The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1)

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Expecting that exact counter attack, Brock had dropped as low as he could. The other boy’s swing left him open and vulnerable. In a reverse jab, Brock drove the butt of his staff upward, into his opponent’s exposed ribs.

  Brock felt the crack of bones through the staff, the crunch making his stomach twist, threatening to revolt. Yanking his staff back, he spun away to get beyond the reach of his opponent’s sword. When he saw Talvin down on one knee, he knew the match was over. Budakis stopped the duel and declared Brock the victor.

  Ignoring the thunder of the crowd, Brock bent down to check on Talvin. “Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

  Talvin’s face was in a grimace of pain. “It hurts. I feel like I can’t get enough air.”

  Brock had seen this before. He glanced toward the stairs, spotting Ashland descending.

  He gripped Talvin’s arm and closed his eyes. Finding his center, he mentally reached out toward Talvin. A small storm of red symbols roiled within. He pulled hard on the Order within Talvin, causing the symbols to rapidly dissipate. Brock opened his eyes and stepped aside.

  A shudder racked Talvin’s body as a spray of blood launched from his mouth, splattering on the dirt floor. Brock glanced up as Ashland arrived.

  “Decided you couldn’t wait for me, huh?” she asked.

  “Sorry, I realized his lung might be filled with blood, so I reacted. I figured the sooner he was healed, the better.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t get covered in it this time,” she said with a smile.

  Brock chuckled as he helped Talvin to his feet. Ashland held out a big chunk of bread, which Talvin gladly accepted.

  Talvin smiled. “Thanks for the bread.” He looked at Brock. “Thanks for the help. Not being able to get enough air is pretty scary.”

  “No problem,” he replied. “Sorry I caused the injury in the first place.”

  Talvin shrugged. “Someone was going to do it. May as well be you.” He then turned and headed toward the changing room.

  Brock walked Ashland back to the stairwell.

  “That was a quick fight,” she said.

  “I took a chance and got lucky. I planned to end it quickly.”

  She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and flashed him a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay. Please try to stay that way.” She spun and hustled up the stairs.

  Brock returned to the bench, reclaiming his spot next to Cameron.

  Cam leaned over. “Nice match.”

  Brock nodded. “Thanks.”

  Cam leaned over again. “You got lucky, you know. If he’d gone for your legs, you would’ve been pummeled.”

  Brock nodded again. “I know. I took a chance, guessing he’d go high with that counter.”

  Cam smiled. “You know that ploy won’t work again. We all saw it.”

  “I know. I wanted to use as little energy as possible for the first round. I realize the others won’t be this easy.”

  CHAPTER 79

  The second round was even easier.

  After a thirty-minute intermission, the contest resumed with two duels featured at a time. In this round, Brock’s name was the first called, pairing him with a boy named Ulric. Like Cam, his opponent used a longsword and shield. Like Cam, he was much taller and far stronger than Brock. Unlike Cam, he was also far slower.

  After dodging a clumsy opening strike, Brock swept his staff low to take the legs out from under Ulric, who landed hard on his side. His wooden sword popped out of his hand, tumbling to the ground. Brock was standing over Ulric with the butt of his staff held above his face when Kardan called the match.

  Ulric scrambled to his feet and began to protest, stating that he could have fought back. Kardan wouldn’t have it. He sent the frustrated boy to the changing room and awarded the match to Brock.

  Brock took a seat on the bench, watching the other matches as the round proceeded. An hour after it began, round two was complete. Eight contestants remained with Brock, Cameron, and Lars among them. Unfortunately, Corbin also remained.

  Vandermark addressed the crowd. “The first two rounds of today’s contest are complete. We will now break for lunch. Please enjoy your meal, but be back in two hours for the third round of duels.”

  Brock and the other remaining fighters returned to the changing room to store their gear before heading to lunch.

  Even though Brock was hungry, he was careful not to eat too much. A full stomach might slow him and cost him a match. That thought didn’t seem to occur to Cameron, who ate as much or more than usual. During lunch, Benny rattled on about the skills of the other three. He also revealed a secret betting pool that had opened after the first round. He was fascinated by the statistics of the thing, explaining how odds had been set for each of the fighters advancing beyond round one. Cam had the lowest odds as he quickly became the crowd favorite among the novice-level entrants. His odds were two to one to make the final four and five to one to win it all. Benny put down two silvers for Cam to be crowned the next champion. He also placed two silvers on Lars and two on Brock for them to each make the finals.

  Benny seemed most excited about Brock advancing. When asked why, Benny explained that the odds-makers had originally only given Brock a one-in-sixteen chance of making the finals. A feeling of disbelief had pervaded about his easy win in round one. After winning his second bout easily, the odds shifted to four to one. However, Benny had placed his bet after the first match, which meant he would receive more than three gold imperials if Brock survived the day.

  With lunch finished, they still had an hour to spare before the next round began. Following his heart, Brock went in search of Ashland.

  Peeking into Master Varius’ classroom, he found Ashland cleaning the remains of two meals. She was alone, so he slipped inside. Her face lit up, transforming as she saw him.

  “I wanted to see you before the contest resumes,” he said as he crossed the room.

  She set the plates on a large tray. “Your timing is good. Varius just left, off to a meeting before everyone heads back to the Arena.”

  Brock wrapped his arms around her. “So, we’re alone?”

  Ashland’s eyes locked on his. “Yes,” she said, leaning in for a kiss.

  She pulled away, wrinkling her nose. “You stink. You need a bath.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure I do, but that will have to wait until I’m done with today’s rounds.”

  She stepped backward. “Well, if you ripen any further, they may forfeit just from the smell.”

  Brock laughed again before changing the subject. “Are you on healing detail again this afternoon?”

  Ashland nodded. “Yes. I…I want to be there.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad you’re there. It gives me strength and confidence.”

  She smiled. “You’re too kind.”

  “No, I’m serious. I feel something when you’re around,” Brock said before lightening his tone. “I mean, look at how gorgeous you are. How could I not feel better with you around?”

  She shook her head. “You are so bad, Brock Talenz. I swear you could charm a charging bull.”

  He smiled. “I do what I can.”

  Ashland grabbed the tray and walked toward the door. He followed along, reaching past her to open it. With his hand on the handle, she stopped him.

  “Brock, you need to promise me something.”

  His eyes met hers. She was serious. “Okay.”

  “You need to promise you won’t perform any more healing during the contest.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  She looked him in the eyes as she spoke. “You may not realize it, but healing takes more energy than you think. Not all of it comes from your patient. You need to save everything for the duels. Let me and the others do the healing. That’s why we’re there.”

  Brock nodded. “Fair enough.”

  She smiled, stepping aside so he could open the door. He walked with her until reaching the Paladin Wing, giving her a quick kiss before heading back to the Arena
.

  CHAPTER 80

  Applause sounded throughout the Arena as Vandermark approached the center of the floor. He nodded to the audience before raising his arms. The spectators stilled as he made the next announcement.

  “We now begin round three of today’s duels. This is where the truly skilled matches occur. Thus, we will feature a single duel at a time, ensuring that you won’t miss anything.”

  He glanced at the paper in his hand and made the next announcement.

  “The first two combatants for this round are Brock Talenz and Jasmine Theel.”

  The crowd roared in applause. Brock grabbed his helmet and staff and strolled toward the center of the Arena. He glanced at the girl walking alongside of him. Of the seven female contestants, she alone remained. Like Brock, she held her helmet in one arm and a quarterstaff in the other. She matched him in height but had a more lithe build.

  When they reached Vandermark, he wished them luck and headed for the sidelines, passing Budakis on the way.

  The master paladin addressed them. “You two know the rules. When you hear the signal, give it your best.”

  He stepped aside to give them space. With helmets on, they eyed each other.

  Brock could tell she was quick. Her ready stance was balanced and in perfect form. He took a deep breath to clear his mind. The bell rang and the building shook with the noise of the crowd.

  Stepping forward, they quickly closed the gap. Rapid left-right-left flicks of their staffs connecting sent a staccato of clacks echoing through the building. Neither was swinging hard but instead testing the other with speed and precision. Without fail, the staffs met in rapid succession.

  Changing tactics, he spun out of the exchange, sweeping low. His opponent leapt over the blow, landing lightly and slamming her staff downward. Brock dodged the swing, and her staff struck the floor. He swung his staff at her head, but she ducked and rolled away.

  Brock realized that he had neither speed nor agility advantages over her. He needed a different route to victory.

  They both leapt forward to close the gap. Again, they traded a rapid series of left-right-left blows of staff hitting staff. “Clack, clack, clickity-clack,” the sound filled Brock’s ears, numbing them with the rhythm. He began to advance, pushing her backward while she continued to match every strike with a block.

  Brock altered the path of his stroke, looping the end of his staff behind hers as it came up for a block. With his staff locked behind hers, he pulled back hard, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him. He coiled his knees in tight and then thrust his feet into her mid-section. Jasmine lost her grip on her staff as she flew into the air.

  Brock completed his roll onto his feet as she landed on her hands and tumbled forward. He positioned his body between her and her staff. She crouched, glancing at her weapon on the floor behind him. She turned toward Budakis as he called the match and applause shook the Arena.

  Brock lowered his staff and bent to scoop hers. Still breathing hard from the exertion of the fight, he stepped toward Jasmine.

  “Here’s your staff. You put up a great fight. You’re the fastest I’ve ever faced.”

  Jasmine accepted the staff. “Thanks.”

  He yanked his helmet off. “Are you okay? You landed pretty hard.”

  She pulled hers off, revealing a mess of black hair. “Yeah. But I have a major headache.”

  They walked toward the stairs as a healer came down to check on the girl.

  Brock left her with the healer, returning to the bench between Cam and Lars. His tall roommate clapped a big hand on his shoulder.

  Lars leaned over. “For a little guy, you sure fight good. That must’ve been the fastest flurry of action I’ve ever seen.”

  Brock snorted. “Thanks, Lars. She was tough. I’d hate to face her again. It could have gone either way.”

  The crowd quieted, causing everyone to look toward the center of the room. Vandermark announced the next two names. Lars was one of them. He scooped up his helmet and huge sword as he headed across the floor.

  Overpowering his foe, Lars won his duel. Cam went next, handily beating the squat, thick-muscled boy he had faced.

  The last battle was Corbin versus Ian, one of his own sycophants. From Brock’s perspective, Ian made a pathetic effort of pretending to put up a fight. As expected, Corbin won easily. Also as expected, he played to the crowd, savoring the attention.

  Following Corbin’s victory, Vandermark announced a brief intermission before they resumed for the day’s final round.

  Corbin sat at the far end of the benches from where Brock sat. Lars talked with Cam, but their words slid past Brock. His attention was on Corbin. He found himself wishing for a chance to beat the irritating grin off the face of the arrogant, self-centered bastard. Feeling the heat of anger brewing in his gut, he glanced up to where Ashland was seated. When her eyes caught his, she gave him a nod. The anger seemed to melt, changing to firm resolve.

  Vandermark coaxed the crowd to a hush and made the next announcement.

  “We have reached our final round for today, with two bouts remaining. The winners of these two duels will advance to the finals, to be held in two days, where they will vie for the title of Arena Champion.”

  Vandermark paused, waiting for the applause to subside before continuing. “For the first of today’s final matches, I call Cameron DeSanus and Lars Merling to the floor.”

  The two boys grabbed their helmets and weapons and trotted to the center of the floor. As Lars slid his helmet into place, Brock observed a resigned look on the massive boy’s face. Cam’s expression was as stoic as ever. The two listened to Budakis before he cleared the area. The bell rang, the crowd roared, and they sprang into action.

  Brock glanced toward Corbin, who was staring back at him. Corbin made a gesture across his throat with his index finger. Brock’s eyes narrowed, otherwise betraying no response. The exchange lasted a few minutes, interrupted when the crowd went wild.

  Brock’s focus shifted to his two friends’ duel. Cam was standing over Lars, who held his shoulder as he squirmed on the floor. Cam knelt beside his injured friend. A healer ran in, kneeling on the other side of Lars. Less than a minute later, Cam reached out a hand and hauled Lars to his feet. The two clapped each other on the back, and the crowd went wild.

  As his two friends approached, Brock glanced toward Ashland and took a deep breath, finding that feeling of resolve.

  Vandermark took the floor and announced the last two contestants.

  Brock stood, pulling his helmet down over his ears. Cam and Lars clapped him on the back, wishing him luck. Corbin was already halfway to the center, waving to the cheering crowd as he crossed the floor.

  When they reached Vandermark, the headmaster wished them luck and retreated as Budakis approached.

  “You boys know the rules. On the signal, give it your best.” He grinned. “This is it. Win this and you’re fighting in the finals.”

  Brock nodded and took position. When Budakis stepped away, Corbin began his taunting.

  “I’ve been waiting for this, wishing for a chance to crush you publicly.”

  Brock responded, “Be careful what you wish for.”

  “You’re going to feel pain, you little bastard,” Corbin snarled.

  “We’ll see.”

  The bell rang, the crowd erupted and the two rivals launched into action.

  Corbin came in hard, swinging his longsword in a wide arc. Brock blocked the strike and then jabbed at the taller boy’s leg. While Brock connected with Corbin’s thigh, it had minimal effect since it was at the end of the thrust. Corbin’s long reach and long weapon created a greater reach advantage than anyone else Brock had fought.

  Lifting his arm to swing again, Corbin’s arm came down at an angle. Brock twisted and flicked his wrists to swat the strike, redirecting it so it swept past him. Brock swung his staff downward as he jumped back, the butt of the staff scraping Corbin’s forearm and leaving an angry red strea
k.

  Corbin’s face contorted into anger. He lifted his sword high for a killing blow, chopping downward. Brock lifted his staff, bracing both arms for the impact. The longsword struck the center of the staff. A loud crack and clang sounded as Brock staggered backward, white spots invading his vision. He shook his head, blinking to clear the tears from his eyes. His head hurt from the glancing blow to the helmet.

  He looked up just in time to see Corbin’s sword cutting through the air, aimed at his neck. Brock ducked and rolled away to get clear. When he came to his feet, he looked down at the staff, now in two pieces. How did that happen?

  He reversed his grip on each of the staff halves, holding them like two short swords. Luckily, he had some training with the short sword and knew the basic forms.

  He faced Corbin, who had an evil grin on his face. “You’re going down now, boy.”

  Rather than respond, Brock waited for Corbin to attack. He didn’t have to wait long. Corbin took a wide swing, going for another killing blow. Brock dove forward and ducked. As the swing flew over Brock’s head, he stabbed upward, jamming the butt of his shortened staff into Corbin’s groin. He rolled to Corbin’s shield side, away from the reach of his opponent’s sword.

  Regaining his footing, he saw Corbin bent over in pain. Brock released a flurry of left-right strikes with the two staff halves. Corbin held his shield up to block the blows, but took a number of solid hits on the back before he scrambled away.

  Corbin turned toward him, his face in a grimace of pain. After a couple breaths, Corbin’s face contorted in anger. With a roar, he lunged, driving the tip of his longsword at Brock’s chest. Brock twisted, the sword scraping along the fabric of his sparring vest. With Corbin in close, Brock brought his arm around with the butt of the half-staff leading. The staff struck Corbin’s chin, causing his head to snap back. Like a rag doll, he crumbled to the floor.

  Brock stared down at Corbin, panting from the exchange. Time seemed to slow. Corbin didn’t move as blood dripped from his mouth. The Arena was eerily quiet. He glanced at Budakis, who was staring at Corbin. Brock then looked toward the stairs, where he saw Ashland in mid-descent.