The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

by Michael G. Manning

  “He was lucky,” commented Layla. “She should have aimed for his chest. She let her anger get the better of her.”

  The burn through his leg made it impossible for him to walk, so Ian half crawled, half pulled himself toward her. The boy was in a rage from the pain, and rather than use his power to finish the girl, he began pummeling her, driving his fists into her head and stomach.

  Whether she regained consciousness or not was hard to tell, for while her body flinched and curled in on itself during his assault, she never managed anything resembling an organized defense. After several more blows, her body went limp, but her heart still beat.

  Ian continued to pound on her for a minute or more until he gradually came to realize she wasn’t dying. Switching tactics, he choked her, throttling her flaccid body until her face turned purple, and her faltering heart finally stopped.

  Watching his son strangle the girl was eerily reminiscent of his first fight in the arena, and Tyrion found the bile rising in his throat. He fought the urge to retch as he entered the field, moving to reclaim Ian after Koralltis had declared him the winner.

  He let his anger push the nausea aside.

  “One moment Tyrion,” said the She’Har. “You can have him after I have restored his leg.” After a few minutes the arena master helped Ian to his feet. “He may have a limp after this, burns are difficult to heal, even for us.”

  “I don’t care,” said Tyrion, pointing to the sidelines, indicating the direction Ian should walk. “Move.”

  The teen began to walk, limping heavily while Tyrion followed silently behind him.

  “What’s the matter? Did I shame you?” asked Ian with an audible sneer.

  Tyrion was fighting the urge to kill the boy already. “Do you know what the She’Har call us? What their term for humans is?”

  Ian held his tongue.

  “They call us ‘baratt’, which means ‘animal’ in their language,” he said, continuing. “Until now I believed that they were wrong, except in the case of those that they raised to be animals, the people that came out of the pens. But today you just proved their point, trying to rut in the dirt like a pig. Is killing not enough for you? Are you so starved for sex that you would try to rape your opponent? You didn’t even give her a clean death!”

  Ian stopped before entering his cell, “Isn’t that what you did, Father? Isn’t that how I came to be? Should you be so surprised that I turned out like you?”

  Tyrion snapped then, punching the unshielded boy hard in the nose. Blood erupted from Ian’s face as he fell backward. He started to scramble when he landed, but his father’s hand caught his hair, pulling hard to jerk his head back. Tyrion’s other hand rose toward Ian’s throat, encased in its enchanted blade of aythar.

  Byovar shouted from behind him, “Tyrion, no! Not here, wait until later. They are calling for the next one.”

  He froze, feeling the boy’s heart pounding in his chest, thumping in time with his own. “I was about to kill you, boy,” he whispered. “Don’t forget that.” Releasing Ian, he stepped back, slamming the door to the cell closed.

  Taking a deep breath, he moved down several doors until he was outside the cell that held Brigid. This is it. The door opened at his touch, and Brigid looked up at him from beneath shadowed brows, “You look upset, Father.” She stood and extended her hand to him.

  “I’ve had better days,” he told her, staring at her hand. She lifted one brow, smiling at his hesitation until finally he offered her his arm.

  “You aren’t having second thoughts about our deal are you?” she asked, her voice shifting tone oddly. Her features radiated calm confidence, but her aura was uncertain.

  A dozen things passed through his mind at her question, but it was Ian’s recent disgrace that remained when everything else was done. I’m no better. “No,” he answered surely. “Nothing has changed.” An unusual feeling of peace settled over him as he said the words. Let it be over.

  Brigid’s hand tightened on his arm, “I don’t want to do this.”

  “She doesn’t either, but none of us have any choice,” he replied. “You understand the reasons, and I think she does as well.”

  “We’ve always been friends…” Brigid was looking across the arena now, seeing her sister stepping out on the other side.

  Tyrion put his hand over hers on his arm, pulling her along when her steps became reluctant. “This isn’t your fault, Brigid. It isn’t Haley’s either. The blame falls squarely on my shoulders. Remember that. Make sure you win. You can avenge her after it’s over.”

  “No, please,” Brigid looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “Can’t you do it? I shouldn’t have to, it shouldn’t be me—it—I can’t.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed, untangling her arm from his, “but ‘right’ doesn’t matter a damn in this cursed world. Remember what I told you, focus on your defense. Don’t let her see the blades until it’s too late, until she’s too close.”

  Her face twisted as he walked away, red eyes and swollen lids spoiling her beautiful features. Brigid’s shoulders hunched inward as she fought to control her grief. Grief for a sister not yet dead, grief for a murder not yet done. She kept her eyes on Tyrion’s back, though. He could feel them there as he withdrew.

  “You’re next,” she said softly, and then the lights changed and the chime sounded.

  Haley had been watching them from across the field. She had been too far to hear their words, but her hungry eyes had taken in every detail. Seeing her sister and closest friend, Brigid, enter the field as her opponent had filled her with despair.

  For an unknown time the field was silent as the two girls stared at one another. Haley’s hair was a dark brown, a shade lighter than Brigid’s raven locks, but in every other respect they almost appeared to be twins. But where Brigid’s face was marred by grief and anger, Haley’s was filled with deadly resolve. She began advancing on her sister, taking careful steps.

  She’s too strong, observed Tyrion, watching from beyond the arena barrier. Both of his daughters shone with brilliant, powerful aythar, but Brigid was still recovering from her injury. He could see that Haley held a small but distinct edge as they were at present.

  At fifty yards, the peaceful air was split with actinic light as Haley struck, sending a bolt of pure lightning racing toward her sister. It struck with sizzling power, but there was no chance it would penetrate the shield Brigid had prepared.

  That wasn’t its purpose, however. The light and sound were disorienting, making it difficult for Brigid to react properly to the following attack, a lance of pure force, focused and deadly. That was the attack meant to crack her shield.

  The speed of Haley’s assault was breathtaking, and Brigid’s response was just as fast. Acting on a level that had to be almost pure instinct, she contracted her shield and sidestepped, letting the shieldbreaker pass without making contact. She sent a return stroke of her own in the space of the same breath, sweeping low to try and force Haley to move before she was ready.

  The progress of the battle over the next seconds was almost too rapid to follow as the sisters traded blows at speeds that were almost inhuman. The crowd of spectators grew hushed as they tried to follow the course of the combat. This was the fight they had hoped to see. Gabriel had been a disappointment, but Tyrion’s daughters were delivering the kind of fight they hadn’t seen since Tyrion himself had retired from the arena.

  Naturally, Kate was unable to see much of what was happening beyond the occasional flash of light and the thunderous sound of invisible forces battering against one another, but as she glanced to her side, she could see that Layla’s mouth had fallen slightly agape. The female warden watched the battle with what could only be described as awe.

  Of all those watching, only Tyrion possessed the acuity of magesight and enough combat experience to truly follow their movements, and even he was impressed by the sheer ferocity of their blindingly fast struggle for dominance. And Tyrion was worried.

&n
bsp; Don’t fight her at range, you’re already at a disadvantage. You can’t keep it up as long as she can.

  A sound like thunder rolled across the arena as Brigid’s latest battering blow connected directly with Haley’s defense. It was a solid hit, and in that moment there was no subtlety or cunning in Haley’s opposition. Brigid’s best had failed to crack her sister’s shield. She was the weaker of the two, and she was tiring already.

  Haley’s counterstroke was a hammer blow that might have broken Brigid’s shield and killed her outright, but the raven haired girl met it with an angled plane that diverted much of Haley’s attack to one side, where it struck the ground. The vibrations of that shock could be felt far beyond the arena itself.

  A flurry of attacks followed, each as powerful as the last, each striking from a different direction as Haley accelerated her attacks against her sister, attempting to pulverize her with unadulterated power. The earth began to roil at her feet, kicking up in fits and starts as the wind churned. Haley was whipping the air into a storm, even as she bombarded Brigid with earth shattering attacks.

  The combination of attacks was bewildering. Layla was squinting beside Kate, as if scrunching up her eyes would somehow help her magesight to better discern what was happening.

  “What’s going on?” asked Kate.

  “Your sister is losing,” said Layla uncertainly. “No one could survive that.”

  Tyrion was holding the hilt of his sheathed sword, his knuckles white as he concentrated on the battle, his emotions indiscernible. “She’s still fighting,” was all he said. Within the storm of wind and dirt he could see Brigid’s skillful defense.

  Kate’s dark haired sister hadn’t yet learned to use the wind and soil as a weapon the way Haley had, but she had practiced for more than two weeks now with the most accomplished survivor of the arena in its entire history. Brigid met each attack with unbelievable precision, deflecting them with the minimum angle necessary to avoid taking the full brunt of them. She conserved her waning strength with careful efficiency.

  That was why Haley had chosen to add the windstorm. The area attack tore at Brigid whenever she shifted her defense to deflect one of her sister’s powerful blows. Brigid had stopped using a personal shield entirely, relying on reflexes and balanced precision to divert only Haley’s most deadly strikes.

  Brigid’s body was covered with tiny cuts and tears. She bled from more than a dozen wounds, but none of them were serious. Even as Tyrion watched, she deflected a flying stone that threatened to decapitate her, while ignoring several smaller ones that battered her thighs.

  Unable to see through the gale, Kate watched Tyrion’s face instead. Strangely, he was smiling even as a tear made a slow track down one cheek.

  “Daniel?” she asked worriedly.

  “They’re beautiful, Cat,” he answered, his voice thick with pride. “My daughters are beautiful. Trained and untrained, they’re the most incredible things I have ever seen, on or off of the arena field.”

  The wind was dying now, as Haley began to pay the price for her overzealous use of aythar. The dirt began to settle, and as the air cleared, Brigid walked toward her half-sister, her childhood friend. She still had some strength left in her, but she didn’t waste it on a shield.

  Haley watched her approach with sad eyes. She still had her shield, and her face was unmarked by the wind and grit that had scoured the area, unlike Brigid, who was covered in blood and grime.

  “I’m sorry Briddy,” she told the wounded girl, using an old familiar name. “I wanted to let you win, but I just couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t let you have it that easy.”

  “I haven’t won, Haley,” replied the raven haired girl, blinking as blood dripped into her right eye. A cut in her scalp had covered her right cheek in a crimson wash.

  “I saw the tattoos from the very start,” said Haley. “I’ve seen them before.”

  Brigid shook her head, taking another step, “I don’t think I’ve got enough strength left to even activate them.”

  Haley smiled sadly, “Liar. I know you better than that.”

  “I can’t even make a shield,” replied Brigid. “You’ve got more than enough to finish me.”

  Haley took the final step, bringing them face to face, less than a foot and a half apart, her shield still shining vibrantly. “Show me his gift, Brigid. I want to see it before we finish this.”

  “I’m tired, Haley. I don’t think I can,” said Kate’s sister. “Just make it quick—please.”

  “Show me, Briddy,” said Haley, calling her by her nickname again.

  Brigid nodded her head weakly. “I might be able to manage, just the hand, though.” Frowning, she concentrated, and the enchanted blade sputtered to life, sheathing her open palm and fingers in knife-like force.

  In the space of a heartbeat, Haley released her shield and stepped in, grabbing her sister’s arm by the elbow. Brigid’s hand sank deep into her abdomen, and the brown haired girl let out a painful gasp.

  Brigid shrieked in denial of what her eyes were showing her, what her hand was feeling. Her power exhausted, the enchantment flickered out, and her hand came away covered in warm blood and bile. Her cry rose, growing louder as it changed pitch and then slowly lowered into a sorrowful wail.

  “Damn,” said Haley, sinking to her knees. “That hurt more than I thought.”

  “Why, Haley? Why?!” cried Brigid, dropping down beside her friend.

  “I couldn’t do it anymore—not after Gabriel. I never wanted to be a killer. I wanted to let you win at the start, but I just couldn’t do it. Not until I had worn myself down, not until I had seen what I had done to you. I was never as strong as you Briddy.”

  Haley’s face grew pale, and she used one arm to ease herself down, wincing as the tear in her stomach pulled.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” moaned Brigid. “I don’t want this Haley. They can stop this, we can heal your wound. Maybe I can close it…”

  “Don’t be stupid, Briddy. One of us has to die, and I’m already mostly there. Let me be a hero this time, you always made me play the bad guy when we were kids,” said Haley, her voice growing weaker.

  Desperate, Brigid knelt, bringing her head closer and speaking earnestly into Haley’s ear. “He’s going to pay for this Haley. I swear it.”

  Haley’s eyes were closed now, but she was still listening. “You’ll get revenge for us, Briddy, but not him. Don’t hurt him. He loves us. I knew it when I saw your tattoos. Kill them…”

  “Who?” asked Brigid, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “I had a dream, Briddy, but it wasn’t sweet. It was terrible…”

  “What dream, Haley?” said Brigid. “What dream?”

  But Haley didn’t answer again. Her consciousness had slipped away, leaving Brigid to watch her sister’s breathing gradually slow, until it seemed to stop altogether. Her heart still beat though, and death was not kind. Haley’s body gasped again and again, waiting longer between each desperate draw of air. It was minutes before it was done, and her aythar faded away at last.

  Brigid was alone, and she sat and cried until Tyrion came, dragging her to her feet before lifting her into his arms to carry her away.

  Chapter 30

  She felt light in his arms. Brigid had gone still and quiet as he lifted her. She buried her face against his shoulder to shut out the sights around her, although he knew her magesight would not be so easily stopped. He was certain her focus was on the same place his eyes were staring—Haley’s motionless form.

  She had been beautiful, but only rapidly cooling flesh remained, his throat tightened, and he turned away. She deserved better.

  The clear sky began to cloud as he walked back, but he had expected that. The voices in the air were filled with sorrow, though whether it was of their own accord, or because of his feelings, he couldn’t be sure.

  The sight of the others waiting for them as he stepped outside the arena made his chest hurt, but he took solace in the
slow beat of the earth beneath his feet. I feel nothing.

  Kate and Layla were watching him closely, but it was Byovar who spoke first, “There is one more match coming.”

  Tyrion’s face grew worried, “Surely they are done with us?”

  “Not us, it’s a Prathion match with Gaelyn, two long time veterans. The winner may be retired and made a warden,” explained the She’Har. “We can’t take them out until it’s over,” he added, indicating the holding cells.

  “I need to take her back. She needs tending,” said Tyrion, glancing down at his daughter.

  He looked at the others. He had been speaking to Byovar in Erollith, so only Layla had understood their conversation. Kate’s eyes were full of worry and questions.

  “I’m going to take her back and clean her up,” he said to her, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

  Kate nodded, “I’ll come with you.”

  He shook his head, “No, I want you to stay here with Layla. She’ll bring you back in a little while.”

  “Bring me back?” asked Kate. “I still have legs. Let me help you.”

  “I’m sorry, Cat,” he told her.

  She frowned, “What are you sorry for this time?”

  He showed his teeth, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Take your pick.”

  Kate studied his face, and what she saw there worried her. There was something deeper, something behind the casual words. “What are you thin…”

  Tyrion’s will wrapped itself around her mind, smoothing out the turbulence of her thoughts and pressing her awareness down, into the darkness. She felt his lips touch her forehead once, just before oblivion took her away. “Sleep…,” he murmured softly.

  Layla caught her as she sagged and began to fall. She looked at Tyrion, “What was that for?”

  “I didn’t feel like arguing with her,” he said simply. “Will you obey me, Layla?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Even in death?”