by Dante King
“Lord Wysaro,” Xilarion greeted as he respectfully bowed his head. “Your visits are always welcome. Would you care to sit with me and enjoy the sport?”
“Predictable as always, General Xilarion,” Wysaro said. “Always trying to walk your Path of Peace. But this is no time for peace, and as you can see, I have come far better prepared for war.”
More ninjas emerged from the shadows, stalked across the rooftops, and closed in around the arena. Now that I looked more closely, I saw that they weren’t dressed in black only. Each wore a dark green sash around their waist, its end embroidered with the red Wysaro eagle. Had the ninjas on Earth worn the same symbol, and I hadn’t noticed? Did Jiven Wysaro’s reach extend beyond this world, as Nydarth’s did? Or had those been another band of ninjas, driven by some other commander with some other cause?
One thing was certain: the clan was better prepared for war than the guild was. They had the advantage of position, surrounding the arena and its closely packed seating. Theirs was the freedom to maneuver, to use their magic and their weapons to the best advantage. More than that, they had the numbers. Just among those I could see, there were more of them than of us, and I was sure that more would be approaching through the gates and across the courtyard.
“What do you want, Jiven?” Xilarion asked, dropping the pretence of respect.
“Nothing you can give me.” Wysaro turned his attention to me. “I want his sword.”
So, I had been right. It wasn’t me that Jiven Wysaro was after, it was the Sundered Heart. I didn’t know how he knew that I had it or what it meant to him, but in that moment, one thing became clear: if Jiven Wysaro wanted something, I had to keep it from him.
The odds were good that this was going to turn to violence. But the lives of my friends and fellow initiates were on the line, not to mention the more vulnerable masters, such as the scholarly Kyu. I respected Master Xilarion’s Path of Peace enough to try that first.
“Here,” I said as I threw my sword into the center of the arena. “Have it.”
Lord Wysaro waved a hand. A ninja ran in through the entrance of the arena, picked up the sword, and ran out again. Thirty seconds later, he appeared on the edge of the arena beside Wysaro as he knelt on the slender top of the plank wall while holding out the sword.
Wysaro took the weapon, looked at it, then cast it casually aside.
“Do you take me for an idiot?” He sneered at me. “This blade contains no dragon spirit.”
“I’ve certainly met smarter guys,” I said. “Like the little man who cleans our privies.”
Wysaro narrowed his eyes. “One last chance, Ethan Murphy,” he said. “You don’t have to become my enemy, but you will regret it if you do.”
“Did you know that the beds here are riddled with lice?” I said. “There are rats in the walls and cockroaches in the kitchen. Compared with where I come from, your whole empire is pretty gross, and a guild full of students is probably the worst. But you know what? I would rather work for any of those pests than for you.”
“You putrid little shit!” Wysaro bellowed. “I’m going to trample you into dirt. I’ll give your corpse to my privy cleaners to use for rags. I’ll-”
“Enough.” Xilarion strode into the center of the arena and looked up at Wysaro. “This was a holy day for my guild. A coming of age. The chance for our initiates to prove their worth before their peers. You have despoiled that for them, even for your own son. Have you no shame?”
“Have you no honor?” Wysaro replied. “Hiding your fear behind excuses and the feeble bodies of these youths.”
“The Emperor has given me authority in this place,” Xilarion said. “By that authority, I demand that you leave.”
“The Emperor isn’t here, and by the time he hears about this, it will be too late. He will not punish me for asserting power in my lands, the power with which I keep our borders safe.”
“Then, for the sake of the friendship we once had, I ask you to leave.”
“Not without that sword.” Wysaro’s gaze fell upon Hamon. “Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, father.” Hamon bowed.
“Bring it to me.”
Hamon walked toward the edge of the arena, where Kegohr sat in the front row, the Sundered Heart Sword lying in its scabbard in his lap. The half-ogre closed one massive fist around the weapon, his expression grimly determined. Beside him, Vesma stood, spear in hand.
“The half-breed and the little girl,” Hamon said as fire flared from his curved swords. “It’s going to be a pleasure cutting you both down to size.”
I flung myself at him and tackled him to the ground. The fire on his swords died as they went flying from his hands and fell in the dirt just out of reach. Hamon howled in fury, and I felt the fire magic run through him as its heat blazed from his skin.
I didn’t have time to deal with his temper tantrum, so I scrambled to my feet and across the arena, hand outstretched.
“To me, Kegohr!” I shouted.
He stood and threw the sword. It was a clumsy throw, more powerful than accurate, but I leaped up and caught the sword before it could sail over my head. I landed with one hand on the scabbard and one on the handle as I drew the blade.
Hamon ran at me, and I dropped the scabbard before I raised my empty hand, palm first. The power of Untamed Torch flowed through me. There was no time to think or to shape the attack, so I let it fly free, a shapeless burst of magical flames that sent Hamon flying, his hair singed and the corner of his robes on fire.
He lay in the dirt as he stared at me in shock, a spoiled brat denied the thing he wanted.
“Pathetic boy,” Wysaro snarled. “Must I do everything myself?”
He spread his arms and fire engulfed him, as it had clothed Yo Hin during our fight. He rose into the air and came soaring across the arena. The flames stretched out behind him like the tail of a comet as he hurtled toward me.
I raised my Flame Shield, stretched my right leg back, and braced myself for the impact.
Suddenly, another fiery figure smashed into Jiven Wysaro and slammed him against the side of the arena. Initiates scrambled clear as a section of the stand creaked in protest before collapsing into a heap of planks and poles. When the dust cleared, Master Xilarion stood over Lord Wysaro, a simple wooden staff in his hands.
“You could have been a good man once, Jiven,” he said. “I am sorry it has come to this.”
“Not as sorry as you will be.” Wysaro threw up his hands, and it looked for a moment as if his whole body was exploding, the fire burst so violently from him. It flew in every direction, ignited the surrounding stands, charred the ground, and sent initiates running for cover.
Master Xilarion stood unmoved by the pouring flames, a shadow amid the light. He released his staff, and it floated in the air in front of him, held up by magic. He brought his hands together, as if he was holding a football between them, and strained his shoulders.
The flow of fire shifted before it rushed toward that point in front of Xilarion. A sphere of fire grew between his hands, brighter than the flames around it, like the shining heart of the sun.
I didn’t have time to watch and see what happened next. Wysaro clan Augmenters were rushing into the arena with weapons raised and fire flaring. I ran to meet them, Flame Shield on my arm and the Sundered Heart Sword in my hand.
All the qualms I had about using the sword disappeared. This wasn’t an honorable fight between peers who were trying to prove our strength and skill. This was a battle to the death, a fight not just for my sword but for power in the lands around us. It was do or die, and if it turned into the latter, then I would go down swinging my sword and channeling Vigor.
I met the Augmenters as they spread out from the entrance and headed for the ruined section of the stands. The enemies were trying to catch my injured companions while they were vulnerable, and rage bubbled in my stomach at Clan Wysaro’s dirty tactics.
The first of Jiven’s men was too intent on
rushing to the attack, so he didn’t even see me coming. I cut him down in a single stroke, twisted the sword around, and caught one of his companions across his Flame Shield. The man halted in his tracks and thrust his spear toward me. I summoned a Plank Pillar, and the pointed edge of my opponent’s weapon lodged into the wood. I darted around the pillar and cut him down while he was still trying to dislodge his spear.
Aside from Hamon and Master Xilarion, I had been the only guild member standing in the dirt of the arena, and I feared that I was about to be surrounded. The Wysaro Augmenters, clad in the loose garb of ninjas, flowed around me in every direction. I was forced into constant movement, ducking, darting, and parrying, fending off attacks from left and right.
Just as the numbers seemed about to overwhelm me, a small, lithe figure appeared at my side. Vesma’s spear spun and twirled as it darted into the gaps between her opponents, constantly attacking where they least expected. Any time they came too close, the Flame Shield flared on her arm and threw out a bright disk that blinded them, giving her vital seconds to regroup.
“That’s new,” I commented as my blade tore through a ninja’s stomach. “Why didn’t you use it in the tournament?”
“I thought of it while you were fighting Hamon,” she said with a shrug before crushing an enemy’s larynx with her spear’s haft.
At my other side, there was a thud as Kegohr leapt from the stands. He swung his mace in huge arcs and scattered enemies like bowling pins while roaring at the top of his voice.
“Good of you to join us,” Vesma greeted him.
“You two can’t be having all the fun.” Kegohr started to glow a bright red as Spirit of the Wildfire ignited his veins. He grabbed a ninja’s head in a single hand, slammed him onto the ground, and used his mace to crush the enemy’s rib cage.
As we continued fighting, other initiates gathered around us. Some jumped down from the stands with the weapons they had brought for the tournament. Servants and guards emerged from the guildhouse with an assortment of tools, all ready to give their lives for Radiant Dragon.
Veltai grinned wildly as she punched, kicked, and swung her nunchucks. To the other side, Yo Hin stood on the front row of the stands as he flung fireballs into the rear ranks of attackers.
Not everyone took our side. Some initiates, mostly friends of Hamon, chose clan over guild when they lined up with the Wysaro. I didn’t blame them, but neither would I show them mercy if we met. They had made their choice.
All hell had broken loose in the arena. Everywhere I looked, people were fighting. Fire flared and blades flashed as the guild members fought for their lives. What we lacked in numbers, we made up for in skill and determination.
Pillars and walls of flame materialized throughout the arena as the masters showcased their abilities perfected through decades of practice. Disciples stood in ordered ranks or tackled enemies in deadly duels, using years of experience to their advantage.
I had lost track of Xilarion, but I saw Rutmonlir roaring with laughter as he attacked clan members with a torn up plank seat. Splinters flew from his improvised club as he dealt death to the guild’s enemies. On his shoulders perched old Master Kyu, her glasses smudged with soot as she sent out a flash of fire with each snap of her fingers.
War had come to the Radiant Dragon Guild, and it turned out that our ex-general had built himself a fine army.
I parried an attack from a fire-infused halberd, stepped inside the wielder’s reach, and punched him in the face with my Flame Shield. As he staggered back, I kicked his legs out from under him and drove my sword into his chest. I gave the blade a quick twist before I pulled it from his corpse.
Turning to face my next opponent, I looked up at the stands. Yo Hin frantically threw fire as he backed away along the front row. Hamon was advancing toward him, swords raised and a mad grin on his face. As Hamon grew close, Yo Hin closed his eyes. The fire flowed from him, and he started to rise before drifting into the air.
Hamon lunged, and his sword swept around. The blade sank into Yo Hin’s side, and he fell with a heart-rending scream. The fire died as blood streamed from his wound.
My opponent must have noticed I was distracted, because he chose that moment to strike. I parried his attack in time, then cracked him with a headbutt. At point-blank range, I planted my left palm against his chest and summoned an Untamed Torch. Fire burst through my skin and left a sizzling crater in his stomach. His eyes widened, and he gasped for breath before he toppled over.
I called a Plank Pillar beneath my feet, and the wooden platform shot me into the air. I soared over the edge of the arena and landed on the benches. Hamon raised his sword to finish off Yo Hin, but I advanced toward him and shouted his name.
Hamon looked up, and his mad grin widened. He stepped over the bleeding Yo Hin and stared at me like a feral beast watching its prey.
“Of course,” he said. “Here comes the fucking hero, ready to rescue the weak and the freaks.”
“And here comes the arrogant bastard.” I stared with as much hate as he had shown me. “Ready to fuck over everyone but himself.”
Hamon snarled. A wave of fire rippled across his mouth and eyes. He had unleashed his raw Vigor. He would be stronger, faster, more furious, all at the price of throwing judgment to the wind. Could any magic more perfectly suit Hamon’s dark temper?
“This is no tournament,” he said. “There are no judges, no teachers, no masters forcing us to play nice. Now, I finally don’t have to hold back. I’m going to roast you alive.”
I took a deep breath and opened the channels within me. All the powers I possessed twined around each other as the Vigor sought release. Wood. Fire. Ash. All ready to do my bidding.
“You’re right.” I grinned at him. “No more holding back.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I raised the Sundered Heart Sword and used it as a focus to help me channel my Vigor. The power of ash flowed through me, granting powers unknown to anyone else in the arena.
“Oh yes, sweet man,” Nydarth whispered in my head. “That’s more like it. Let the power flow through you. Unleash the real Ethan.”
“The real Ethan lives in Hackney,” I said. “He doesn’t even believe in magic. And I still wouldn’t be surprised to wake up and find out that he’s right.”
“You know better than that,” Nydarth said. “That was the old you. This is the real you now.”
“Then, I’d better get on with this, before the real me winds up dead.”
Hamon strode toward me, fire flickering from his eyes. His short, curved swords were engulfed in flames, turning them into deadly lances of fire, and a Flame Shield glowed on his arm. He was throwing everything into this fight, and if I wanted to win, I would have to do the same.
I raised my left hand and shot thorns from my palm. They were 10 times as large, as sharp, and as hard-hitting as the ones I’d made when I first learned to Augment. But they burst into flames as they hit Hamon’s Flame Shield and vanished in a tiny drift of ash.
Hamon leaped at me as he swung with his fire lances from both sides. I jumped back, dodged the strikes, and landed further up the wooden seats. As he advanced again, I called on the power of the Plank Pillar. This was the first time I had used my wood powers while standing on wood, and I was amazed by how much easier that made it. Instead of being summoned from the ground, it was the planks already around me that formed the pillar, taking a fraction of the usual amount of Vigor. They sprang up in front of Hamon and blocked his advance. One of the planks even moved from beneath his feet and threw him off-balance.
I didn’t have long to bask in my success. No sooner was the Plank Pillar up than Hamon’s flaming blades chopped down one plank after another, leaving a heap of fallen wood with smoldering ends. While Hamon was breaking through the barrier, I took a moment to assess the fighting around me.
Despite our initial struggles, the guild members were getting the upper hand. Under the leadership of experienced masters, they were coming to
gether to fight the invading Augmenters. The guild members drove the enemies back across the arena floor and through the stands. The Wysaro warriors were tough and skilled, but so were many of our people, and even the most inexperienced initiates made up for what they lacked with passion and determination to protect their home. I saw Faryn gather a group of initiates to move around the enemy’s flank to shift the flow of battle. Fire flared and weapons crashed, and women and men fell screaming from dreadful wounds, but still the Radiant Dragon Guild pressed on.
Then came a shout from the courtyard. The fighters near the arena entrance were driven back as fresh warriors joined the fray.
These men weren’t wearing the ninja garb of the Wysaro Augmenters, and for a moment, I hoped that they had come to help us. But then, I recognized their uniforms—deep green tabards trimmed with red—the outfit of Wysaro clan guardsmen.
These men might not be Augmenters, but they were still benefiting from elemental power. Someone had infused their weapons with Vigor so that fire ran along the blades of swords and streamed from the tips of spears. They weren’t as skilled at fighting as the Augmenters and they looked less comfortable wielding weapons wreathed in flames, but that didn’t stop them throwing themselves into the fight.
As the guardsmen poured in, the balance of the battle shifted. The guild members were driven into retreat, unable to face the superior numbers. A hundred Wysaro guardsmen crammed into the arena and formed a tightly packed line of fire and steel as they worked under the command of the Augmenters. One on one, they would have been easily defeated, but the line of spears made it hard for our warriors to get in close or to hold their ground as the line advanced.
I flung up three more Plank Pillars to delay Hamon while I looked for a way to help my friends. With more wooden obstructions, I could perhaps hold the guards back for a few minutes, but unless the guild made a counter-attack in that time, I would just be delaying the inevitable.
