Twenty-One
Venci’s pit is indeed packed. In fact there’s a long queue of people waiting outside, relaying shouted descriptions of the preliminary fights down the line. Star’s fame has apparently spread farther than I thought.
Ky and I, dressed in some shabby longcoats we found at Weslai’s, slip around to the back. The guards now recognize us and step respectfully aside, and we hurry to the waiting room to find Venci pacing back and forth.
“Finally!” She shakes her head and crunches down on a seed, clearly nervous. Her sparkling coat trails behind her. “You fuckers know how to cut it close. They’re going mad in there.”
“We’re not fighting,” Ky says. Her voice is steadier, but she still wobbles on her feet.
“What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Venci says.
“We’re not fighting. We’re done. We’re taking the pot and getting out of here.”
“Why in the Heap would you do that?” Venci shouts.
“None of your fucking business!” Ky shouts back. “Just bring us our money.”
There’s a long pause. Venci’s neck bulges, the muscles going red. She pulls another seed from her pocket, pops it in her mouth, and crushes it very deliberately between her molars.
“That is not,” she says, deadly calm, “how it works.”
“Just—” Ky begins.
“First of all,” Venci interrupts, “the rules clearly state you have the option to withdraw the pot after a match. Not right before one.”
“You’re really going to get technical with—”
“And second of all,” the pit boss continues implacably, “can you hear them out there? If you don’t go out and fight they are going to tear this place apart, and us with it. Understand?”
Another pause. I’m used to the roar of the crowd by now, but tonight it does seem to have a certain vicious edge to it.
“So Star is going to fight,” Venci says.
“One match. If he wins, you can take the money and go. But if you don’t fight, then I get to keep the pot, and I’ll just fucking hope it covers the damage from the fucking riot.
And you two will be blacklisted at every pit in Malkuth if you manage to make it out of here alive! ”
Ky glances at me. I snap the last of Star’s armor back into place and meet Venci’s furious gaze.
“Then we’ll fight,” I tell her. “One match. Get the money ready to go.”
Star rises smoothly to his feet.
The door opens, and the wall of sound that meets us feels like a physical blow.
I thought they were packed in tight before, but that was barely a crowd by tonight’s standards. I’m seriously wondering if the fences on the upper levels can take the strain. The pit is surrounded by a solid shell of humanity, faces crammed cheek by jowl, all screaming at the top of their lungs.
It bothers me, somehow. Our last few fights were easy, almost boring, with nothing to justify this sudden increase in attention. And I feel more hostility from the crowd than I’m used to. The last few matches, they’ve been practically in our pocket.
Ky stays beside me this time, hood pulled up to hide her face. I’ve got my pack with Star’s thief body tucked in a corner. Once the fight’s over, I don’t want to lose a minute getting out of here. Venci has disappeared somewhere, but her amplified voice booms through the arena.
“Welcome, all, to Venci’s pit! Tonight it is going to be a show, I promise you that. You all know our champion, the mystery boy and his mystery runic who came out of nowhere to demolish all comers. Can Taj and Star take home yet another win?”
More cheering than jeering. If the crowd is angry, it’s not me they’re angry with. Star and I step out onto the platform and wave to the crowd together.
“After so many fights,” Venci says, “what kind of an idiot would take these two on? The money’s good”—she jingles a sack of bits—“but the glory is better. And tonight’s challenger is all about the glory.
In fact, he paid double the fee to jump the queue.
Not in it for the cash, this one! He wants a name for himself, and one way or another he’s going to get it. Here’s Quech and Vripiai!”
The curtain across the way parts. Quech is a big, broad-shouldered man, heavily muscled, with a scalp of peach-fuzz black stubble and a short goatee.
Even at this distance, his eyes bore into mine, too sharp and intense to be entirely sane.
He’s wearing a slick black coat, asymmetrically cut and falling to his thighs. Ky leans forward, grabbing my arm.
“Taj!” His voice booms around the arena, too, and his eyes never leave mine. “I’m hoping for a challenge, Taj. Don’t disappoint me!”
“That’s a Hod accent and a Hod coat,” Ky says into my ear. “Hod fighters don’t bring their runics down to Malkuth; there’s plenty of proper arenas back home. What the fuck is he playing at?”
Quech is accompanied by several other figures, similarly dressed and comporting themselves like bodyguards. They all squeeze to one side as the curtain splits again and Vripiai emerges.
A snake is my first thought. Not dissimilar to the Twisted that stabbed me in the leg what feels like ages ago.
Aside from the basic body plan, though, the two have little in common.
This is a true serpent rather than a centipede, without limbs.
Each articulated body segment joins smoothly to the next, overlapping armor plates sliding across one another in an impressive display of precision engineering.
The thing’s head flares out like a cobra’s hood, but it has a set of long jaws more like a wolf’s, with rows of inward-curving steel teeth designed to grab hold of something and not let go.
A solid spike gleams at the tip of its tail.
It’s big, half again the size of the biggest opponent we’ve faced and three times as big as Star’s combat body. Just by the way it moves that massive bulk, I can tell the sigils inside it are high grade; yellow, maybe even green.
[Assessment: this will be difficult.]
I’m starting to think so. I lick my lips. Apart from the spike, all its weapons are in the head. You can get around behind it like all the rest.
[Caveat: apart from the spike.]
It’s too big to be very agile. You’ll be faster.
[Optimism: that is devoutly to be hoped.]
Be careful until we’ve got a better sense of what it can do.
[Obvious.]
“That sure fucking looks like a Hod runic,” Ky says. “This is a trap.”
“Maybe. But what choice have we got?” I take a deep breath. “Besides, isn’t the point of all this for us to fight Hod runics?”
“Not yet. We’re not ready!”
“I guess we’ll have to be.”
Star skitters down the ramp. Vripiai slithers forward at a lazy gesture from Quech, matching the sinuous grace of a real snake.
Quech himself keeps staring at me; I wish I had one of those speaking constructs so I could tell him to fuck off.
The crowd seems to agree with me; jeers and abuse rain down on these interlopers from a higher tier.
The bell rings. The snake lunges forward.
It’s fast. But Star’s fast, too. He leaps sideways, and Vripiai’s jaws meet on empty air.
Star bounces in for a strike, jamming a limb between two body sections.
There’s a screech as his weapon scores the armor, but the damage is minimal.
Vripiai reacts quickly and seemingly of its own accord, utterly unlike the clumsy street runics.
Its body writhes, threatening to slam Star against the wall while its head comes round.
Star jumps away from another bite, jumps again to avoid the tail-spike, and manages a glancing blow of his own.
[Worrying: unable to penetrate the outer skin.]
It must be layered up with RESISTS underneath. Keep hitting the same spot and they’ll break eventually. Even a green RESIST can only take so much abuse before popping. I hope, anyway. I’ve never exactly had one to practice on.
[Dubious: targeting is difficult as well.]
I can see that from here. Vripiai’s long body is constantly in motion, the segments twisting around one another as its head sways back and forth.
It makes another try for Star, who bounces up to grab the fence in a repeat of his maneuver against Crusher.
Vripiai lashes out with its tail and Star evades.
The tail-spike slams through the fence and into the crowd beyond.
I hear screams, almost lost beneath the roar.
“Taj,” Ky says in my ear. Her hand closes on my arm.
“A little busy.”
“Taj, he’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“Gestian.”
It takes me a second to place the name. Gestian, her family’s former head guard, who had betrayed and murdered her father.
“Where?”
“Down in the gallery.”
I glance away from the fight. The gallery is a walkway surrounding the pit on the first level, outside the ring of spectators.
It’s crowded tonight, but it’s at least possible to walk around there.
I realize I have no idea what Gestian looks like, and I’m about to tell Ky this when I notice I can see several small groups looking up at us.
They’re dressed a lot like the thugs who killed Weslai.
“Are those Pader’s people?” I ask.
“What?” Ky seems genuinely shaken. “Where?”
“There, and there.”
“Shit. Shit. How can they both be here? Our luck can’t be that bad.”
“Maybe they’re working together.”
“That’s—”
There’s a screech of metal on metal, and my attention snaps back to the arena. Too late.
Star is in the middle of another jump when Vripiai’s head shoots forward with a sudden burst of speed. It’s been holding back, letting us get too comfortable. Star tries to twist in midair, but the snake snags one of his hind limbs. Its tail comes up, spike poised over Star’s midsection.
Purge!
There’s a brief tug at my spirit as the emergency system fires, an EXPLODE sigil burning out the spar behind the leg joint.
The leg breaks away and Star falls free, moments before the spike skewers him.
He lands gracefully on his seven remaining limbs and delivers a quick triple-strike to Vripiai’s side.
There’s a hint of green sparks through the gap in the armor, and one of the plates dents a little.
You’re getting somewhere!
[Assessment: not fast enough.]
“We have to get out of here,” Ky says, eyes on the approaching thugs. “They’re boxing us in.”
Shit. Shit shit shit. Star, Bug Zapper.
[Objection: but—]
Just do it! It probably won’t be as effective against a runic with a foundation sigil, but maybe—
The weapon emerges from Star’s underside and he leaps toward Vripiai, putting himself as close as possible to the snake.
I concentrate, and feel the familiar tug.
Power flashes in a burst like a sigil popping.
Lightning erupts across Vripiai, running the length of the giant snake in crackling pulses.
The energy seems to slow it, and Star instantly moves to take advantage, charging blade-first.
But before the lightning has even died away, the snake’s head snaps out, abruptly showing no hesitation at all.
Its bite snatches Star out of the air, pinning his carapace between wickedly sharp teeth.
Star’s legs scrabble, tearing great rents in the sides of Vripiai’s face, but the giant runic refuses to let go.
“Was that your big play, Taj?” Quech says, his enhanced voice ringing in my ears.
“The trump card you’ve been holding back?
Please.” Vripiai’s jaws close another few centimeters, sparks showering out of Star as his sigils collapse.
“This is a real runic, not your half-assed junk-heap trash. You’re not going to beat him with street-runic tricks.
” Another crunch. One of Star’s optics shatters.
Quech meets my eye again and shakes his head.
“Pathetic,” he says. “I expected better. Foolish of me, I know.”
Star’s body collapses in a brilliant shower of sparks.