by Vi Voxley
She hoped to all the gods that Brocke knew Condor would never give him an honest fight.
“It will all begin with Olyra, as it always has,” Condor said, his dark eyes staring right through Cora, making her take an involuntary step back. “Very soon, all of Gaiya will see and understand. Everything you see here will spread like fire. Today, I will break the gates of Olyra open, and we will take back this world for true Corgans. You will help me do it.”
Cora struggled against his grip, but Condor didn’t let go.
The priest leaned in closer to whisper so no one else could hear, “I have such plans for you. I will keep you awake as I take your half-breed brat from you. I hope the Guardian doesn’t die quickly, so he can watch too.”
Cora had no words for that. She spat in his face, knowing it was a futile attempt at rebellion. Condor laughed it off, pointing to the massive crowd around them, already demanding for more blood.
“Do you see all of this? These people understand the old ways. We will bring them back, and the nonbelievers will curse the day they forgot about Olyra.”
Cora watched the arena, shaking despite herself. That was not the end she had imagined. Condor’s words had cut deeper than she would have liked.
I should have stayed away. Now I’m a hostage Brocke needs to fight for. Me and our child both, in the hands of this lunatic.
One of the priests whispered something to Condor, and for a second, Cora saw a flash of fear on Condor’s face, but then he was grinning that sick smile again.
“The Guardian approaches!” the priest called, his powerful voice carrying easily over Komol.
A hush went through the thousands of people gathered there, looking around as though Brocke might be standing right next to them.
“All of these little fights you’ve seen today,” Condor said, “have been nothing compared to the truth I’m about to show you. You all know Brocke. They say the chieftain’s son is the most powerful warrior alive, but I will show you the lie. A half-breed could be nothing like that. All he has are shadows and myth.”
Down in the arena, the warrior called Nargh roared a challenge to Brocke, but Cora could barely hear him over the screaming coming from one of the corridors leading to Komol. She was about to call out to Brocke when Condor pulled her to her knees in front of him, holding Cora by the hair. When he cut her uniform open with a long blade that suddenly appeared in Condor’s hand from one of the sleeves of his robe, Cora screeched.
The bloody cut went right across her belly.
He’s going to do it, her panicking mind kept repeating. He is going to cut me open like those poor bastards down there.
For one eternal moment, despair buried Cora under it and for a second, Condor’s words rang true to her, at least the threats he made. Cora had no idea how many people there were in Olyra, but certainly enough to cause trouble on Gaiya, even if she didn’t think they could overtake it. Condor seemed too confident, so perhaps the priest had more supporters in high places.
And then Cora saw Brocke.
The guardian appeared from the corridor where the screams had come from, covered in blood from head to toe. The look in his bright blue eyes was terrible to behold, and Cora could feel Condor wince even if the priest didn’t let her slip away.
Brocke stared right at them across the path that had opened for him in the middle of the crowd. He had the twin swords in his hands, bared and clearly used. He was panting, but not from exertion. The look of absolute loathing he gave Condor promised revenge.
For all the cheering they’d done before, Cora noticed how silent the crowd had become.
It might have had something to do with the head impaled on one of the swords. From the distance, it was hard to tell, but Cora was certain it was Brocke’s treacherous, cowardly uncle. The warlord discarded the head, sending it flying into the crowd who stepped out of the way, sprayed with blood.
When Brocke started moving forward, Cora could feel Condor’s grip tighten around her hair. The blade in the priest’s hand was still close enough to her belly to slice her in two in one swift move.
My baby, Cora thought, gritting her teeth in fury. I will not let you have my child, you fucking monster.
Down below them, Brocke had reached the arena and let his bright blue eyes go over the corpses laid out there. Absolute silence reigned as he did that, shaking the blood off his swords.
“Half-breed,” Condor greeted him. “I knew you’d come.”
Brocke gave him a dark look but didn’t respond. Cora kept struggling, trying to pry the blade away from her exposed belly. She saw the warlord’s eyes drift over her as well. Then the guardian raised his eyes to Condor.
“Did you?” he asked.
His deep voice was quiet and deadly, but everyone in Komol heard, Cora was certain of that. They hung on his every word, hungering for more. Condor had promised them death, and it looked like Brocke agreed on that at least.
“You know I am right,” Condor said with apparent calm. “From the moment I first came to Gomor, I’ve known you see the truth the same as I do, you just refuse to admit it. Half-breeds are weak. You should know that better than most, Guardian. Your own body nearly rejected the organs all of our warriors have. Most of the ones here don’t even have what you do. Weakness has taken a hold of them, and I am the cure.”
Brocke said nothing, waiting for the priest to finish, but Condor wasn’t done.
“All those years, you’ve called me a liar,” the priest hissed. “But you know I am not. The Corgans are a species to be feared, but there will be nothing left of that glory if we suffer half-breeds to live. With every generation, the blood will grow weaker. All priests know this. Your child here –”
Condor punctuated that with a sharp poke at Cora’s belly. She knew it drew blood, but bit her tongue not to scream, not to give the maniac the satisfaction.
“– Will probably never be a warrior,” Condor said with obvious glee. “But you shouldn’t worry. I will not let it live long enough to prove me right.”
The priest finished, and an expectant silence settled over Komol. Even Cora waited for what Brocke had to say, but the guardian simply stood there until a small smirk dawned on his lips. Cora could hear Condor growl in frustration at that sign of defiance.
“You dare –”
“You’re right,” Brocke said, his deep voice cutting through Condor’s like a blade.
Everyone in the large hall stared at him, unbelieving, but Cora knew that wasn’t it.
“We have said enough,” the warlord went on, walking to the center of the arena slowly, unafraid. “Time to prove you right, then.”
“Nargh!” Condor ordered.
As the big warrior stomped closer, the priest called to Brocke, “I hope you know the worth of this fight, Guardian! If you lose, I will make sure you see me cutting her throat before laying both of you in that arena, the truth revealed to the world at last.”
Brocke didn’t even blink at the threat, even if Cora saw the signs Condor didn’t. The warlord had made it perfectly clear that she was Brocke’s first priority, but Cora couldn’t imagine how he would be able to face the other warrior like that.
She needed to do something, give Brocke the chance to fight for real. Both of them knew Condor lied.
No matter what, Cora was sure she was going to die if Brocke won.
The guardian turned his piercing blue eyes to Condor, and Cora could feel the priest wince under that gaze.
“I hope you know this is the day you die,” Brocke said with absolute calm, not even looking at the enemy charging at him, howling a battle cry. “The only thing you still have some power over is the manner of your death. Every cut you make on her, I will make you suffer the same tenfold.”
Condor’s hands were shaking in her hair, but then Cora heard him laugh.
“Kill him!” he bellowed, and the rest of his warriors rushed to the arena.
Dozens and dozens of them.
Cora cursed herself for t
aking so long to understand the trap they’d really walked into. Condor wasn’t going to let either of them walk out of there alive, even if he had to cheat to make it so.
She knew better than anyone how the details of someone’s death could be changed afterward by the one who murdered them.
It wasn’t an exhibition. Condor was simply executing his first murders on the way to razing all of Gaiya clean of half-breeds.
Chapter Nineteen
Brocke
Condor’s treachery didn’t come as a surprise to Brocke.
He had expected worse, much worse. The sheer amount of opponents didn’t scare him, not in the slightest. The only thing he’d been afraid of was Condor following through with his threats towards Cora.
As the horde of warriors charged him in front of the confused crowd, Brocke saw that the priest made no such move.
He needs her. He believes I will win.
The idea brought a smirk to his lips as Brocke raised his swords to meet the warriors head-on, starting with the one Condor had called Nargh.
It was strange to have someone like Condor put so much faith in him. In a weird way, the priest believed him capable of anything if that was the level of overkill Condor thought he needed. Not only had he completely abandoned his point by setting a whole two units worth of warriors on him, the priest also kept Cora alive in case Brocke managed to win against all odds.
He had expected better from Condor.
Yet none of that mattered, nothing else was important while Cora was in danger. Ever since Brocke had seen her disappear behind the door in Horech’s pod, he’d seen nothing but red before his eyes. Killing Horech hadn’t felt enough to quench Brocke’s thirst for revenge, but the warriors attacking him from all sides provided a nice release.
It seemed Brocke shared the experience of betrayal with Cora now. He had known Horech was a weakling, but Brocke had never suspected how deep that went. Just like that, one man’s dishonor had put Cora and his child in danger, and Brocke would never forgive that. He already regretted making Horech’s death so quick.
Through the mass of bodies trying to trample him beneath their heavy boots, Brocke could see that Cora was still in danger despite his every attempt to keep her safe. The mere thought of her and their child getting hurt made the blood burn in his veins, the combat hormones rush through his blood stream.
With a roar, Brocke charged the first unlucky bastards who thought they could take him down. He didn’t know whether they actually believed they could, if they were that deluded by Condor’s false promises. Ultimately, it didn’t matter.
They would all die the same.
The truth was out in the first few seconds of the fight to death when three bodies lay before Brocke’s feet, and he was nowhere closer to dying.
The Guardian saw the understanding hit the others, the fact that perhaps Condor had been right to send them all at once.
To their credit, as much as Brocke was willing to offer any, none of them ran. That wouldn’t have been surprising either. Powerful, skilled warriors had done that before when faced with the dreaded Nightmare from Gomor.
Instead, a stubborn desire to kill him at all costs took over them. Brocke could practically see Condor’s words playing in the minds of his attackers as he was dodging the blows of the mass of blades around him. He was nothing but a half-breed, right? It would have been expected of him to go down easily, but Brocke had no intention of doing so.
Of the warriors facing him, only Nargh was still able to match him blow for blow. Brocke knew that in a fair fight he would have killed the big bastard already, but he had a whole wall of swords to parry in addition to the giant.
The blades scraped on his new armor, the only sign he got of some blows actually landing. The scratches were gathered so thickly it looked like the armor had been clawed up. But it held like it was supposed to, and so did the armors of his opponents.
Unlike them, Brocke wasn’t wasting his time by trying to cut through the resistant metal plates. He aimed his blows at the unprotected necks, at every chink in the armor he knew of. Corgan armors were easy to bypass if you knew how the plates fit together, and Brocke certainly did. The enemies were bleeding from countless small wounds until he had the time to deliver the final blow.
Those were the unlucky ones. Once Brocke was given enough room to properly swing the two thin blades, he cut off the head of the first warrior who got too close, thinking Brocke was dropping his guard.
There were so many warriors around him, each trying to land one good blow. The battle continued on the bodies of the dead. Not only ones Brocke had killed, but the ones who had died before. Thinking of them made his fury rage even stronger. The pure cowardice of Condor’s actions was unimaginable, yet right there in front of him.
And somewhere further back, the priest didn’t even have to fight his own battles.
As soon as Brocke looked up, he saw that it wasn’t true anymore.
The last he’d seen of Cora she’d been her trapped in Condor’s hold, but the little Terran had gotten free. She was struggling with Condor for a blaster while Komol was in uproar. Some of Condor’s priests, it seemed, were trying to get away, seeing that the future didn’t bode well for them. It left Condor alone to fight Cora, but that was the last thing Brocke wanted.
She was tough and not unskilled while Condor was untaught but stronger. That made it anybody’s game, and Brocke wasn’t going to take chances with Cora’s life.
Focusing all of his attention on Nargh, Brocke turned to the podium Condor and Cora were fighting on. The giant noticed his change of course and resisted all the harder. A true fanatic.
Brocke could see Nargh’s eyes burn with loathing for him, but disappointment was also present. He didn’t understand why Brocke wasn’t dead already, and it made him prone to mistakes. People who thought victory should be handed to them often fell for that trap.
The blaster shot went by so close it almost took Nargh’s head off. In the middle of a battle where every second was precious, they both still turned to the podium while the crowd around the arena screamed in terror.
The shot had missed all of the warriors. Most had been lucky, some had dodged, so it had hit a resident of Olyra straight in the face. The man collapsed while panic set in, and people tried to get away from Komol as fast as possible.
Brocke could see the look on Condor’s face as the priest’s followers began to scatter. The blaster was in his hand as Cora was getting up from the floor.
The guardian realized the shot had been aimed at him, and that Cora wasn’t fighting for her life but his. Catching Nargh’s next strike on the edge of his sword, Brocke watched as the little Terran threw herself at Condor again before the priest could take aim.
Brocke needed to get to Cora before it was too late.
Never had such a small distance seemed so great to him. Every step took a whole lifetime. Every inch of ground was bought with blood and screams as the remaining warriors redoubled their efforts to kill him before Brocke could do the same to them. Their strikes became desperate and uncoordinated, but that was the worst case scenario.
If a warrior didn’t truly know where he was about to hit, neither did Brocke.
The fight became the most brutal he’d ever been in. The warriors seemed to have some idea of tactics at least, trying to force him against the wall of the arena. Brocke knew it was a trap, but every step he took back gave him chances to cut down another opportunist who saw an opening in his defense.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brocke kept watch over Cora, seeing her still locked in her own little battle with Condor. Seeing her perseverence was the only bright light in the otherwise terrible situation. From the moment Brocke had met her in Gomor, Cora had hated their enemy with a passion. For everything he did, for everything he was. She finally had the chance to show how much.
There was no finesse in Cora’s technique, no clear purpose other than hurting Condor and keeping him from firing the gun, but she was
beautiful in her ferocity. Cora was fighting the priest with everything she had.
As for Condor, he was as ruthless as she, and the mere thought alone was enough to bring Brocke back to his own duels. He knew Condor only needed a second to pull the trigger, and it didn’t matter at that point which one of them he hit.
Nargh came at him finally. The warrior truly was a giant, towering even above Brocke’s bulk, but he wasn’t slow. The swords in his hands were larger than the regular ones everyone else used. Brocke could see why; they would have been little more than knives in his palms.
The big warrior met him head-on, the only one who dared to maintain eye-contact with Brocke. The guardian almost respected that until he remembered the allegiances Nargh had chosen.
The press of the bodies eased up a little as the other warriors gave Nargh room to properly swing his swords. Brocke moved before any of them could react.
Still, Nargh’s first blow came so fast he only had time to dodge under it and bring both of his blades around with a wide swing. For that, Brocke practically had to slide on the ground, but the momentum of his swords was great. Nargh saw it too, bracing against the hits when it was too late to jump out of the way.
The swords hit, cutting deep into the armor, but as hard as it had been to pierce the metal, it was harder to get them out. Nargh roared, pain mixing with a victorious cry. The giant backed away from Brocke quickly, ripping one of the blades from Brocke’s grip by pulling it along with his body.
Brocke was truly impressed, but it didn’t save Nargh. The few steps he’d taken were enough time for Brocke to jump into the air and bring his one remaining blade down on the giant’s head. Already in motion, Nargh wasn’t able to move out of the way, and Brocke’s sword split his skull open with a nauseating splice.
The remaining warriors all made the mistake of not taking the opportunity Nargh had given them with his death. They could have used the moment it took Brocke to retrieve his other sword to mount some sort of an attack, but instead they backed away, sealing their fate.
