by Claire Frank
Daro stepped backward, breathing heavily. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, but his body felt no fatigue. Energy flowed through him in a steady rush, and the noise of the crowd roared in his ears.
The female Heoru walked toward him, nonchalant, as if she wasn’t about to attack. Her body thrummed with power, giving her a faint aura to Daro’s eyes. With surprising speed, she struck, her sword flashing through the air. Daro felt the strength behind the blow as he blocked, the force of her strike rippling down his arm. He pivoted and swung but her blade met his, turning his cut aside.
A thrill rose from deep inside him as they clashed. Her speed nearly matched his and, although he could sense her energy, her movements were difficult to predict; she nearly scored a hit more than once. They ranged through the center of the arena, dust flying up as their feet scuffed across the ground. Daro was vaguely aware of the thunder of the crowd as their swords met, each metallic clang followed by a surge of noise as the spectators cheered.
With a flood of strength, Daro attacked, his hit knocking her swing wide. She seemed to absorb the force of his blow, pivoting in a quick circle, and brought her sword around again. Daro jumped back to avoid the slice as the crowd let out a collective shout. Their eyes met and she curled her lip back in a snarl as she lunged forward, but he parried her cut and knocked her sideways with a fist to her jaw.
The woman straightened, spitting blood, and Daro sensed movement behind him. The other Heoru had encircled Daro and the woman, and walked forward with their weapons ready. Daro looked up at the dais to see Alastair rise from his seat, gesturing at Henju. The warlord sat with crossed arms, staring into the arena. A hush fell over the crowd as the warriors closed, the air thick with anticipation.
One attacked from behind and two more rushed in. Daro was fast enough to counter, but there was a ferocity to their barrage that hadn’t been there before. He deflected their blows, his sword flashing through the air; they pressed him harder. One dropped back and another took his place, the six working in concert with a series of coordinated strikes.
Daro drew energy in a steady flow, enhancing his strength and speed. Weapons rang out against each other, their sound a high-pitched clang that soared over the roar of the crowd. The Heoru fighting style was unique, with a mix of offense and defense to their strikes, but Daro understood it well. He countered and blocked, whipping his sword around with fury as the six warriors attacked.
With a roar, Daro pushed ahead into the fray, knocking aside their blows, the advantage of his Imaran Sight the only thing keeping their weapons from connecting. Three of the Heoru dropped back while the other three pressed their attack, coming at him from multiple directions, testing his speed.
A bright ribbon of pain raced across his shoulder as one of the Heoru’s blades found its mark. A gasp went up from the crowd, but the warriors didn’t let up their attack. The next came in close, going for a killing blow to Daro’s throat. He managed to deflect it just in time, but a deep well of fury bubbled up within his gut.
They’re trying to kill me.
Power raged through his body, the pain forgotten, as he lashed out at his enemies. He no longer held back. If this was no longer just a show, if they wanted his blood—they would have to earn it.
Turning to his left, he struck the closest Heoru twice, pushing the man’s sword aside. As Daro stepped in, he plunged his blade up under the man’s ribs, hoisting him up into the air until his feet dangled. With a heavy whip of his arm, he flung the man across the arena, as if flicking blood from the end of his blade. The Heoru went flying, smashing into the wall with a sickening crunch.
The next Heoru came close and Daro slashed with all his speed, raking his sword across the man’s body. He scored deep cuts against the Heoru’s arms, but armor protected his chest and the Heoru lunged for a strike of his own. Daro dodged, watching the man’s energy flow, and hacked off his arm at the shoulder. The Heoru staggered to the side as blood spurted from the wound and Daro plunged the sword through his neck to end it.
Spattered with blood, Daro turned to his next opponent. The other Heoru all hesitated, their eyes flicking to the bodies of their dead brethren. Daro adjusted his grip on his sword, squeezing his hands along the hilt.
Two Heoru came at once and Daro watched them as if they were one man, their energy flowing together. One blade came down heavily from above and Daro’s sword flew up to meet it, then shot around to block the second strike. He charged toward one as he ducked to avoid the other’s cut, then rammed his sword into the first Heoru’s gut, twisting it as he drew it out. The man crumpled to the ground with cries of agony as Daro’s weapon swung around. Daro shuffled his feet backward a few steps, then changed direction and charged. The second Heoru countered, placing his palm on the flat of his sword, using it much like a shield. As the man’s energy shifted, Daro struck with his fist, bashing him across the face to send him staggering. Daro ran his sword through the man’s shoulder as another Heoru closed in.
Anger rippled through Daro as the remaining two Heoru circled him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Alastair on the dais, shouting and pointing into the arena. None of them needed to die, but he would be damned if he was going to fall to their blades. A whisper tickled his ear as the sword on his back called to him, begging to be set free.
The woman attacked with blinding speed, her sword clashing with Daro’s as the roar of the crowd surged. With a piercing cry, the other Heoru lunged, narrowly missing Daro’s flesh. Daro whipped his blade around, sidestepping to avoid the woman’s cut, and slashed through the Heoru’s neck. His opponent’s head dropped and rolled across the ground as the body slumped, the knees bending as blood spurted from the neck.
Daro turned back to the woman and charged for her. Without hesitation, she met his attack, her sword dancing through the air like a ribbon of fire. Her body glowed with a pale aura to Daro’s eyes, her limbs moving with uncanny speed and precision. Matching him blow for blow, she took the fury of his barrage, pushing him backward across the arena.
Her speed won out and she scored a hit across his sword arm, then spun to strike from the other side. Blood ran down his wrist and he gritted his teeth as he deflected her cut, pushing her backward so her feet dug into the ground.
His hands were slick with sweat and blood, rage running through him like a storm. He grabbed the sword from his back, pulling it free from the baldric, and sliced his other blade through the wrapping. As the leather fell to the ground, Katalis gleamed with a blinding glow. Power rushed through him into the weapon, and exhilaration flew through his mind. Fighting to maintain control, he gripped both weapons, wielding them easily despite their size.
“Is this what you wanted?” he shouted, his voice carrying through the arena and echoing off the ceiling as he looked around at the cheering crowd.
The woman’s eyes were wide as she held her sword in front of her with both hands. She charged, her quick steps bringing her close in the space of a single breath. Daro blocked with one blade and attacked with the other, the shock of each hit reverberating through his arms. Spinning, he brought his sword around for another cut, but she dodged, sidestepping out of the way as her sword flashed through the air.
Katalis burned in his hand, drawing energy through him in a rush. As the woman’s weapon clashed against his own, Daro struggled against the sword, desperate to maintain mastery. She cut and parried, pressing her attack, her jaw set and her eyes hard with resolve. With a burst of speed, she struck, and Daro deflected with both blades. Katalis pulled at his will, demanding control, and Daro cried out as he pushed back against the life inside the weapon. The Heoru woman nearly scored a hit.
Daro stumbled back and ducked to avoid her next strike. The power inside Katalis was wild, drawing Daro’s energy. He parried the next strike with his other sword, all the while fighting Katalis for control. Gritting his teeth, Daro pulled back against the sword’s compulsion. He reversed the flow of power, tearing it away from the blade, and
siphoned the energy back into himself.
The sword relented and Daro felt it cede command. He dodged the Heoru’s cut and struck, but she was mercilessly fast. Her next strike glanced off his armor. Daro spun, and poured energy into Katalis, giving it what it craved. The weapon shone with glaring brilliance as he swung, the roar of the crowd growing to a heady crescendo as the woman’s blade lifted to meet his.
Their weapons collided with a thunderous boom and her blade splintered, shattering to pieces. She staggered under the force of the blow as the shards of her Heorun sword fell to the ground, sinking into the dirt with puffs of dust. Daro brought Katalis around to finish her, feeling the swell of energy flowing into his weapon, feeling its fierce desire for power. His chest tightened, but he maintained control and twisted the blade at the last second, hitting her with his fist coiled around the hilt. She flew back into the wall with a grunt and sank to the ground.
Daro stepped backward, his chest heaving; the crowd fell silent. Looking up to the dais, he stood with the swords in his hands.
Henju stood, slowly rising from his seat. The crowd drew a collective breath as he held his hands out, palms up. After a long hesitation, Henju drew his weapon, then held it in front of him, point down.
“It is known,” Henju said, his voice booming, “that Daro Imaran, warrior of Halthas, is worthy to carry the Heorun swords.”
A rhythmic chanting, low and steady, rose from the spectators. It almost sounded as if they were beating weapons against shields, but the noise came from the sound of thousands of voices, chanting a word Daro did not understand.
Lowering his swords, Daro glanced over his shoulder at the remaining Heoru. She pushed herself up with shaking arms, staring at him with wide eyes as blood trickled down her chin. Daro turned away, stalked back to the door to the antechamber, and slammed it behind him.
27. ALWAYS A PRICE
The cadence of the crowd’s cheering sent spasms up Daro’s back as he stood in the antechamber. An image of the Heoru’s body crunching against the wall flashed through his mind, and his stomach churned. He wanted to retch, but a cold stillness crept over him, and he wondered if he was growing too accustomed to killing.
He never should have agreed to this.
Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he straightened, feeling his body thrum with energy and his heart race. His hands shook as he covered Katalis. The sword shone, churning with living energy, but the pull of the weapon was nothing compared to his ire. He shouldn’t have had to kill those men.
After securing Katalis to his back, he sheathed his other blade. The rhythmic chanting outside continued, and dust fell from the high rafters as people stomped their feet. Daro wasn’t sure what was expected of him now, but he hardly cared. A part of him wondered if he’d be held responsible for the men he’d killed, and a renewed wave of anger rolled through him.
The outer door opened and Alastair entered, closing the door behind him. “Daro, I swear, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Daro looked up, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“I thought it was all for show, so Henju could save face. I thought if you did well against other Heoru, they’d declare you worthy and it would be over. They never made it clear it would be a fight to the death. I never would have asked that of you.”
“Yes, you would have,” Daro said, his voice a growl. He looked down at his bloody hands. “There’s always a price.”
Alastair stood in silence as several women entered, bearing water, cloth, and bandages. The first stood in front of Daro, holding the bowl, and he washed off the worst of the grime from his hands and face. His wounds still bled and he allowed the women to wash and bind them while he waited, although he knew the power flowing through him would aid his healing.
Alastair squared his shoulders. “You’re right. There is a price. I’m sorry you had to be the one to pay it.”
“It’s done now. When do we leave?”
“We still need to see Henju,” Alastair said, as the women left them alone again. The crowd still thundered in the arena outside. “And I think you should come out for the crowd.”
“No.”
“This is a show, remember?” Alastair said.
“I just killed four men, possibly five. That isn’t a show, it’s a disaster.”
“Listen to them,” Alastair said, pointing up. “They are still cheering for you. They see you as a hero. You forget, the Thayans practically worship the Imarans as deities, and word will have spread about your parentage. The fact that Halthas has a half-Imaran man who can defeat their best Heoru demonstrates the strength and worth of Halthas itself. Henju will have to ally with us.”
Daro closed his eyes. He still felt sick, but he had come all this way to ensure the safety of their northern border. The deaths of those Heoru would mean less than nothing if he and Alastair lost the diplomatic battle now. Opening his eyes, he nodded to Alastair and walked over to the inner door.
The noise of the crowd grew as the door swung open and Daro stepped out to a flurry of shouts and stomping. The rhythmic chanting began again as he took sure steps into the center of the arena. The bodies had already been carried away, but Daro could still see the splatters of blood on the dirt. Gritting his teeth, he unsheathed his Heorun sword and held it aloft as the crowd erupted in a frenzy, shouting and beating in time to the rhythm of their chant.
***
Daro waited in the main hall of the central fortress, where they had first met Warlord Henju. They had been invited to sit and eat, and had been served a steady stream of food. The adrenaline of battle had worn off and, although Daro’s injuries ached, his appetite had returned. He sampled the food, hoping one last meeting with the Warlord would suffice and they could set out for Halthas in the morning.
Alastair had been fairly quiet, picking at his food and avoiding eye contact. That either meant he felt bad for what had happened in the arena, or there was more he wasn’t telling Daro. Perhaps it was both. Daro sighed and put down his piece of roasted meat.
Henju entered, this time without any sort of entourage. “My honored guests,” he said as he approached the table.
Daro and Alastair stood and bowed in the Thayan style. Henju returned the gesture and motioned for them to return to their seats.
“Apologies for leaving you so long,” Henju said as he sat. “It has been necessary to confer with others.”
“Of course, Warlord,” Alastair said. “I appreciate you seeing us again today. I’m afraid we must depart for Halthas soon. Our kingdom has need of us.”
Henju pressed his lips together and gave a solemn nod. “Yes, I see that it does.”
Alastair leaned forward, placing his arm on the table. “Henju, I won’t mince words. Halthas asks to ally with you against any incursion by Attalon. We both know the Empire seeks, at minimum, passage through Thaya, if not an alliance against Halthas. It will not serve Thaya to have Attalon infiltrating your lands.”
Henju’s face was unreadable, his eyes on Alastair.
“You asked for proof that the Halthian warrior, Daro Imaran, was worthy of his Heorun blades,” Alastair continued. “We have given you that proof, before all your people. What say you now?”
Crossing his arms, Henju hesitated, regarding both Alastair and Daro. “It has been an honor to witness Daro in combat. He brings glory to his people, and is indeed deserving of the sacred weapons.”
Alastair’s eyes flicked to Daro, then back to Henju. “Thank you. You do Halthas great honor.”
The men fell silent for a long moment and Daro looked between Henju and Alastair, wondering what was supposed to happen next. If Daro was expected to speak, Alastair gave no indication. The tension in the room rose as the stillness stretched out.
Finally, Henju spoke. “We would not wish to make an enemy of a son of Imara, and it would be a great disturbance to have a foreign army march through my lands. I do not wish for this and you have nothing to fear from the province
s assembled here. But I cannot speak for all of Thaya. Those who stand against my province may choose to ally with Attalon. War moves through Thaya like the wind through the trees. It is our way. Word of what happened today will spread, and it may be that this will sway others to stand for Halthas. There is nothing more I can promise you.”
Renewed anger seethed inside Daro. Alastair had brought him here looking for an alliance, and this so-called leader couldn’t promise a shred of loyalty. Slowly, Daro stood, and the sound of the bench scraping against the floor echoed from the high ceiling. “If Attalon marches through Thaya and you let them pass,” he said, his voice low, “I will return. I will come for you, and you will pay in blood.”
Daro kept his eyes locked on Henju; from the corner of his vision he could see Alastair gaping. Henju’s energy intensified as he stood, and Daro sensed what he thought might be a combination of anger and admiration.
“The honor of my family will not be tainted,” Henju said. His words were strong, but there was no threat in his voice. “Attalon will not pass.”
Daro remained standing, holding his gaze, until Henju looked away.
“It has been an honor to serve as your host,” Henju said. “You are both welcome among us for as long as you like, but I recognize your need to return.” He took a step backward and bowed. “May our blades be sheathed the next time we meet.”
Alastair stood and bowed, and Daro followed suit, never taking his eyes off the warlord.
28. THE FORTY-FIFTH
Cecily walked down the street next to Merrick, his dog Beau at their heels. They’d been wandering through a section of southern Halthas for hours, searching for anything that might have to do with “the forty-fifth.”