Chapter Twenty-One
Pikquarrys
My body is broken. Several ribs, undoubtedly. My left arm hangs useless.
Somehow, I manage to get up before the countdown ends again, and again.
Another hit. My breastplate dents heavily from the blow, leaving a gaping opening. My lungs give out, their cage collapsing.
The ground is soft, a bed of new grass. I want to sleep.
Princess Loreleivnna’s voice urges me to keep fighting. My eyes flutter open, then closed, and I see her behind my eyelids, her pink lashes low, her cheeks darkened by some flirtatious remark. Her mouth moves, but I cannot hear it, though it looks like her lips form the words, My mate.
Mate.
That wicked cloud-breaker cannot have her.
I force myself off the ground. My front right carpus cracks under the pressure and I collapse again.
“Pikr! Get up!” Loreleivnna shouts, and I think this time it’s really her speaking and not a figment of my imagination.
The sound of her voice sends adrenaline racing through my veins. I force my other three legs to bear my weight, dragging the hoof of my shattered one like a carcass all the way back to my starting line.
As the next run is announced, I look for her, the woman I will soon call my wife.
She stands in a miniature field of golden lilies, like a resilient tree sprouting from despair. I’ll wipe the tears from her cheeks and enchant a necklace from the flowers at her bare feet. I’ll hold her, kiss her pert nose, and cherish every second of our engagement, however brief it may be.
The whistle rings out. I drag my gaze back to my opponent. He charges for me, and I engage every shred of willpower I have left.
Our weapons collide. Something strikes my side. The ground races to embrace me.