Maxym
MAXYM
I’m already half in the air as the metal slices through the opening and cuts us off from Cleo. My sword rattles across it but leaves not even a mark on the stuff.
“Tritanium,” I growl.
Retah pulls one of the new pulsix from his belt and lets rip. Unfortunately for him the bolt glances off the metal and pings around the passage, causing me to duck several times.
“I thought these would penetrate anything.” I glare at the blockage. “I need to get to Cleo.”
Retah says nothing. In fact, he seems to have disappeared, until a groan from the floor captures my attention.
He’s clutching his shoulder, where blood is welling from a wound.
“Vrex!” I’m on my knees beside him. “Why didn’t you avoid it?”
“I did. It was coming for my head!” He says through gritted teeth. “Grak! Those things pack a punch.”
“Let me look.” My entire body is on edge. Not only is Cleo on the other side of the door, but I have a badly injured Remek to deal with.
As I turn him over, the extent of the damage is clear. Retah might be a big warrior, but the blood loss alone will kill him unless I can get him some treatment.
“Drop your weapons, Gryn.”
I turn to face the cohort of Habosu and Zarvu, who have a single Bogarok at their rear. They’re armed, naturally and I have some grace left within me to know when I’m outnumbered.
And I have a damaged warrior to manage.
“I’m sorry, Retah. I have to do this, for you and for my mate,” I say quietly to him.
His brow, furrowed with pain, squeezes tighter with confusion.
“I have an injured male here,” I say. “He requires treatment.”
“We will see to it, if you surrender quietly, gladiator.” One of the Zarvu speaks, a guard I recognize from the dome. His name is Arluc.
Only there’s something odd about his eyes. Something which almost suggests he’s not quite in the present.
I have no intention whatsoever of surrendering, and given the state of all my opponents, other than the Bogarok, I know where I need to concentrate my attention.
“Once you’re fit, you need to get to the info-center,” I say, still crouched over Retah’s prone form. “It’s two levels up, near the entrance, you can’t miss it.” I murmur to him.
“You have a lot of faith in my healing abilities,” Retah says weakly. “And my ability to escape.”
“A wily prince like you has done this many times.” I grin, grasping his hand. “I’m sure you will prevail.”
“Go find her,” he says. “She is more precious than you could possibly know.”
“I believe I know,” I respond. “The dome is no more and my body belongs to her.”
I rise up, holding up one of the pulsars and a dagger in my outstretched hands as I turn slowly towards my would be captors.
If the Zarvu remember what it was like to deal with a Gryn, then any knowledge is long gone behind their blank, concentrated expressions. And certainly the Bogarok, while it shifts on its long legs, is unaware.
The undercroft became my domain because I needed somewhere to hide.
Now it is my killing ground, but not for the unfortunate creatures in the Bogarok’s thrall, for the disgusting creature itself.
I throw the pulsar at the nearest Habosu and while he scrambles for it and the rest fail to react, I’m in the air, spinning over their head and slashing down at the Bogarok.
It raises its pincers, slicing at me, catching one thigh and sending me off course. The wound is deep, but I’ve had worse from Blayn. I swing out at one of its legs, cutting the thing in half, and it totters to the side before another one grows swiftly to take its place.
Vrex the vrexing things! They can regenerate. Which means a different tactic is called for. One I am going to hate intensely and yet one I’ve perfected over a thousand beast fights in the dome arena.
Back in the air, I let the Bogarok snap its jaws and flail evilly sharp front legs at me, until I let one of them catch me and send me tumbling to the ground, skidding to a halt on my back as the Bogarok bears down on me, pincers grasping, drool falling as all sixteen eyes glitter with hate.
“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” I stare up at it. “Well, you have not.”
It dips farther towards me as I pull the sword from between my shoulder blades and with a tremendous push of my wings, I spin and slide back underneath, using the point to score all the way along the abdomen of the huge creature.
It lifts its head and screeches with rage, turning, spear-like legs stamping as it comes after me again.
Only this time I’m hard against the passage wall and there’s nowhere to go. It lifts a leg, the vicious point aimed right at my head until, with a deluge, the damage I’ve done gives way, and I’m engulfed in a swathe of guts while the Bogarok groans and collapses sideways.
For what seems like the longest while, there is silence, save for dripping. I wipe off my face and get to my feet, sword in hand.
“Anyone else want the same treatment?” I growl.
“?” Arluc clutches at his big head, eyes blinking hard. “What are we doing down here?” He looks around at the others.
“You were about to capture me and feed me to the Bogarok,” I respond.
“The invasion!” one of the Habosu blurts out. “Bogarok!”
“It’s some sort of telepathic control,” Retah says, having pulled himself upright against the far wall. “It must be the reason the Bogarok wanted all the warriors to give themselves up.”
“But why are you not affected?” I growl.
Retah taps his horns. “Thick head,” he responds with a weak smile.
“I have to go find my mate,” I fire at Arluc. “I presume you are not going to stop me?”
“Why would we do that? The Bogarok are our enemies too.” He gives the Habosu a side eye.
“Our clan never employs the filthy things,” the lead Habosu says. “We have no allegiance.”
“Then get my friend to the Cirmos for treatment,” I say. “And then get out of here.”
Arluc nods, tossing his head at his colleagues. Two of them get on either side of the big Remek, assisting him to stand.
“Go find your mate,” he says. “Good luck, gladiator.”