Fiallach was surprised at his opponent’s strength. Connavar was
a shade under six feet tall, six inches smaller than Fiallach and at least thirty pounds lighter. But he punched above his weight, the blows perfectly timed and accurately placed. He was a thinker, whose mind remained cool during combat. He did not strike out blindly, nor allow his rage to make him reckless. Fiallach admired that.
Connavar stepped inside, hammering blow after blow into Fiallach’s belly. Grabbing Connavar’s hair with his left hand Fiallach forced back his head, then hit him with a short chopping right. Connavar’s knees buckled. Fiallach let go of the hair and steadied himself for another right. Connavar leapt forward, head-butting Fiallach in the chin. Stars exploded inside Fiallach’s head and he took a backward step. Two hard, straight lefts from Connavar forced him back again, but Fiallach countered, blocking with his right arm then sending a left hook that exploded against Connavar’s cheekbone, splitting the skin.
The fight went on. For every blow Fiallach landed, two came back from the smaller man. But the strength was leaching away from Connavar. Fiallach could sense it. The weight of his blows was beginning to sap Connavar’s strength. But Connavar was game and continued to attack. Blood was streaming down his cheek, and one eye was almost closed. Fiallach moved in for the kill, but he was too anxious, and too early. Connavar smashed a hard right to Fiallach’s nose, breaking it. Blood stained the giant’s moustache and, with the early part of the fight over, he began to feel pain.
Both fighters were moving more slowly now, manoeuvring for an opening. Conn hit Fiallach twice more on his broken nose, Fiallach replying by aiming at the swollen eye. The fight could only have one conclusion, Fiallach knew. A good big man will always beat a good little man. It was writ in stone. He was getting his second wind now, and the punches from Connavar were no more than bee stings. Fiallach only needed one good right hand. Connavar attacked, smashing three good lefts and an overhand right to his opponent’s face. As the right landed Fiallach saw his opening and thundered a right cross to Connavar’s chin. The smaller man hit the ground hard, rolled, came to his feet, stumbled twice, then charged in. Fiallach hit him again. This time it should have been over, but Connavar forced himself to his feet and advanced unsteadily.
Fiallach let him come, then hit him with a left hook and a right uppercut. Connavar hit the ground on his back, grunted, rolled over and pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. He brought up his fists, and advanced.
Despite his dislike Fiallach was impressed by Connavar’s courage. On another day he would have stepped in and beaten him mercilessly, but he had already sated his fury in torturing to death the traitor, Phaeton. There was no more anger in him now and he realized he had no desire to continue this fight. Moving in, he put his arms around his opponent. ‘Enough, little man,’ he said. ‘The fight is over.’
‘You hit hard,’ mumbled Connavar. ‘For a little while there I thought you had me.’ He grinned suddenly and Fiallach laughed.
‘I’ll admit you are the best of men,’ he said, with a wry smile. The smile faded. ‘You look after Tae. Treat her well. I will be watching. If you ever betray her I will hunt you down and watch you die.’
‘Always nice to finish a fight with a happy thought,’ said Connavar.
The two men made their way to the settlement well. Fiallach drew up a bucket of cold water. Conn doused his face, and Fiallach wiped away the blood from his swollen nose.
‘If you are truly going to watch me,’ said Connavar, ‘you will need to be close by. Come to Three Streams on Samain night.’
‘There is nothing there for me.’
‘I think you will find there is. I have a gift for you, Fiallach.’
‘What kind of gift?’
‘Come to Three Streams and find out.’
The fires were lit, the feasting pits packed, the music from pipe and drum in full and raucous flow, as the sun died in glory and Samain Night began. Hundreds of Rigante from neighbouring settlements descended on Three Streams, to watch the wedding and savour the fine roast meat supplied by Ruathain.