Totally rattled at the news, Lars plastered on a poker face of indifference. “It’s everyone else that’s in for a surprise. See, I’ve been holding back a lot more than anyone realizes. So is Galatia. If Josie dies, I’ll have nothing left to lose, and you don’t want to see what that means.”
“Try me, Dread—show us what you and Galatia have in store for us.”
Other cellmates gathered around, egging him on as if they had caught him in a boast he couldn’t carry out. Opening his charisma full throttle, Lars surfboarded into Dregg’s mind on the thread of his fear, where he took over his motor functions, forcing him to strangle himself.
When Dregg’s hands closed tighter, and gurgles came from his throat, their cellmates scoffed. “C’mon, you two are putting us on. He’s just choking himself to make it look like you’re making him do that.”
But some of the other men shrank back in fear.
Dregg’s eyes began to bulge. His face went from bright red to blue, and he swayed, clearly beyond the point of volition. The prisoners who’d scoffed now froze in silent horror and wonder.
“Enough’s enough!” Crash pleaded with Lars to stop. “You made your point, Dread. Knock it off.”
Lars severed the link. His victim fell to the ground gasping for breath as his buddies helped him scurry to a corner. They looked at Lars as if he had turned into the devil.
“Nice trick, Dread,” Crash said, smirking. “Maybe you can use it in your last act.”
For the remainder of the evening, Lars’s cellmates kept a wide space between him and themselves. Even Crash kept his distance. To hell with them all, Lars thought, shaking the mouse droppings out of a green blanket, and curling under it on the floor. As he fell asleep, he had that same nightmare that had plagued him since the demise of the bunker, being pursued by a dark shadow with a twisted black sword. No matter how far he ran, or where he hid, that shadow was always just behind him, waiting to pounce.
A touch on the back of his shoulder made him startle awake. Fellow prisoners often exacted revenge as their enemy slept, so Lars had become a light sleeper. Flipping open his eyes, there wasn’t a person in sight. He felt the slightest touch, like the flittering of moth wings on his lips.
“Josie?” Another flicker of butterfly kissing. Lars laid back down, letting his breathing relax as he transitioned into the Mind Wander. There was Josie, dressed in a layered ball gown, and wearing a tiara. Her eyes were big and filled with concern, but he couldn’t help but smile.
“Nice outfit.”
She glanced down as if she had forgotten about it. The gown instantly morphed back into brown trousers and white tunic. “I ran across Mr. Bayloo and some big wigs during a Mind Wander...the Alliance is paying Mr. Bayloo to rig the fight, ensuring our defeat.”
“I heard, but I don’t understand why.”
“It’s a public relations thing,” she replied. “Seems this war against Galatia isn’t all that popular. People think we’re witches and sorcerers. They’re worried that Mayor Wakeland will hex any nation that goes up against him. They hope our deaths in the arena will prove that even though Galatians fight well, we bleed and die like everyone else.”
“But we make Bayloo a lot of money--why would he want to kill us?”
“Apparently, we’ve paid for ourselves a thousand times over, and the Alliance is paying him enough to make up for the next fifty shows.” Josie flung her ethereal arms around Lars. There was no warmth in this state, but electricity passed between them. “The only silver lining in this dark cloud is that we will be fighting together for the first time.”
“Which means he can’t use you as leverage against me.”
“Or you me,” Josie said. “And you know what that means.”
“Escape.’
“Security is heaviest during a fight,” she pointed out. “But making a break for it while we’re in the arena is our only chance.”
“It seems risky.”
“I know, but there’s always Plan B.”
“And what is Plan B?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Whatever you decide, I’m with you, babe.”
“Babe,” she snickered.
Pulling her mystical form closer, he kissed her starry lips, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.
Chapter Thirty-Two
(Larsen Drey Steelsun)
On the morning of the show, a pointy-eared Forest Gnome with pickle-colored skin and a hook nose that took up most of his face, entered the cell. He carried a golden suit of armor for Lars—gifts from Mr. Bayloo. The armor came in so many pieces that Lars couldn’t tell the elbow guards from the knee guards, so the gnome stayed to help him strap it on the right places. The golden helmet, which sported a fluffy black plume, had Dread engraved across the forehead. The chest plates were molded like rippling pectoral muscles.
The Gnome held up a mirror. Lars turned to the left, turned to the right, and flexed an arm muscle.
“Wow,” he said, admiring his buff physique. “I look awesome—like a real gladiator.”
“Don’t get a willy over yourself,” Crash said irritably. “Your face is still ugly.”
“Have you seen that crowd?” An exuberant voice bellowed in the back ground. Lars tuned to see the flamboyant Mr. Bayloo strutting toward him in six-inch high red platform boots. He had on red jacket to match with double-breasted silver buttons. His gray pants were striped in the same shade as the jacket and boots. A black bicorn with a huge white plume that jostled and swayed with the slightest movement topped the outfit. “We got dignitaries, nobles, generals and fancy ladies from every corner of the West. We got soldiers, merchants, and we even got a goddamn queen. And you know why they’re here, Dread?”
“To see me die, I suppose,” Lars said with a tired sigh.
“Curiousity, of course. We’ve had a delicate two-hundred-year peace, but troops of every nation are on their way to the northlands. Seeing the Dread of the West and his woman in a live performance will answer many of their questions.”
An angry lump formed in Lars’s throat. In a stroke of inspiration, he used his charisma to enter Bayloo’s mind, but touching the theater owner’s psyche was like punching a stone wall. What the hell? Undeterred, Lars took over the mind of the guard next to Bayloo, forcing him to go straight for Mr. Bayloo with a knife. Lars had heard Mr. Bayloo had been a champion fighter in his day, but the speed at which he moved still surprised him. The theater owner had his own knife out, and slit the guard’s throat, before Lars could blink. The dead guard dropped to his knees and Mr. Bayloo pushed him toward one of the trainers as if it were just another day at the office.
“Take the dead meat to the kitchen.”
Lars gagged.
Chapter Thirty-Three
OneMonth After Leaving the Slayer Homestead
(Dante Armstrong)
The idea of returning to Jo without her little sister in tow made his head throb. He had known Josie since she was ten years old. Losing her couldn’t have hurt any less than losing one of his own siblings. His throat tightened when he thought about her being lost and alone out there. Or worse...no, he refused to entertain that line of thinking any longer.
It was possible that she was holed up somewhere with Lars, waiting for the rest of the squad to find them. Maybe they had trailed the Seeker of the Four Winds on their own, found it, and were already back in Galatia. Though those seemed implausible outcomes for the two inexperienced swimmers who fell into rapids—considering other possible scenarios was just too painful.
Rolf had taken the horses and traveled alone by land, while the rest of the squad traveled down the Kalida River in search of their missing companions. The plan was to meet up with Rolf again in the outskirts of Tectonia, an area Dante knew well, having lived in Tectonia for several years. Many Galatians still lived there, including Josie’s father, Geoffrey Spaulding. If they needed assistance, they could count on Geoffrey to help them.
Loyl, Lindsey and Dante had spent
weeks bobbing along the edges of the river in a rowboat as they attempted to retrace Lars’s and Josie’s accidental journey. Though most clues had probably been washed away by the winter thaw and subsequent spring flooding. If it hadn’t been for Lindsey Burning’s ability to see the unseeable, using her charismatic rewind on rocks and dead wood, including ships, the search would have ended swiftly.
After what seemed like the hundredth ship, she found Lars’s and Josie’s imprint on a large merchant vessel. They had been rescued! But then Lindsey described what had happened.
“They were held in chains on one of the lower decks. When they tried to escape, a big fight broke out on deck. Josie and Lars dove off the side of the ship, but they were captured again and transferred to another ship. There’s a name on its side, but I can’t make out the letters.”
Dante and Prince Loyl said nothing, letting the news sink in.
“What do we do now?” Lindsey asked.
“This is a slave ship,” Loyl said. “We can’t just knock on the door and make an inquiry.”
“I say we don’t knock,” Dante replied. “We climb aboard late at night and pay the good captain a surprise visit.”
So, they kept the ship in sight and waited until nightfall. While Lindsey held the rowboat steady by sculling, Loyl deftly climbed up the side of the ship by hooking the wood with claws. When he got to the top, he tossed down a rope for Dante.
“Careful,” Lindsey whispered.
Under the nose of the ship’s heavy security, Dante and Loyl broke into the cabin where the captain lay snoring. Loyl stuck an arrow into his left nostril, while Dante held him down. In less than a minute, they learned that Lars and Josie had been sold to a Commoner called Mr. Bayloo.
“Mr. Bayloo of the Bayloo Theater Company?” Dante asked.
The captain nodded.
Dante had caught the theater company’s show a couple of times. Even though everybody knew the actors weren’t just acting, Dante had never questioned that they were willing participants until now. When through with the captain, Dante tied and gagged him, then returned to the rowboat with Loyl. Within a few days, they were docking at the port of Tectonia, where the captain’s story was confirmed.
Loyl had spotted a poster on the wall of a saloon. The missing pair’s likeness was drawn intertwined in a sexy embrace. Want to catch a glimpse of the mysterious newcomers in action? the advertisement read, Come see the Dread of the West and the Bitch of Galatia battle it out in the arena!
“Holy crap!” Lindsey’s eyes bugged out. “It’s them!”
..............................
(Dante Armstrong)
Prince Loyl took advantage of the status quo to secure seats for the show, but he sat in the area for important people, where he schmoozed with other royalty, while Dante and Lindsey were regulated to the common area. Rolf was situated on the opposite side of the bleachers with Josie’s father. Even though the weather was a balmy 60 F according to Lindsey’s electronic reader, Dante’s teeth were chattering at the thought of seeing Josie in the arena again. Sweet mother of mercy, his teenaged sister-in-law had become a lauded killer. Would she even want to be rescued?
Oh, god, how embarrassing. The Bitch of Galatia had just come out, wearing tons of makeup and a cocky grin on her face, but very little everywhere else. Only the golden cord around her wrist confirmed her identity. She carried a net and an iron metal trident. A thick black ponytail came out of the top of her golden helmet.
“That’s Josie all right,” Lindsey said. “I’d recognize the haughty glare a mile away. Could she wear her makeup any thicker? And what’s with the metal bra? It looks like something out of a sex and bondage magazine.”
“Quiet,” he said. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”
“You mean sister-in-law.”
“She’ll always be little sis to me.” He watched her toss her sword in the air and deftly catch it. “Whoa, where’d she learn to do that?”
During a show two days ago, Dante had watched her disembowel a Commoner. A second later she sent a Sleestak look-alike to its death by throwing a dagger into his throat. She fought so methodically, so coldly, it was like watching the Terminator at work. It had taken him the last forty-eight hours to process that the Bitch of Galatia and Josie were the same person.
According to today’s roster, Josie would fight solo for act two. Lars would fight solo for act eight. The fifteenth act was the last of the show and the two of them would team up against an unnamed opponent.
“I am glad Josie doesn’t hate me anymore,” Lindsey said through a mouth full of popcorn, bringing Dante’s thoughts back to the present. “She’s kind of scary now.” Even though Dante thought Lindsey was generally annoying, after seeing her lingering near death for so long, it was nice to see her energy level returning. “I thought my popcorn days were over when we came forward to the future. Hey, Dante, be a sport and snag me another bag.”
Rolling his eyes, he held his breath when the battle started. A Bulwark charged at the Bitch of Galatia, horns down. Dante flinched, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword, the urge to spring to her rescue was so strong. He needn’t have worried: Josie leapt, twisting in midair over the Bulwark to land squarely behind him. Her dagger found the base of his neck. Down he went. The crowd cheered, but Dante felt ill.
“Any third year gymnast can do that,” Lindsey said. “I mean the tumbling part, not the stabbing, which would be a full point deduction, I’m sure. Oh, look!” She pointed to the main entrance where Prince Loyl made his graceful way up the bleachers into the main box with Mr. Bayloo. “The lucky dog,” she said, narrowing her eyes menacingly at the squad leader. “Did you see that? The serving wench just handed him a sandwich and a glass of wine. I wonder if he has to pay for it. I bet not. The food is probably complimentary if you’re a big wig.”
“Being a prince has its perks.”
“The richer you are, the more free stuff you get. It’s just not fair.”
As Lindsey complained about the injustice in the world, Dante was sweating under his cloak and hood. He hadn’t expected there to be so many soldiers in the crowd. This plan could blow up in all of their faces. He took out a photo secured in a sandwich bag. It was of Jo, Nick, Shasta and himself sitting in front of the Christmas tree in their pod a few months before the earthquake. That had been a wonderful day filled with family and close friends. His bright-eyed babies had torn into their gifts and spent the rest of the day bouncing around, so full of joy had they been. Sam Harvey had snapped the picture. So much had changed. Where had the time gone? Would he ever see his loved ones again?
“I’d kill for a soda right now,” Lindsey said. “But this stupid world hasn’t bothered to reinvent it yet.”
“What I do for Galatia,” he whispered like a prayer as he gazed at the fading images of his family, “I do for you.” Kissing the photo, he tucked it safely back into his army jacket.
Then it was Lars Steelsun’s turn on the stage.
A pack of necodens, also known as kill tooths, had been held in an igloo-shaped cage off to the side of the arena; a few of them had turned on each other during the show. As big as grizzlies, but more wolf-like in appearance, the Kill Tooths were known for taking down huge prey, though these looked thin and ragged. Probably starved for days, they went nuts at the sight of a lone man with only a shield and sword to defend himself—Lars.
The doors to the cage was released.
With nowhere to go, and no chance at outrunning the animals, Lars scrambled up the side of the igloo cage. Three Kill Tooths crawled back into the cage, trying to snap at him from underneath. Lars threaded his sword through the slats and killed them without much effort. Three down, six to go.
One of the Kill Tooths figured out how to climb up the cage.
Trapped, the end seemed certain for Lars, until he leapt onto the largest Kill Tooth’s back. The animal ran in circles like a gigantic dog chasing its own tail, trying to bite him. Lars ran his blade th
rough the back of its neck. Popcorn flew everywhere when Lindsey jumped to her feet with excitement, whooping and hollering as if Lars had made the winning touchdown.
The Kill Tooth skidded headfirst across the ground. The other members of the pack leapt over the body of their dead companion to get at Lars, who sliced them in the belly while they were helplessly airborne.
Guts spilled on the ground, leaving the crowd gasping and erupting with cheers.
“Dread, Dread, Dread,” the people chanted.
Despite the situation, and his growing anxiety levels, an electric thrill passed through Dante. The kid was so good itfilled him with national pride.
“For Galatia,” Lars hollered at the crowd.
A boo went through the crowd, which made Lars frown, give them a rude gesture with his fist, and hold his sword higher. He somersaulted off of the pile, sauntering back to the exit.
“Wow,” Lindsey gushed. “Look at the nice arms on him. I never realized Lars Steelsun would grow up to be such a hottie. Six more acts,” Lindsey said, glancing at the gate where the fighters entered. “And then it’s lock and load.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
(Larsen Drey Steelsun)
Lars returned to the backstage area where he sat down on a stool and doused himself in buckets of water. Another slave polished his armor for the final act. Slaughterhouse massaged his shoulders, making him feel like a prize fighter about to enter the ring.
“You want to look your best when the devil comes for you,” Slaughterhouse mocked. “Can’t say it’s been nice to know ya, but at least it was educational.”
If it wasn’t for Josie dying with him, he could accept his fate. Almost. Although he still planned to take Josie by the hand and make a break into the bleachers, the chance of success was small. If only it weren’t for his family back home, the kids he used to babysit. They were all counting on the Blood Map, but the chance of finding it had slipped down the mountainside on that fateful day not so long ago. His life had been a complete and utter failure.
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