Chapter 9 #2
It had claws that could tear and jaws that could rend the chimera’s flesh.
Erich ignored the temptation and rolled over, grasping a handful of sand, which he threw in the monster’s eyes, giving him enough time to scramble toward a glint of metal he saw a few yards away.
He grabbed hold of a hilt and pulled out the rusted end of a sword.
He circled behind the chimera, but the beast merely spun and charged again.
He dodged and managed a deep cut into one of its hindquarters.
It stumbled for a moment but kept moving even as the leg dragged behind it.
With preternatural speed, it was on top of him, its antlers piercing his shoulder and shoving him up against the wall.
Erich grabbed onto its ankles, trying to shove it off, and felt the delicate bones beneath his hands.
He couldn’t win without a weapon, and the broken blade lay several feet away.
With the dragon’s strength, he could snap its legs and then its neck.
The dragon roared with delight, and he gave in to the power, but without the moon, he only half transformed.
His arms were covered in scales; his hands were clawed and reptilian.
He squeezed, snapping the leg of the deer.
It reeled back with a guttural cry. And he grasped hold of its neck to snap it and end the fight, but as he did, the chimera bit into his shoulder, drawing blood.
Erich roared, his voice raw and animalistic.
His blood pounded, and he felt his back ache as if wings would burst from his skin.
But he held back, not wanting to give in fully to the dragon.
Instead, he channeled his rage into wringing the neck of the monster, ending their fight, as they held onto one another like a lover’s embrace.
He felt its grip weaken as it died before it slumped into his arms. Erich’s knees gave out beneath him, and he sank down into the sand. The crowd came back to him in a rush as if his ears had been muffled before.
The announcer was shouting, “The dragonborn wins!”
Erich looked down at his scaled hands, equally horrified and amazed at his partial transformation.
He’d never willfully done it before. Then he looked at the crowd, taking them in for the first time now that his life wasn’t in danger.
The man who’d put him there was sitting in a box in the stands, a smirk upon his face.
Erich bowed his head to him—their deal struck.
He’d won his fight. Would he let him go as promised?
The gate rattled open, and Erich stood up on shaking legs and headed out.
This time, he wasn’t slapped in chains the moment he passed through the door.
In fact, he was greeted with a towel, and a glass of wine was thrust into his hands.
He chugged it down, feeling impossibly thirsty and not caring if it was sour and bad.
He was escorted to another room, where he was offered food and a bath.
On top of his thirst, he was ravenous, and he gorged himself on cheese, meat pies, and bread until his stomach felt as if it might burst. It was awkward eating with clawed hands, but he learned to manage without accidentally scratching his face.
Then, when his stomach was full, he soaked in a hot bath and washed off the ichor and blood from his skin.
As he sank into the hot water, his muscles relaxing, the scales began to fade, and his skin returned, pink and new like a scar.
He turned over his palms, half in disbelief he’d managed a partial transformation without losing himself to madness.
When he was dry and given fresh clothes, he was escorted to Leonhard’s personal box.
Another fight was happening down below; two chimeras were circling one another and tearing at each other’s throats.
The uncanny growls and screams of the crowd didn’t seem to faze Leonhard, who opened his arms wide to greet Erich.
“Quite the performance. You could become one of my best acts,” he said.
“I have no intentions of becoming your act,” Erich said. “We had a deal.”
Leonhard raised a brow. “Pity. Yes, I suppose we did. Here’s the payment I promised.” He held out a gilt invitation to a party a few days away.
“And a chance to talk with her? That was the other part.”
“It will all be arranged.”
Leonhard tossed a brass token to Erich, which he caught in the air.
It had Cyra’s star engraved on one side and the Hunters’ Guild symbol of crossed daggers on the other.
Even though he’d just fought and nearly died, it felt too easy.
As if he’d turn around and they’d lock him back in the cell again.
He reached for his dagger, which he didn’t have.
“And my weapons, I came with?” Erich asked.
“They’ll be returned to you at the exit.
Can’t have you turning on me, now, can we?
” He winked as if he hadn’t just thrown Erich in a death pit.
The men looming behind Leonhard’s shoulders were his bodyguards, and they’d be difficult to fight, depleted as Erich was.
And while he was angry at the fact that he’d been locked up and nearly killed, he didn’t want revenge. He wanted to forget it’d happened.
“What about the mark on my shoulder?”
“That’s a bit of insurance, you see. The Avatheos’ orders; any humanoid who walks the city must be... maintained.”
And there was the catch he’d been looking for.
Erich bristled at this. “Then you’re not really letting me go.”
“I’m giving you my protection. Which is worth more than a single night’s entertainment. The Midnight Guard won’t let a wanted man walk into their midst without that. You should be thanking me, honestly.”
“And what’s the cost of this protection?”
“I think you know.” He smiled.
Erich could have argued or tried to fight it, but he knew a good arrangement when he saw one. He’d fought in the pit and won, and now he was free to enter the temple and speak to Liane. Once he got inside, he’d just need to get her out. The rest he’d figure out later…