Thirty-Nine
Star skids to a halt beside us. He’s in bad shape, two legs missing, his carapace battered and leaking sparks.
Vripiai also bears wounds, but none of them seem to slow it down.
The snake’s body coils around itself, the scratched and shattered enamel now tinted red by a film of gore.
Its tail, spiked and vicious, lifts up behind its head.
Do you see Quech?
[Analysis: no. But some of my optics are damaged.]
Shit. The last thing I need is to get blindsided by the bastard. Ky still looks stunned, barely hanging on to her sword, and I grab her by the unwounded arm and shake her.
“Figure it out later! I need your help.”
“Why—” She blinks and focuses on the snake in front of us. “Right. Later.”
“We need a hole in that thing. Can you widen one of those gaps?”
Ky looks over the various scrapes and cuts Star has managed to inflict on Vripiai. Her eyes narrow, and she nods.
“We’ll play this like Rotwurm, okay?”
She gets it immediately and we share a grin. Then she takes off sideways, away from me and the snake both. Its head swings after her, but I shout to draw its attention.
“Over here, you bastard! Come and get me!”
Vripiai turns back in my direction. I have no idea what’s happened to Quech, but he’s evidently not giving commands right now, so the snake has fallen back on its own programming. In other words, it’s as dumb as Rotwurm or any other Twisted. I hope.
And here it comes, fast as ever in spite of the damage, right at me.
It takes an effort of will not to run. Instead I send to Star and he leaps in front of me.
His shield-arm comes up, green sigil winking, and he meets the descending snake head-on.
The impact drives him backward nearly into my face.
His remaining legs leave long scores in the flagstones, and a shower of green sparks flies from the back of the shield.
But it holds, absorbing the force, and Vripiai comes momentarily to a stop.
Ky sprints at the snake from one side, aiming for its midsection.
Vripiai, still shoving against Star, flicks its tail negligently at this new threat.
The spike drives straight for Ky’s chest, but she sidesteps at the last moment and brings her sword down in a bright arc that severs the spiked tip.
Before Vripiai can react she vaults its writhing coils and aims another blow at a bent scale hanging from a single joint.
It falls free with a clatter, leaving a hole the size of my head in Vripiai’s armor plating.
Then Ky’s past, sliding in a cloud of dust under another twisting loop as it tries to crush her.
Vripiai starts to pull away from Star, but I reach out and activate the EXPLODE-REPEL construct I’d worked so hard to replace last night.
Power slams out with a whumph and Vripiai’s head snaps backward, leaving the snake sprawled in the dust.
“This way, ugly!” Ky sings out. “That’s right, you know you want this!”
She waves her sword in front of Vripiai’s optics, a shining ribbon of steel. The snake flips over, drawing in its coils, head lifting from the ground to lunge. But in doing so it turns its back on Star.
He leaps for the gap Ky created. Vripiai’s tail comes up to skewer him, but the construct’s programming doesn’t realize its tail-spike is gone; the blunt end only slaps ineffectively at Star’s carapace.
His manipulator snaps out and shoves the last of my BLAST weapons through the chink in the snake’s armor.
Vripiai may not know exactly what’s happening, but it knows something is wrong, and it tightens its coils to whip its head around.
Star’s manipulator gets caught; he leaps anyway, barely dodging the snake’s fangs, and leaves the delicate arm behind.
I hit the ground and cover my ears as Vripiai curls in on itself, trying to dislodge this odd device—
Boom. Shards of armor spall away as fire bursts from every joint in the snake’s body, mixed with the sparks of dozens of shattering sigils.
With a metallic screech of agony, Vripiai collapses in on itself, some internal lubricant blazing up into a spectacular bonfire shot through with wild sprays of sparks.
[Satisfaction: got you, fucker.]
You can say that again.
For a few moments, I’m too addled to remember what’s supposed to happen next.
Ky reappears at my side, shouting excitedly, but I can barely make out words through the ringing in my ears.
She helps me up—all my injuries are queueing up to report now that the immediate danger has passed—and points me toward the stands, where the great and the good of Hod are on their feet.
Their cheers wash over me, and I cautiously raise one hand and wave.
The judge’s stand is empty except for Hisham, who steps forward and clears his throat. His amplified voice cuts through the roar.
“The, um, match, or matches, shall we say, is over! I’m not sure we, um, caught every detail, but I think we can safely say that Taj and Star are the victors.
And, um, Kycilea Tranto appears to have defeated Gestian Vianor as well.
So it is, um, my very honored duty to declare that Taj Fara is the overall winner of the Asce—”
“No.” Alzimyth’s voice cuts him off, cold and hard. “Not yet. Come here, boy.”
My heart clenches, and I look to Ky. She shakes her head, bewildered.
The three of us limp toward the edge of the arena where the judge’s stand looms. One of my legs is weak, and Ky has to take my arm to keep me from falling.
On the other side I lean on Star; he shuffles awkwardly with two missing legs.
The knight has mounted the stand beside Hisham. Behind him there’s a rising chorus of complaints, and even scattered boos.
“There will be one final match,” Alzimyth snaps. “Between Taj and my champion. That will reveal whether he is truly worthy to ascend.”
Silence for a moment. Then more boos. I can only stare in dull horror. Ky grips my arm very tight.
“Um. Um.” Hisham shifts nervously from foot to foot, and finally blurts out, “Honored guest. Most honored. With all appropriate respect. That is. Um.” He takes a deep breath. “That is not according to the rules.”
“I am the judge of this tournament, am I not?”
“You are! Of course you are. And you are, um, entirely within your rights to arrange the form of the matches to your, um, satisfaction, even if that is a bit, um, irregular. But there is, um, no provision for a match against the judge’s champion.
” He gives an incredibly awkward laugh. “After all, how could such a thing be, um, even remotely fair? A runic from Hod against one from Above, I mean. The, um, outcome could hardly be in doubt.”
“I have a perfectly fair challenge in mind,” Alzimyth says.
“If Taj wins, then he will be the champion of the Ascent, with all the appropriate prizes and privileges. If my champion wins, then you may award him the prize if you wish, but he will remain here on Hod, and the remnants of his runic will be forfeit.” He waves a hand. “A formality, really.”
“I really don’t think this is appropriate,” Hisham says, and he looks so uncomfortable that for a moment I have to admire the old man’s bravery. “The rules of the tournament—”
“The rules of the tournament are irrelevant if he agrees, aren’t they?”
“Well. I suppose.” Hisham peers down at me. “Do you agree, boy?”
“Don’t answer yet,” Alzimyth says. “I still have to offer my incentives.”
There’s a murmur from the crowd and then a piercing scream, so familiar it cuts straight to my heart.
Somi mounts the judge’s stand first, with Spike pressed against his back.
Behind them are two big men with spears.
One is Quech, a crude bandage over his ear, glaring down on me with undisguised loathing.
The other is Rekas, the Clawmark enforcer, looking utterly out of place here amid all the Hod finery.
His eyes are wide as he looks around in near atavistic terror, almost overwhelmed by the strangeness of everything.
“These, I’m sorry to say, are criminals,” Alzimyth says.
His tone has turned gloating. “Officially condemned and surrendered to the authorities. I have brought them here because I understand they have some connection to Taj, and I thought he might want the opportunity to petition someone on their behalf. An honored visitor to Hod, perhaps.” He smiles.
“I could intervene, if I was so inclined.”
“I say,” Hisham protests weakly. “This is very, um, not to say completely…”
He trails off. I pull free of Ky and step forward, meeting Somi’s eyes. He gives me a sad smile and mouths, We’re okay.
“We’re not!” Spike shouts, breaking free of Somi’s grip. “We’re not criminals, whatever this asshole says”—she points at Rekas—“and they just dragged us up here—”
Quech slams the butt of his spear into her midriff, and Spike folds up like a creased sheet of paper. Somi grabs her and pulls her close, turning his back on Quech. People in the stands are shouting and even screaming.
“Alzimyth!” I scream, scraping my throat raw.
He waves a hand irritably for quiet. “Yes?”
“Win or lose?”
No one is listening to the knight’s demand for silence. He stomps his foot with a bang. “What?”
“If I say yes, you’ll intervene? No matter what happens?”
“Indeed. You have my word as a Hesed Knight I will show mercy.”
I swallow, painfully, and close my eyes.
“Taj, what the fuck is going on?” Ky whispers in my ear. “Do you know why he’s doing this?”
“He wants Star,” I reply dully. “He told me that when he made his offer, but I didn’t realize it was this important to him.”
“How did he find your family so quickly?”
“He must have sent for them when I turned him down.”
“But how did he find them?”
“The Clawmarks.” For a sufficient payment, Uncle Claw will happily deliver up anybody in his power, bound hand and foot. “The people up there sound angry. Will they do anything to stop him?”
“I…” Ky chews her lip, then shakes her head. “No. The way he’s playing it…”
“Whatever he says, this can’t be legal.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Ky says bitterly. “It just has to look that way. Just enough that later they can all tell themselves they were fooled.”
I give a weary nod. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting any different.
[Suggestion: give me up instead.]
No.
[Understanding: they are your brother and sister. I know how much they mean to you.]
No. I swallow against tears. You’re my brother, too.
[Emotion: I…]
Star doesn’t admit to emotion often. Right now, I can’t bring myself to tease him.
[Analysis:], he begins again. [If you surrender me, then he will certainly free your siblings. If you fight, you may lose me regardless, and you yourself will be in serious danger. We do not know anything about this “champion.”]
Doesn’t matter. All we have to do is win.
[Analysis: we don’t know if we even have a chance—]
There’s always a chance. I’d rather take it and fight than give up here and now.
[Remonstration: but…]
Are you saying you won’t fight?
[Affront: of course I will fight!]
Then so will I.
I meet Alzimyth’s gaze and raise my voice.
“I’ll do it,” I tell him. “With one condition.”
The knight narrows his eyes. “And what might that be?”
“We fight up there.” I point upward, at the sunlamps, at the cap overhead. Toward the stars. “Whatever happens, I want to see the sky.”