucket, but the feeling didn’t return. A couple of other fighters looked at him and smirked as they passed. He forced himself to stand up, though he had to lean on the wall in order to do so.
“You’re going to get through this. You’ve got that over with, and now you’re going to be fine.” Earnest handed him a flask of water.
“I don’t want to just get through this.” He straightened up and pushed off the wall. “I want to win. I’m going to give every one of those guys who’s laughing at me so much stick that they’re going to lose sleep thinking about when they’ll run into me next.”
The corner of Earnest’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “You got it. By the end of the day, every one of these fighters is going to know that Venture Delving is going to demand everything they’ve got on the mat.”
But when the announcer shouted Venture Delving’s name, he felt not a thrill, but a surge of new panic. He scanned the tiers of spectators. Somewhere, Justice was watching. Would he be beaten so soundly that his brother would decide to put an end to this fighting business altogether?
Grant wasn’t here, though he’d sent a message of encouragement the day before. Grant wanted to watch him, and to meet the Champion, Dasher Starson, but ever since Venture had gone out on his own, into the world of fighters, he chose to stay out of that world, to let Venture be his own man there. He settled for letters and long talks with Venture about his training and competition whenever he came home. His message had assured Venture that he would’ve been proud to be here and claim Venture as part of his house, but he was even prouder to know that Venture was competing under his own name.
Venture said a quick prayer that he’d be able to pull this off, that he would have the strength and the presence of mind to make a real impact on this tournament, to be worthy of that pride.
At the
Cynthia Hand
A. Vivian Vane
Rachel Hawthorne
Michael Nowotny
Alycia Linwood
Jessica Valenti
Courtney C. Stevens
James M. Cain
Elizabeth Raines
Taylor Caldwell