Senna was on the floor, lying curled on her side, her knees close to her chest. Her work shoes were still on her feet, fancy-looking sandals with high heels. She’d pulled her transparent dress tightly around her and covered herself with Luka’s coat.
Senna coughed and slowly sat up. “Luka,” she mumbled. “My love. Please, don’t do anything.”
She spoke through thick lips, split in three places where Gugan had hit her. Her face was swollen to twice its size and her eyes were hidden behind the puffy skin of her cheeks. Luka’s wife’s beautiful visage was a patchwork of terrible colors – blue, violet, sickly green, and ruby red.
“I told Erelin I was leaving. Then Gugan came, and he found out. He said he wanted to have me before I went.” Luka felt the anger swell within him, rising to a level higher than ever before. “But I didn’t let him, my love. Nothing happened. Please, don’t do anything.”
Senna raised her battered face, and then dropped it again, not meeting Luka’s eyes.
This time the rage was overpowering, roaring in Luka's ears. He didn’t realize his fists were clenched, the muscles in his arms bulging.
Luka went back out through the front door. He banged on the door next to his own, hitting it with his fist until a voice called out.
“Unga, it’s Luka from next door.”
There was a clanging of latches, and then the door was opened by an old woman in a thin robe.
“Please, Unga. I need you to attend to my wife. Here,” he handed his neighbor some coins.
Luka left in the direction of The Bird in a Cage.
On the way, he decided to stop by the smithy and grab a hammer.
His largest.
~
Gugan was gone by the time Luka arrived at the burlesque house. Erelin, the owner, initially refused to tell Gugan how he could find him.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Erelin Osta kept saying.
“It's too late for that,” Luka said. “I’ll wager half the shops in the area can tell me where to find him.”
Erelin sighed. “You’re smart for a man your size.” He hesitated, licking his lips. “Where he is, you won’t want to go. He’ll be at the clan lodge.”
“Where?” Luka demanded.
“Between Fortune and the Tenamet. Big stone building with guards everywhere. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” Luka turned.
“Luka?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful. And I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”
~
“Gugan! Come out!” Luka shouted.
He stood with the head of his hammer resting on the dusty street.
Six men lounged at various places outside the clan lodge, thugs with heavy boots on their feet and swords at their hips. One spat on the dust, grinning up at Luka.
“Gugan!” Luka called again.
Ten men walked out the arched doorway, down the stone steps, and stood facing the young smith. Gugan stood with his lieutenants, smiling at Luka, his bald head glistening. Luka knew his position here was untenable, but he felt the rage and held on to it; it was the only thing that gave him the courage to face his enemy.
It was the first time he’d seen Gugan in the flesh. He was older than Luka had thought he would be, perhaps in his forties. He was shirtless, with a muscular chest scarred, bronzed, and made lean by a lifetime of combat. Gugan carried an axe at his belt. Each of his men had a weapon of some kind.
“Do I know you?” Gugan said, resting his hand on his axe.
Luka looked with fascination at the melding’s arms. They were made entirely of black metal, all the way up to past the shoulder, half-way to the melding’s neck. Luka could see little symbols inscribed in the metal. He’d heard about the powers this gave the melding – incredible strength, lack of fatigue, and the ability to block sword blows, impervious to pain.
These arms had struck Senna’s face.
“You beat my wife,” Luka said.
Gugan paused for a moment, as if thinking. “I’m sorry,” he said. He grinned. “Which one was she?”
“Senna.”
“The wench from that stinking whorehouse? She’s your wife? Girl like her, I thought she’d have better taste. Nice breasts, though.”
“I hear you fought in the Rebellion,” Luka said.
“That’s right.”
“Kill many?”
“Plenty,” Gugan said.
“Of women? Because I can’t really see you fighting a man. You can’t even keep your body in one piece. What was that, gangrene?”
Gugan and his lieutenants stepped forward.
Luka held up a hand. “I’m calling you out, Gugan. You’re an old man now, but you think you can still fight, otherwise you wouldn’t be throwing those fists around the amount you do.”
Gugan sniggered. “You, boy? You’re calling me out?”
“A fight,” Luka said. “One on one.”
Gugan looked at his men. Luka could see what was going through the melding’s head. In the clans, no one could be perceived as weak. Luka had been careful to only address him, and Gugan was the one who would have to deal with him.
One of the men in Gugan’s group spoke up. “Give up, boy. The last thing Seranthia needs is another dead body.”