Sindarr cast his glance downward, slowly retracting his hand. “I thought maybe you would by my hope. I need to leave here… please?”
Armun shook his head, again.
Armun looked to the east, noticing that the battle master had walked upon the ever changing platform, who had been keeping the crowd riled while Sindarr spoke his broken monologue.
“Champion Sindarr is goading Roiland Cardiff, the newcomer! Who’s will is stronger!? Who will draw first blood!?”
The crowd noise settled down slightly, enough so that Armun could make out individual words.
Sindarr continued, his voice melodic, the sweetness of death on his lips. “Sweet Everburn, I can feel you. It’s so vast. I felt you just then - oh! Doesn’t our auras touching fill you with happiness? Can you feel mine?”
“Yes,” Armun said.
Sindarr curled his lips over his gums, smiling. “Then you know how powerful I am.”
“Yes,” Armun said.
Sindarr clasped his arms across his chest. “You could teach me so much, I’m sure.”
Armun said nothing, but remembered what one of his Grand Masters had told him as a young man.
Listen boy… the only thing fire understands is how to burn as brightly as possible.
Armun crouched low, ready to spring, realizing he had two choices; goad Sindarr into a fight, or die of heatstroke in the sun.
“I’m not going anywhere unless you show me what you can do.” He said.
Sindarr’s bottom lip curled again, around the nearest fang, blood dripping down his chin.
Armun could only stare with wide eyes as several things happened at once.
The first was his vision blurred as a heat wave rolled up his body. Sweat instantly drained from every pore on his skin, soaking his clothes, the ends of his beard hairs splitting thrice over.
And then his body turned ablaze in a pillar of flame.
Sindarr’s fire combusted around him. Black, orange and red flames exploding higher and higher, a hundred and twenty some odd bursts of red jealousy, competing, rising into the sky for however long.
There was no time to scream, and none was heard by even Sindarr, who stood but fifteen paces from the still rising red and orange menagerie. He posed for the crowd, satisfied, cackling with glee.
Armun burst through the flaming tower, moments before it began to dissipate, cloaked in ash and debris, flipping once over in a tight, balled up poise. Flakes of skin brushed away from his face and hands, disappearing into the sky. A reverse vacuum of air pulled back his silver mane.
The look on Sindarr’s face was one that Armun knew he would remember. The contortion of lips and eyes that told a story of unknowing. Sindarr did not know how, or why, or when Armun had been able to conjure a protective spell, or use some unknown technique to push effortlessly through.
And he never will, Armun thought. As casually as one might take a stroll through the peace of falling autumn leaves, he stood, and took a few slow steps towards Sindarr.
“You are strong, young feral. Now let me show you how an old man lives up to his name.”
Chapter 25
Sindarr could barely react in time to the first two strikes.
Armun’s fingers jabbed forward, reaching to the feral’s neck. Sindarr sprang back, but contact had been made.
Armun leapt forward to match him, and threw a powerful, heavy-handed punch that just barely missed Sindarr’s solar plexus, instead striking the left pectoral. The blow turned Sindarr left. Armun swung a sweeping kick into the feral’s exposed right side. As Sindarr stumbled back, he swiped outwards, wildly missing Armun’s face.
Even Sindarr’s scale armor felt weak against what Lobosa had given him. There was the expected blunt pain, but the usual sting of metal on protected bone did not come.
Sindarr’s leg jiggled with inner thigh weakness. He saw the feral grimace slightly. It was not much, but enough to know he had put him on the defensive. Armun swiftly struck it again, just nicking the muscle, but enough to justify a strike to the same area twice.
Armun readied himself for the counter strikes he knew were coming. His speed had not decayed in his old age, but it wasn’t enough to fight feral ferocity on its own.
The armor protected him from Sindarr’s sharpened nails, clawing rapidly from all directions. Sindarr gave up on magic for the moment, and dropped to all fours, roaring and leaping across Armun, swiping in sets of threes, fours, and fives.
But every time Sindarr countered, his nails scraped uselessly against the flexible armor, grazing off the green wrappings that protected Armun’s vitals.
Armun still felt the poke, but they were mere pinpricks.
The feral leapt above him. Armun crossed his arms as two quick swipes aimed to take out his eyes. The moment Sindarr landed, he wheeled and commenced another leap.
Before he struck, Sindarr left his head open.
Sindarr’s open hands grabbed towards Armun. Armun jumped forward and cocked his right leg into Sindarr’s chest. He let the leg slip out, and Sindarr reached for it.
The fake worked, and Armun’s left leg pounded into the side of the feral’s slackened jaw, body spinning, twisting until it collapsed firmly on the ground.
“Blrgl!” Sindarr cried with a mouthful of sand, tossing up a cloud as he landed.
The feral recovered quickly, hand over his blood filled mouth. Armun wasted no time in pressing his advantage.
As the lithe mage attempted to stand, Armun kicked at his exposed heels. Sindarr’s arm flew forward wildly, as if to give a vigorous handshake to his opponent. Armun met the unintended handshake, pulling the feral close.
Light mail clattered against his firm leather. Armun reached hard around the mage’s solar plexus, clasped his fingers in a bear grip, and squeezed.
Armun swept the leg again, but this time from the front, coiling his left around his opponent’s left, falling face first into the sand. He heard the crowd roar as they landed.
Armun closed his eyes, and listened to his opponent’s breathing. It was gruff, and hot, and full of spit. Sindarr was speaking to him, but he did not listen. His words were threats of terrible things he’d heard before. For every threat he made, Armun pressed the bear grip deeper, until it felt as if he’d dug his knuckles all the way through to Sindarr’s spine.
But soon, Sindarr’s labored puffing grew shorter, and shorter, until it was nothing more than a staccato wind moving in and out of his lungs with exhaustive effort.
Armun released the bear grip, and quickly moved to put Sindarr in a headlock.
Suddenly, Sindarr’s jaw opened. Armun heard something snap, and then felt the sharp fangs clamp onto his arm.
He cried out, letting go, tossing Sindarr hard across the sand.
Armun stepped back as Sindarr recovered, listening to the battle master call the fight.
“Roiland Cardiff has stepped back, releasing his powerful grip, thanks to the jaws of Sindarr!”
Armun waited as Sindarr regained composure, wondering if he should simply run, but knew too much could go wrong. He could escape the match and delve back into the tunnels, but what then? Where was Sir Trought? He’d need food and water, and knew it would only be a matter of time before he was tracked down, half starved, half dead.
Sindarr cut off his thoughts for him, baring his fangs, tossing back his cloak. The crowd cheered again for their favorite, mightily booing Armun.
Armun took a low stance, mimicking Sindarr’s own gait. Clearly beyond aggravated, Sindarr collected two fireballs in his hands, tossing them hard at Armun.
They splashed around Armun’s feet as he rolled out of the fireballs’ range of impact. Sindarr tumbled with each double throw, zigzagging around the perimeter, tumbling back around the western side of the ring.
Armun moved in, leaping and bounding in a pattern similar to Sindarr’s. Every move the mage made, Armun attempted to match, but the feral had obviously spent hours perfecting this particular technique. Every third fir
eball hit him, but he turned his body so that it would only impact his broad back, and craned back his neck to avoid having his skull seared into the sand.
The battle master raised his hands, calling out to the crowd.
“Roiland seems to be taking the brunt of Sindarr’s vicious fireballs! Will this strategy work?”
In the split second before the blaze took him, he allowed his aura to peek out, enough to protect him from Sindarr’s fire. He could tell, however, that it would not be enough. The amount of magical energy Sindarr had put in his flame tower attack was immense, and he had to extend his aura completely in order to deflect its power.
The armor was beginning to glow again, but there was nothing that could be done about it now. Armun did his best while dodging the streaking flames not to draw attention to it, hoping the crowd, and especially Lobosa, would write it off as a trick of the sunlight and fire.
Sindarr stopped suddenly and raised both hands, curling a deep snarl.
Armun could see the heat wave rising from his opponent’s palms, reaching thirty feet high, and knew what was coming next.
“Join my brother at the white plain!”
Spouts of flame burst from Sindarr’s claws, spewing forth as if uncorked from two centuries old bottles. It was as if he had cast the same spell from before, and separated it into two hands.
But Armun had already leapt, refusing to react second, planting the heel of his boot into Sindarr’s chest just moments before the mage brought both infernos together.
Sindarr fell back, the twin blazes shooting up towards the audience as onlookers cried out in terror. Sindarr nearly collapsed backwards, but recovered quickly, as Armun knew he would, the flame increasing in intensity.
Armun moved to take Sindarr’s back again, but the feral saw it coming. He attempted to wheel the spouting flames back towards Armun, two thick red whips, billowing like endless flags.
Sindarr howled, putting more power into the attack, the width of the horizontal columns shooting over and over again.
Armun dodged and rolled relentlessly as he pressed forward, wheeling and turning around Sindarr like an acrobat’s hoop. Sindarr moved just as fluidly, hoping to catch him in a mistake.
But Armun knew he could not make one. Without warning, the flame spouts grew shorter. Sindarr was cutting off the spell.
Armun knew that such a literal burn of so much power would kill Sindarr’s energy. Armun also knew that as Sindarr turned off his power, he would have to wait before using it. He watched as Sindarr’s aura began to fizzle out, shrinking in size. As the flames began to die, he ran towards Sindarr, matching the speed at which they receded.
“Why won’t you burn!?” Sindarr yelled. He juked hard to the left, but Armun matched him. Sindarr jerked right, but his foot snagged a rock.
Sindarr’s left arm flew wide, a random burst of flame pushing it further open. Armun gripped the arm and cranked it straight, then jammed the well-toned limb into its shoulder socket. Armun made a fierce palm, and struck at the elbow.
Sindarr’s painful howl echoed loudly, blocking out the snapping sound for everyone except Armun to hear.
Armun tossed the feral over his shoulder, heaving him by the waist, though Sindarr managed to turn around before hitting the hard sand, landing on his feet but collapsing momentarily. He struck forward with his uninjured arm, attempting to thrust a fireball back toward his opponent.
Armun dropped into Sindarr’s chest with a powerful shoulder butt, stunting the attack. The fireball dropped to the ground, shattering into red streams, tossing bits of flame in a spiral pattern.
Armun tossed the broken arm over his head as Sindarr tried to use it like a flyswatter. Armun stepped back, gauging his distance well, never too close to be hit, but just out of his own range. Sindarr was heaving his breath, and his aura had weakened. The young mage was no longer a threat.
He struck three times rapidly at Sindarr’s lower abdomen, scale mail doing nothing to stop the effect of his blows. The pungent odor of feral urine wafted up towards Armun’s nostrils, enhanced by the remaining patches of fire that dotted the battleground.
Sindarr fell upon his back, kicking away furiously, kidney and bladder destroyed, minus one arm, and no aura left to speak of.
Armun realized then that the crowd had stopped cheering.
The beautiful feral wizard was in complete disarray. His clothes were tattered and dirt covered, blackened by his own power. His right arm was stiff and useless, the left one barely working. Armun watched as Sindarr tried to generate flame into both hands, but it sputtered out lifelessly. Armun pushed out his aura to touch Sindarr, and could sense all the damage he had caused.
“You should give up.” Armun said.
Sindarr snorted weakly. “Never.”
Armun straightened his back, towering over his opponent. “Then make your peace.”
Sindarr looked away, and up to what Armun assumed was Lobosa’s tower, sighing.
Sindarr’s head lowered as he began to laugh, slowly at first, then louder, more maniacally.
Armun watched in surprise as Sindarr’s aura grew fuller, brighter, then compressed tightly into Sindarr’s chest, burning as bright as the sun.
“You’ll all burn!” he cried. Sindarr raised his right hand to the sky. Slowly flames began to surround his body, still crying out amidst broken fits of laughter.
“All of you! All of you! Everyone!”
Flames arced across his body, sparking to life, appearing and disappearing with the sounds of rolling thunder, shearing in and out of existence like orange spectres. Suddenly, they became larger, and more numerous, until they appeared as thick as the ocean, rain drops of black death swirling at such a high speed that the crowd could barely make out Sindarr’s figure.
Armun knew what Sindarr planned to do; cooking himself alive, the energy he was collecting needed to be expelled. One last strike as a living bomb.
Armun felt Sindarr’s aura shift and aim towards him, and the few thousand people behind him. He knew the blast would take at least third of the crowd, and another third might die from shrapnel and debris, smashing their heads and cutting skin.
Armun picked up a bone, unsure if Sindarr’s plan was meant to reveal him for what he truly was, or to simply take him down for the count. Either way, there was no choice left to him.
The flames continued to grow, the attack similar in appearance as the one at the start of the match, though the flames were now mostly black and blue, orange and red accenting the hues every few seconds, sparking up whenever they pleased. Wind blew the sand away from Sindarr in wide circular arcs, revealing the ornate carvings on the floor of the arena.
Little black flakes stung his eyes, degrading pieces of Sindarr’s flesh.
With a fast prayer, Armun dropped the small bone, and picked up a larger piece, sharper and spear shaped. He focused his aura into it, and the bone become dense, heavier. He took a javelin throwers stance, aiming at Sindarr’s chest.
Spirallo, he thought, tossing the bone. It flew straight, taking wind with it.
The sharp bone hit its mark, disappearing into the flame.
Armun opened his hands to his opponent and fully released his aura. It pushed out as Sindarr’s spell combusted upon itself.
The sound was deafening, explosions blooming like violent death flowers, Armun’s magic armor and aura protecting him from the intensity. His ears rang, drowning out all sound, his body lifting off the ground, tumbling backwards.
Armun tucked into a ball, expanding his aura to protect himself. If the people in the arena were hurt, then it was now up to Harma’s judgement, and not his own. He buried his head in his knees, using his weight to keep it from cracking against bone, sand or limestone walls.
When his body stopped rolling, he covered his ears. The explosions seemed to go on endlessly. The screaming refused to stop as well.
He listened, waiting for a lull in the roar, but a lull never came. He rolled over, shielding his eyes with cro
ssed arms, peering through the gap in between them. Fireballs were still tumbling across the crowd, smoke blanketing the entire arena like jagged, puffy curtains. He stood quickly, shuffling his way through the crowd. He coughed hard as the smoke filled his lungs. Tiny fluttering sparks touched his skin, surprisingly cool to the touch.
As the smoke parted, everything the flame touched was left black and jagged, from the ground to the walls where the fire had struck, to the bodies that now bore the mark of Sindarr. Two lines from where Armun had extended his aura raced up the walls, but they were not too noticeable.
A thousand hacking coughs emanated from the Scarlett Ring. Armun continued to part the smoke, the crowd still blocked from his vision. His foot stepped on something, and it gave way instantly, floating away in black crispy pieces. It was Sindarr’s cloak.
“Here...”
Armun trudged towards the voice, taking one swipe of the air to his right before seeing Sindarr. He looked to have been dipped in a drying lava field, his body oozing blood and bright orange goo. The bone that had sprung from his hands protruded from Sindarr’s lower abdomen, blood seeping from around its burnt edges.
Armun tried to look into Sindarr’s eyes, but they were no longer there, just piles of ash inside of dust ridden sockets.
“I - heh.”
Sindarr’s last word broke his jaw, which smashed onto the floor like a cheap clay pot, carried away in the wind. He stood, watching the rest of his body fall to pieces. Sindarr’s final act was a sight he had seen too many times before, a desperate act that had cost many young cloaks and hysterical wizards to kill more than they needed to.
Guilt and sympathy tugged on Armun, his shoulders slackening. Armun’s armor sputtered and glowed from absorbing the mage’s fire during the battle, thankful that the smoke shrouded him from sight.
Slowly, the smoke parted, crawling away at a snail’s pace. The carnage was something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Sindarr’s power had indeed been great.
Armun could count perhaps twenty to thirty corpses lying on top of the living as they struggled to push them aside. The enforcers and guards helped, but most of the corpses turned to ash in their hands, and they gave up in frustration, turning their “help” towards the nobles, who could be more easily threatened into paying their debts. Armun looked up to the noble men and women, safely perched in their towers. He heard screams from a few of them and thought, good. Let that be a lesson to those who profit from evil.
Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks Page 25