CHAPTER 40
Choss stared at Daxx across the square with a growing sense of dread. It had begun as a seed of fear in the pit of his stomach like a frozen stone, but now tendrils of trepidation were creeping out across his body.
Although he still trained every day it had been two years since he’d fought in the ring. Two years since he’d been under the same pressure. Two years since he’d fought and beaten his toughest competitor, who now stood beside him as a friend. At the peak of his fitness and in good health, he would’ve stood a fair chance of beating Daxx. But that was not today.
Daxx didn’t fight for honour or money, but for something else. The fuel at his core was dark and unknown, but Choss had seen delight flicker across lifeless eyes when Daxx hurt people. He didn’t relish the challenge or even victory over an opponent, but he took great pleasure in inflicting agony on others.
There would be no reasoning with him. No peaceful solution. Daxx didn’t want anything except to hurt other people. The seed of fear swelled again but Choss did his best to shake it off and ignore its icy fingers. He had too much to live for and a chance at something new with Munroe.
“This man, he seems different,” muttered Gorrax, watching Daxx move towards them. A group of four jackals entered the square from the opposite side, their faces twisted into feral masks, driven berserk by the tainted venthe. Another present from Dońa Parvie and her delightful sister.
“No, he’s mine!” snarled Daxx, turning to attack the four men. He cut down two of them in seconds with vicious slashes, while one charged at Choss and Gorrax, ignoring the fate of his friends. His attack was clumsy and wild, which made it easy for Choss to dodge him and Gorrax to get behind him and then rip out his throat with his claws. There was a final squeal of pain as Daxx killed the last jackal, driving his sword into the man’s chest where it burst between his ribs. With a sharp twist and yank Daxx retrieved his sword, letting the man drop to the ground.
Choss noticed Gorrax watching Daxx with a peculiar expression, one he’d not seen before.
“Gorrax? What’s wrong?”
“This man, he is interesting,” said Gorrax with a smile. “I will fight him.”
“He wants me,” said Choss.
As Daxx cleaned his blade on the dead men’s clothes, Gorrax turned towards Choss with an eager smile.
“Choss, you are very important to me. You’ve taught me many things about your people and how they live, but I am not one of you. I will never be like you. I am Vorga. This man brings me something I have not seen since we fought.”
“What’s that?”
Gorrax smiled. “A challenge. I can see his hate. It burns inside and nothing will douse it. He will never stop. This pleases me.”
“I can’t ask you to fight for me,” said Choss.
Gorrax put a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye. “I know this will not shame you, so I will speak plainly. You are injured. You cannot beat him like this. Do I speak the truth?” he asked and eventually Choss reluctantly had to agree. “I will fight, not because you ask, but because I choose this and want this.”
Much to Choss’s surprise Gorrax touched him lightly on one cheek then kissed him gently on the mouth.
“What was that for?”
Gorrax took a deep breath, his chest swelling beneath the plain grey vest. “Once, you asked me why I left my people. I did this because the one I chose was Vorga in his heart like you, but he was not born Vorga. He was a human man and my people could not accept this.”
Choss didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know where to start. No one knew much about Vorga culture, but he’d been learning from Gorrax over the years. Even so he was struggling to fit what Gorrax had told him and how he should respond. He started to offer some words of sympathy but then noticed the swelling beneath Gorrax’s vest had not receded. In fact it had grown further and resembled breasts.
Suddenly things started to come together in his mind. The way Gorrax deferred to him, the strange ritualistic greeting and the frequent but gentle physical contact.
“My name is Gorraxi,” said the Vorga, smiling at his confusion. “No man ever bested me until you. You are worthy of Nethun.”
Choss was still struggling for words, but he managed to gesture at the Vorga’s breasts, which were starting to recede.
“Vorga females can control them. We swim better with them flat,” she explained. All Vorga wore little clothing except kilts and vests, but Choss had never wondered why he’d never seen Gorraxi’s naked torso from the front. At the arena the Vorga always showered alone, as she intimidated the other fighters. Choss recalled a few times he’d walked in when the Vorga had been getting dressed and had only seen her from behind.
Dozens of other little clues started to drift to the surface. He’d also wondered about the strange gestures and unusual greeting she made towards him and no one else.
Part of him wanted to tell her not to fight in his place, but the small part of him that understood her knew that this would hurt her worse than any blade. Strength and skill defined a person’s position in Vorga society, nothing else. Squashing the voice of his ego Choss smiled and clapped Gorraxi on her shoulder just as he’d always done.
“I would be honoured to watch you fight,” said Choss, careful not to mention the outcome or his desire to see her live.
Gorraxi stepped forward and casually bent down to retrieve the sword from one of the dead thugs. Choss couldn’t recall ever seeing the Vorga holding a weapon, let alone fight with one. Even when they’d attacked the venthe farms she’d killed men with her bare hands. As she swung the blade a few times to get used to the weight he recalled the stories she’d told him about being born knowing how to fight with weapons.
If Daxx was concerned he didn’t show it, his hateful gaze resettling on the Vorga.
“I have been waiting a long time for this,” said Gorraxi, stepping forward and gesturing for Daxx to attack her. “Let us see what is in your heart.”
Daxx sneered before launching into a blistering series of attacks, each slice carefully controlled and aimed at a different part of the body. Choss had seen this before when fighters tested each other’s ability to see if they had a weakness in their defence. Gorraxi met Daxx’s attacks with apparent ease, a puzzled and disappointed expression on her face. Such probing tactics were alien to her but she played along, perhaps only out of curiosity.
Daxx took a couple of steps back, reassessing his opponent, carefully studying the Vorga for the first time. This was unlike any fight he’d ever been in before and he was slowly beginning to realise that. Instead of waiting for Daxx to regroup Gorraxi attacked, launching a series of moves so fast Choss couldn’t track the blade. Somehow Daxx managed to keep the Vorga at bay, but he took one and then a few more steps back as Gorraxi drove him across the square.
The sheer ferocity of her assault caught Daxx by surprise as he stumbled, his left heel slipping on the ground. He managed to keep his blade up but Gorraxi didn’t press her advantage. Instead she waited just out of reach for Daxx to get back to his feet.
To beat him because he had slipped on wet stones would not satisfy her. He could be a worthy opponent, which meant she had to beat him with both of them on their feet, eye to eye. It wasn’t honour as Choss thought of it, as he’d seen Gorraxi kill men from behind on the venthe raids. It was something he was still struggling to grasp despite her attempts to explain it.
Daxx mistook her gesture for kindness or some form of noble intent. With a snarl of rage he attacked again, doing his best to dismember or maim the Vorga. He hacked and stabbed at her in a way Choss had never seen before. Once, many years ago, Daxx may have been taught how to wield a sword by an instructor. Across the years, a river of blood and countless cruel murders, his technique had evolved into something as black and horrific as his soul. There was no grace, no fluidity to his style, only the intent to inflict as much pain as possible before killing his opponent.
Gorraxi stood her gr
ound, parrying Daxx’s blows with her own unorthodox style. She seemed able to anticipate his attacks. It was the only way Choss could understand how she maintained perfect balance and never once gave him an opening. They battled back and forth across the square, pressing each other hard, both doing their utmost to find an opening in their opponent’s defence.
Sweat freely ran down Daxx’s face and he showed considerable strain, from the grinding of his teeth to the taut muscles in his jaw. His breath hissed out from between his teeth and he barely seemed to blink, his eyes never leaving Gorraxi’s face. Choss didn’t know if Gorraxi could sweat but as far as he could tell the Vorga wasn’t displaying any signs of discomfort at the relentless pace. Whether they were evenly matched or not, Choss didn’t know, but a fight at this speed couldn’t continue for long. Eventually one of them would make a mistake and even one small slip-up could prove lethal.
When it happened Choss didn’t see it and he only realised when he heard the familiar clicking of Gorraxi’s tongue. Something had caused the Vorga to lose her balance, perhaps an uneven stone or wet patch of ground, but one leg had slipped, creating a small opening in her defence. Daxx had no issue using it to his advantage and the point of his sword sliced Gorraxi across the ribs on her right. Pale green blood seeped from the wound, soaking into her vest.
At the clicking of the Vorga’s tongue Daxx’s expression twisted into one of malicious glee. He didn’t understand what it meant. He thought Gorraxi was in pain, but Choss remembered the terror that had gripped him in the ring seconds after hearing that noise. Now the fight would truly begin.
Gorraxi shifted her grip on the sword to two hands and a peculiar calm settled on her. Her expression became serene and she stood poised with the sword held ready, silent and stiff as a statue. Daxx didn’t care about the sudden change, he simply attacked, trying to disembowel the Vorga. Gorraxi parried his slice but barely seemed to move, swaying to one side and tapping his blade with hers, knocking it to one side of her body.
Her riposte flicked towards his face and, despite stepping back, Daxx cried out in pain, a red line appearing down his left cheek. When he saw the blood on his fingers Daxx flew into a rage but now Gorraxi was ready to fight in earnest.
Both swords moved so quickly they became silver blurs of light. The rhythmic sound of steel striking steel echoed off buildings around the empty square. Despite his obvious skill with a sword Daxx moved like a clumsy oaf in comparison to Gorraxi, who seemed to flow from one position to the next.
In all the years Choss had known the Vorga, he’d always respected Gorraxi and knew that she was as strong, if not stronger, and tougher than him. Not once had he thought her capable of being graceful, but now the creature before him moved in a way that was so instinctive and elegant he began to understand a small piece of her heritage. When a Vorga held a weapon they didn’t have to learn how to use it, they knew and had always known since the moment of their birth. Down through the generations, since the first of them had swum up from the ocean and stepped onto dry land. Each generation gifted their experience and knowledge to the next, creating a legacy without comparison.
Daxx tried to overpower Gorraxi but his frustration and rage were insufficient. When they had run their course and faded, he had nothing to fall back on except his skill and experience from years of murder. His movements became less wild, more precise and focused, but still they carried a vicious edge. There were attempts to slice her fingers, take out an eye, kick her and do anything and everything to gain an advantage. Gorraxi met him with a calm expression and the combined knowledge of her ancestors.
Blocking a high swing, Gorraxi feinted a riposte towards Daxx’s legs then did something with her arm so quickly that Choss couldn’t follow. He saw her twisting her blade in a furious arc, then Daxx stumbled back with one hand clutching his stomach while red seeped out from between his fingers. For the first time since the fight had begun Choss saw a glimmer of fear in Daxx’s eyes. The burning hatred had not diminished and perhaps it was this, despite his injury, which drove him to attack Gorraxi. Casually batting his sword aside she sidestepped his follow-up, then swung her blade in a wide arc that made the steel whistle through the air.
The blade bit into the side of Daxx’s neck and carried on, cleanly severing his head from his shoulders. Daxx’s head bounced across the square as his body collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from the severed neck. Gorraxi looked down at Daxx’s body and shook her head in disappointment.
“You are not worthy of Nethun,” she said.
Across the square someone began a slow clap, mocking Gorraxi’s victory.
“Brilliant,” said Dońa Parvie, still clapping. “Brilliant, but fucking stupid.”
Behind Dońa Parvie came her twin sister and behind her a dozen jackals, all of them armed and several foaming at the mouth, driven to madness by the Flesh Mage’s new venthe.
“Any last words?” asked Dońa Parvie with a grin.
CHAPTER 41
Katja was out of time. Rodann had been careful to conceal parts of the plan from her and the others, but now it didn’t matter. She needed to understand what he was planning and fill in the blanks. She had to work out who posed the greatest threat and find a way to stop them.
Rodann’s two people in the kitchens had failed in their attempt to poison the guards with the tainted venthe and were now dead. If they had been given any other tasks to fulfil, those would now fall to someone else or the plan would have to change.
Despite her sneer at Katja, Lizbeth had also been neutralised from causing further problems. Her injuries were modest but she had overplayed her hand by claiming to be in agonising pain. She would be relieved of her duties for the next few hours and either sent home or dispatched to a hospital. Either way she wouldn’t be able to assist Rodann and his people.
But just as someone can secure victory in a game of Stones, even with some pieces taken off the board, Katja thought Rodann could still win. He would have made alternative plans in case parts of the main plot failed, and now, with three people dead or injured, he would be putting those into action.
Something intruded on Katja’s thoughts and it took a few seconds before she remembered where she was. Opening her eyes brought her back to the present and her current predicament.
Both of her arms had been tied to the chair and more ropes held her ankles in place.
Across the table Captain Cole of Queen Morganse’s royal guards stared at her without sympathy. He was taking the threat against his Queen very seriously. The only thing she knew about him was his name and rank.
So far all he’d done was ask her the same questions over and over. What had she been planning? Was she working alone? Why did she want to get into the Queen’s quarters?
“Who are you working with?” asked Cole for the umpteenth time. “Is Lord Mullbrook working with you?”
“No, he’s a mark,” said Katja, trying not to show any emotion. “I needed to get into the palace so I blackmailed him.”
She wasn’t sure if Cole believed her but Lord Mullbrook had done more than enough to help her. It was the least she could do to keep him away from this.
“Why did you attack the servant?”
“I’ll take over from here, Captain,” said a voice, startling them both. A woman in a black cloak with a deep hood watched them from the doorway. Despite the hood Cole recognised her, and he immediately stood up and stepped back. There was something familiar about the woman’s voice, but she never took her hands from inside her cloak and her voice was muffled. Whoever she was, Cole deferred to her and, seemingly afraid, quickly hurried from the room.
The woman sat down opposite then took off her hood, setting it and the cloak to one side.
Faith smiled at Katja from across the table.
A hundred questions surged to the front of her mind but Faith spoke before she could ask. “Did you think you were the only agent in the palace tonight?” asked Faith.
“You work for Queen Morganse,�
� said Katja and Faith inclined her head.
“And you work for Queen Talandra,” replied Faith. Her tone of voice carried a trace of reproach.
“How long have you known?”
“Quite a while. Why do you think I insisted Rodann bring you into his little circle?” said Faith with a slight shake of her head. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”
It wasn’t really a question and Katja didn’t answer. “Why didn’t you say something?” asked Katja.
“For the same reasons you didn’t.”
Orders. Katja knew Roza had wanted to share what they knew with Queen Morganse’s people about the plot, but Talandra had overruled her.
“Now that we both know, are you willing to share?” asked Katja.
“You first,” said Faith with a smile.
At this point Katja saw little point in lying. If Faith thought she was being dishonest, Katja would spend the rest of the night locked in a cell. Katja outlined what she knew about the others in the group and then came to the fate of Marcella and her husband in the kitchens.
“Tainted with what?” asked Faith.
“Given the blue stains around their mouth, some sort of venthe. It would have driven the guards into a berserk rage. It doesn’t matter, they’re dead and hopefully Lizbeth is not in the palace any more?”
“No, she’s in a cell,” said Faith.
“There was another group of people,” said Katja. “When I first saw Rodann and Teigan they were talking to a group I’ve not seen since. We’ve been unable to trace them.”
“They’re an acting troupe, if you can believe it,” said Faith. “Disillusioned by their lack of success they found it easy to blame those in charge.”
“But how did Rodann get them into the palace?” asked Katja.
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