Lovestruck (The Iron Altar Series Book 5)

by Casey Lea

  The feet? Haze looked down just in time to see a pair of dirty feet sticking out into the path. He stopped short before tripping over them and peered into a recess in the ragged wall. A pale figure was curled there, jammed into the small space. Thin white arms were wrapped around equally skinny shins in an effort to stay out of the tunnel, but the boy’s feet still intruded. The youngster shuddered while his mind wept fear.

  Haze crouched down, balanced on the balls of his feet, so they were at the same level. “Hey, kid. What’s your name?”

  The boy lifted his head, flipping back sandy hair and studied Haze blankly. “Sh-shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “Mistake. Shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be.”

  Fingers like a grapple hauled Haze to his feet and he spun away before glaring at Choke. Haze had to strangle his anger before he strangled someone else, but it was impossible to stifle it completely. His eyes snapped to battle-sight and silver light filled the tunnel like a lantern in a mine shaft. He was very close to losing control, until Choke’s reaction stopped him. The big man smiled and the gesture split his face into little chunks of joy. Huh? Thought filtered back to cover Haze’s fury and he shook his head to clear it. His anger had never made anyone happy before.

  “You’re a Beserk,” Choke announced in an inappropriately cheery tone. “Good. That makes you useful. Come on. Ignore Scrawny Guy. He got dumped here a week back and went into hiding. Seems he hacked the wrong console. Pissed off the great and powerful. He won’t last the day.”

  Choke strode on while Haze spared Scrawny Guy one last look. “I guess you’ve learned to be careful who you annoy. I hope you live to use that knowledge, kid.” He turned to follow his guide and one more bend brought them to the holding pen. The stench hit him first and he stopped in mid-stride. Clearly the male fighters weren’t as particular about their hygiene as the female. Either that or the melee had started early and decomposition was already well advanced. Choke disappeared into the dimly lit space ahead, so Haze took a deep breath, held it and entered a cavern filled with silent silhouettes.

  When he stepped into that crowded space he felt instantly dwarfed. He was used to being tall, but most of the males in the cave towered over him. Every head turned and his fronds flinched at the cold touch of forty-eight vicious minds. The other gladiators’ assessment was precise, mechanical and scathing. Haze offered a small nod to the room and everyone looked away at the same time. Tough crowd. He sidled along the cave until he reached a corner and could stop with his back well protected. At least he was safe for now.

  A section of wall sheared off behind Haze and a chunk of rock punched into his spine, throwing him to his knees. He rolled as he fell, his back clenching in spasms while he flipped over the ground and away from the earthquake. He could hardly feel his legs, but at least they still moved. How much of the cave had come down?

  Haze looked around, but everyone else was still on their feet and laughter rolled through the darkness after him - a wave of sound so solid it felt like being hit again. It seemed he was amusing everyone, which was good. They were much more likely to underestimate him. He lay on his side and looked back for the rockslide that had ruined his sanctuary. He lay there blinking and trying to understand. The cavern was fine. Well, smelly, damp and disgusting, but unchanged. Where was the damage?

  Someone cleared his throat behind Haze and it sounded like another rock fall. He looked over his shoulder and up, into Choke’s impassive gaze. “You leaned on Sweeper,” the big man explained. “Bad idea. But you’ve got my help if you want it.”

  “Thanks.” Haze picked himself up and brushed off his grazed and dusty chest.

  It seemed this Sweeper had blended into the stone-wall in an impressive piece of camouflage. He began to rearrange himself, but still didn’t look human. He was closer to a living cliff and when he rose his head jammed against the ceiling, along with his shoulders which resembled rocky outcrops. His slab of a body remained half-crouched, his knees thrust forward like headlands.

  Haze’s eyes began to heat, at odds with the sudden tension in his chest. That was scarcely surprising when Sweeper turned out to be the largest Dragon he’d ever seen and a genuine challenge. Only a traditional dragon from ancient myth would have been more intimidating. Fortunately, this was the more humanoid sort and a type that Haze was very familiar with. His wife was also a Dragon, with the ability to toughen her skin until it was armor-hard.

  However, she never looked as craggy as the fighter crouched in front of him. This guy had clearly spent too long suited-up and lost the ability to soften his skin back to normal. An occupational hazard for Dragons, which ruined their love-lives, but made them incredibly tough opponents.

  This wasn’t a fight Haze needed. Not yet. He took a steadying breath and struggled to back down. He could take this boulder-pile, he was sure. Even the toughest Dragon armor was rigid and could be shattered, but if he killed Sweeper now it would make the others much more wary of him, including the guards. He couldn’t afford to complicate his escape plan by increasing their vigilance.

  The rage remained hard to wrestle back into its cage, but looking at the Dragon helped. So that was Sweeper. Haze had heard of him of course, even out in the civilized world. The fighter who’d never lost. Haze could see why. It seemed he’d picked a really bad place to set up camp. He searched for more calm, along with his manners, but both remained in short supply. He was spoiling for a fight and only the need to save Silk kept him calm at all. He took a deep breath and did his best. “Sorry about that, boulder-shoulders. Next time I’ll look where I’m squatting.”

  Sweeper’s growl was like an avalanche and an intense silence followed it. The gladiators close to Haze edged away. All except Choke, who apparently still had his back. Sweeper threw his arms wide, knocking half-a-dozen fighters to the ground and his jaw chomped up and down around his words. “You’ll be sorry.”

  “Undoubtedly, but not yet. Unless you can sprint.” Haze glided backward and twisted his wing tips slightly. Just enough to release a curtain of air that shot him into the crowd behind. Sweeper’s only response was a disgusted grunt and he dropped onto his haunches with a crash, to settle in a crouch once more. There was an angry snort beside Haze and he looked round to see Choke stamping away. It seemed his new friend was equally eager to fight.

  Unfortunately, so was someone else. Someone standing right behind Haze. His fronds picked up a flash of malice and he dropped to one knee, just before a fist flashed past. He spun on a heel without rising, to confront his opponent.

  The gladiator attacking him looked reassuringly human. He was lean and leathered and stared down at Haze with a smirk. “I’m Stab. You’ve probably heard of me.”

  “Sure, let me guess. First name Stab, last name In-The-Back.”

  Stab’s hands twitched as if searching for knives. “Why wait for the arena? I don’t give a shit how famous you are. All those bets won’t keep my boot from your face.”

  Famous? The homicidal little jerk definitely had that wrong and Haze almost laughed, but for once he didn’t need humor. It was time to let go. Finally. His eyes ached and then blazed silver, changing everything he saw. He watched Stab pause with his leg drawn back, balanced like a startled stork, while the world around the knife-man turned white.

  “You’re Beserk,” his would-be attacker husked and although the man’s body was totally still, his voice trembled. “They never said. You look so drakking harmless and easy to-” Stab never finished his observation.

  Haze had a last moment of clarity, before everything was stripped away. Morality and compassion vanished, to leave him alone with his rage. The cave became as blinding as a bright day, while it filled with dim figures crowded together. Their bodies were blurred and their features gone, but he could see into them instead.

  He changed mental gears along with his vision. His senses became painfully sharp, while his gaze swept over his surroundings, cataloguing and prioritising, all without thought. He saw hazy targets in the
brightness and they drew him on - called to his feet and fists, his elbows and knees, his teeth and claws. The shadowy figures were shot through with pulsing points of red or orange that highlighted every weakness. Skeletons were glowing yellow lines waiting to be broken apart. They were all targets for a Beserk.

  Haze punched up into Stab’s throat and the gladiator collapsed onto him, so he hurled his enemy at two more attackers. He came up with his fists and feet flying as that pair went down. Haze spun through the press, a wild creature with his clawed wings slashing out. He felt no pain, either physical or mental. He was death and as always, he didn’t care. His enemies fell with every blow, while anger burned through him. Silk doesn’t know me. Bone crunched under his fists and blood sprayed black across the dazzling room, but he couldn’t stop. His wife didn’t know him and his pain had no end.

  The battle faded with the last groan, because there was no-one left to kill. Haze spun and his eyes blazed hotter than ever, but the cavern was still. No-one moved and the dark shapes slumped around him were no longer targets. Every pulse of life was gone. He dropped to his knees and heard them crunch against the jagged ground. He felt it too, but the pain was a relief. It meant his rage was caged again. He folded over and shuddered, but held back tears. He had no time for regret. In charge once more, he opened his eyes.

  A body stared back, the wiry man, Stab and he looked amazed. A gladiator surprised by death. He obviously hadn’t been too smart. He lay across two larger corpses and when Haze glanced around he found seven more. Ten men dead. That was also a relief. It seemed thirty-nine had fled and survived. His soul was heavier than it had been, but it could have been worse and he doubted he’d be bullied again.

  There was movement at the cave mouth and he tried to beckon his fellow fighters to return. They sidled slowly into sight, led by Choke, but Haze scarcely noticed. Pain ripped from his right arm to grip that side of his body like a vice. Drak. He sank to a knee and fought to push the ache back into its distant berserker box, but it was far too big to fit. He looked down at himself, through blood dribbling into his left eye, so he must have been cut too, but what was wrong with his arm? He turned his head further, very carefully, but he still saw stars and something more. His shoulder was dislocated.

  The scuff of feet grew louder and Haze looked sharply up. Ouch. He had to remember to take it slow. Also, not to let the pain show. This was no time to seem vulnerable. His vision cleared just as Choke reached him. “Hi,” Haze growled, unable to say more.

  However, the big man reached out with startling speed. He grabbed Haze by his injured shoulder and arm, then shook him, before dropping him to the ground. It took all the control Haze had not to scream, until the first feather touch of rage brushed away any sense of hurt.

  He pushed himself up on his arms and bounced to his feet… then stopped. That had been easy and he wasn’t yet fully berserk. He looked down at himself with silver-sight and realised his shoulder joint was fine. He could see it sitting snugly in place. Which meant Choke had fixed him.

  He looked around for his new friend, but all he could see was a broad back, retreating at speed. Choke headed toward the far wall, where a glowing outline had appeared in the rock. It looked like a curved door. A horn sounded, long and low, a mournful note that rumbled through the cave and seemed to suit the day’s festivities. The outline of an arch opened, to let red light flow across the floor. It was dawn.

  Haze jogged after Choke, who must have heard him coming and looked back. “Game time. And Beserk?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Stay away from me. Well away. We’re not friends.”

  Haze smiled. “You’ll miss me.”

  “As much as your wife does,” the giant replied and Haze froze at the reminder. By the time he had himself under control the chamber was empty. He considered the gaping red arch for a long moment. This was his last chance to back out and come up with another plan. Something sane perhaps. He didn’t expect to lose, but anything could happen in an arena…

  Haze shook his head and cut off the fake humility with a grin. Who was he trying to fool? There was no time for second thoughts and no need. He always won, and the higher the stakes the tougher he played. He threw back his shoulders and strolled out into the kill zone. This rescue was going to go well.

  5

  Daybreak

  Haze was met by a wave of sound. A massed cry fell from tiers of seats rising above the wall behind him. He turned to see the audience surge to its feet and a roar dropped like stone from every terrace. He stared up into thousands of levels that built high into the dark sky and disappeared in the distance on either side, circling the massive arena. Straight ahead that crowded cliff was edged in blood as a strip of sun rose above it. The first slice of dawn. His lip curled, so he ducked his head to hide his contempt and looked around for the female fighters instead.

  Haze was the only gladiator standing still. He was definitely the only one studying the kill-zone. Everyone else was in motion, most sprinting for carved sections of the mighty wall, some already struggling with each other, but none just staring at the maze in front of them. Haze tried to unlock his knees, but his mind was busy being overwhelmed. He finally understood why the planet was called Vertigo.

  The mountains hiding most of the sun were inside the arena not beyond it, and the scale of the cliffs ahead dwarfed anything he’d imagined. There were no smooth metal walls, or clipped lines of hedges, or meandering paths. There was no sign of the far side of the arena at all, just towering faces of crumbling rock that reared upward to make a sharp edged skyline. These flat-topped cliffs formed a giant labyrinth with shadowy trails twisting between them.

  Haze gulped. He’d been expecting something groomed and muzzled, held tight within prison walls, not this place of narrow canyons and close-packed cliffs. He was suddenly in another world, but Silk was here too and his heart lifted, along with the corner of his mouth. It was certain-sure going to be an interesting day.

  The sun crept higher and light welled into the gullies ahead, painting them with blood.

  Haze frowned at the sight, even as a death rattle echoed from the rock faces, bouncing back on every side. He spun to find the source of the ghastly sound, his focus suddenly clear again. Where was Silk?

  He saw the dying fighter and relaxed. The victim was male. One of the largest gladiators, but now his head lolled back while his body sagged without support. However, he was still upright - held close in Sweeper’s embrace. The intimate grip looked strangely tender, until Haze saw how tight it was. The dead man’s spine wasn’t just broken, it was crushed. Gore ran down the back of the corpse’s legs and Sweeper smiled. Charming. Where the hail was Silk?

  Haze’s fronds stirred and each feathery strand lifted to track the minds around him. He quickly sensed her thoughts, but they were retreating at speed and almost beyond reach. She was already well within the maze. Strange. Why was everyone else milling around the arena wall like tweets herded by razorbacks?

  He watched Sweeper dump the body he’d been cradling, then bend to retrieve something shiny. The huge gladiator hefted a length of iron that was too crude to be called a sword, but would clearly do serious damage. Around him other fighters were grabbing more weapons and armor, often from corpses. It seemed the arena’s entrance was the place to suit up, which explained why Silk was avoiding the carnage. She didn’t need protection because she carried her own, as did Sweeper. That monster’s block-like fists were deadly weapons too, but it seemed the mountain liked the idea of overkill.

  Haze turned away to lope after Silk. Cliffs rose above him and he disappeared into shadow once again.

  6

  Distracted

  Silk rose over the edge of a chalky white cliff and climbed to her feet far above the arena. She pivoted in a slow circle, committing the maze below to memory as she turned. Drak. She still wasn’t high enough. The centre of the labyrinth was hidden by another ridge, so she’d need further reconnaissance. She walked to the lip of
her perch and the smell of scorched sand rose to greet her. The rising sun was already heating the crucible below. Good. Her toughened feet would soon give her a tactical advantage against her soft-shell opponents. The ground was starting to shimmer and looked almost as hot as Blondie.

  Damn. Where did that thought come from? Whatever sad and lonely part of her psyche had spawned it needed to get in the game. She was close, close, close. So close to being free and she couldn’t afford distractions. She had to keep her life simple or she’d lose it. That babe-in-arms was nothing but a complication.

  And a babe. She had to admit it. He was gorgeous. Definitely stunning enough to be mounted on her wall. No, no, no. Crap. Today was a different kind of manhunt. She needed to forget about ice-blue eyes and a jaw she wanted to run something other than a blade along.

  The clash of swords far below pulled Silk’s thoughts away from Haze. She dropped to a knee and leaned forward until she hung over the edge of her vertically-enhanced recon post. Far below the Smash-twins were attacking old Gutrock. They had him flanked, with no cover and he went down as she watched. Too bad. He was useful to co-opt against the beasts and brave too. She would have liked him, if it was safe to like anyone. It didn’t seem right that his guts were now on the outside. She wanted to look away, but nodded her head instead. Farewell, old man. She tried to focus on her memories of the dead fighter and show some respect, but another face kept intruding.

  Drak. The newbie was far too cute for her good. It was lucky he was also too stupid to be truly attractive. Who did he think he was fooling? You look familiar - have we met before? Don’t I know you? Are you my wife? Pathetic. Lucky she didn’t care, ’cos there was no way he’d manage to survive the day. She rose from her crouch and her eyes strayed to the chaos down between the walls. Something tried to open in her chest, some strange emotion struggling to blossom, but she cursed and stopped searching for a flash of blonde hair. It was time to stay alive.