Mad Wolf stomped his ribs, kicked his groin, punched his face.
Dyphestive tried to crawl away only to have Mad Wolf grab his ankle and twist it until bone gave away. Snap!
“Aaaaaargh!” he cried out.
The barbarian stuffed a fist in his throat and continued to rip him to pieces.
Hold on! Fight back!
In the recesses of his mind, he remembered what Hercullon had told him. “You don’t have to beat him. You have to outlast him.”
Mad Wolf grabbed him in a one-armed chokehold. He dragged Dyphestive up the rocks in the center of the arena where everyone could watch him beat the young warrior mercilessly.
“Get out of there!” Grey Cloak screamed. He’d never seen his brother suffer so much. Mad Wolf was tearing him apart like cooked chicken. He started to climb over the wall.
Tula grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “You can’t do that! They’ll all rip you apart.”
“I’m not going to watch him die!”
“Have faith. Your brother is strong. Believe in him,” Tula urged.
“What do you know about it?” He pushed her away. “I’ll do what I have to do. I’ll do it my way.” He lifted the scarf over his nose and vanished.
Without a word, he jumped the wall and landed in the arena. He glanced up and saw Tula look right at him, disappointment in her eyes. He ran to save his brother, but an unseen force lifted him off his feet.
“Uh, what’s happening, boss?” Streak asked in his ear. “Are we flying?”
Grey Cloak swam in the air. The unseen force pulled him back toward the wall and placed him in his spot beside Tula.
She yanked his scarf down. “You need to listen to your elders!”
He reappeared, but no one in the stands of raving people took notice. “Why did you do that?” he yelled. “And how did you do that?”
She wiggled a potion in front of his face. “You missed one. Well, maybe two.”
Grey Cloak clenched his jaw, turned away, and watched Mad Wolf pound Dyphestive’s face into the rocks. “If he dies, I’ll bury you.”
Mad Wolf ripped Dyphestive’s mask off. He slung the bloody rag down, put Dyphestive in a headlock, and let out a bloodcurdling howl.
Immense pressure built in Dyphestive’s skull. His heart beat in his ears, and the world began to turn black. Hang on. Fight back.
Mad Wolf ramped up the pressure.
Dyphestive’s ears popped. His neck muscles tightened like steel bars. He thrust his head back. Reaching behind him, he pried Mad Wolf’s iron fingers from his neck. He battled on through excruciating pain.
One at a time.
He grabbed one finger and bent it back until it cracked. He hooked another appendage and twisted away.
Mad Wolf howled. He forced Dyphestive’s neck farther down.
Dyphestive pushed his head back and flexed his shoulders. “Aaaaaaargh!”
Mad Wolf matched his intensity with boundless strength.
Dyphestive fought on. “Grrrrrrrrrrr!” He matched savagery with savagery, breaking another finger.
Without warning, Mad Wolf slammed Dyphestive down onto the stone.
“No!” Dyphestive drew his knee underneath him. He tried to stand on both feet, disregarding his bad ankle. “No!”
Mad Wolf’s strong grasp started to fade. Dyphestive’s inner fire turned on. He busted out of Mad Wolf’s arms. The barbarian’s limbs sagged. The veins in his arms faded. His jaw hung open and his chest heaved. He wobbled on his legs. The berserker’s eyes cooled.
Dyphestive walloped Mad Wolf in the gut. The man doubled over. A hard uppercut knocked the savage off his feet, sending him flying off the top rock, where he crashed in the snow.
It was over. Dyphestive had outlasted the berserker’s rage. Though his body ached all over, he still had some fight in him.
The crowd chanted, “Death! Death! Death! Death!”
He caught Dirklen and Magnolia staring at him. They spoke to one another and pointed. He reached down, picked up his mask, and put it on. Then he turned, faced the Wolves in the Rock, and gave them a thumbs down.
The crowd erupted like a volcano.
29
“I told you he would prevail,” Tula said.
Grey Cloak caught his breath. “How could you know? And how can you see me when I’m invisible?”
“I told you before. I have a strong sense of such things.”
“Well, we aren’t out of the bonfire yet. He still has to finish off Mad Wolf. He won’t do it.” Grey Cloak frowned.
“How can you be sure?”
“I know him.”
“They won’t let him out of there alive,” Tula said. “If he doesn’t kill the barbarian, he’ll surely die.”
“No need for the reminder. I know what’s coming.” Grey Cloak had caught Dirklen and Magnolia fastening their gazes on Dyphestive the moment Mad Wolf had pulled the hood off. They were still talking and appeared to have shared the information with their father, Commander Shaw. “We might have a problem.”
Tula followed his eyes. “Oh, the Riskers. Yes, they’re always a problem. Wherever they go, treachery follows.”
“I’m sure you know a lot about treachery.”
Hercullon Culpepper rose, and the people quieted.
“White Ice Slayer, you must finish the battle, or you will be finished yourself.”
“Finish him. Finish him. Finish him,” the crowd chanted quietly.
Dyphestive shook his head. “I won’t kill an already-defeated man. If you want to finish him, you will have to finish him yourself.”
“I told you he wouldn’t kill him,” Grey Cloak said.
“Listen to me. You’re the champion. This is the rule. When you agree to fight, you agree to fight to the death. It has always been so, and can be no other way,” stated Hercullon. “You dishonor your opponent. You dishonor the arena. Finish him.”
“You are the ruler. Change the rules,” Dyphestive said.
One of the barbarians stood up among his kin. He wore a cap of black wolf fur that matched his jet-black hair and beard. He spoke with a biting tongue and authority. “What is wrong with your dog’s tongue, Hercullon? If he does not finish it, you forfeit!”
The barbarians shouted, “Aye!”
“Silence, Black Wolf! He’s my champion. I’ll do the talking,” Hercullon fired back.
“To live would be to live without honor. My son won’t live like that!” Black Wolf drew his sword. “Have your champion finish the contest, forfeit, or you will have war on your hands!”
“There must be a better way to end this contest.” Grey Cloak studied the prickly atmosphere.
The citizens were on the edge of their seats with nervous looks in their eyes. Many of them started to sneak out.
“What must be done, must be done,” Tula said. “It’s nearly impossible to change such traditions. Besides, Black Wolf wants to be the ruler of Ice Vale. He’s always wanted it for himself.”
Black Wolf spoke. “What is it going to be, Hercullon? Do you forfeit?” He tapped his blade against the palm of his hand. “Or do you die?”
Hercullon pulled back his shoulders and held his head high. “My champion is right. Enough blood has been shed in the arena. We have a clear victor.” He pointed at Dyphestive. “And it is him! Go back to your hills, Black Wolf. The day is done. Take your champion with you, so you can fight again.”
“Interesting. Perhaps cooler heads will prevail,” Tula commented.
Sandal Culpepper rose and stood by her husband, as did her daughter.
Grey Cloak smirked. “I think you might be right.”
In the wink of a lash, Sandal’s eyes switched to that of a serpent’s. She plunged a dagger between Hercullon’s ribs and smiled, a snake tongue flicking out of her mouth.
Hercullon fell back into his seat.
Black Wolf raised his steel. “Wolves, attack!”
“Noooooooo!” Dyphestive watched in horror as Sandal stabbed her hu
sband and turned the blade.
Hercullon’s eyes grew big. He sank back into his seat.
For a moment, a hush fell over the pie-eyed people, who soaked in the assassination. Their shocked faces turned to anger.
The howling Wolves from the Rocks came.
It all came together in Dyphestive’s mind. Hercullon’s enemies had no intention of letting him live out the day, win or lose. His time to rule had come to an end.
The people fled for the tunnels.
Homestead Guardians moved quickly and blocked the advance of the barbarians charging through the stands. Metal clashed against metal. Axes came up and went down. The guardians were fewer in numbers. Soon, they would be slaughtered.
Dyphestive stood on one bad leg, searching the stands for his brother. He found something else. Commander Shaw’s fingertips glowed with white fire. Tendrils of energy blasted into the fleeing people of Ice Vale.
The middling dragons in the southern hills shot streams of flame that swallowed the people in fire. Fur and skin turned to ash. Greasy smoke rolled into the sky. The grand dragons took flight, heading toward the town. They would turn the entire settlement into flames if someone didn’t stop them.
“Nooooo!” Dyphestive witnessed peace come to an end.
War had arrived, and no one had seen it coming. The peaked Hercullon sagged in his throne, his chin against his chest. The days of the Culpeppers were over.
30
Dyphestive stood alone in the arena on a broken ankle. The barbarians swarmed the stands. Innocent citizens fled the slaughter. Stalwart guardians battled for their lives.
Grey Cloak soaked it in.
“Ice Vale is lost,” Tula said. “We must find safety.”
“No.” Grey Cloak calculated the odds of survival. “If I know my brother, he won’t go anywhere.” He watched the Riskers and their dragons crawl into the top levels of the arena and attack. “We have to stop this.”
“You’re mad!”
Grey Cloak pressed a healing vial into her palm. “Take this to Hercullon. You might be able to save him. Find a way to get him to safety.”
“What are you going to do?”
He tapped the Rod of Weapons against his temple. “I’ll think of something. Now go.”
He set his eyes on Commander Shaw. The older Risker used wizard fire to mow through people in his way as he marched, with his son and daughter by his side, toward the top of the arena. Their grand dragons returned and landed in the rocks. The three of them climbed back onto their beasts, who launched into flight.
“Ha!” Grey Cloak watched them soar higher. “They have other plans.” He searched for his brother. “Dyphestive!”
Dyphestive climbed down the rocks. He fell to the ground, landing with a grimace. “What?”
“Can you walk?”
“No, but I can hop.”
Barbarians tossed their weapons into the arena and climbed into the pit. With bloodlust in their eyes, they snatched up their weapons and raced toward Dyphestive.
Grey Cloak leaned over the arena wall. “You aren’t going to outrun them! Come this way. Hurry!”
Dyphestive hopped toward him.
“Streak, buy us some time, will you?” Grey Cloak asked.
Streak crawled up onto Grey Cloak’s head and spread his wings. “Gladly.” He dove into the arena, sped toward the barbarians, and unleashed a stream of fire.
The barbarians were consumed in flame. Weapons bared, they kept running toward Dyphestive, screaming their lungs out. With bodies on fire, and skin peeling from their flesh, they attacked.
Streak backtracked and zoomed by Grey Cloak. “Those men are crazy. I better give them another blast.”
The flaming savages descended on Dyphestive, but their speed slowed, and some fell along the way. One of the barbarians carried a battle axe. His back was on fire, and he attacked with reckless abandon, bringing the weapon down.
Dyphestive grabbed the axe handle and leveled the warrior with a hard punch in the jaw. The barbarian lay on the ground, knocked out and burning. “I’ll be fine.” Dyphestive wrist-spun the axe. He set his eyes on another coming wave. “There’s only a score or so.”
The barbarians were busting through the guardians’ defenses and making their way toward Grey Cloak. They would overtake him in moments. His brother would be overrun. With nowhere to turn, he jumped into the arena.
Tula rushed to Hercullon’s side and found Dinah Culpepper trying to bandage his wound with a ceremonial towel. She saw no sign of Sandal or the chameleon that had taken her form.
“Let me help,” Tula said.
Dinah shoved her back. “Get away from him. I don’t know you!”
Hercullon gave a ragged sigh. His broad face turned ashen, and his eyes were bloodshot with black around the rims.
“Listen to me. He bleeds, and he’s been poisoned. I have something that might remedy that.” She showed the vial of mending. “I’m giving this to you. Whether or not you choose to use it is up to you.”
“My father would rather die than use magic. A true warrior can survive on his own.”
Tula grabbed Dinah’s wrist and squeezed it. “Watch your father die then!”
Hercullon coughed. Fresh blood spattered his lips.
“Father, forgive me.” Dinah sobbed, twisting the wax seal from the bottle.
Sandal Culpepper came out of nowhere and dove at her daughter, screeching at the top of her lungs in a man’s voice, “Noooo!”
The women rolled down the benches in a tangle of limbs. They tumbled to the bottom of the stands, pulling each other’s hair out.
Tula watched with bated breath as the potion vial fell from Dinah’s fingers. It bounced on the bench and was kicked down the seats by the panicked crowd. She squeezed Hercullon’s cold hand. “Hang on, strong one!”
The vial lay on a bench three rows down. A stampede of screaming people raced straight for it.
She dove with her fingers stretched out. The tips of her fingers grazed the vial and knocked it down between the rows. She covered the spot with her body.
People ran right over her.
“Oof! Ugh!” she groaned. “Oh! Who is wearing heels in this sort of weather?” Banged up and bruised, Tula crawled out of her position. She spotted the vial and snatched it from the ground.
Sandal had Dinah pinned beneath her. A long, forked tongue shot out of Sandal’s mouth and wrapped around Dinah’s throat. The daughter of Hercullon choked and gagged.
“Chameleon!” Tula shouted. She held out the vial. “Looking for this?”
The chameleon punched Dinah in the face and released her. He stood and transformed into the man they called Lorry. He swept his greasy hair away from his serpentine eyes. “Let me have it, thief.” He advanced up the steps. “Hercullon must die so we can all live. Stay out of this and be on the victorious side, or die with the conquered.”
Tula nodded. “Is there any money in it for me?”
“More than you can imagine,” Lorry the chameleon said.
“Perfect.” Tula tossed the vial high in the air.
Lorry’s snake eyes glanced up.
Tula opened her mouth, and flames consumed the chameleon.
He burned alive, squalling and screaming, transforming into countless shapes and forms. “Fire cannot kill me!” Lorry shouted. “Your ruse is your doom—urk!”
Dinah Culpepper shoved her dagger into his back.
Tula caught the potion. Her flames from the fire-breathing potion went out. “Perfect timing.” She watched the lights go out in Lorry the chameleon’s eyes. He fell in a heap of flames. She tossed the vial to Dinah. “Give this to your father, quick.”
“Thank you.” Dinah bounded up the rows toward her father.
Tula turned toward the shouts and screams. Dragons and Riskers came from above, and barbarians closed in from below. She took a deep breath. “This is going to be messy. Should I stay or go? What’s an elf to do?”
31
“Take th
is.” Grey Cloak offered Dyphestive a potion vial.
They had their backs to the wall, and the barbarians were closing in.
Dyphestive took it in hand. “What is it?”
“A mending potion. Hurry!” He stood in front of his brother and fired up the tip of the Rod of Weapons.
The Wolves from the Rock slowed their charge and came forward, weapons out and crouching down.
“Bottoms up!” Dyphestive guzzled it down. “Do you think it will fix my ankle?”
“It should fix anything.” He spun his weapon around and gave a warning. “Back up, savages, or I’ll make your skulls explode!” He fired a ball of energy into the nearest one.
The barbarian jumped ten feet backward and rolled on the ground.
Streak dropped out of the sky and shot flames from his mouth, setting three barbarians on fire.
They rolled through the snow, fighting the fire that ate their flesh.
“I can’t do this all day!” he said as he flew over the brothers. “You might want to come up with a better plan. There’s too many!”
Three barbarians rushed forward.
Dyphestive stepped in front of his brother. “I’ll handle this.”
He cocked back his axe and turned into a sideways swing. His blade passed right through the barbarians and their blades passed right through him. They continued to attack one another in an onslaught, but no one was hitting a thing.
“Grey Cloak, what’s happening?”
Grey Cloak blocked a barbarian’s sword chop on his staff. He punched the spear end into the wild warrior’s chest. “I think I gave you the wrong potion.”
Dyphestive stood in the midst of the attacking horde, looking at himself. “What did you give me?”
“Apparition!” Grey Cloak leapt over the heads of three barbarians in a single bound. “You’re a ghost now.”
“Interesting. But how am I supposed to fight?”
Barbarian Backlash: Dragon Wars - Book 14 of 20: An Epic Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Adventure Series Page 10
