Nesk Rell looked at Iven’s graft and smiled.
“Four?”
“Four.”
“Then I’ll try not to be boring.”
The Frame fighter held out his hand.
Iven took it.
They stood in a marked practice yard beside the northern carriers’ hall. The ground was firm, the posts sound and the spectators behind an ordinary rope. Two paid keepers had checked the contact gear. The trial had a defined end: a clean controlled hold or a clear surrender, with either keeper able to stop a turn that exceeded the agreed force.
No food contract waited on the result.
