The Immortal Game

by Talia Rothschild

  He’d almost forgotten about the pain in his head and chest by the time the arena came into view, the armory sitting quietly before it.

  Kostas’s skin prickled as he walked around the side, following the same path Demitri had taken when he framed Galene that night. Kostas approached the same door he had—the room that held the Decks of Fates.

  Removing his belt with quick fingers, Kostas isolated the middle pin of his buckle and stuck it in the lock. After a painfully precise amount of wiggling, the lock clicked open, and Kostas pushed into the room.

  The light from the doorway spilled onto a single marble table, four Decks stacked neatly on it. He snatched the main Deck of Fates—full of earth-based traits—and ran back out.

  The main doors to the armory had been left unlocked, and Kostas hurried in, moving down a short hallway to the archery weaponry. Grabbing a standard bow and full quiver from their hooks on the wall, he readied himself for battle.

  The stable was next. Most of the stalls were empty, as many leaders had ridden horses into battle, but among those remaining, Kostas chose a huge, black Olympian stallion. He grumbled and cursed as he struggled to saddle the creature. Finally, muscles aching worse than before, Kostas mounted, kicking into a gallop, riding along the barrier toward the Southeastern end of Mount Olympus.

  He heard the battle before he saw it. The dull roar ahead turned to horrifying screams, the painful clash of metal on metal, and worse, metal on flesh. Trees blocked most of his view of the army, but as he drew closer, monsters appeared, scrambling against the invisible shield beside him.

  Kostas spurred his mount faster, and the full scale of the battle came into view on the plains.

  The split in the barrier, visible as slightly clearer air, was like a window to the terrors storming up from the battlefield below. Warriors and Olympians filled the hole from tower to tower, trying to slow the stream of monsters getting through, but more kept making it in. Those who did started up the path toward the temples, and no hands could be spared to stop them.

  Dizziness made him sway in the saddle.

  Braxtus, he reminded himself. Find Braxtus.

  He looked to the pack of golden Olympus soldiers still struggling at the boundary line. That’s where his friend had been last, closer to the right side.

  Kostas rode to the fight. The roaring of war was almost deafening, and it was near impossible to pick any single person out in the chaos. Kostas looked for signs of fire, but a huge dragon was spraying so much of that, he soon gave up.

  “Braxtus!” he yelled, barely hearing his own voice above the din. “Braxtus!”

  For minutes he swept his eyes over the armies, moving his horse back and forth behind the break in defenses. An enemy god in haphazard armor broke through the line ahead of him and charged with a yell, sword raised high. Kostas palmed his bow, drew an arrow, and fired, the fletching sprouting from the god’s neck. He quickly turned his eyes from the body, stomach churning.

  Where is Braxtus?

  He longed to ride in there, to help fight, but he wasn’t an idiot. In his condition, he’d be dead in minutes. A sudden fear seized him. What if Braxtus had fallen?

  Kostas kicked his horse, riding farther up the line, searching even harder.

  “Braxtus Unnamed! Has anyone seen Braxtus Unnamed?”

  “Headed toward the healers’ tent,” a goddess finally called back to him.

  Kostas didn’t stop to thank her, just dug his heels into the horse and flew up the mountain, on a smaller path where the tent had been erected. He scanned the faces of the injured staggering along the path, of everyone on stretchers, some of their eyes closed. He caught sight of a blond, curly head barreling back down toward the fray.

  Kostas’s heart thundered painfully against his ribs, but he relished the relief that flooded him. “Braxtus!”

  Those golden-brown eyes met his, and the god’s face turned to fury. “Kostas, you ass! Get out of here!”

  “What are you doing up here? Are you hurt?” Kostas pulled his horse to a stop as Braxtus drew close.

  “I helped carry Evadne up. I’m heading right back in there and you are heading right back to the infirmary.”

  “Braxtus, I need your help.”

  “I’m not helping you kill yourself!” Pulling his helmet back over his head, Braxtus made to march past the horse, but Kostas jerked the reins, intercepting him.

  “We’re losing.”

  “And you think you’re going to make the difference?”

  Kostas gave him a flat stare. “Yes.”

  Braxtus let out a bark of laughter. “You’re barely keeping yourself upright in the saddle. You’re no use to any of us dead.” His eyes turned full of sorrow. “Please, Kostas.”

  “We’re losing, Braxtus. We can’t win this battle with soldiers anymore. We need a different strategy. Two of the Olympians have already been captured, and any others who get close to Poinê will be, too.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that? I’m the one who’s been out here, watching it with my own eyes.” He rubbed a fist across his face, as if trying to scrub those images away.

  “Someone needs to get the avyssos out of her hands. If we could take it back, we’d change the direction of this war.”

  “And what’s to say she won’t immediately suck us into that thing as well?”

  “I have a plan.” That seemed to make Braxtus even more exhausted. Kostas clenched his jaw, glaring down at his best friend. “You said that I should let you win this game without me, Braxtus, but I’m the God of Games. You can’t win this game without me. Either this plan works or Olympus falls.”

  Braxtus’s mouth formed a thin, determined line. He nodded, then gripped the back of the saddle and hauled himself up behind Kostas.

  “I suppose if anything’s going to work, it’d be one of your crazy plans.”

  Kostas smiled and spurred the horse toward the forest right of the raging soldiers.

  45

  GALENE

  Galene released another wave onto the enemy’s ranks. She could see the end of the army from here, as most of them had pushed up closer to the barrier.

  How are we going to win this?

  Her stomach had turned to lead when she saw Olympus’s shield break and the enemy push through into her home. The armies of Olympus looked so small now; small and caged, backed up against a wall.

  A cyclops only a head taller than herself came for her. Numb to it now, Galene sidestepped the beast’s falling club and stabbed it through the eye with her knife. Its putrid scent burnt her nose, but the battle had turned the air foul long ago. Yanking her blade free, she hurried back to the trees, calling another tidal wave.

  She hid behind a pine as the waters approached, catching her breath and lifting her helmet just enough to wipe her sweat. Once the summer sun had fully risen, it beat down relentlessly—even the shade of the trees didn’t offer much reprieve.

  Most of the strike team had either been cut down or pushed back with the army. She gritted her teeth. She had no idea where Dionysus had disappeared to. Eris was still there, appearing in and out of the trees as she spread her chaos, relishing the fight.

  Galene refused to look down at her weapons, at her hands. She’d seen too much blood already, and the red-gold mess caked on them only made her stomach twist more.

  The wave rushed closer, and Galene steeled herself to jump back into battle when a new sound caught her attention. Not from behind her, where the water rumbled and snapped branches, but up the slope. Hoofbeats.

  She slowed the wave, holding it back as she scanned the shadowy wood. Who would be riding down here? An enemy retreating?

  She lifted her scimitar.

  The Olympian stallion appeared through the trees, two gods riding it. Galene stepped cautiously closer to its path, careful to stay hidden. The horse pounded closer, weaving easily through the trees, dancing around a pine tree not ten feet from Galene to reveal …

  She almost dropped her blade.
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  “Kostas? Braxtus?”

  The stallion thundered past, neither of its riders seeing her or hearing her shocked outcry.

  She stumbled after them. “Kostas! Braxtus!” Where on Gaia are they going? Why is Kostas here?

  Determination more than anything gripped her. She dropped the tidal wave she had been hauling, taking off in a sprint.

  She might not be able to keep up with a stallion, but whatever Kostas was surely planning, she would get there to help pull it off.

  46

  BRAXTUS

  Trees rushed by, the stallion nimbly dodging them as it cantered down the slope. The hooves hitting dirt jarred Braxtus’s aches and pains, but he was sure it was nothing compared to what Kostas was feeling. Mingling scents of sweat, earth, and scorched grass hung in the air. To his left, he caught flashes of the raging battle through the branches. The fight was every bit as desperate here as it was at the boundary line—he clenched his jaw as he watched some of his allies fall.

  Nothing you can do. There was only Kostas’s plan now, whatever that was.

  The fights grew more sparse, then trickled off. Kostas steered the stallion out through the trees, back onto the plain, then let him come to a stop.

  The army had left flattened grasses, a few small fires, and corpses in its wake. Braxtus forced his eyes from a mangled centaur, and noticed for the first time three solitary figures walking up the slope toward them.

  Chills ran down Braxtus’s arms. Poinê walked in the middle, her long, dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail, wearing a breastplate over her violet robes. To her left was Chrysander, to her right was Demitri, both decked out in full battle-armor from helmets to greaves, armed to the teeth. Her own personal bodyguards.

  Loathing rushed through Braxtus, followed by fury. He wanted to leap off the horse and charge Demitri. He gripped the saddle harder.

  Poinê touched Demitri’s arm, saying something to the two of them. They looked over, and Braxtus felt their focus land on him and Kostas.

  “Plan?” he asked.

  “I need to talk to Poinê—to get as close as possible without getting trapped in the avyssos. If those two won’t let me do that, we need to take them out.”

  Chrysander and Demitri pulled out weapons and started running.

  Braxtus let out a breath. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Kostas kicked the horse again, riding out to meet them. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocking and raising his bow. Ahead of them, Demitri pulled something back.

  “Kostas—”

  He fired, and at the same time a dark streak shot at them. Kostas tried to swerve, but the stallion wasn’t fast enough. Demitri’s javelin buried into its thigh, and the horse went down, whinnying in pain.

  Braxtus dove, dragging Kostas with him. They rolled when they hit the ground, and Braxtus helped Kostas to his feet. The horse struggled to rise, blood leaking down its leg, dark eyes wide. It would survive, but it’d be no help in this fight.

  Chrysander and Demitri were still running for them. A tremor pulsed through Kostas’s body as his friend raised his bow again.

  Braxtus cursed. “Don’t let Chrysander get close to you.” He pulled out his broadsword, swung his shield from his back, and sprinted out to fight a son of Ares.

  Demitri locked eyes with him, and Braxtus’s fury reignited. He wasn’t stupid—he knew that Demitri was better than him. But if he could just land a good blow … make him hurt for what he’d done, distract him while Kostas pulled off his plan—

  Chrysander broke off, heading for Kostas, and Demitri slowed. Reaching back, he pulled his staff free and cast it to the side. He unsheathed a broadsword, then unbuckled his belt, from which hung a slew of daggers, and dropped it to the dirt. Lastly, he pulled the shield from his back.

  The message was clear: He was so confident in the outcome he would even fight to Braxtus’s strengths.

  Taking a flying leap, Braxtus raised his blade above his head. Demitri held his blade horizontally to catch Braxtus’s strike.

  With a thundering crack, steel hit steel. Demitri shoved back against the impact, and Braxtus dropped in front of him, swinging his blade at Demitri’s chest. Demitri blocked him, moving to a side swing at his neck.

  Braxtus ducked. Using his downward momentum, he drove his sword toward Demitri’s legs, but Demitri sidestepped, bringing his sword down on Braxtus’s arched back. It bit into his armor, slamming him to the ground.

  Snarling, Braxtus flipped onto his back. He pulled his shield up to block Demitri’s thrust toward his chest, then kept rolling until he regained his feet.

  He was forced on the defensive as Demitri delivered blow after blow. He barely managed to block each one in time, shield raised as he was driven back.

  Demitri pulled his sword back, and, seizing his opening, Braxtus leapt into the air, heaving his sword down. Demitri raised his shield just in time, and metal crashed.

  Demitri pivoted with the force. Braxtus landed, but Demitri unwound, ramming into him. He reeled sideways, and Demitri thrust forward. Braxtus caught it on his shield, but the head-on slam threw him backward. He staggered, but kept his feet.

  In his peripheral, he saw Kostas and Chrysander, locked in an impasse with Kostas’s bow raised. He blinked against the sweat that stung his eyes.

  “Come on, then,” Demitri called, eyes glittering. “Let’s finish this.”

  Braxtus lit his hand on fire, sending flames dancing up the hilt of the sword, and charged in again.

  47

  GALENE

  Galene’s lungs were fit to burst as she tore toward the group at the back of the battle. She gasped through the stitch in her side, taking it all in.

  Demitri and Braxtus were locked in a brutal fight. The heat from Braxtus’s flames warmed her face as she ran by, scorched grass burning her nose. She almost stopped to help, but Kostas was shaking, arrow drawn back, aimed straight at Chrysander.

  Galene’s heart stammered at the sight of both of them.

  Her brother stood several feet away from Kostas, arms raised, but still clutching his sword. He barely flicked a glance her way before focusing back on his challenger. Behind them, with the audacity to actually look bored, stood Poinê.

  “Kostas!” She skidded to a stop at his side. “Explain.”

  He kept his eyes on Chrysander, but let out a breath. “Glad you made it. Can you distract him for me?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to talk to Poinê.”

  “Why?”

  A vicious tremble racked his already shaking frame. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  Braxtus was fighting Demitri, son of Ares. She was to fight her brother. So Kostas, the weakest among them, could speak to the leader of the entire enemy army.

  “I trust you,” Galene sighed, drawing her scimitar. “Do what you have to.”

  He gave her a half-smile.

  Her throat constricted as she heard him step away. Her focus settled on Chrysander.

  Kostas appeared in her side vision, skirting the two of them toward the awaiting dark goddess. Every step he took, Galene matched, moving closer to her brother. Chrysander’s eyes darted between the two of them. He took a step toward Kostas, but Galene leapt closer—the more imminent threat. He met her gaze. “This has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?” he asked. His voice was quieter than she’d expected.

  She swallowed, stopping a few paces away. For the last few years, she’d suffered the shame and ridicule he’d put on her. He’d schemed to get her exiled, had lied to her, cheated her, and hurt her. Galene longed to strike him with her blade, but despite it all … he was still her brother.

  He’s not your brother anymore, she told herself. But she barely believed her own words. He was standing right in front of her like a warped reflection, with a face she’d seen thousands of times, with eyes she knew like her own.

  He drew a second sword from his back, and Galene gripped one of her daggers, a chill running thro
ugh her.

  “I wish we didn’t have to do this, Chrysander.” A tremble in her voice betrayed her emotions.

  His eyes flashed with what might have been hope. “We don’t have to.”

  But Galene thought of the war around her—what Braxtus and Kostas were now forced to do, the countless number of allies now dead, and Iyana, lost to her somewhere in the battle. A furious, pent-up anger exploded in her chest. “Yes we do.”

  She leapt forward.

  He charged at her with two swords raised. Galene lifted her scimitar in time to deflect one of them, spinning to the side. Chrysander swung in front of her. She tried to jam her scimitar in through an opening, but he blocked.

  She deflected his returning strike and kicked him in the stomach. He let out a grunt as he hit the ground, rolling to get back to his feet. “You’ve grown, Galene.” He came at her again.

  She just managed to catch each of his blows. “I have. You missed it.” She spun away, letting his momentum carry him forward, and lashed out with her scimitar, but he deflected it.

  This was not the young man who had run away from home—this was a seasoned warrior. Galene threw her dagger, but at such close range it hit his armor awkwardly, spinning to the ground. He hardly flinched.

  She yelled, raising her scimitar and swinging it with all her strength.

  The blow skitted off Chrysander’s blade and nicked his arm. He didn’t pause, leaping at her.

  She deflected one of his swords with her scimitar, but the other was coming for her. She threw her hand up, catching it on her arm guard. It screeched up the metal, biting into her wrist.

  Gritting her teeth against the pain, she kicked him and thrust his blades away, taking only a moment’s breath before lunging back into the fight.