The Duelist

by Eric Vall

  “Hey, you’re the only one for me, Prosper, don’t be jealous,” I chuckled as we flew in a spiraling loop to the top of the eight-sided spire rising up in the center of the arena. The top of the spire had a pointed top that made the whole thing look like the Washington Monument in D.C.

  Because my stall and rider number was twenty-five, it made it easy for me to find the gated ledge where we were supposed to perch and wait for the cannon that signified the start of the race.

  I made another mental note to thank Shay for preparing me for the procession of things in the little packet she sent with Roofus, so I wasn’t just flailing around with no clue on what to do.

  In fact, this was the part I read about that I was looking forward to the most.

  After all the riders entered their narrow stalls, the whole floor of the arena rotated on some massive gear/turntable mechanism with a roaring rumble that matched the crowd.

  All the gates slid shut as the spire elevated even higher so we were at eye-level with the eight spectator stands and their multiple balconies equally spaced around the arena like the stands at the Kentucky Derby. But instead of a dirt race track, there was about a one-hundred story drop straight down to the stone ground.

  No big deal.

  I patted Prosper, and he whistled in a tone that at least sounded confident.

  “You’re my pal, Props,” I said and then reached for the stone torch thing on the hook next to me when it started to glow.

  The glowing was the signal that meant the cannon was about to fire, so I took a deep breath. When the race officially began, the riders would jockey for position for eight laps to represent lighting the eight beacons on each isle.

  Then, on the last lap, the pointed top of the spire would unfold each of its eight sides and rain down some sort of colored chalk that if you were caught in, you were disqualified from winning.

  The person to escape being covered in chalk and to cross the finish line with their torch first was the winner.

  Finally, the gates lowered with a clank at the same time as the cannon thundered, and Prosper and leapt out of the narrow stall and took to the sky.

  “Up, buddy!” I cried out as our equilibrium wobbled before we found our stride.

  Last time Shay and I practiced, I was able to get to the point where I didn’t need the verbal commands, but it had been a while since then, so I wanted to at least get us into the fray before we tried anything fancy.

  As it was, Prosper and I had to dodge a gale of galloping hooves as the twenty-four other riders spiraled up to the main track.

  A kick to the head was the last thing I needed right now, and Prosper cantered through the air at an awkward gait.

  “Come on, focus!” I shouted at myself, but it seemed like my mount took the command seriously because his movements became more fluid. “Good boy, now, forward!”

  And then we were back in the saddle again, no pun intended.

  The wind rushed past me and whipped my hair back, and I noted how Prosper’s antennae fanned out on his head and provided me with a little windshield. It was such a tit-for-tat type of symbiosis, and it reminded me that the canterfly was my partner, not my vehicle.

  “If we win, I will give you all the ash-roots you can eat-- right!” I screamed, and we dodged a rider with a yellow-winged canterfly that almost sideswiped us.

  We course-corrected by diving down and streaking under the yellow-winged rider until we could pop up right in front of him and sprint forward.

  “Yeah!” I whooped as Prosper trumpeted and went faster. “Get ready to eat your weight in purple carrots, my friend!”

  Prosper steered us around the left side of a tan and black-winged rider and tossed his head. Then an image of a pretty white canterfly filly with gray-glass wings popped into my head.

  “You want a girlfriend?” I chuckled and then flattened my body as my mount squeezed us between two dappled riders with scarlet and orange wings.

  We wriggled through them right as the cannon signaled the second lap.

  “If you win this for us, I will give you a whole stable of fillies,” I promised.

  Prosper whistled like he’d just hit the jackpot and pushed us past three more riders.

  Now, there were only about a dozen riders in front of us, and I could see that fucking brown feathered ponytail neck and neck for fourth place just as the cannon boomed and the third lap started.

  It looked believable at first, but then I remembered what Shay said about how her father paid off all the riders to throw the race, which made it all an act.

  He really was a conniving bitch, and I urged my mount to take us faster on the inside of the ring.

  Just as the cannon boomed for the fourth lap, Prosper and I were rammed in the side by a chestnut canterfly with neon green wings. Then the rider on the back swerved closer and kicked me in the side.

  I gasped as the wind got knocked out of me, and I glared at the rider with a blue crane’s crest and a sharp mean smile.

  Ren, who was now in fourth place and gaining on third, glanced back at me over his shoulder. I could see his nasty smirk from here, and I realized the fucking cheater probably added his own lackeys to the mix and ordered them to take me out if they could.

  Fat fucking chance of that.

  The blue-crane rider came at Prosper and me for a second time. We rocketed upward at the last second, and I was able to kick the asshole in the shoulder so he had to regain his balance.

  We left him in the dust as the cannon boomed again, and I flattened my body even lower over my mount so we could be as aerodynamic as possible.

  It was already the fifth lap, and there were still nine people between me and first place.

  “Let’s kick it up, buddy!” I said, and Prosper’s antennae fluttered as another image entered my mind. “Wait, you want to do what?”

  The maneuver the butterfly pegasus suggested we do was insane, but at the same time, the fifth lap was halfway-over, and we needed to do something to shrink the gap.

  Not to mention, if it worked it would put us in fifth place, two spots behind Ren.

  “Alright, you crazy bastard, let’s do it,” I said to him and held on as he surged forward.

  Prosper whistled and then wove like a bat out of hell from our position inside the pack to the outer edge. Before we could be scraped into one of the spectator stands by another one of Ren’s paid goons, the butterfly pegasus rocketed upward and then did a barrel roll that arced us over the middle of the pack and plunked us right down into fifth place.

  “Holy shit, it worked!” I cackled just as the cannon signaled the sixth lap. “Let’s go for keeps, Prosper!”

  There were only two laps left, and suddenly it was like we were playing a different game.

  A dirty game rife with blatant cheating as the rider in second immediately conceded his place to Ren and then dropped back to gang up on me with the guy in fourth.

  The pair of riders came at me from both directions, and Prosper’s instinct was to try and outrun them, but I tugged on his reins and tried to send him the idea I had.

  I could somehow feel that the butterfly pegasus was skeptical, but we didn’t have many options, and we were about to be tenderized meat.

  But my partner in crime gave in and trusted me, and just before the two riders made impact, my noble steed and I dropped like a stone, so Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum smashed into each other and spun away like croquet balls.

  “Yes!” I cheered as we jetted through the start of the seventh and second to the last lap.

  Ren had pulled ahead into first place, and there was just one other person between his stupid ponytail and me.

  Prosper and I pulled up behind the rider in second place and were soundly blocked from trying to get around the mount with yellow wings. The rider, a mean-faced weasel man, pulled something out of his pocket and lobbed it at me.

  “Hey!” I shouted at the rat bastard as a spiked iron ball whistled past my head.

  Prosper’s an
tennae wavered, and I grinned when another image appeared inside my mind.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” I said with a dark kind of glee, and then the two of us exploded into action.

  The next time the little shit tried to throw something at me again, I used my stone torch as a baseball bat and knocked it back where it came from.

  Then, when the weasel-man had to scramble to avoid the projectile, Prosper and I came right up next to him and his mount and slammed him the rest of the way off-kilter.

  He screamed when he was unseated from his canterfly, and I didn’t even spare him a glance as we raced through the eighth and final cannon.

  The grinding gear mechanism thundered through the air, and the first cloud of red chalk exploded over the racers as the first side of the eight-sided pyramid unfolded from the spire.

  This was it. The last lap, and Ren was so close I could almost snatch that sprig of hair right off his head.

  Prosper huffed as we slammed into Ren’s right flank, and then the two of us stayed glued together as the second side fell and a cloud of orange rose into the air to mingle with the red.

  The crowd roared in excitement to almost deafening heights.

  Ren tried to shove me off my saddle, and I kicked him away as much as I could.

  Unseating me was one thing, but all it would take to win the race was just to get the stone torch to cross the line first, so I tried to focus on gaining the edge as the third side fell and yellow was added to the air.

  “I will kill you, Brightwood!” Ren growled and slammed me twice with his large copper canterfly that looked like it was more bred for power and not speed.

  The fourth side of the spire slammed down as it released a bright green plume of chalk, and Ren tried to reach for something tucked close to his side.

  Slam went the fifth side, and then the sixth as my foe and I continued to jockey for first place.

  Finally, Ren was able to pull whatever it was free from his belt, and I saw the flash of a dagger just in time to pull Prosper away before the arrogant eagle-man could slash at my mount’s orange and black wing.

  This caused us to fall behind a little, but I could feel the determined energy vibrating between us on a feedback loop until I couldn’t tell who wanted to kick Ren’s ass more, me or Prosper.

  So, when the seventh side of the spire’s pyramid unfolded and the sight of gold chalk glittered in the corner of my eye, I knew it was now or never.

  The finish line was less than a quarter-mile away, so I gripped my stone torch, extended my arm as far as it would go, and urged my faithful canterfly forward.

  I crashed into Ren and his mount so we were neck-and-neck again, and I extended my whole body so my torch was stretched as far as it would go.

  The eagle-man shot a glance at me, and a look of concern finally scrunched up his sour face as if he was beginning to realize he could actually fail. He held his torch out, too, just as the last side of the spire’s pyramid slammed down in a plume of silver.

  “Come on!” I gritted through clenched teeth and practically dislocated my shoulder from its socket.

  With a sizzling flash, I soared past the finish line, and the torch in my hand went from its dull blue glow to something that went off like a giant Fourth of July sparkler.

  Hell.

  To.

  The.

  Yeah.

  The crowd went insane with their cheers, and at first, I simply grinned at the lit torch in my hand.

  “No!” Ren screamed and threw down his dead torch like a toddler having a tantrum.

  I could tell the bastard wanted to duck out with his tail between his legs so he could lick his wounds, but the next part of the event prevented him from leaving.

  A heralding series of horns and trumpets echoed around the arena, and all the surviving riders dusted and spattered with various colors started to fly toward the spire’s platform. One by one, they distributed themselves on the lowered sides of the eight-sided pyramid.

  I took my cue as well and brought the sparkling torch to the opened-up pyramid and landed Prosper in the center, where a giant metal brazier was waiting for me to set it alight.

  The ram-lord of Nata Isle glided down on a majestic canterfly of pure black just as I dismounted Prosper.

  “Our Icarian Champion!” Mec thundered louder than the cannon, and the masses of people in the raised spectator stalls cheered. Then he jumped down from the black canterfly and strode toward me with a broad grin. “Will you light the Beacon for the Isle of Nata?”

  “I shall, Lord Asher,” I said in the formal way Shay instructed me, and then I walked my torch up to the brazier so I could light it.

  I dropped the sparkling thing inside, and the oil in the giant iron bowl structure immediately ignited into an inferno of blue flame.

  “What will you have me bequeath you, Champion? Treasures? Land? Women…?” The shaggy-haired ram-lord clasped me on the shoulder and waggled his eyebrows good-naturedly. “Name what you will have, and it shall be yours.”

  “Thank you for the honor, Lord Mec,” I said so the formalities could be taken care of. “The only thing I would like you to give me is an audience.”

  “Of course, lad!” he said and then gestured to the arena at large. “You have all of our attention. What is it you wish to say?

  I inhaled a deep cleansing breath as I felt for that seed-pod focus to ground me and clear my mind.

  “I would like everyone present to witness Alex Brightwood challenge Asher Bala Ren for the rights of his fourth-ranked status, and all of his assets and property,” I called out in a loud voice that seemed to resonate deep inside my bones.

  “What?” the golden-eagle man screeched from the right.

  “In the true Duelist spirit,” Mec said in a serious voice as he nodded his big head. “It is very auspicious you have chosen to enact the Rite. What is the chosen weapon, challenger?”

  Ren glared between the two of us as his jaw clenched and unclenched with speechless rage.

  “You can’t be serious,” he finally sputtered out.

  “I challenge you, Ren, how do you want to fight?” I asked with a sneer just to rile the dick-bag up.

  “Tch.” He clicked his teeth and jumped down from his mount. Then he smiled at me in a way that was clear he thought he was smarter than me, and I checked that off my list as Big Fat Mistake Number One.

  “What say you?” the horned-man said to Ren with an expectant look on his noble face.

  “I choose swords,” Ren declared.

  Big Fat Mistake Number Two.

  “Then let the Duel begin!” Mec raised his fists up into the air as he swept back to the sidelines.

  The spectators chanted their familiar one-word chant that had started everything from the moment I got here.

  Duel. Duel. Duel.

  Ren pulled out his poisoned sword with a serrated piranha’s grin, and I unsheathed my herald blade as I slowly circled the man.

  The grip on the hilt molded against my palm more perfectly than I remembered, and I held it at the ready.

  “You are a fool, and I will take great pleasure in breaking you just like I do my animals,” the eagle-man hissed, and his cruel copper eyes blazed just as brightly as the flaming beacon.

  “I heard that’s not all you do with your animals,” I baited with a raised eyebrow, and I tried not to laugh at the way his face turned white with rage.

  “Die, scourge-mite!” Ren screamed and lunged at me with his cutlass.

  I knocked his blade away from where it was aimed at my right shoulder and danced back. Then I parried a second strike aimed for my head with that clever trick Zoie taught me yesterday.

  Instead of simply blocking or dodging, I took a step toward him so I could displace the trajectory of his strike, and then I pushed him away.

  The eagle-man came back and raised his sword again, but this time, when I tried to parry, he feinted and then kicked me in the gut.

  I gasped for air as my back hit
the ground, but I had no time to catch my breath when Ren tried to bring his sword down on me with two hands.

  I rolled away as the poisoned cutlass sparked off the stone platform.

  “You really think you can beat me?” He barked a harsh laugh. “And if you do, you think you will be satisfied with my wife? You obviously don’t know much, then, if you think Shale-Lea is a prize.”

  Big Fucking Mistake Number Three.

  I didn’t want to show the fucker how much his comment enraged me, so I threw my fury into the methodical dance of the Duel.

  One thing about the golden-eagle man that was for certain was his stamina for sword fighting was a lot higher than the people I’d encountered so far.

  He had patience in the way he could wait to wear me down over time, and I knew it would eventually become impossible to keep that poisoned edge away from me forever.

  I forced myself to remember all the training Zoie crammed into my head during the past few days and tried to put every one of her tools to my advantage.

  The brazier was the only thing on the octagonal platform, and I took any chance I could get to try and force him against it.

  But he was a slimy bastard, and somehow he would end up slipping around me every time.

  The frustration boiling up inside my chest tried to distract me from that steady focus I was trying to maintain, and the noise of the crowd wasn’t helping the more they sensed blood was on the horizon.

  As if he sensed the moment my conviction wavered, Ren opened up with a rapid-fire sequence of blows that surprised me.

  I was forced to hop back two steps and then roll to the left when he tried to take out my right leg.

  He must have goaded me into doing this because before I could fully get to my feet, Ren was above me with his sword cleaving down toward my head.

  Crack.

  Our blades clashed with such a furious thunderclap of power, and the bones jolted in my arms as if I’d stuck the sword into a rock tumbler. The force was so strong, it made me crash down to one knee.

  It was so powerful I almost couldn’t keep my hold on my weapon and keep Ren at bay at the same time. The kneeling position I was in was going to be my undoing the second my muscles lost the battle of wills. The seasoned swordsman was also a lot larger than me, so it was only a matter of time before he overpowered me with sheer strength.