Chapter Thirty-Four
Brodrick, the high council speaker, stood before the eleven seated council members. All of whom were adorned in various colors of ceremonious robes similar to the one worn by the shaman during yesterday’s ceremony. His nasally voice echoed through the arena and I winced. Why they chose him as the speaker was beyond me.
I tightened my grip on Eurok’s hand, hoping to dispel the lingering sense of unease that plagued me all morning. The deafening noise of the audience pounded in my head, causing an ache to form. I struggled to focus. Mira’s anxious, darting eyes scanned our surroundings with nervous intensity, then repeatedly returned to Balis. What is she looking for?
“Champions, take your positions,” Brodrick said with a gesture of outspread arms.
Drums pulsed like a singular, excited heartbeat as the crowd stomped in thunderous unison. The competitors moved in to form a large circle, and all stood facing away from one another. The beat of the drums ceased, and the arena was plunged into an eerie calm.
“At my signal, the games will begin. They will not end until a single victor stands among you. Mana, boons, and weapons are permitted. All fighting must be within the borders of the arena. No shifting forms or interference from the crowd will be permitted. Do you agree to these terms?”
The warriors nodded.
“May the gods lay blessings on all of your souls.”
Then Brodrick lifted his hand. Mira tensed at my side as a flame grew from the size of a single lent into a ball that engulfed his palm and he thrust the flame into the sky. It soared above the competitors, erupting into a shower of sparks that scattered in every direction.
The ground shook as all twelve of the contestants erupted into action, racing toward the center, and were met by a cloud of smoke engulfing the entire group. The audience, unable to see through the haze, was left in blind suspense, waiting to find out what unfolded within.
Four stood at the fringe of the vast gray veil, their figures mere silhouettes in the blur. The three mountain druids and Cyan of the rider clan.
Balis looked over at the druid, puzzled and at the ready. Cyan, who I realized was the one to have used his smoke boon, made no move to attack him. Instead, he raised his ax to rest on his shoulder. My sensitive sight and hearing could just make out what they called to each other over the crowd.
“Don’t take this for excusing your absence, Balis,” he drawled, “but you’re too fine of a warrior not to be given a fair shot.”
Balis offered the rider an amused nod and twirled a dagger between his fingers. Cyan gave a tight nod in return and ran around the side of the dissipating smoke without another word. As the thick haze faded, the carnage that ensued revealed itself. A small gasp escaped Mira’s lips, her eyes wide.
We knew Balis would be a target, but it seemed with all other warriors consumed in the cloud, plans to descend in unison were cast aside, resulting in an all-out war within.
Airynn, another member of the rider clan, dodged incessant swings aimed in his direction by Phaegen, a dark clan druid. Phaegen swung his great sword with ease as Airynn stayed on the defensive, dipping and diving, just clearing Phaegen’s devastating blows. To put space between them, Airynn thrust his sword into the ground and used the weapon as an anchoring point to flip his body through the air.
Once he was safely on his feet and out of Phaegen’s range, he let two daggers loose. They whizzed through the air like hornets with expert precision. But Phaegen was quick. He knocked them away and ran toward Airynn, heading up with a killing blow. Airynn’s lean stature came through, though, and in a whirl of evasive maneuvers, each more impressive than the last, Phaegen’s efforts missed their mark. Airynn’s final evasion left him kneeling, and he thrust his dagger through the taut muscle of Phaegen’s passing leg.
The dark clan member howled, sharp and shrill. In a desperate move, he lunged forward, grabbing Airynn’s shoulder in a vise-like grip. With a surge of power, he unleashed his boon, blinding touch, onto the unsuspecting rider. Airynn’s sense of sight was lost, and the druid’s hands flew to his eyes. Phaegen used the advantage to position himself behind the kneeling druid, his injured leg leaving a trail of crimson in the sand, then plunged his sword into Airynn’s back. A thick gurgle slipped from the rider’s lips as his unseeing eyes lifted skyward. Phaegen shoved his foot against Airynn’s listless body, freeing his weapon.
The reek of blood, sweat, and metal was heavy. Lifeblood leaked from the corner of the dying druid’s mouth just as his clanmate, Cyan, leapt over his fallen brother and sliced the Phaegen’s shoulder. Upon landing, he whirled, ready to rain another flurry of attacks. But before Cyan could close the gap, Phaegen, with a wave of his hand, raised a large, twisting funnel of air and sand, enveloping the rider. The force lifted him off his feet. He flailed and thrashed before crashing hard onto the ground. Phaegen stalked to Cyan’s side and sank his twisted blade between his ribs.
Twelve were now ten.
Phaegen prowled away from the fallen riders, his gait predatory as he returned to the group of battling men. With a deft flick of his wrist, he rid his blade of Cyan’s blood, already seeking his next challenger. The crowd reached near deafening levels as people pounded their fists and screamed their cheers.
As I spotted Balis amid the warring druids, he was engaged in a duel against Anvil, a detestable cousin from the border clan. A concussive rattling of metal sent sparks flying off Balis’ ax as he parried a lethal blow. Anvil spun and lifted his leg to deliver a sharp kick to Balis’ back. As he stumbled, Anvil took the opportunity to conjure a thick web of vines, ensnaring Balis’ wrists and ankles.
Mira’s knuckles whitened as she clenched the stone bench beneath her, eyes pinned on Balis as he unleashed an enormous burst of wind that threw Anvil off-balance. Seizing the momentary distraction, Balis wrestled his arms free and freed his ankles with a deft stroke of his ax.
He conserved his mana well thus far, only using it as a last defense. If a druid were to exhaust his reserves too quickly, it would leave him vulnerable to physical attack.
His use proved necessary as Anvil regained his footing. He raced toward Balis, a blur of lethal fury poised to strike. But Balis was ready. He rolled, avoiding Anvil’s thrust. The border clan druid pressed on, his blows coming in rapid succession. With every thrash, the air crackled with tension, stilling the breath in my lungs.
I closed my eyes for a reprieve from the gruesome scene and searched for some relief from this growing headache. My empathetic senses were a bit haywire amidst the overwhelming chaos. With so many heightened emotions, it was difficult to block them all out.
When I looked again, Anvil’s muscles bulged with brute strength as he forced Balis to the ground, overpowering his defenses with sheer force. I glanced at Mira—her face etched with horror.
A stalagmite erupted from the sand, blocking our view and impaling a contestant just a few paces away. The lax body atop the enormous earthen spike rained blood toward the crowd. Quickly, I spelled an ethereal shield over the audience to protect against the red spray. With a wave of my hand, I transfigured the splatter into flower petals of the same vibrant color, casting them away on the breeze, then dropped the shield. Following the path of the petals as they floated up and out of the mountain’s open expanse, my gaze caught sight of a falcon eyeing the scene from a balcony overhead.
Strange.
The stalagmite shattered, raining bits of crumbled rock and the druid’s lifeless body to the ground. The arena was visible again, a chaotic display of scarlet-soaked sand and intense combat. Shards of steel from broken weapons and scraps of leather armor littered the battleground alongside the fallen bodies of contestants. The air was heavy with the mingling scents of sweat, blood, and dust.
Mira, her complexion pale with fury, scanned the crowd, absorbing their adrenaline, pride-filled faces. I could only imagine the thoughts racing through her mind. She, on more than one occasion, made it clear how disgusted she was by the idea of wasting good warriors’ blood to the sand. And though I respected this ritual for what it meant to the druids and to Erezos, I understood. She spent her whole life training to survive, while these males, it seemed, trained all of theirs to die.
I spotted Balis again, still in a blow-for-blow with Anvil. Both tirelessly evading and deflecting strikes.
I searched the arena for the other border clan contestants. Where one vicious cousin was, another was surely not far off. I found Salve in a similar battle for the upper hand with Klaus, a clanmate of Balis.
Salve seemed more willing than most to push his boundaries by using his mana. He pooled a pit of thick mud beneath Klaus’ feet, plunging the mountain druid waist-deep into the viscous substance. Klaus, unable to move, did his best to block the onslaught of strikes that Salve rained down before snapping his fingers to release his boon, waterbody. Klaus’ solid form morphed into crystal clear water, and, maintaining his shape, he launched himself from the muck. With the force of a great rapid, he plunged himself down his opponent’s throat.
The crowd roared. Salve clutched and scratched at his throat, eyes bulging, desperation and fear lacing his reddening expression. A rush of red-tinged water gushed from the druid’s nose and mouth as Klaus reformed, regaining his solid state. Salve buckled under the relief of air that now passed through his lungs, gasping for more and more as Klaus stalked up to him. He reeled back, ready to deliver a final, lethal blow. In that same moment, Salve grabbed Klaus’ leg, snapped his fingers, and unleashed his boon of quake.
A bone-rattling shudder spread throughout the arena. The audience held fast. Screams echoed from somewhere behind, while others gasped, horrified by the devastating effect the force had on the druid’s body.
The crunch of bones and the squelch of innards liquefying resonated through the shuddering earth. Blood seeped like tears from Klaus’s eyes. The druid was dead before the quaking subsided. He crumpled in a heap of mangled flesh and fragmented limbs.
I fought back the urge to purge my stomach, averting my gaze.
Despite the intense tremors, the others had not halted their fighting. Balis, at some point amidst the chaos, defeated Anvil, but the relief was short-lived. Mallack’s gigantic form charged across the arena, away from Deacon’s limp body, straight for Balis.
Mira stood, gripping the banister. While I realized the significance of her presence for Balis, my concern heightened at the thought of her violent reaction should he fail to emerge victorious. I gripped Eurok’s hand tight, bracing myself against his steel composure and watched on.
Mallack’s and Balis’ weapons met in a deluge of sparks and ferocious growls.
The pain in my head surged as the crowd roared louder, utterly overwhelming my senses like a gale-force wind against a tattered mast. For a seer, navigating through a multitude of diverse emotions in a crowded space was always a challenge. This was by far the worst I ever experienced. Even as I coiled my mana tightly into myself, it pulsed with discomfort, as if trying to warn me. These damned games. I’ll be glad when they’re over.
Balis’ impeccable reflexes saved him from certain death, sensing a blow from behind as a second contestant, Hunter, took advantage of the moment to gang up on him. Balis harnessed his mana, causing the ground beneath Hunter to buckle. The final rider clan druid plummeted into the jagged depths. Then Balis swung, blocking Mallack’s ax with a concussive burst of air as it flew toward his skull.
“Focus, Balis,” Eurok said through his teeth, gripping my hand a little tighter than was comfortable. He was right. Now wasn’t the time for Balis to get careless with his mana. If he continued to use it at this rate, he would falter.
A male’s mana was incredibly strong, but their downfall was in the short, brilliant bursts in which it came. Balis had thus far demonstrated cautious use of his mana, a skill honed through Eurok’s training. However, under the relentless barrage of attacks, fatigue set in, forcing him to tap into his reserves.
As the number of contestants dwindled, the initial strategy to eliminate Balis gained momentum again, evolving into a three-on-one. He held out against their attacks with expert evasion, even making a few well-placed and effective strikes of his own, but Mallack was proving to be his greatest opponent. While Balis retreated to put some space between himself and the others, Mallack used the opportunity to set off his boon—invisibility.
A shuddering breath escaped Mira’s lips as he disappeared, but Balis wasted no time and released his own boon of focus.
A subtle sense of calm washed over him, his face relaxed where it’d been taut, and his eyes closed as if allowing his other senses to take charge where his sight would be of no help. His movements became even more precise, impactful, and intentional.
He effortlessly blocked two blows from the others, then reeled with such force that it was a wonder he hadn’t used his mana to do so. He flipped mid-air and wrapped his arms around the necks of the last two dark clan druids, Phaegen, and Jacolb. Upon landing, he whipped their heads to the side with a ruinous snap. The crowd erupted in triumphant cheers, but Mira stood tense and unblinking. She didn’t even crack a smile. Though it was now a one-on-one battle, she knew as well as I that the greatest of threats was still out there.
Balis, also aware of the imminent danger, dropped to a knee. His hair rustled, and it occurred to me that the movement had been to evade an unseen blow from above. Then he dove and rolled a few paces to the side, over and over again. The burst of sandy footprints was the only indication of the onslaught coming at him.
Then Balis screamed.
His face pinched in agony as a deep red slash was gouged across the back of his thigh. He scrambled to get out of the way of another anticipated swing as Mallack flickered into view.
An icy panic bloomed beneath my skin as I fought to keep my eyes on the awful scene, when a horrendous shudder emanated from my staff, wracking through my body. It trembled, and I gripped it with both hands. Then the manastone emitted a loud crack. Mira heard it too but clearly struggled to decide where to focus her attention—my staff or the unfolding carnage. Her face lost all color.
“Mira?” My head pounded in another violent swell caused by what I thought was the uproarious crowd. But then I felt it. The familiar, insistent pull of my consciousness to the corner of my mind. No.
No. Please. Not now.
Mira didn’t answer. She stood, mouth agape, unable to speak as the stone cracked again. A fissure spread across its surface, and a small purple tendril escaped, sailing through the air.
“What’s happening?” Eurok asked. His gaze darted back and forth, alternating between his struggling, injured warrior and the shattering stone atop my staff.
“Eurok, we have to leave.” Desperation laced my voice.
He looked at me, then to Mira.
“I’m not leaving,” she insisted.
Another yank on my mind made the world sway, and though I didn’t know why, my eyes found that falcon. It sat as still as a statue on the balcony railing, its sharp eyes focused on us and the escaping mana encircling Mira. Then it flew away.
“What’s happening, Sidelle?” Eurok asked again.
“I don’t know,” was all I managed to get out.
Then the whole world seemed to pause as a sickening squelch of tearing flesh erupted from the arena.
Mallack towered over Balis, ax raised high, ready to land a final killing blow. Balis’ face was a stoic, lionhearted expression of peace, a warrior prepared to accept his death. But when the anticipated blow failed to strike, he opened his eyes, his battle-worn features contorted with pure bewilderment. Mallack faltered, his ax dropping to the sand with a thud. His knees quaked, and he stumbled.
Balis scrambled to his feet, backing away as crimson spread across Mallack’s back. He took another ragged step, turning toward the crowd to reveal a gaping void in his chest cavity. Blood gushed from the vacant space where his heart should be, staining the sand black beneath him.
Mira peered up at me, her features haggard and pale. There in her shaking palms, she held something concealed in a dark, dispersing haze. The remnants of a beating heart. I looked to Mallack, then back to Mira, sickening realization setting in.
“What did you do?” I whispered.
Without thought, I grabbed the heart and transfigured it into a pile of black coals, then let them fall. I stomped them into dust as I checked if anyone nearby bore witness.
Her pallid face lifted to mine and her lips parted to speak, but I heard no words as my head surged in one last violent storm of pain. A raw chill tore me from my consciousness and thrust me into the all-consuming darkness of my mind.