by Vi Voxley
Violet didn’t like it, didn’t like it one bit. Waiting made Grom angry and an angry Grom wasn’t someone she wanted to see Areon fight.
Not because she didn’t believe in him, but because she still had the double image in her head. However much she forced herself to believe that Areon really was the famous mercenary, it still seemed too ridiculous to comprehend.
“Halley,” she said, dragging her gaze away from Areon, who was now walking towards the trap the Overlord had set for him.
“Yes?” the girl asked.
She was watching the arena like a hawk. Violet thought of following her gaze to see who her heart belonged to, but didn’t. A calaya’s favorite was an intimate matter.
“I need to see your father.”
Halley looked at her, eyes wide. Pearl, her sister, was laughing. “I… I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Halley said. “If you’re thinking what I think you are.”
“I don’t think so either,” Violet admitted. “But this time the Overlord really is breaking the rules. Someone needs to call him out on it.”
“Yes,” Halley admitted. “But our father hates the Overlord.”
“All the more reason for him to help.”
“Maybe,” Halley went on. “But need I remind you our father hates the Prince more?”
Violet knew. Areon, no, the Prince, was very good at making powerful enemies. “No,” she said. “I guess I’m betting he wants to kill the Prince himself.”
Pearl stopped laughing when she realized Violet was being serious. She too looked serious now.
“When you put it like that,” she said. “It might actually work.”
***
Pearl and Halley sent for their father. In her heart, Violet wasn’t entirely sure if he would come. First of all, former champions didn’t answer to calls, and secondly, their wish was painfully obvious. But after a few minutes – which she spent watching Areon reach the smaller arena – he did show up.
Unlike the Overlord, he wasn’t known by a title. Sure, they’d tried to pin one on him for years, but Rumeon said that his given name was good enough. Everyone knew him by it and everyone knew who he was. His own name had given him that and there was pride in the fact.
That wasn’t the only difference between Rumeon and the Overlord. While Violet’s father was a towering warrior who relied on strength and power to win his battles, Rumeon was a clever one. He wasn’t as tall or as massively built, but he was still strong. The calaya strand stood out in his hair, light blue in the midst of his black hair falling to his shoulders. His eyes were piercing, poring out of in his narrow face, reminding her of a snake.
They gave him a bow befitting of his position and he nodded to acknowledge them.
He quickly cut to the point, as he usually did, “I have no objections to seeing that traitorous son of a bitch die.”
Violet’s temper thrashed and she was holding back the words that were pressing at her teeth. She had to bite her tongue to stay silent. She’d expected as much. The Raider Prince had had a few encounters with Rumeon and they hadn’t parted on pleasant terms.
“We’re not asking you to save him,” she said.
Rumeon gave her a quizzical look. “What are you asking of me then?”
“To give him a chance. To make the Overlord give them all a chance.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It would be fair,” Halley supported her.
Rumeon chuckled darkly. “We’ve tried to play fair with the Prince. I’m sure you’ve all heard how well that has turned out.”
“This is our tournament,” Violet said, forcing conviction into her voice. Sounds of fighting drifted into her ears from the arena, but she refused to look. “The Overlord is exceeding his rights. You know that. Help us. He’s turning it into a mockery of what it should be. You can deal with the Prince later. After you’re free from the promise to put all feuds aside for the tournaments.”
Rumeon considered that, so Violet made her final argument, “Besides, I’ve been saying this for awhile now – if he keeps this up, there won’t be seven survivors. There might not be one.”
The old champion nodded in agreement. “That much is true. Why do you think he’d listen to me?”
“I don’t know,” Violet admitted. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to convince him. It’s your daughters’ tournament too. That has to have some weight for him.”
In truth, the argument was more about Rumeon, but she left that unsaid. And like she’d predicted, Rumeon looked at Halley and Pearl, nodding slowly.
“Don’t think I’m doing this for you,” he said. “Your favorite better make a hasty exit after the tournament.”
With that, he stomped away, leaving the calayas alone on their podium again.
Violet didn’t know if she should breathe easier or not. The others seemed to share that sentiment.
“He’s right, you know,” Olive said quietly. “Even if the Prince lives, even if he wins. They’re not just going to let him walk away.”
“I know,” Violet said, her voice barely a whisper. “But it was all I could think of. I just feel so helpless.”
“We know,” Maige said. Violet believed her. It was an emotion they all shared.
A cry dragged her eyes back to the arena.
She’d wondered why the others had seemed so passive in taking part in the conversation. Now she understood that it was because the duel stage had finally turned into the carnage it usually was. In the small span of time that she’d been talking to Rumeon, the little arena in the middle had been colored crimson with blood. Three bodies lay on the ground but four still stood to face Areon.
As for Areon, the Raider Prince himself, Violet’s heart skipped a beat to see him limp.
He was backed against the walls, his shield had been discarded somewhere and the only thing now in his hands was the sword. It was peculiar that the remaining four didn’t seem keen on attacking him.
“He’s faking it,” Marelle said.
“How do you know?” Violet asked, suspicious.
“He’s the Raider Prince,” her sister said.
It still sounded weird, even if it was a fact now. Violet struggled to let her mind combine the images. It took deep concentration to realize that while Areon would have been in trouble, the Prince was not.
He wouldn’t allow himself to get hurt.
That was proven correct in the next second when one of the four moved close enough to Areon. In a heartbeat, the Prince was on the move. They hadn’t pushed him against a wall – they’d given him leverage. The wall was smooth but apparently it wasn’t slippery. Violet barely saw the blur Areon became when he seemed to propel from the wall.
As soon as the enemy got close enough, he ran two steps up the wall and dropped on the attacker. It happened so fast – the man couldn’t bring his long sword up quickly enough and had his head split open. Although she was a calaya and used to seeing brutal fights, Violet winced at the sight. Once again she was reminded of the Prince’s promise. Anyone foolish enough to attack him would not like the manner of their death.
She snuck a look at the dais where the Overlord was talking to Rumeon. Neither seemed mad, although it was known they weren’t overly fond of each other. Violet took it as a bad sign, but at that moment, her attention belonged entirely to Areon. She let them be, hoping Rumeon could convince the Overlord to stop the trial. Or, at the very least, make it fairer.
Three left. Although the amount of threats hanging over Areon’s head kept growing, Violet felt elevated. With every minute, the moment when she would become his kept coming closer. Despite everything, the Overlord hadn’t succeeded in killing him yet.
And not only him – Ronay and Reim seemed quite fine too. The situation was looking pretty good for them. So good she barely dared to breathe out of fear of ruining something.
Only, the closer she looked, the more it seemed that Areon really was injured. The limp she’d seen was gone, but there was a sort of sti
ffness in his movements. After his wall jump had rendered one of the four attackers dead, the other three – all of them calaya-marked – closed in.
In the three following minutes, Violet didn’t blink once.
The first attacker carried a long sword. Unlike some of the others who had clearly chosen weapons beyond their skill level, this warrior knew his worth. Violet saw Areon measuring him up as the man came closer. The sword in Areon’s hand was shorter, giving his enemy better range. All the while, the other two moved slowly behind him. One of them flaunted a weapon Violet had rarely seen before – a flail that boasted a spiky ball at the end of a chain. It concerned her, but not as much as the giant scimitar in the grip of the third.
It turned out she should have been more worried about the flail. While the first delivered a strike Areon had to parry, the chain wrapped around his legs. The ground, still slippery from the water, didn’t help. Violet couldn’t even scream as Areon fell, already rolling out of the way of the scimitar. The giant sword slammed to the ground inches from his head. Before the warrior could yank it free, Areon had cut a gash across the length of his leg.
The amount of blood was dizzying and the man roared in pain. The second warrior tried to pull Areon away from his companion, but the Prince snarled and struck his sword into the bleeding leg of the third. The pull dragged the howling scimitar-wielder off his feet. His grip on the sword faltered and that was all the time Areon needed. In a flash, he pushed himself up and, just before he was dragged away, pulled the scimitar free.
The death strike of the first warrior went by so close that Violet whimpered, but Areon was quicker. Coming out of the roll, the scimitar was already flying and found its mark in the second warrior’s stomach. The man dropped, trying to hold his insides from spilling out, but the scimitar’s large blade had cut a terrible wound.
Free from the chain, Areon was by no means out of danger. Violet couldn’t believe her eyes, but he somehow predicted a whirring blade appearing from the ground. She didn’t know if he somehow heard it or if he was that good at reading the Overlord’s schemes, but he knew. Right at the moment when the first warrior sprung to cleave him in two, Areon rolled away and the blade appeared. It cut straight through the foot of the warrior, who toppled over, screaming in pain. Areon stumbled away, both from the blade in the ground and out of the range of the warriors. He was breathing heavily – something that he hadn’t done during the entire tournament. Picking his steps carefully, he rounded back to the warriors. The second attacker was dead on the ground, the others unable to move. He finished them off quickly – a mercy in its own way.
Just when Violet’s heart leaped, thinking it was over, her father came to ruin her joy.
“Well done,” the Overlord said, with no hint of approval. The Prince didn’t deem it worthy of a response. “It has been brought to my attention that I may not have been entirely fair.”
Now? Violet thought furiously, watching Areon catch his breath. Her body was reacting to the sight of him in all sorts of pleasant ways, but her heart still worried and she shook with rage. You’re saying this now, not a moment sooner?!
“I have agreed to the request of taking the maze out of play,” the Overlord went on with the warmth of death itself. “But we still need a grand champion. I think everyone agrees a duel between you and Grom is suitable for such an occasion.”
A part of the maze descended, revealing a pathway. Although Violet knew what was coming, she still flinched seeing Grom come forward – well-rested, furious and ready.
Violet didn’t know which was worse, the sight of the most feared champion approaching Areon, or the dais above her. One look at the Overlord and Rumeon standing there told her that all her fears had become a reality.
There was no way the Prince would be allowed to leave the tournament alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fair?
Well, the Overlord had a funny idea of fair, but he’d take it. At least the bothersome blades and suddenly appearing walls would be out of the picture.
But that still left Grom coming towards him with a look on his face that told him Grom thought he’d already won. Areon considered baiting him, but for a change, he actually didn’t feel like joking. It was a pleasant sensation in a way. It had been a while since he’d been in a fight without knowing if he’d walk away from it.
The great champion was practically bristling with rage, only, apparently, not at him.
“This tournament is a sham,” he said, stopping a few feet from Areon.
Ah, the Prince thought, smiling inwardly, Grom will still be Grom.
“It is,” he said. “Don’t take this personally, though. I seem to bring that out in people.”
Grom growled in response. He really did make the sound very expressive to convey a lot of feelings.
The champion looked at him for a long moment. “I’ll have you know I was expecting a fair fight,” he said.
“I know,” Areon allowed.
It was the truth. Whatever and whoever else the Overlord might have enlisted into his plans, Grom would not let himself be manipulated like that. He was coarse and brutal and, like the conversation in private had proven, a total dick. But he had honor of his own kind and he held it dear. The Overlord had denied him that.
“It won’t stop me from killing you,” Grom went on, a hungry smirk on his lips. “But I would have preferred to have you face me evenly.”
A smirk tugged the Prince’s lips upwards. It felt nice. It felt like being himself again after his near-death experience.
Oh you’re setting me up for this.
“That’s nice,” he said, bringing his sword at the ready. “I’d say the Overlord has managed to even us out just fine.”
Grom roared at the insult. It might have been a bad idea to provoke a man like him even further, but, in truth, Areon thought he could use a little extra leverage. If Grom was mad, he might get careless. That was a definite plus in his book. The champion’s mood was no concern of his, just its impact on him.
And it would have worked on anyone else. But Reim, curse his soul, had been right again. Areon realized that very quickly.
Who knew, he thought, watching as Grom took a calming breath. The champion’s broad chest still heaved and his teeth were bared in a snarl. It made him look vicious, but the Prince didn’t let that fool him. Underneath the surface was control. It’s too late for regrets now. Perhaps I should have said nicer things to Reim, and to Violet.
He’d underestimated the champion. In hindsight, it seemed fair that one didn’t get to be an Atreen champion without being a good warrior and without knowing how to control oneself and channel one’s emotions.
That’s what I get for having fought idiots for such a long time. I forget what real warriors are like.
Instead of charging him mindlessly, Grom worked with painful precision and in absolute silence. One of them was going to be the grand champion of the tournament – the other would die. The audience was holding their breaths.
First, Grom discarded the other weapons at the center of the arena. Areon might have made a run for them had he been closer to them when he arrived. The champion found his shield too – damn it. All the weapons went over the wall and he could hear them fall on the other side. The shield Grom kept. In his hands, it looked a bit small, but it was still something.
Only then, when he was certain he wasn’t going to give Areon any leverage to be used against him, did Grom begin to close in. It was startlingly different to all the other fights Areon had experienced on the arena. From fools who let him use their weapons against them to those who let him simply disarm them. Grom was not a fool.
And Areon had chosen the wrong weapon. It was too short to match the morning star, and the shield made the situation even worse. He’d counted on the shield’s protection to try to get closer to Grom and end it with a quick stab, but now he was practically defenseless.
It would have been fine for the honest match Grom had wanted but not s
o useful now that he was actually tired. He had no intention of getting intimately familiar with the spikes on Grom’s club.
Stepping back from the approaching champion, he whistled a low, calling tone. It echoed across the silent arena, making Grom grin. The expression twisted his blunt features, making him look insane. Areon had to remind himself that he was still facing a monster, no matter how in control he seemed.
“Pretty tune,” Grom said, crouched, edging closer.
Areon knew that if the champion decided to attack, there would be little he could do to protect himself, save for running away. The only question was whether Grom knew it too, and from the looks of it, it seemed he didn’t. It wasn’t surprising, but very welcome. The Raider Prince had a reputation for his tricks. Grom wouldn’t risk it until he’d figured him out.
“I’ve heard of birds singing before someone dies,” the champion went on. “But this is the first time I’ve heard someone sing their own death tune.”
He heard the response, silent as it was supposed to be. He would have almost mistaken it for a stray breeze of air if he hadn’t known better. Step by step, he began to edge further along the wall. Grom watched him with a confused look on his face. He probably wasn’t expecting the Raider Prince to sneak away from him. In all honesty, it grated on the Prince’s pride, but there was nothing to be done. He liked his jokes, but Grom wasn’t one.
“Not mine,” he said, still grinning.
He’d delayed long enough – the sudden spark of hunger in Grom’s eyes told him as much. The champion stomped in his direction, a vicious grin on his lips. Understanding Areon was hesitant to meet him made Grom all the more willing to bring the fight to him.
Damn, he wasn’t close enough, but there was nothing to be done. Having Grom come at him was not a situation Areon wanted to face with the sword he had. Reim’s would have suited better.
He gave a long, loud whistle.