Chapter 48 #2
To my left, Zarah Teshal, the Desert Expanse champion, scrambles up the rock, her clothing now shredded and soaked.
She spots a fissure in the stone—a clear, direct path upward.
At the same moment, Alestir Velthorn, bloodied but still fighting, sees it too.
He lunges for the same handhold Zarah reaches for.
Their hands collide. Alestir snarls, kicking out to shove the woman away.
But Zarah is faster, her knife flashing out, slicing a deep gash across Alestir’s calf.
Alestir retaliates, grabbing Zarah’s arm and twisting, trying to use his own momentum against her.
For a split second, they are a frozen tableau of desperate violence, two predators locked in a struggle for the better path.
Then their combined weight proves too much for the slick handhold.
Alestir’s grip slips. He grabs for Zarah’s tunic, a final, spiteful act, and the female champion loses her footing too.
They tumble together, a tangle of limbs and curses, sliding down the glistening black rock face—catching the direct attention of two more reavers.
This is ridiculous. Something snaps in me.
“STOP!” My voice is a raw shriek that cuts through the din. “YOU IDIOTS, STOP FIGHTING EACH OTHER!”
The survivors pause. Alestir freezes. Damiar stares across, his face a mask of bloody determination. Even Blaise halts his attempted ascent to look at me, a flicker of something close to amused curiosity in his eyes.
“They’re herding us! Killing us one by one while we tear each other apart!” I yell. “You’ll all die down here if you don’t cooperate!”
Silence. Even the reavers have stilled, as if something in my voice has given them pause. The only sound is their hideous, clicking bones and the drip of water. Everyone’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind—including Zeriel.
I exhale sharply. “We get to the top. Then we kill each other. Not before.”
A beat. Then a few heads nod. Finally, words they understand.
Zeriel, gripping the rock beside me, speaks. His voice is low, but it carries with an undeniable authority. “She’s right.”
Thank you. The decree from on high has spoken.
Blaise offers a slow smile. “What a novel idea. A brief, distasteful alliance. Very well. It might be amusing.”
You started something, Zeriel sends to me, a note of something difficult to decipher—annoyance, respect, surprise, all at once—coloring the thought.
Just trying to stay alive, I shoot back. A concept you seem to appreciate.
The climb becomes a coordinated, somewhat less desperate struggle. Especially because it’s easier for me to manage the minds of dragons when they’re not being constantly aggravated by moving spectacles.
There are ten remaining champions including Zeriel, and seven remaining wards including me.
We climb in a rough knot, Raine taking the lead with an uncanny instinct for the rock.
She calls out handholds as she goes—“Left, above the green lichen! There’s a fissure!
”—her voice steady despite the slick stone.
Several of the men guard the rear and front, driving back any reavers that stray too near with quick, brutal thrusts.
I can’t force the creatures entirely docile without drawing suspicion, but I nudge at them just enough to keep our ascent swift, telling myself it could be mistaken for the reavers’ own caution before a coordinated group.
We move as a unit, a pack of wolves that have temporarily agreed not to eat each other. Zeriel and I climb side-by-side, wordless but acutely aware.
When a section of rock crumbles beneath my boot, his hand is there, grabbing my belt and hauling me back against the wall.
When a reaver dives for his head from above, I nudge a loose rock free with my boot.
It crashes into the creature’s skull, sending it sideways.
Or at least, that’s what I want anyone watching to believe. A convenient mask for what I truly did.
Nice aim, Zeriel mutters through the link.
I have my moments.
Slowly, painfully, we ascend from the abyss. The air grows warmer, the oppressive gloom of the gorge giving way to the eerie light of trees above.
I haul myself over the final ledge, collapsing onto a bed of moss, my body screaming with exhaustion and pain. Zeriel is right behind me, standing with a more graceful weariness.
Still steady on his feet, I can’t help thinking, and accidentally project the thought.
Would it disappoint you if I weren’t?
I catch his eyes for a moment, trying to read what I see glimmering in their dark brown depths. A faint hint of curiosity, yes, but I also sense… a strong barrier of control.
I exhale, too drained to play this game at the moment. Maybe.
The others emerge, including Blaise. He vaults onto the ledge, landing as lightly as a cat, his crimson and gold attire soaked and torn but his arrogance utterly unscathed. He brushes a piece of dirt from his shoulder, and the temporary truce dissolves like mist in the sun.
I gaze up at the ancient archway looming before us. A gateway to a past the empire tried to bury.
We stand on a wide stone path, facing the entrance to the old fae temple.