No matter. Arianna landed hard on top of the flat side of the weapon, pinning it to the muddy ground, forcing Grinda to relinquish her grip on the axe. Now weaponless, she charged at Arianna who held her swords up high, waiting to slice her open.
Arianna felt a burst of arrogance wash over her, letting her guard down a bit as Grinda neared, unarmed. Bad move, Risso. Was it? Grinda cocked her head to the side, grinning as she withdrew a small but very lethal-looking flail from a sheath at her back. She let the spiked-ball unravel in her hand like an uncoiling snake, the fail glinting in the flickering light of the lanterns.
Arianna staggered, smug feeling gone, when she spotted the remnants of Grinda’s last victim layering the steel. It looked as if she had dipped half of the flail into a bucket of scarlet dye and left it to dry in the sun. “Red Risso, we named you well,” called Arianna over the deafening crowd. Their shouts and screams melted in with the booming thunder, and she couldn’t tell one from the other.
Arianna anticipated the flail being swung towards her face as Grinda advanced with the weapon, but instead, she dived to the ground. Rolling, she let the flail thrash towards Arianna’s legs. With no time to block the surprise attack to her lower body, it slammed hard into her left knee, her leg buckling from the piercing blow.
She fell flat on her back, crying out as the pain shot through her body. Grinda ran towards her, and Arianna’s eyes grew wide as she clutched at her leg, watching Red Risso advance. She recognized the forgotten axe now lashing towards her heart like a tree stump to be hacked open. She heard the intake of breath all around her as the crowed waited anxiously for blood, but she had surprises of her own.
Screaming from the pain it took to emanate enough strength to block the axe, Arianna lifted both swords in protection. Using her feet, she trapped Grinda’s legs between her own, causing her to lose balance and join her in the cold mud.
Arianna limped to her feet, her leg aching as blood trickled down her torn pants. Grinda fumed, wiping the mud from her face as she stood to her feet as well. Pausing for only a moment’s breath, they surveyed each other’s conditions.
Taking the first steps, Grinda dropped the axe and once again grabbed her flail. She twirled it in front of her like a protective shield and closed in on her opponent. Arianna backed away, careful to avoid any more encounters from the spear-headed ball that added her blood to its ranks.
She danced around Grinda with skill, mirroring Solomon’s techniques that gave him such allure during a battle. “Enough of this. Fight me!” said Grinda, her voice challenging even that of the crowd. Arianna continued to dodge her. “Oh, I see. Did the great Solomon Bell forget to teach you how to fight during all of your dance lessons?” Grinda cackled through her teeth.
The moment Grinda broke concentration and began to gloat, Arianna let out a roar of her own, wielding her swords in a motion that entangled the chains of the flail around one of her blades, giving her a clear open shot at Grinda’s center. Thrusting her free sword forward, the steel nibbled her arm, leaving a gash at her shoulder.
Grinda shrieked, covering the wound with one hand. With the other, she yanked the flail towards her so hard that Arianna lost her grip on her own weapon.
It took her a moment to realize what happened as she saw Grinda swinging her sword around the Square, mocking her as she entertained the crowd. Arianna maneuvered well enough with just one sword too, but she felt at odds without her double team, and the shock showed clear on her face.
The drizzle of rain started to come down a little harder now, a clap of thunder shaking the ground under her feet. Determination swept through her as she watched Grinda parade around the Square. I want my sword back. She spun around, bringing her lone sword down hard on its twin in Grinda’s hand. She countered the attack.
They continued, sword-on-sword, for what seemed like ages, matching each other in perfect unison until Arianna decided to alter the game. She spun around in a swift movement, throwing her long leg out so that Grinda’s stomach met her boot with a hard kick. Grinda lurched backwards coughing as she landed on her back, knocking the wind out of her lungs.
Arianna didn’t stop to rest. She leapt into the air, her sword held high above her head, ready to come down on her with a final blow. Grinda sat ready. She grabbed her blood-covered flail from the ground and swung it so that it caught Arianna’s wrist. Before she could lay her sword into Grinda, the spikes burrowed deep into her skin, the chains coiling tight around her arm. She lost her grip on her weapon and on her focus.
Screaming at the pain as she met the hard ground, her voice became lost as it blended in with the chants of the crowd. Grinda recovered from her fall and began plotting her victory.
“Is that all?” she said as she brought her thick leg down heavy on Arianna’s chest.
Arianna cried out again as she felt the ribs crack beneath her skin like ice underfoot. She tried to reach for her sword, but Grinda kicked it away.
“Come on, get up!” shouted Grinda, her laugh sounding over the deafening storm. She danced around her in a circle, relishing in her pain.
The bystanders calmed now, silently waiting for the dramatic ending that seemed so inevitable. Arianna pushed to her hands and feet. From all fours, she could see the blood flowing down her arm. A deep gash opened in her wrist where the spikes ripped her open, and she was shaking. As she stood upright, she clutched at her side, gasping from the pain of her broken ribs.
Lifting her head, rainwater washed over her and cooled her skin. This match was over. Arianna knew when to admit a loss. She’d been trained well in that, but, in front of all of these people, she could not let herself down. Grinda may have taken far fewer blows and controlled the weapons on the field, but Arianna wasn’t going to give up so easily.
With a painful scream, Arianna motivated herself and lunged to the side where she had spotted the forgotten flail in the mud. She grasped for the long wooden handle. The attempt took Grinda by surprise, and she couldn’t act fast enough to stop it.
With great effort, Arianna swung the flail above her head, and released her grip. The weapon flew through the air, slicing the rain in its vicious path towards Grinda’s head. The spiked end caught her on the left cheek, tearing the soft flesh as her head lurched sideways. Grinda screamed in sudden agony and clutched at her face, blood warming her shaking fingertips. Enraged, she raced towards Arianna, weaponless once more.
The rain came down harder now, softening the ground and cleansing their wounds. As their fists and feet pounded each other, the rumbling clouds drowned out the drumming blows of the fist-to-fist battle.
Too late, Arianna saw Grinda’s leg swipe around and land at the side of her head. She felt dizzy and disconcerted as she floated to the ground. When Grinda came to stand over her, Arianna kicked her shin with great force. She fell to her knees, howling from the ache.
A sword lay a few feet in front, and the girls stilled, spotting it at the same time. Side-by-side, they both lunged for it, scraping through the mud.
Grinda moved faster.
She limped up with Arianna’s sword pointed at her chest, and Arianna clenched her fists as she looked up at the sharp end of her weapon. She felt the blood rush to her face. She hated this view.
“Yield,” said Arianna through clenched teeth. The word tasted like acid on her tongue.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” said Grinda. Her mouth twisted up in a sardonic smile.
“I said—”
Before Arianna could mutter the degrading words once more, she felt cool steel slice through her flesh at her stomach.
“Speak up next time,” spat Grinda, withdrawing the blade from her belly, dripping with fresh blood. Grinda tossed it to the side, looking up to the black sky as the rain washed over her face.
Arianna’s head spun in circles from the agony. She heard someone screaming in the distance, but then recognized her own voice. She curled to her side, trying to relieve the pain as a river of warm blood poured from her body.<
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Faces whirled about her, but who? She couldn’t recognize any. The red of the cloaks swirled together making her nauseous. Faintly, she heard people cheering in the background and General Ivo dismissing the crowd. Her stomach lurched at a sudden movement. She felt as if the earth had flung her to the sky in a painful heave, and, for a moment, everything went black.
“Arianna! Arianna… can you hear me? Hold on.” The voice seemed far away, but it called for her, she could tell. It seemed familiar somehow as the blackness blurred back into color.
“Liam?” She could barely form the word on her lips.
“Yes, I’m here, Ara. Don’t worry. I’m going to make this right.” He wrapped her cloak around her, lifting her to the safety of his strong arms.
“I’m not worried,” she replied in a slur. She felt the rain pounding against her face. The throbbing at her side kept causing her to go in and out of a dark consciousness. She struggled to breathe through the pain, and her head lolled over his arm. She spotted her blood in a long trail behind them, and everything turned black again.
“Bring her here! Hold on, dear!” shouted another muffled voice.
Cyn? She tried to form the name on her lips, but her voice never came out.
The rain stopped, and a warm light filtered through her bruised eyelids. Faces blurred about and cold hands ran over her skin. Soft, muted voices buzzed around in her ears, bouncing around her jumbled skull.
“Set her down here. Carefully now… gently, please,” said Cyn.
“Can you hear me?” said a man.
“Solomon?” Arianna reached blindly with her one uninjured arm.
“I’m right here,” he said, sweeping her hair from her face. “Cyn, get over here! I’m losing her. Liam, get Noah out of here! We can handle this.”
The voices whirled and blurred around in her clouded mind. She struggled in desperation to hold on to some clarity, but she couldn’t find the strength.
“Solomon.”
“Yes? I’m right here, Ara.” She felt his hand grasp hers.
“This feels like a dream. You were right…” Her voice trailed off, back into the blackness of her mind.
Her eyelids closed, too burdened to shed even a single tear, and the voices disappeared as her hand dropped from his. Outside the storm grew wild and ferocious as the rain continued to pour.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE BATTLE
“Of course I’m telling the truth, Talis! Now you must come quickly. There isn’t much time,” pleaded Solomon. His dark skin blended into the night, and his eyes glowed intense with every word.
“Master Bell, this is neither the time nor place for such talk,” said a man, scanning for onlookers from the entrance of his home. “Please… it’s best you go now,” he whispered and closed the door.
Solomon pounded his fists on the wood, demanding to be let in, but the man behind the door would not oblige. He began to pace, back and forth, clutching at his face under the rain turned snow. With every passing moment, the anger of a great warrior began to build up inside of him.
He paused in front of the door, contemplating his options for only an instant, and then a flicker of fire passed through his heart. In one swift movement he lifted his foot and, with all of his strength, slammed it onto the wood panel of the door. Without hesitation, the door crashed open in a cloud of splintered wood, tearing a gash where the lock used to latch.
The man jumped up from his chair. “Have you lost your mind!?”
Solomon burst into the house, now standing in a large common area. A few chairs were seated around a fire, and Solomon saw more doors at the far wall.
“Talis Churry… what has become of you, my friend?” Solomon lost his fury in one glance at the man’s terrified face. He pushed the door closed and lowered himself into a plush chair across from him. The room felt comforting with only the fire for light, the walls a soft golden brown, and the subtle scent of jasmine lingering in the air.
For a moment, Talis only stared, unmoving. Then, he seated himself near the fire pit where flames licked at the wood of soon-to-be ashes. Talis, a short man with wavy, silvery hair down to his shoulders, kept his eyes locked on the fire. It illuminated his sunken face and the shadows under his eyes.
His pink skin wrinkled, but his eyes suggested a much younger age, the same cerulean blue as the lining of his white robes. The long velvet dragged on the floor, causing the fabric to turn brown at the bottom.
“That was long ago, Solomon,” he said after a while. “That past is behind us now. What brings you here? How did you come to find me?” Talis stroked his thick, graying mustache.
“Fate has led me to your doorstep tonight, old friend. I wasn’t searching for you, yet here I am. Your door happened to be the first healer I called upon. I’m in as much disbelief as you!”
“Please, spare—”
“I will not. How can you deny the path we’ve been set on tonight?” Solomon leaned forward in the chair.
Talis pushed himself onto his feet, still facing the fire pit with his hands pulled behind his back. “Fate has not been kind to me, so I’ve no faith in her.” He spoke in a whisper, pausing to warm his small hands near the flames. They looked blackened and scarred but steady nonetheless. Solomon stood and came to place his hands on Talis’ shoulders.
“And to I?” Solomon lowered his head. “She has shown little mercy, but now I can see the light. Talis, please—”
“No.”
“You must listen! I’m in dire need of your help,” said Solomon, his face contorting as he slumped back down in the chair.
Talis waved his hand for silence, and Solomon quieted, his face turning sullen. “This girl you speak of… your apprentice. Do you honestly believe she’s worth all the trouble?” he asked. His eyes narrowed, searching for a hint of folly in Solomon’s expression.
“I do,” said Solomon. His lips set in a firm line.
“And that is to say that the rumors speak a truth. This we don’t know for certain, Solomon,” he said, avoiding his burning scrutiny. He relaxed back in his chair and took a sip of the steaming tea he had brewed earlier.
“It’s no rumor, and we’re living proof of that! There are people organizing, people like us who are just waiting for the right time. You know this.” Solomon’s voice turned cold as he clutched to the arms of the chair. Rising from his seat, he took a step towards him with fists clenched at his sides.
Talis looked up from his tea, shaking his head. “And how can you be so sure there’ll ever be a right time?” said Talis, not intimidated in the least.
“That story is much too long for a time like this.” Solomon bent down to kneel at Talis’ feet, taking his hand in his. He demanded his full attention with a look of agony stitched on his face. “Brother, please. Show me your courage. We need all the help we can get, and she’s… special. I can feel it in my heart. You must trust me on this.”
Talis lowered his head, taking another drink.
“There’s still hope out there,” continued Solomon. “She’s reminded me of that.
“Yet you tell me she lies on her deathbed? Humph,” Talis pursed his lips.
“There’s still good in this world, and I made a vow to protect what little is left. As did you! You must remember what we fight for,” said Solomon. His eyes softened a little as he remembered something distant.
“Fight for?” Talis relinquished Solomon’s hold and shouted, “I fight for nothing now. That past is behind me! I won’t help you.” He tore his eyes away only to get lost again in the dying fire, the flames reflecting in his glassy stare.
“Then you’re a coward,” replied Solomon as he rose to his feet. He looked like a giant hovering over a child. “I know your soul is calling for retribution just like mine. Turning your face away from the battle can win no war!”
“I’m running from nothing. This is my life now. I’m retired, Solomon. You’re retired. We shouldn’t trifle with these things anymore,” he said.
; “Look around you,” said Solomon. “Your past is your present, and your present is your past. We’re all slaves in a world where children are taken from their mothers and caged at birth. Don’t you remember the Hell you faced when you were considered a number within these mountains?” His voice began a steady rise as he unleashed all of his fury and pain. He added, “You may have earned your rights and your citizenship to the Olleb, but for what? Nothing’s changed. The horrors are just being relived for us by others now. Is this the life you imagined then?”
Talis shook his head. “This life is void of anything worth fighting for. I know we tried our hand at uncovering some good, but we aren’t young anymore. The hand we’ve been dealt is luxurious compared to what others have suffered. It’s time you accept the inevitable and stop chasing old fairytales,” he said with a wave of his hand.
Contempt took over Solomon’s pained expression, and all of the muscles in his body tensed. “No, Talis, it is time you accepted the inevitable. Olleb-Yelfra struggles, and we cannot turn our backs on her. Not when she has entrusted us with so much power. You’re still strong! Please, look to your soul. Do what is asked of you. Our land has suffered enough,” said Solomon. He grabbed Talis by the shoulders and shook him violently as if to will the sense into him. “Our fate is now.”
“I’m so sorry, but I can’t, I won’t. I wish for no trouble,” he choked. He pushed away Solomon’s hands with weak effort.
Solomon straightened his back. “Well, trouble has found you.”
“Is that a threat?” Talis asked, standing to his feet. His fingers twitched by his side. Solomon met his stance. He stood much taller, but something fierce shone in Talis’ eyes evening them out.
“I mean, Talis, you owe me this favor,” said Solomon, his voice thick with fervor.
In an instant, he unsheathed the double-swords at his back. The silver of the blades curved, and an inscription glimmered in the light of the fire. He brought the serrated metal a pinch away from Talis’ neck, holding the jeweled hilt with two steady hands, unmovable.
Belvedor and the Four Corners (Belvedor Saga Book 1) Page 6
