Just one more week until The Collar and the Cavvarach is available! (Of course, you can preorder it right now by clicking here.) In the meantime, want a sneak preview? Scroll down to read a scene from the book. But first, a quick description of the story.
Bensin, a teenage slave and martial artist, is desperate to see his little sister freed. But only victory in the Krillonian Empire's most prestigious tournament will allow him to secretly arrange for Ellie's escape. Dangerous people are closing in on her, however, and Bensin is running out of time. With his one hope fading quickly away, how can Bensin save Ellie from a life of slavery and abuse?
In this scene, fourteen-year-old Bensin is preparing to compete in a martial arts tournament. His coach, Steene Mayvins, is eager to see how his new student will do. Steene's former prize pupil, Jayce, is competing too.
It was about a quarter to seven that evening
when Steene and Bensin pulled into the parking lot of the large park. A cool
breeze hit them as they got out of the truck, and they both paused to pull on
the light jackets they had brought.
Lively music played from speakers all around,
and brilliant temporary lighting illuminated milling crowds in what was almost
a carnival atmosphere. Steene sniffed appreciatively; aromas wafted toward them
from half a dozen food stalls featuring various local restaurants that offered
dinner to the hungry throng.
“Entrance is ten imps per person,” announced an
attendant at the gate as they approached.
Steene handed over a ten-imp bill. “Bensin here
is a contestant.”
He showed the woman the registration slip, and
she compared the name printed on it to the one on the boy’s collar. “All right,
your slave gets in free. Good luck!”
Long rows of tables on either side of the
entrance sold Springstyle sports equipment of every variety, while other
vendors, who had paid well for the opportunity, hawked their wares from around
the edges of the park.
In the middle, of course, were the fighting
rings. There were six of them: two each for the under fourteen, under sixteen,
and under eighteen fighters. Netting hung from poles around each ring to
protect onlookers from the occasional flying cavvarach.
Steene checked a nearby sign. “The under sixteen
boys’ ring is over on the right there. Come on.” He led the way as Bensin
followed him through the crowd on bare feet, carrying the duffel bag with the
protective padding, cavvarach, and shil that Steene was letting him borrow for
the event.
“Hi, Coach Steene!” A couple of the girls in one
of Steene’s intermediate classes waved to him from amongst the crowd.
He waved back. “Good luck this evening! You’ll
do great!” He would try to go watch some of their matches if he had a chance,
but Bensin was his first priority today.
A cheer went up from somewhere to their left,
followed by thunderous applause. The music cut out while an announcer’s voice
called over the loudspeaker: “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for April
Levang, our under eighteen girls’ cavvara dueling champion!” There was another
cheer, and scattered applause rippled through the park.
They made their way to Bensin’s ring, empty of
contestants at the moment, and Steene found the list of pairings for the first
round. “So who am I fighting, sir?” the boy wondered from beside him.
I don’t believe this.
“You’re going first, and it looks like you’re up against Jayce Torro.” Usually
athletes from the same school or training organization weren’t matched against
each other in public competitions, at least not unless they both made it to the
finals and there was no one else to fight. But Steene had signed Bensin up as
his private pupil. He hadn’t mentioned the CSF on the form since the boy wasn’t
a paying student there anymore, and so the organizers had had no way of
knowing.
“I’m against Jayce, sir? Your former prize
student?” Worry crossed Bensin’s face. “I pictured maybe facing him in the
final round.”
“Well, now you can beat him at the beginning and
get it over with,” Steene replied, trying to sound confident. He wasn’t
actually sure which of the two boys was the better athlete, but he wasn’t about
to say so now. “Come on, let’s go get you warmed up.” He led Bensin toward the
competitors’ tent as another, smaller round of applause went up from the crowd
at the other end of the park.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” bellowed a different
announcer, “I give you Brock, winner of the boys’ under fourteen cavvara
dueling competition!” There were fewer cheers this time. With only one name,
Brock was obviously a slave, and people seldom got as excited when a slave won.
Not that slaves didn’t have friends who would have been glad to cheer for them,
but slaves’ friends were almost always other slaves, and they didn’t usually
have the money for the entry fee required at most tournaments.
“And that concludes the cavvara dueling portion
of our evening,” the voice went on. “We’ll take a few minutes’ break, and at
seven o’clock we’ll start the first rounds of cavvara shil. Check the rings or
ask at the information counter for the lists of competitors, and be sure to
pick your favorites. Bets can be placed at our betting booth across from the
front entrance.”
The competitors’ tent, which was really just a
peaked roof on poles, was full of athletes warming up and coaches giving
last-minute pep talks. Steene guided Bensin to an empty corner and pulled out
the jump rope he had stashed in the duffel bag. “Here. Warm up.” It might look
funny, but he had found that jumping rope was the best way to warm up in a
small space.
As Bensin began jumping, Steene pulled out the
padding and shil that he had worn at so many tournaments in his own teenage
fighting days. At the other end of the tent, he could see Jayce’s parents
hovering anxiously while their son pulled off his socks and shoes and prepped
his custom-designed gear under Markus’ watchful eye.
Steene wove his way over to them, noting the way
the boy’s mom and dad sidled away as he approached. They don’t want to have
to talk to me about why they pulled their son out of my class.
“Hi, Jayce.”
His former student, who hadn’t seen him coming,
started almost guiltily at the sound of Steene’s voice. “Oh, hi, Coach.”
“Ready for your first competition under your new
trainer?” He hoped the bitterness he couldn’t help feeling wasn’t too obvious.
“Um, yeah. Listen, nothing personal about
switching or anything. It was just, you know ….” His voice trailed away.
“No worries, Jayce. I’m sure you’ll do great
with Mr. Brinks.”
Markus smiled toothily at him as he handed Jayce
his padding. “Oh, he will. He will.”
“I hear I’m up against a new pupil of yours,”
the boy added as he pulled the padding over his head. “Some collar named
Bensin.”
“You shouldn’t call him that.” Steene frowned.
“Slave or not, he’s a person, and a good fighter too. He’ll give you a run for
your money.”
“Well, I’m ready for it!” Jayce grinned and
flexed his muscles.
He is ready for it.
Steene turned and walked back toward Bensin. Was his new student as good as his
old one? He would find out soon, and he had an uncomfortable feeling about
this.
Next time I’ll check with Mr. Drogum about
mentioning the CSF on the form, Steene decided. Bensin
does train there, after all. He should have done that this time.
But he wouldn’t let Bensin see how he felt about
this match. “Better start stretching,” he ordered. “They’re going to be calling
the two of you out there in a minute.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy coiled the jump rope up.
“Was that Jayce you were talking to over there, sir?”
“Yeah.” Steene took the rope, noticing for the
first time the holes in the knees of his student’s pants and how threadbare his
shirt was. It was quite a contrast to Jayce’s name brand sports clothes and
expensive shoes. “Listen,” he began as Bensin pulled one foot up behind himself
in a standing quad stretch. “He’s good, but not as good as he likes everyone to
think, so don’t let him intimidate you. He’s overconfident. You can beat him if
you stay focused.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you can get him to underestimate you, you’ve
got an even better chance. Focus mainly on defense at the beginning while you
get a feel for his fighting style. Then attack when he thinks he’s got you
intimidated. Try to pin him or disarm him suddenly, before he can come back
from his surprise.”
“Yes,
sir. Got it.” They said nothing else as the boy finished stretching. Steene
wasn’t sure if Bensin really believed he could do it or not.
Finally Bensin stood up, peeled off his jacket,
and donned the padding. The loudspeaker crackled to life as he strapped on
Steene’s shil. “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” came the announcer’s voice, “we
begin the event you’ve all been waiting for. Will the first contestants for the
cavvara shil competition in each age group please step into their rings.”
Steene handed the cavvarach to Bensin and led
him out of the tent, through the crowd, and over to the ring formed by the
circle of netting. Jayce was already stepping into it from the other side.
A different announcer, the one in charge of just
this ring, spoke into his microphone from a few yards away. “For the first
round in boys’ under sixteen cavvara shil,” he declared, reading from his
sheet, “we have Jayce Torro versus Bensin.”
Excited applause rose from the gathering crowd.
“You all set?” Steene asked. Out of habit, he double-checked the straps on his
student’s padding and shil, even though he knew Bensin knew just how tight to
fasten them. “All right. Get in there and make me proud.”
Bensin nodded under the lights. “I’ll try, sir.”
Steene lifted the edge of
the netting, and his student ducked under it and into the ring. A whistle blew
and the duel began.
Click here to preorder The Collar and the Cavvarach from Amazon. It will be delivered to your Kindle in one week.
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