by Jason Howard
He heard Ryder call his name.
Zac turned, and Ryder said, “That . . . was a good fight.”
His eyes told Zac more than that. His eyes told him that he’d earned Ryder’s respect.
Zac held his gaze for a few moments, then made his way back to his tunnel. He had a lot of painful healing spells to receive. But he’d won the first fight of the tournament. He’d won! Zac swelled with pride at the thought. He would never lose that pride, no matter what. He wasn’t a zell anymore. Now he was a fighter.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Irosobe Spell
–noun
1. a spell that a mage can use to enchant a viewing globe with a moving image from a marked viewpoint. In Brelkue, an ancient language once used by southern conduits, iris means eye and sobe means far away. The spell takes a lot of energy to channel, and it is usually sustained through the stockpiled energy of gemstones.
Back in the preparation room, the other fighters gave Zac nods of respect.
Ivor approached him, and Zac was surprised.
“Shouldn’t you be with the king?” Zac asked.
“That was a great fight!”
“Uh . . . thank you, sir.”
“I saw that you had some pretty severe injuries, and I wanted to make sure you fully recovered. I’m a better conduit than the healers that would have worked on you—just don’t tell them I said so.”
Ivor gently put his hand over Zac’s face. Zac cried out as he felt the burn, but he tried to stay still. A few seconds later, Ivor removed his hand and Zac’s nose felt better. A little tender still, but not crooked, and not pulsing with inflammation. Ivor moved on to Zac’s bruised ribs, which made Zac tear up and cry out in pain—but it was a brief pain. Then Ivor got to his swelling eye. After a minute or so of Zac feeling like his brain was going to explode out of his temples, he felt better.
“Thanks,” Zac said.
“You’re very welcome. I always try and help out with the serious injuries. I take pride in my curative spellwork. I don’t mean to brag, of course.”
“Brag away,” Zac said.
“Watching you fight reminded me of my younger days. I miss being able to put it all on the line and test myself like you did out there.”
“You’ve fought in tournaments like this?”
Ivor gave him a small smile. “I believe that the strength of the body deepens the wealth of the mind.”
Ivor turned to Artem who was sitting cross-legged in front of the bench, eyes closed in meditation.
“I believe the next fight is yours by the way. Good luck.”
Artem thanked him.
Ivor said, “I have to get back there.”
“An awful lot of running around you’re doing,” Zac said with a smile.
“Oh, I insisted on it. I love First Blood, so very exciting,” Ivor said.
With that, the sprightly old mage disappeared.
Artem’s name was called by an official, as well as the name of his opponent. Zac offered Artem a hand and pulled him to his feet. Zac clapped a hand on Artem’s shoulder. “Spirit of the phoenix unto you, strength of the warrior flowing out of you, your fury will be unleashed,” Zac said, reciting an ancient Ajaltan battle prayer Artem had told him about.
Artem smiled, surprised that Zac had remembered it and gotten every word right.
Artem pulled Zac into a hug, then stood back and said, “Thank you, estalia kal.”
Zac’s eyes widened at the compliment—the words were ancient Ajaltan for newborn warrior. It was the title of someone who had completed the Warrior’s Trial.
“You fought very well in the last battle,” Artem explained.
Artem followed the official and his opponent, a lithe swordsman who wielded twin scimitars. The mages were taking a much needed rest, but Zac wished he could see Artem stepping out into the arena now. The mages would restart the irisobe spell when the battle actually commenced. Zac waited, eyes intent on the center of the room where they would soon rekindle the irisobe globe so everyone could watch the fight.
***
Artem won his fight, destroying his opponent quickly and efficiently. The swordsman with twin scimitars made the unfortunate mistake of calling Artem a jungle savage at the start of their match. Artem knew that the man was trying to make him angry and careless. Artem had been trained to turn his anger into concentration though. He fought viciously, but carefully, wounding the swordsmen again and again before he came in for a lethal combination of rage-laden attacks.
The referee had to pull Artem off the swordsmen so that he wouldn’t stomp the unconscious man to death.
The rest of the battles were not so easy for Zac and Artem that day. They got into long, tactical battles of attrition with a few warriors and received more than their fair share of injuries. Although the healing spells administered after the battle salved the wounds to some extent, they were still wearied and sore by the day’s end.
Between their fights they watched the other matches with the irisobe globe.
After the day’s fights were finished, the schedule for the next day was posted in the preparation room on a piece of pristine white parchment. The lush cursive script took a while for Zac and Artem to decipher. When Zac found Artem’s name next to his. He paused for a second and read it again. They would be fighting each other on the second day of the tournament. The two friends exchanged a glance. They walked out of the preparation room together, trying to ignore the tension that hung in the air between them.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Soul sigil
An outlawed magic item that a soul can be trapped in. Usually they are gemstones.
That night, Roen stood amongst rolling desert dunes. Blue starlight cooled the sand. He glanced up at the moons. The green moon was completely full, and the bluish-white one was a bit more than half. The red moon was the most striking even though it was a matured waning crescent soon to disappear completely. The sliver of red was like the bloody edge of a scimitar floating amongst the stars.
Roen looked out over the sands. The waves and ridges in the sand bathed the ground with striations of shadow.
Almera stood next to him. Her arms were tied behind her back and there was a gag in her mouth.
“You look nervous,” he said. “Don’t be.”
He ran a hand over her cheek, and when she pulled away, he smiled. “Just relax. I’m not going to hurt you. My master . . . well I can’t speak for him.”
He could see that his smile was making her tremble, so he widened it.
A smooth, oval-shaped boulder stood in front of them. The boulder was one of the few landmarks out there. It was enchanted to shed sands, so that even when it was covered during a sandstorm, it would slowly re-emerge.
Roen hated to be kept waiting and hated even more that he’d have to swallow his sentiment when his master arrived. He also couldn’t stand how he wasn’t in control right now. His master was the only one that could open the cave.
Roen slowly soured as time dribbled away. Where is that chulgar? I hope he teleports inside the stone and dies.
A breeze kicked up a little sand, which swirled through the blue night. He watched it absently until he heard a gentle whirring.
Finally!
The whirring increased until it was a shrill keening. There was a sound like water being thrown into fire as Roen’s master appeared.
His master had a kind, wise face, and wore the long robes of a wizard and a gentle, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I’m late, my friend. I was engaged in a conversation with Lanthos that distracted me from the time.”
“Not a problem, Ivor,” Roen said, unable to reply with something similar to “my friend” because of his disdain for Ivor. The very moment I don’t need you I’ll slit your throat, you worthless chulgar.
Ivor nodded, clapped Roen on the shoulder and looked at Almera. “So, why have you brought this beautiful savage to my attention? Ungag her please. And untie her.”
Roen begrudgingly
followed his orders while saying, “I tried to infect her, but the energy left in your stone wasn’t enough. She seems to have a very high Willpower and an aptitude for channeling, though she doesn’t know it. Her Talents have never been unlocked.”
Ivor asked her, “Do you know Artem Remelda?”
She blinked in surprise and then shook her head. It was too late, Ivor had read her surprise and seen a momentary glimpse of recognition.
Ivor’s eyes flashed with blue light, and then she was smashed to the sand. She felt the air burst out of her lungs and she lay gasping. Ivor knelt on top of her.
“Don’t lie to me. Ever again. Understood? I don’t want to be uncivil—but it was uncivil of you to lie. I will respect you if you respect me.”
Ivor stood and lifted her to her feet. He gently brushed the sand off of her back. He seemed to be completely calm again.
“So how did you know him?”
She was ready this time, and she let the lie drip smoothly off her tongue, “He was a friend of mine.”
Ivor looked her up and down. “Was he your husband? Boyfriend? My apologies if he perished in Roen’s last assault, it’s all for a larger purpose you know. It wasn’t for nothing.”
She said nothing.
“A lie of omission is still a lie,” Ivor said sweetly.
She looked up, eyes widening a little.
“Was he,” Ivor moved in until his nose was touching hers. “Or was he not your boyfriend or husband?”
“He wasn’t. He was just a friend.”
“I don’t believe you. When he spoke he mentioned your name. The way he said it . . . I know he was something more than a friend.”
She shook her head.
Ivor slapped her across the face. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears. She saw Roen smile.
She choked a wordless plea.
“Go ahead,” Ivor cooed. “I’m sorry I got so abrasive. I only did it because you made me.”
“Boyfriend,” she gasped through her tight throat.
I had no choice, she told herself. God forgive me, I had no choice. Don’t let this evil man use me as a tool against him. Please, please stop him somehow, sparing my life or not, just don’t let him get to Artem.
“Who’s Artem?” Roen asked.
Ivor turned like a mosquito had buzzed in his ear. “He’s from the Windwalker Tribe. He’s the second witness who has escaped you.”
Roen’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Ivor nodded. “But that’s okay. I have my eye on him.” He turned to Almera. “Also, we have her.”
He smiled.
She thought, what in the name of Ajalta is he going to do to me?
Ivor shut his eyes and brought his palms together. There was a gentle rumble from under the sand. Then Ivor brought his hands apart. The sand parted then, like two great waves rolling away from each other. Then, the sand swept out of the ground in a whirlwind, pouring out of a gaping hole, and finally, the moonlight showed them a staircase that led underground.
“Ladies first,” Ivor said.
Almera did as she was told, but her body protested with every step down into the dark, cold, and fearsome place. The tingling of the unknown danced across her skin.
Their path through the dungeon would have been impossible if it wasn’t for Ivor’s knowledge of the obstacles and his mastery of spellwork. Ivor deactivated one trap after another: whirring blades, trap doors, gas nozzles, and more.
The dungeon itself was utterly dark, but Ivor lit it with his hand that glowed celestial turquoise.
They came to a wide corridor, and Almera was forced to lead the way. Footsteps clinked and scraped in the darkness ahead. Rotting skeleton warriors strode into view. Their weapons, their bones, their shields—everything on them was layered in the grime of centuries. Their eyes glowed turqoise. Ivor said a dark, sharp word that hawked from his tongue and raped the air. The word made Almera shiver, though she didn’t know what it meant.
The skeleton warriors stopped and stood aside, their weapons against their chests, blades pointed to the crumbling ceiling of the corridor. They might have just been macabre statues, except for the tell tale red glow of their eyes. The red light pierced by their pupils followed Almera hungrily.
They came to a dead end. It looked to be a solid wall.
Almera looked at Ivor, a bit confused.
Ivor knelt like he was praying and held both his hands out, palms up.
“Back up,” Roen warned. “This always gets a little . . . volatile.”
Before Almera could ask what he meant, Ivor’s voice cut through the air.
“Bareloth, god of my soul, invest in me the ability to break this wall, so I can bathe in your love. I will pour myself into this attempt now, to lay eyes on you whose power I have loved for so long. If I don’t speak the truth then strike me dead right here, right now.”
Ivor’s open hands started to crackle and flash yellow light. Ivor shot to his feet, and with a scream, threw two balls of energy into the wall. The shockwave burst into Almera and she was thrown to her butt—she slid back a few feet.
She heard Roen laughing, and saw that he had braced for the impact.
In the flashes of light she could see the skeleton warriors on either side of her, frozen and hungry.
“Close your eyes!” Roen screamed over the whirring.
She did, just before she would have been blinded by a flash of white light. When she opened her eyes a moment later it was dark and silent. All she could see was Ivor’s glowing hands, and his silhouette far ahead in the corridor. She turned. She could have run then, but what was the point? She thought of the traps and skeleton warriors. She’d be dead before she got halfway. She could even see their red eyes as they peered at her in the pitch darkness. They could see her, she knew it. They wanted her to stay behind—she could feel it. Ivor was the only thing that stopped them from ripping her apart.
She ran to catch up with Ivor and Roen.
When she got into the next room she regretted her decision. The room was a perfect cube, and the walls were black marble. The only light came from a huge sphere of jet-black stone that floated in the center of the room. The black stone glowed red. It looked like a red sun eclipsed. Her skin basked in its heat, and she couldn’t turn away from it—she was paralyzed by its power.
“My Lord, we have brought you a new toy—she was resistant to Roen’s application of your charms,” Ivor said. “Her latent arcane talents are as extraordinary as her beauty. I thought you’d be interested.”
The voice that rumbled from the sphere was soaked with the crackle of an inferno consuming a forest. It was as if mere sound couldn’t contain the power of Bareloth’s voice. Almera clapped her hands on her ears to stop it, the sinister feeling of molten hatred flowing from the sphere. Her hands did nothing to muffle the voice, which is when she realized that it wasn’t a voice at all . . . he was speaking directly into her mind.
‘Excellent. I was hoping to find a worthy woman.’
Almera felt invisible hands running across her skin—they didn’t ruffle her clothing, they reached through it. She felt the hands, the heat of them, flushing her wherever they touched. Her heart was racing. One of the hands plunged in and cupped it, felt it beating, felt the adrenaline burning through her. She knew that Bareloth already owned her.
‘She’ll be perfect.’
“For what?” Almera whispered. Then she felt his presence in her mind, and images flowed into her.
“No. No. No,” she whimpered.
She forced herself to stop, to keep a strong face.
Ivor said, “It was my pleasure to be at your utmost service. Our plan is going well. First Blood is underway, and soon we’ll embark on the voyage to get the Cube.”
‘Very good. I never doubted your abilities, Ivor.’
Roen squirmed a little because he wasn’t mentioned.
‘Now, as for this beautiful mortal . . . I need some time alone with her. I can tell that it will take
considerable effort to break her. Leave us.’
Ivor nodded, and Roen bowed to Bareloth’s soul sigil. Then Almera watched as they walked away, fading into the dark. She tried to get up and follow them, but she was paralyzed, his crushing grip chaining her muscles in place. She stood absolutely still. The turquoise light from Ivor’s hand disappeared. Slowly, the wall reformed. It was incredibly thick. As the rubble floated back up and melded into the solid stone, a tear dribbled from the corner of her eye. Bareloth released her.
She ran to the wall and pounded a fist against it. She put her back to the wall and slid to a sitting position, staring at the red glow of Bareloth’s soul sigil. The stone pulsed, very slowly, the red deepening in the darkness. She slid across the stone as he grabbed her. His invisible, impossibly strong hands ripped her tunic apart. She watched as the tattered pieces of her clothing whizzed into the reddish gloom. Naked, she scooted to the wall, her back pressing against the warm stone. It was strange how warm the room was, like Bareloth’s power was oozing from the sigil. She didn’t want to look at the sigil, but at the same time, she couldn’t look away—fear transfixed her.
She waited for a long time, but Bareloth did nothing.
He’s watching me, she thought.
And somehow that was just as horrible as being dragged across the stone. The silence and the stillness, and the horrible specter of the pulsing sigil seeped into her. She was horribly aware of her nudity.
Bareloth’s warm, invisible hand caressed her cheek.
She turned away and shivered.
“Please . . .” she said, another tear leaking from her. She hated herself for the weakness, but she couldn’t contain it any longer.
