CC Round Three: Kak Leot 3-5

Following Piba's scent trail wasn't very easy. The air was cold, so breathing it was somewhat painful. The trail was meandering and often doubled back on itself. Everything also smelt of ice, which made it difficult to pick up anything else at times.

It's a good thing no other dogs are stupid enough to venture out into this weather, Marx thought grimly. Trying to track Piba through the scents of others would have just made things even more complicated.

As Marx walked, he resisted the urge to think too hard about anything – from the last Tournament to Piba's fate to Trinity's resignation about her death. Thankfully, tracking Piba's trail required enough concentration to keep Marx's mind from wandering. Mostly he was thinking about how he was going to deal with Kingston when he got back. He was still adamant about not wanting to fight Kingston – but how else would he get the old dog to back down?

Another scent interrupted Marx's thoughts. He could smell, very faintly, a rat. Immediately he began to drool hungrily; he hadn't eaten but a meager share of rabbit meat since coming to the Tournament. Deciding he was no use to Piba if he was starving, Marx followed the trail to find the rodent he'd smelt lying dead beneath a scraggly bush. Quickly Marx stripped the flesh from the rat's bones – it was very cold, almost frozen completely, but it must have been eating somewhat well because it had a goodly amount of meat on its bones. Marx licked his chops and went back to Piba's scent trail, hurrying to make up for lost time.

After Marx had been walking for about five more minutes he heard a voice on the air: shrill, plaintive, lost. Piba.

"Marx?" she was calling out. "Marx?"

"Hold on, Piba, I'm coming!" Marx called. He began to run, running as hard and fast as he could on the ice, following Piba's voice.

"Marx!" he heard her squeal happily, as though she had spotted him. But that wasn't right – Marx was still far away from Piba. How could she see him?

Suddenly, he heard a shriek of terror that was doubtlessly Piba's. Marx immediately began to run faster, but in seconds he crashed, his paws slipping on the ice. He fell in a heap of black-and-white, his chest on the ground and his rump in the air. He groaned, his behind clopping to the ground.

Piba, Marx thought. She was in danger!

Marx staggered to his paws, feeling sorely bruised by the fall. There was a new throbbing in Marx's neck, as if his wound had reopened. He looked around, but he saw nothing but unfamiliar buildings. He sniffed the air, but all he could smell was frost and a faint, half-familiar scent that dredged up memories of blood and violence. Marx paid it no mind – he was panicking; he had no idea where Piba was. He couldn't smell her or see her and he was too disoriented to know where her scream had come from. Piba was alone.

But something in the air caught Marx's eye. He looked up to see a bird approaching him on the wind: a bluish-gray bird with scarlet cheeks. It was Ashby – Kingston's bird!

Ashby landed right on Marx's nose, tickling him terribly, and began to tweet frantically. Marx wished desperately that he could understand her. Suddenly a wild idea occurred to him.

"Ashby? Do you know where Piba is?"

The bird gave a loud, triumphant whistle and leaped into the air again. She began to fly low, through the streets at around Marx's head height, moving fast. Marx followed her as quickly as he dared, not wanting to risk another fall but also desperate to reach Piba before she was hurt – or worse.

Within moments, Marx was looking out at a wide road. He immediately caught sight of a black pelt, with a white tail-tip and a white neck ruff, much like his own. The dog who owned the pelt was snarling into the face of a nut-brown corgi, who cowered beneath him with terror plain in her green eyes.

Dominic! Marx thought, enraged. The honorless cur must have caught Piba wandering and attacked her, with revenge in mind. Marx would have leaped on his one-time opponent and possibly even killed him, had not Dominic seen him right at that moment. A twisted grin lit Dominic's face. "Marx. You're just in time to watch me get my revenge."

"Dominic!" Marx growled, stepping into the weak sunlight. He could feel a sudden light weight on his head and he wondered how stupid he looked with a little bird on his head. Trinity would have at least been respectable – most dogs were at least a little intimidated by carrion-eaters – but now wasn't exactly the time to worry about such things. "Get away from her now. I spared your life once – will you push your luck a second time?"

Dominic was looking at Marx as if weighing his odds, and was Marx just imagining the slight fear on his face as his eyes flicked from Marx's angry eyes to his claws, and then back again?

"You wouldn't dare to touch me," Dominic sneered. "I'll kill this vermin if you take a single step."

A surge of rage flashed through Marx for Piba's sake at the insult and he had to fight himself to keep from leaping at Dominic's throat right off. He would have to think his way out of this, with Piba trapped so vulnerably under Dominic's paws.

"Leave her alone, Dominic," Marx growled. "She hurt your eye, but I cost you the Tournament – and your honor as a fighter. Take your revenge on me, instead."

Dominic looked incredulous. "Take my revenge? What, you're just going to let me kill you?"

"If you can take my life," Marx's voice was as cold as the ice beneath his paws, "it's yours."

For a long time there was a near silence, which the city around them, frozen into hibernation, so quiet that it seemed to be holding its breath. Dominic glared coldly at Marx and let out a sudden growl, and then the silence was broken by Piba's terrified whines. Dominic's paw seemed to press further against her throat, as though he meant to throttle her.

"Don't do it, Dominic," Marx growled, replacing coldness with a fury as hot as the sun. "I told you last time that if my friends die, you die. You'll be dead before you can even take another breath."

"Then do it!" Dominic growled. "I'm alone; Ty was too gutless and cowardly to come with me. You've already beaten me in a fight – why not again? Are you afraid to kill? Because I've heard you aren't. That that two-faced devil dog breathed his last with your teeth still fixed in his throat. And that you've even got it in for the Scourge herself."

A pang swept through Marx at Orthros's mention. Guilt threatened to consume him but one look at Piba's terrified face and his resolve was like steel again.

"I killed Orthros," Marx admitted coldly, willing his voice not to betray his remorse. "As I will kill you if need be. Now for the last time: get aw –"

"All right, Ash, but where are we going?"

Marx froze, incredulous. Was that Kingston's voice? What in the world was going on?

Before Marx's disbelieving eyes, Ashby rounded the corner, followed shortly by Kingston. The old Dane stopped short as he saw the hostage situation in front of him, and a frown appeared on his jowly muzzle.

"What the devil is going on here?" he demanded. He never got an answer, however. Dominic had been startled by Kingston's sudden entrance and his moment of distraction gave Marx the perfect moment to lunge across the icy pavement and knock Dominic off of Piba. Horrible snarling filled the air the instant Marx made contact.

"Run, Piba!" Marx barked before burying his teeth in Dominic's fluffy ruff.

Dominic and Marx rolled over and over in a tangle of black and white fluff and snapping teeth. Marx felt his jaws bury in a shoulder once, and in turn he felt a shooting pain in his leg as jaws gripped it near the knee. A hiss of air escaped Marx's clenched teeth – he would have to end this fight quickly. If he sustained much more damage now it would be a lot harder to fight future opponents.

With that in mind, Marx kicked Dominic's stomach as hard as he could, sending the smaller dog scooting across the slick, icy ground. Dominic was up on his paws almost immediately, however, and ready to bring on the fight again. But Marx was ready, too. He didn't meet Dominic's rush; rather, he wheeled out of the way and then whirled around in time to nip his foe's heel. Dominic stopped and turned, though he didn't lunge right away. This time he seemed to be slowing down, trying to peer into Marx's weaknesses.

This time when he lunged, Marx decided to do something different as well. He didn't wait for Dominic; instead he charged right in. They met muzzle-on-muzzle, and Marx staggered back with a terrible ache in his head and his teeth.

Kingston chose that moment to step between them like some crazy fool. "Now, look here! There's no cause for the two of you to be fighting! What's even the matter any-"

Marx leaped around him, seeing Dominic stagger and hoping to scare him off with a good blow. However, Dominic suddenly whipped around, his teeth bared in a triumphant snarl, and wrapped his paws around Marx's throat to drag him to the ground. Immediately the pain in Marx's neck returned and he could feel the warm, sticky blood beginning to wet his fur. Furious, Marx tried to bite Dominic but couldn't get a hold of anything but his cheek.

Oh God this is it he can kill me right now he's going to kill me I am about to die, Marx's thoughts faded to an incoherent jumble when he realized how close Dominic's teeth were to his neck. He felt Dominic tensing to strike and his whole body began to spasm with panic, but Dominic was practically clinging to Marx's back now – well out of the way of his teeth or claws, let alone the clumsy blows flying from his flailing. It probably would have been Marx's end if Kingston hadn't stepped in yet again. The old dog was trying to grab Dominic with his claws and drag him off that way, which was made effective only by his sharp steel gauntlets. There was a yelp as Dominic whipped around and snapped at Kingston with bloody teeth, but the old dog continued to drag. Outrage swept over Dominic's features and he was lunging for Kingston now. Marx rose shakily to his paws, left panting and nearly in shock by his brush with near-death.

Another startled yelp brought Kingston back to Marx's attention. He looked up to find Dominic advancing slowly on the old dog with his pelt bristling and his teeth bared. Kingston was flailing at him feebly with his gauntlets, but none of his blows were landing and every time he reared to strike, he came closer to falling over. It wouldn't be long before he was dead, his throat torn open to the sky.

A sudden chill from the air seemed to blow over Marx's heart and he thought maybe, maybe he should just let Dominic do it. Let him kill Kingston. That way, Marx wouldn't have to waste time arguing the old dog out of the Tournament, or worse – killing him himself.  So why not just let Dominic do it, why not just stand back and let it happen?

But then Marx remembered seeing that black and white shape on the hill, that brown shape leaping at it from behind. He remembered how he would have given all he had, even his own life, to stop that outcome. And if all lives had value how could this be any different? Why should Marx not even care?

Then a howl of terror came from Kingston as he realized the gravity of his plight, and Marx could resist his guilt no longer. He lunged for Dominic and grabbed him by the neck, dragging him away from Kingston. Dominic turned for Marx, bur Marx danced aside easily before lunging in again, grabbing Dominic by the shoulder and biting down hard, dragging him farther away from Kingston and out onto the icy street, where Marx's long, sharp claws gave him more traction and a big advantage. Dominic managed to wrestle free, drops of blood from his shoulder spattering the ice.

"If you were smart," Marx growled, "You'd run away now. You can't get your revenge. You can't beat me. Your mind has been clouded by anger and you're coming unhinged. Believe me, I know the kind of rage that can help you survive and yours isn't it. So leave – and don't make me have to kill you!"

Dominic's good eye seemed to be blazing with rage. "You and that little corgi bitch took away everything I wanted: you stole my chance at fame, you stole my eye, and you stole my honor as a fighter! And don't you start preaching to me about how 'revenge is a poison' or whatever, because like I said I know you want to rip the Scourge's throat out because of your precious father. So don't try to be all high and mighty!"

Marx snarled. "I'm just trying to get you to leave me alone!"

"That's a damned shame," snarled Dominic, "because until you're dead –"

Marx didn't bother to listen to the rest. Instead he leaped, moving so quickly that Dominic didn't even have a chance to fight back, or do anything but land flat on his back. Marx held him there, digging his claws into the vulnerable skin beneath Dominic's short-furred shoulders.

"Listen to me very carefully," Marx hissed, leaning in so far that his nose touched Dominic's. His lips were pulled back and his voice was low and menacing. "You can't beat me. I swear to you, I will rip your throat right out if you come near me or my friends again. Do you understand?"

Dominic growled defiantly. Marx let out a ferocious snarl and dug his claws in harder. Dominic winced.

"Do you understand?" Marx asked again.

"Yes," hissed Dominic. "I get it."

"Good." Marx stepped off of Dominic, releasing him. The smaller dog got to his paws and slowly began to walk away, his tail held high. Marx let out a flurry of barking and Kingston's stiff walk changed into a panicky run. With a snarl of grim satisfaction, Marx turned around. Kingston seemed to be hiding behind a broken-down wall, although he was rather given away by his hat, which was peeking out through the window frame above him. Piba was crouched down on an icy patch of road, shivering violently. Marx went to her straightaway. To his relief, she seemed unhurt – if rather shaken up. Her eyes were huge.

"Piba," Marx murmured, "Piba, it's all right. Dominic's gone. You don't look hurt. Are you hurt?"

"M-m-m-my n-n-neck i-is br-bruised," stammered Piba. "I th-think that's it."

"Good," Marx murmured, trying to make his voice sound soothing and his hackles lay flat. "Why don't you go back to the gym now? I'll follow you in a moment; there's something I have to do."

"I can't," Piba said.

"Why not?"

"M-my paws are stuck to the ice."

Marx sighed. He thought back to a long time ago, when Marx's own paw had gotten stuck on a patch of ice and his mother had bent down and soothed his panic with gentle words before breathing her warm breath on the ice. Marx did the same, sans the gentle words and the general maternal-ness. He did feel that odd surge of protectiveness, however, and by the time all the ice around Piba's paws was melted Marx's fighting rage had been replaced by tender affection. Trying to sound as pragmatic as possible, Marx said, "You're lucky your claws didn't start to leak; that would've been a mess and a half. Now go back to the gym and wait for me there."

Piba looked up at Marx, terrified. "B-but what if Dominic comes back!?"

"He won't," Marx assured her quietly. "He's not stupid. He knows I'll shred him if he does. Besides, he's cut up and tired. He won't have the strength."

Piba looked up at Marx. Her eyes were white-rimmed pools of green terror. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," Marx said. "I promise."

Piba nodded, then rose to her paws and started to walk away. Then she stopped and turned once. Marx half-expected a black-and-white flash to appear out of the shadows, but it never did. Then Piba turned around and took off at a fast-paced waddle. Within seconds she was gone.

Marx sighed and licked up a bit of the icy-cold water he'd melted when he'd freed Piba's paws. Then he stretched, his wounds throbbing in protest at the action. He couldn't say he cared all that much. It felt good to stretch, to try and purge the stiffness from his limbs. Besides, the pain made him feel alive.

Then he turned to Kingston. The old dog was still standing where he had met Dominic's attack – where Marx had nearly let him die. Kingston's eyes were nearly as big as Piba's. Ashby perched on the brim of his hat, brushing his ear with her beak for comfort.

As Marx approached him, Kingston looked up. "T-that dog would have killed me," he mumbled.

Marx nodded grimly. "That's what the Tournament's like," he said. He wasn't really trying his hardest to dissuade Kingston from participating, but if he could do so then he'd be very happy. "It's a mess. A bloody mess."

Kingston shook his head. "And you chose this?"

"No," Marx said. "But that's a story for another time." Marx stopped suddenly. He realized that he had to tell Kingston the truth about the way the Tournament now stood – he owed the old dog that, after coming so close to letting him die. "Listen, Kingston... I have to tell you something. Each round, the Scourge – the dog who runs the Tournament – matches up pairs of competitors to fight. Well, you're my opponent for this round. If one of us is going to move on... we're going to have to fight each other."

Ashby looked up in surprise, as if she knew exactly what Marx was saying, but Kingston's look was inscrutable. Marx couldn't help but eye Kingston's gauntlets nervously; one hit from those and Marx would be out cold. But then Kingston's tail dropped and a sad smile appeared on his face.

"Well, then, you'll win very easily," said the old dog. "I think it's time I take my leave of Pripyat, Marx. I've had my fill of this harsh city – and this blustering cold!"

Relief made Marx feel so weak that he almost collapsed. "So, you're forfeiting?"

"If that's what you'd like to call it," said Kingston. "Who knows – maybe I'll try to find a ferry back to Britain! It would be good to see green grass again."

Marx dipped his head to Kingston, feeling so very grateful. "Goodbye, Kingston – and Ashby. I hope you can find somewhere nice to live out the rest of your lives."

"You, too, Marx," Kingston smiled. "Good luck to you, Marx. And do me a favor – don't get too cut up, okay?"

"I won't," Marx said quietly. Then Kingston turned and walked away, moving out of Pripyat, out of the wastelandish slum, out of Marx's life. Then Marx turned and began to walk back into that same slum, moving toward the gym to tell Beyra about the forfeit.

The forfeit! Marx thought. If Marx told Beyra that Kingston had just run off, she'd be furious. She'd hunt him down to break his tail – maybe kill him even. That was not something Marx could accept. He owed Kingston for the way the old dog had backed down to let Marx advance. A plan was already forming in Marx's head – a plan and a lie – so that by the time he got to the gym to see Beyra pacing stiffly, he was prepared. Piba bounded up to him almost immediately: "Where's Kingston? Are you all right? Have you seen Trin? Oh, there she is! Hello, Trin!" Marx ignored her and headed straight for the Scourge.

Beyra's golden gaze drifted over to Marx and her pacing stopped. "And it's the prodigal son. What the hell happened to you? The old dog really give you that much of a beating?"

Marx marched right up to her and stood firm, meeting her gaze as squarely as he could. "This was Dominic's doing. And as for Kingston... He's dead."