Tyrion was beginning to face an unsettling realization—he was losing.
He had faced long odds before, but rarely had he felt the fight slipping away from him. Even in his fight with the Krytek, he had kept control of the battlefield until the very end. This time he was being forced to fight defensively, reacting rather than taking the initiative.
Without the She’Har’s presence, he could have taken them, or if there were fewer human mages to support the She’Har, but the deck was stacked against him now. His opponents moved in tandem to restrict his movements while their own mobility made most of his attacks ineffective. They had planned for this.
Something had to give soon, and it wasn’t going to end well for him.
Another heavy blow to the shield around the wagon staggered him, and he almost lost it then. If the shield collapsed while he was still supporting it, he would potentially lose consciousness. Tentacles of force shot out from three of the wardens and tangled around him. They couldn’t penetrate his enchanted personal shield, but they slowed him down. He slashed at them with his arm blades, but he couldn’t cut them apart as fast as they sent new ones at him.
Charlanum was lining up for his next attack as a nasty looking spellweave formed in the air before him. Tyrion had no doubt about where it would be aimed.
Fuck this.
Two wardens were working together to keep him from wresting control of the air or the soil. Those were common things that mages used against one another in the arena. He would have to do something the wolves didn’t expect.
Wolves, he thought suddenly, and then he lit on an idea.
Using a small amount of aythar, he created a sudden burst of sound, pitching it high in the hope that it would disorient the Gaelyn mages. Their hearing would be much more sensitive than his given their current forms. Then he released the shield around the wagon. Gathering his remaining aythar, he used some of it to expand his enchanted shield outward, clearing the air around him for several feet before releasing it as well.
The sudden emptiness around him gave him some leeway, and he leapt up and forward, focusing his strength on one arm blade, making it as long and sharp as possible.
Charlanum’s attack was a focused spear of spellwoven power, meant to pierce the shield he had had around him. Tyrion’s sudden shift in tactics threw his aim off, but the attack ripped through his left leg nonetheless, even as Tyrion’s force-blade ripped through his own shield and cut through the She’Har’s skull.
His sonic attack hadn’t worked as well as he had hoped, however. It had shaken the wolves, but they had recovered quickly. Two of the wardens sent spear-like blasts out before he could restore his defense, impaling him through shoulder and abdomen. Tyrion fell, landing off balance and hitting the ground as he raised his enchanted shield once more.
Near the wagon he could see that Kate’s crossbow had taken down one of the wolves that had been assigned to take them, the other was nowhere to be seen.
Bleeding and in pain, Tyrion struggled to stand on his one good leg. Five wolves circled him as he opened his mouth and laughed, “You missed my heart. You’ll regret that.”
One of the wolves stood, shifting into human form before speaking, “You’re dying, Tyrion.”
“You first,” he answered, grinning. There was madness in his eyes.
“You’re losing blood, growing weaker,” said the Gaelyn warden. “You can’t protect the children anymore either. You’ve lost. Drop your shield, and I will make it quick.”
“I’ve got enough blood left in me to finish you off,” said Tyrion. “That’s all I need.” The shield around the wagon reappeared as the words left his lips. Another mage stood within the circle, a powerful one by the feel of him.
Shit, thought Tyrion. One of the Gaelyn mages was inside. He had lost. But I can still kill this one.
A look of uncertainty was on the Gaelyn warden’s face now, and he backed away. He turned to the wolves, “We return to Garoltrea. This fight is done.” Shifting back into wolf shape, he and the other wolves retreated.
Confused, Tyrion watched them go, but he didn’t waste the opportunity. Turning his attention inward, he began sealing blood vessels, stopping the bleeding that was rapidly killing him. Punctured lung, clean hole through the liver, and the leg… Any of the three would have been fatal on their own, but only without prompt attention. He closed the small arteries and veins that had been damaged and sealed the skin on the outside. There was more to be done, but it wasn’t urgent, nor did he have the energy for it just then.
Tyrion slid slowly to the ground. He was bone tired—and thirsty. He still didn’t understand their retreat, and his mind was too fuzzy to focus on the other mage, the one that still stood within the shield that protected the wagon and the others.
“I’ll kill him later,” he muttered to himself as his vision narrowed to a dark tunnel. His eyes closed, and he let oblivion take him.
Chapter 13
“We should kill him now while we have the chance.”
The voice was that of a girl, though he couldn’t be sure which one.
A male voice responded, “He’s dying anyway. Let’s just go home.”
“The wardens will come after us. Some of them are still alive,” said another boy.
“He isn’t dying.” That was Kate. “And no one is going to ‘finish’ him, not while I’m here.”
“We’ll load him onto the wagon and keep going,” said another. Tyrion recognized that one, it was Gabriel Evans. His voice held a certain confidence and a trace of authority, something it hadn’t had before.
“Who died and made you king?” asked one of the girls.
“You’ll do as I say,” answered Gabriel. Tyrion felt a surge of aythar, and a brief flash of light made the inside of his eyelids turn orange.
“You don’t even know how to use that yet,” said the girl, still somewhat defiant, although her tone was quieter now. Tyrion was guessing that voice belonged to Brigid.
“Gabriel is right,” said Kate. “Help me get him to the wagon.”
He felt her hands sliding under his shoulders and other hands at his ankles. The pain that went through him as they began to lift was unbearable. “Stop!” he groaned, opening his eyes.
“He’s awake,” warned one of the girls watching from the side.
Looking up, he found himself staring into Kate’s face. Her hair had come loose from the bun she had tied it in and was now a red tangle, falling around him. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes looked puffy. She’s been crying again, he thought.
He addressed Gabriel, who stood near his feet, “There’s a better way. Use your mind and try to imagine a flat plane, strong and hard, underneath me. Once you’ve got a good hold on the image, push your aythar into it, make it real, then you can use that to lift me and put me in the wagon bed.”
“There’s blood all over you,” Kate informed him. Her voice sounded thick.
He met her eyes, but then let his gaze drift, noting the way her neckline gaped as she leaned over him. Damn, she’s grown since I left. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “It’s all mine.” Looking back at Gabriel he asked, “Can you do it?”
The youth nodded, closing his eyes.
Several minutes and a few painful jolts later and Tyrion was lying in the back of the wagon. Kate sat beside him and Gabriel had climbed into the driver’s seat.
“What happened?” asked Tyrion.
“When they came in…” she began before pausing and restarting. “There were two of them. I shot one, but I couldn’t stop the other one, but then, Gabriel did something.”
“His power awakened,” said Tyrion.
Kate nodded, “Something happened, and then the other wolf fell over, its body was almost in two pieces.”
Killed a warden, thought Tyrion. Even I couldn’t have managed that right after my power awoke.
The sound of retching caught his attention. Gabriel was leaning away from the driver’s seat, vomiting onto the ground.
<
br /> “Get out of the driver’s seat, fool,” said Tyrion. “Let someone else drive.” He turned his head toward Kate, “Tell Tad to drive. I’m sure his father must have taught him.”
She gave the orders, and the teens moved to obey her, then she looked back at Tyrion, “What’s wrong with Gabriel?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “He’s just got vertigo. The magesight does that when you first get it. His brain is struggling to deal with his new sense of aythar. Have him sit back here with us. Tad can drive, and the others can walk.”
“I’m not going,” said Piper Jenkins. “I’m going home.”
Everyone froze for a moment. The other teens were considering her words. Tyrion felt Kate leaning back in the wagon, bracing against something, and pulling. He ignored that, focusing on his next threat.
“I’d regret that, girl,” he told her. “I’ll be very displeased if I have to sit up and waste my time and energy on…”
“Nobody leaves,” said Kate, interrupting him as she stood, crossbow in hand. It was cocked and loaded.
“You wouldn’t do it,” said Anthony Long, challenging her.
Kate leveled the weapon at him, lifting it to her shoulder and sighting along it. “Run and we will find out.”
“You can’t be siding with him!” protested the boy. “He’s a lunatic. He’ll kill us all.”
“No,” she said calmly, “he’s right, and what’s more he just saved your ass. The wardens will be back, and there are others already on the way. If you go home you’ll just be putting your families in danger. Lunatic or not, we’re going with him.”
“What’s going to happen to us when we get there?” asked Piper uncertainly.
“I don’t know,” said Kate, “but if he thinks it’s better than what will happen if the wardens catch you, then I believe him.”
You’ll probably wish you hadn’t said that later, thought Tyrion.
The wagon began to roll, and the teens followed, unwilling to chance Kate’s threat. After a mile or two, Tyrion figured the chance of one of them running had significantly diminished.
“Go home, Kate. You don’t need to do this,” he told her.
She patted the crossbow, “I think you’re wrong.”
“Someone else can hold that,” he suggested, looking at Gabriel who seemed to have mostly recovered from his nausea.
The boy nodded, “I can hold the bow.”
Kate gave him a doubtful glance, “Have you ever used one of these before?”
He shook his head, “No, but it doesn’t look too complicated.”
“I’ll keep it,” she said, addressing Tyrion again. “Besides, someone has to take care of you.”
Tyrion closed his eyes again. He had failed, and he knew it. Now that he was injured he couldn’t force her to go home. “Get me some more water then,” he told her. “I’ve never felt so dry in my life.”
He had learned from past experience that thirst was one of the most notable side effects of blood loss.
***
Haley stood in the arena, naked before a crowd of… well not thousands, but surely hundreds at least. She wasn’t cold, for she had been practicing at Tyrion’s technique for staying warm, but she shivered nonetheless. She was vulnerable, bare before spectators, and standing across from the boy who would kill her.
He had the look of a killer too, coarse faced and mean. The youth was probably close to her age, but being male he was larger. His nose was crooked and misshapen as though it had been broken in the past, which, according to what Tyrion had told her about the people of Sabortrea, was not unusual.
He grinned at her, exposing a mouth that was already missing several teeth. It was not a friendly expression.
A voice was speaking to the spectators, but she couldn’t understand any of it. Her father had mentioned that listening for the name of her opponent’s grove would provide valuable information, but she couldn’t sort out the words well enough to pick out what grove they had said. Besides, she didn’t plan on winning.
“I’m not going to live like this,” she repeated quietly to herself. Today would be her first, and last fight.
Several blue lights stood atop pillars spaced around the edge of the arena. A chime sounded, and they shifted from blue to red. The match had begun.
In spite of herself, Haley created a shield, nervously pouring her strength into it. I won’t fight back, she told herself, but I can’t help defending myself. She would wait, letting him batter her until she lost control, and he killed her.
A light touch against the shield startled her, almost wringing a cry of alarm from her throat. Haley was nervous, her nerves wound so tight she felt as though she might explode. That was just a test.
The boy vanished, reappearing off to her right almost instantaneously.
So he’s Mordan. Like most of the people here.
Another attack came, this one slightly stronger, but still ineffectual. She ignored it, closing her eyes, but her magesight still showed her the battlefield. She wanted to block that out too, but it would probably cause her to have to release the shield. Haley wasn’t prepared to do that.
More attacks came, and her opponent became bolder, attacking more frequently and moving less. Gradually he was realizing that she had no intention of fighting. Still, nothing he did came remotely close to cracking her defense. Seconds wore on into minutes, and nothing changed.
Cracking her eyes open, Haley could see the boy was breathing hard, as though he had been running. His aythar was flickering slightly, and it seemed dimmer.
He’s getting tired, she thought, but he hasn’t done anything yet.
The attacks had stopped, but she felt something new happening. The ground beneath her was shifting, soil and rocks sliding apart. Haley was sinking. Puzzled, she watched the earth move until she was standing six feet below ground level, then the excess moved to cover her.
She was being buried alive.
He couldn’t break my shield, so now he’s going to suffocate me, she realized. That’s probably better than the other ways I could die.
She tried to believe that, but as the thin layer of air within her shield grew stale, her heart began to pound. It was dark, and her lungs were heaving. Claustrophobia set in, and she began to panic.
No, no, no, no!
Flailing with her aythar, she tore at the earth, pushing and ripping until the soil around her churned and moved like water. The teen who had buried her fought to keep her down, using his aythar and the weight of the soil already above her to press her down, but his strength was no match for hers. Haley’s head emerged from the ground, and she gasped as fresh air filtered in through her shield.
He kept struggling, trying to force her down, but the boy had half sunk into the churning earth himself while they battled. His aythar flickered more now, and it was clear that he was tiring fast. It was almost sad how easily Haley had worn him down.
She tried relaxing, letting him win, but as soon as the darkness closed around her head, she panicked again. Fighting once more, she forced herself up, and then she wrapped her enemy within bands of her own aythar, squeezing tightly against his shield.
Haley didn’t want to bury him, she didn’t want to kill him. She just wanted it to stop.
Desperate, he thrashed about, throwing his strength into the shield around him, trying to force her back, but she wouldn’t let go.
“Just stop!” she yelled, angry and frightened, but he refused to listen.
His aythar was squirming beneath hers, like a worm trying to escape a bird’s vice-like beak. He wouldn’t quit, and her fear was fading, being replace by irritation and annoyance. She just wanted him to quit, to stop fighting.
Mad, she squeezed harder, screaming at him, “Leave me alone!” Suddenly his shield collapsed with a strange popping sensation, followed by a wet crunch as his chest was enveloped by the crushing force of Haley’s mind. With her magesight she could feel his ribs crack.
Horrified she stopped, releasing him,
but it was too late. A single groaning shriek had issued from him, and he was unconscious now. Blood ran from his nose, but the broken ribs and bruised organs in his chest were what made Haley sick.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, though there was no one to listen. “I didn’t mean to do that!”
She looked up, staring into the crowds gathered at the edge of the arena, overwhelmed with guilt. Everything she had ever learned growing up indicated that she had just made a terrible mistake. Hurting people was wrong. She had been sent into the arena to fight to the death, but her mind just couldn’t accept it.
“I didn’t mean to kill him!” she shouted.
The spectators remained silent, watching her. Several had strange smirks on their faces, and one even laughed. Dalleth stepped into the arena, a look of mild annoyance on his face. Walking closer, he loomed over her, “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” she answered, bowing her head as tears ran down her cheeks and nose. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“He’s still alive,” the Mordan She’Har told her.
Her magesight had told her that much, but she knew the boy was dying. His heart had been bruised, his lungs were barely working, and he was bleeding internally. “He’s dying!” she insisted, hoping the She’Har would help him.
“Yes,” said Dalleth, “but it could take hours. I would rather not wait around here that long.”
Haley gaped at him, “But, I—I—I won. It’s over. He can’t fight. Can’t you help him?”
“The match is over when one of you is dead,” said the trainer.
The boy groaned, his eyes fluttering open as he coughed, trying to clear his lungs.
“Please!” cried Haley. “You’ve got to help him!”
“He seems to be in considerable pain,” said Dalleth with a detached look. “As sensitive as you seem to be, I would think you would want to end this quickly.” The trainer turned his back and left the arena.
Haley watched the She’Har go, but her mind was on the boy dying a few feet away. He tried to sit up, but the movement drove one of his cracked ribs in deeper, damaging his lung even further. A gurgling cry escaped his lips.
The Silent Tempest (Book 2) Page 12