Kinships
- Kinless¡ªPossessing no element.
- Flameborn¡ªKin of flame. They form their own wings as needed from tongues of fire that sprout from their backs.
- Dustborn¡ªArtists of soil and dust. They fly with wings created from nearby dust particles.
- Windborn¡ªWind kin. Unlike other elementalists, these often grow wings just like any other, though some possess heightened abilities allowing them to fly without wings¡ªand thus lacking them.
- Waveborn (aka Watchers)¡ªKeepers of the invisible wards that protect the sky islands from falling hazards. Also, those with the rare ability of sound manipulation.
- Dewborn¡ªThese control moisture and redirect water.
- Stormborn¡ªCreators of small storms and electrical currents.
- Snowborn¡ªBringers of frost and snow on a small scale.
- Sunborn¡ªManipulators of light.
- Beastborn¡ªThese rare kind, seen largely in the northwestern isles, come in different orders according to a certain class of living creature.
- Cragborn¡ªManipulators of stone.
Chapter 28
All right, we''ve got the relics hidden, and at least four of the ten rule notes. Phoenix said this to herself reassuringly, repeating the words in varying order like a mantra. Anything to distract herself from . . .
She looked up to see Villa and Chester staring with mild concern. Chester, a fellow Flameborn whom she''d just met, might have been a bit more than mildly concerned, though it was hard to be certain. He was somewhere in his early twenties, and had admitted to trying the contest three years running before giving up. Villa she knew vaguely from Megeth, a Dewborn of quiet temperament who stood barely five feet tall. They''d interacted on a few occasions, as their mothers worked similar trades out of their homes. Telsan had been sent off to the north keep after the first two.
The trio had been posted on the broad upper roof of the main castle, watching out from behind the parapet. Posted by Filian, of course. At least he''d wrangled enough brain cells to send the winged ones out to the two keeps. Even now, she could hear his high, self-enamored voice coming from the lower floors, probably ordering around more teammates. As much as the overgrown boy annoyed her, however, and as much as her companions'' looks made her squirm somewhere inside, it didn''t shake that lasting chill she''d had ever since the previous day''s experience. She glanced down at the wood planks that made up the flat roof, her eyes boring through to a world she couldn''t see.
She started slightly, realizing Chester had said her name and she had yet to respond. "Oh, I''m . . . yeah, I''m fine. Tired is all. Didn''t sleep well last night." It was the truth. How could she, after murdering a woman? She had tried her best to ward off the regretful thoughts, but now that she was relatively alone with nothing to do, it was . . . difficult, made more so by the fact that she hadn''t told anyone about it yet. Not Falla, not even her close friends.
Chester simply nodded, looking as though unconvinced but wishing to keep things polite.
Villa spoke now, voice so soft that Phoenix didn''t even register it at first: ". . . Your family back on Fenaback?"
"Oh. My . . . family?"
The girl nodded.
"Well, it''s just my mother and me here on Ameros. Well, and¡ª" Phoenix waved a hand toward the wall dividing them from Solis and Erika''s team. "You probably know Erika. But Mother and I don''t talk to the family often. We . . ." she cut off, turning her shoulder probably too suddenly, leaning more of her weight on the stone parapet that overlooked the northern side of their field. She realized it may look cold, but she hadn''t meant to say all those words. These two didn''t care anyway. They didn''t even know her.
Villa nodded again, as though she understood. But she said no more, instead looking out to the east, where two winged boys flew toward the corner fort. Had Filian sent them?
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Phoenix''s eyes lit on a pair of winged figures at the middle gate in the great wall. There were four there in all, but these two had begun furtively creeping through. The other two seemed to argue with them, but through they went anyway. "Uh . . ." Phoenix roused from her numb state and dashed to the stairs, shouting down, "Two of our guys just went through the middle gate! That planned?"
Her word were relayed, retrieving curses in response. Filian ordered a flyer to head out at full speed to the gate, and soon he and a few others had joined the lookouts at the castle top, confirming that there were only two of the gate guards now. "Flynn did say they hadn''t posted anyone there yet," said one of Filian''s closer followers.
"That''s not the point," he growled, eyeing the wall with anger. "We''re going to lose those two, I just know it."
But . . . how is anyone going to scout the enemy territory if no one ever crosses? Phoenix wondered. Would the game stretch on for hours with nothing happening? There had to be additional hidden rules that would help each team coordinate such scouting. On that note . . .
Phoenix looked at the group hovering around their leader. She caught the eye of one of them, and then Filian''s. "Hey, do you . . . think each side has the same rules written down for them? Or are we playing two different games?"
The tall captain''s eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips. He gave her a nod that could have meant anything from grudging appreciation to simple frustration. Opinions were exchanged, some aimed at Filian and others not. In a moment of decision, he looked around the rooftop, which held only eight people, and said, "We need to go on the offensive. Is there any rule against capturing and tying up enemy members?"
"What about converting them as our own?" asked another lackey.
Phoenix glanced the speaker''s way, but refrained from saying anything.
"That would be risky," Filian said. "If that''s possible, then there might be a specific process. But we have to be able to capture or disable our opponents somehow . . . though I''m not against a little more force."
Phoenix didn''t like how much that thought seemed to resonate with the blond captain. "Capturing should be fine," she said quickly. "I''m sure it won''t get us disqualified."
Filian gave her a brief look of annoyance, as though she''d used up her talking allotment. "But not you useless lot. You can stay and . . . hmm. No, we''ll take a few elementalist volunteers to back up the gate guards. I''ll get some guys and head to the northwest fort, while . . . where''s Conrad? We''ll send him to the east fort."
Soon, new roles had been assigned and all but ten ''useless'' elementalists left at the main fortress. Phoenix was left with them, as was one winged girl named Drassa. Her looks were plain at best, with long tangles of black hair bunched unceremoniously at the nape of her neck and left to drag, but she looked stout, as one without a Kinship would have to be to expect any success in these trials.
Or . . . so they had all thought before seeing the trickery the Magnates had planned. Phoenix bunched her fists as she felt at her powers once again, only to come up with nothing. They''d better give those back to us. Could anything they said be trusted anymore? But no matter. She had a feeling something would finally start happening in this game. However, with nearly all the current castle occupants being the elementalists, perhaps it was time to make some moves of their own.
Chapter 29
Cytha of the Eclipsis looked around the stone island, suspicious of anything and everything about it. Created by the black Harbinger with blacker magic, it was an impossibility that should not be. One she had witnessed with her own eyes and ears. Grimstaf X, the Harbingers called it.
They hadn¡¯t been happy that she had made it all the way to the entry time of the tournament, and neither had most of her fellow Nebula citizens. It wasn¡¯t so much that Wylo Entras held that much sway over them, in fact very little, but that they were the ones who had allowed men like him to run their peaceful oligarchy for so long, and as such they feared that balance and fake peace getting overturned.
But who was Cytha to criticize? She would not be a Nebula citizen for much longer.
Ahead of her stretched the arena where they would be holding the combat trials. She walked with her nervously-glancing companions up tall stone steps, bleachers reaching up on either side already seating an unsettlingly large portion of the Bat Tribe. There was segregated seating for the Noctis, Eclipsis and Madrugada Orders, with the Madrugada seated in the far back and only on certain sides, though some sat down lower with their masters as attendants.
Cytha, like many of the other contestants, was draped in her simple cloak of dark grey, which came down to her calves in the back and her mid-thighs in the front. A black skirt covered from there to her tall leather boots. All told, she counted roughly three dozen contestants this year, which was an increase from last year. But perhaps not as much of an increase as she¡¯d have expected, given how badly she wanted out of the hellcave in which she¡¯d been born. A bat cage, for animals and by animals. Most of the other slaves were too content with their way of life, of simple raiding for the talented, and more pitiful duties for the less so.
The dark of night still hung as a blanket as they stepped into the arena from the south stairwell, though the first glimmer of morning tickled the eastern horizon. The crowd cheered for some reason . . . Why? She didn¡¯t understand, but there were a lot of things people did that baffled her. And there stood the Magnates, all three of them, near the center of the arena. About a hundred yards separated them from the approaching contestants. One of the Magnates, called Kilshah, a fearsome bat-faced Eclipsis, raised his voice as he spread his leathery wings, indicating the newcomers with a hand:
¡°And this year¡¯s contestants for the honor of ascendency!¡± he said in his snarly voice, far louder than any humanoid could possibly project. More of their witchcraft. ¡°Come forth, contestants, and we shall shortly begin the trials. First, I shall explain the rules.¡±
Rules. Why? Just let us fight. To resignation, or to the death, it mattered not. The worst that could happen is that she died. But no, it couldn¡¯t be quite that simple. Cytha stalked toward the raised dais on which stood the ruling class. Blessedly, Kilshah the Magnate fell silent, allowing them to approach within a stone¡¯s cast. Then Hevseth, the tallest Magnate and the only Noctis member, picked up the announcement. The grand trio supposedly represented the three Orders of the Bat Tribe. ¡°Today, we honor the establishment of Nebula two hundred ten years ago, and the liberation of the Noctis and Eclipsis peoples from the Raptor Clan ten years ago, with our annual combat games. The Nebula Trials.
¡°Each of our thirty-eight combatants will choose their weapons from the armory provided and will compete to submission or death, or until the time is up, at which point the victory shall be by decision. If one combatant verbally accepts defeat, his opponent must honor that or face possible disqualification.¡±
Possible disqualification . . . To the death? That was unusual, though their Trials usually resulted in at least one death, sometimes clearly intentional, other times not. It was always excused somehow. But this? It must be that Harbinger¡¯s doing. Cytha couldn¡¯t say she minded the terms, though many spectators in the crowd gasped upon hearing it. Some out of fear or horror, but most out of a hungry excitement Cytha recognized only too well. Her people secretly craved blood, and would be all too eager to see some this day.
And they will. They will.
The bouts took place in five-minute rounds, tracked by an hourglass which the Madrugada Magnate Salah kept. The Magnates had raised up four platforms, on which the matches would simultaneously take place. One-on-one, until all had fought once. Her first opponent was a Madru girl around her own age, not much smaller but pathetically weak. Just looking at her, she knew the girl was either a desperate contender like herself or a sacrifice sent by a master as cruel or crueler than Lord Entras.
Still, Cytha didn¡¯t pity her, and would not go easy on her. It was a harsh world, and this lass would fall in her first fight regardless. While they waited for the Magnates to call out the start, Cytha said to her, ¡°I¡¯m sorry you were put in here.¡± She didn¡¯t exactly feel the words in her heart, nor did they come out with any tone of sympathy, but it seemed appropriate.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
The girl merely scowled, although another emotion crossed her face for the briefest moment. Worry? Fear?
Cytha herself had little to no formal combat training. But, as she had displayed in the scrap with Wylo¡¯s two slave sons the other day, she had grit and fought without honor or mercy. Such things only opened one up to brutality. She¡¯d taken the hand-claws from the armory, a simple device that strapped over the hands, with iron claws extending past her own shorter claws. But . . . this time she could show mercy. Just a bit.
The signal was given, and Cytha lunged forward, diving unexpectedly for the girl¡¯s ankles. Her wing-claws gripped the ground, breaking her fall with the strength of her armlike wing skeleton, and yanked her opponent off-balance with a vicious tug. The girl cried out but managed to keep one foot on the ground. It wasn¡¯t enough. She toppled and just barely caught herself with one spindly arm. It was the arm that held the long knife she¡¯d taken, and it clanged away on the stone floor now.
Cytha let go of the girl¡¯s ankle a moment before she¡¯d have twisted it out of joint by her own rolling motion, and instead leapt onto the girl¡¯s back, pinning her to the ground. She clung to the girl¡¯s legs with her own and savagely pinned her arms down with her iron claws, pressing into skin with the left ones. The cry it elicited was pitiful at best.
¡°Do you yield?¡± she hissed in her opponent¡¯s ear.
¡°I¡ªI . . .¡± The girl¡¯s head dropped, kissing the cold stone. ¡°I yield. Please don¡¯t kill me.¡±
¡°Louder,¡± Cytha said, and she repeated it.
The judges called the fight, and Cytha let her go. Sniffling, the girl rolled her shoulder and glanced about for the knife she¡¯d dropped. Cytha collected it, and before the girl could go, she said, ¡°Who¡¯s your master, Madru?¡±
¡°S-Sivel.¡± The name came out through gritted teeth. ¡°Lord Sivel.¡±
Still gazing at her face, which was marked already before the fight, Cytha said, ¡°Grow a spine. Nothing will change if you bow your back and snivel like that. Were you forced to come here?¡±
¡°I . . . no. No, I wanted to. I don¡¯t know why, I just . . .¡±
¡°To fight for your freedom!¡± Cytha growled, louder than she meant to. Lowering her voice, aware that they would be pulled away soon, she said, ¡°Then at least that would be something.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure why she suddenly felt compelled to give this Madru advice, nor was she particularly qualified to do so.
The girl hesitated as she backed away. ¡°Thank you.¡± She didn¡¯t elaborate, but allowed the referee who came for her to guide her away to the where the losers would stay for the duration of the remaining bouts and subsequent rounds.
Cytha sucked in a long breath and let it out in a huff. She followed the voice of Salah the Madrugada Magnate, who was calling for her to wait her turn with the victors for the next round. It would likely be the better part of an hour. Still early in the morning, the Sun was starting to glow from the Earth¡¯s horzon in the east, sending its first beams to filter through the spectator stands. They should have held the Trials earlier. Best to get this dark contest over before the Sun could smother it.
A cry drew her attention to the other three fights. One sure victor in the arena immediately south of hers had just pierced his opponent with a sword in the upper chest. The victim had been the one to cry out, and now begged defeat, clutching the wound as the man yanked the sword free. Its blade was jagged and harsh, a Noctis favorite, drawing out copious amounts of blood. The medics rushed in as the victor was pulled away by the Magnates.
Cytha looked to the other two fights. One featured a spear-and-shield wielder versus another swordsman, both of whom looked equally skilled. None of the weapons were dulled, each fully capable of killing. Why did the Magnates¡ªno, why did the Harbinger¡ªwant this? For their most talented to kill each other off? How did that serve the greater good if the Lords Above wanted more entrants?
But no, not more: Better.
One of the contestants in the last arena had glanced toward the man with the sword wound, and now paid the price for his actions with a blow to his shield from his opponent¡¯s axe. What happened next shocked Cytha more than she wanted to admit: One moment the man, barely a man yet, was knocked down, left wing and shield hugging the stone, and the next . . . his head struck the arena floor in a display that hushed the crowd. Cytha didn¡¯t look away, but her neck twitched as though she should, and her eyes gave an involuntary blink. The winner roared, holding his bloodied axe aloft as the loser¡¯s corpse fell to the ground.
Then the cheering began. Even though she knew it was coming, it chilled Cytha to listen, to look around and see the rapt attention and excitement of the crowd, even some of the children present. There was some quiet discussion as the referees questioned whether the kill was warranted or not, but the decision went predictably toward the axeman, claiming he gave his victim the proper time to yield. The medics swooped in to cover and haul away the corpse even as the remaining fight ended with the swordsman yielding to the Noctis with the spear and shield.
Cytha realized only now that she had witnessed no elemental Kinships. Although she might have missed them. Of course, all eight contestants in this round including herself possessed wings, but most of the Bat Tribe did¡ªeven the elementalists. They said the other sky races tended to be born without wings.
The Magnates gave the next contestants but a minute before commencing the next set of fights, which lasted from around one to five minutes. Cytha made sure to keep a close eye on the combatants, quickly disregarding the less skillful and studying those she deemed greater threats. The one who defeated his opponent in around a minute did indeed appear a great warrior, but then again, Cytha had submitted that Madru girl in under a minute simply by being aggressive. And of course, the only one with any real fighting instincts. Cytha lacked training and experience¡ªpossibly talent, too¡ªbut what she had was instinct, cunning and grit.
Another round passed, and then another, and Cytha¡¯s stomach began to growl. Once again, she had eaten hardly anything. The Magnates had provided refreshments for all the contestants this morning, but it wasn¡¯t much and Cytha had not wanted to call down the ire of Magnate, lord or fellow contestant, so she¡¯d forced her trembling hands to take no more than the others.
By the last two matches, Cytha was starting to lose focus, but she noted no more exceedingly skilled or talented individuals. Ten entrants had perished, and another five were in critical condition. Of the victors going on to the next round of the tournament, she counted six elementalists: two Cragborn, one Dewborn, one Dustborn, one Sunborn¡ªor so she thought, but it was hard to tell with them¡ªand . . . one Beastborn. That boy had certainly been interesting to watch in the penultimate round, calling in bird companions to harry his foe. Named Pock, he was older than his youthful face let on. His had been one of the most savage wins.
Chapter 30
Prosef Vesev lifted his eyes to the southern sky, scanning the segregated seating about Grimstaf VIII. Segregated, of course, by family, as those ancient rivalries were the backbone of Fenaback. Families rose and eventually fell, though some like his endured for hundreds of years.
Somewhere up there, his father was looking down with disapproval, perhaps rage. And Prosef could not bring himself to care. As his mother had said, his actions in joining the tournament were for the long-term benefit of the family that he would one day lead, so he felt no shame.
There. He found her, as though by intuition. He could always pick out Mother in a crowd, no matter how far away. He could not see the expression on her face, but he knew it was one of hidden pride. Mother saw not only his potential, but also the great role he would play in this world. Soon, he would move onto the next step. He had foolishly stayed out of the games last year, at age sixteen, but this year''s omens were obvious. The Harbinger, in his great speech to the Fenabackan families, had looked right at him, as though seeing into his soul and pondering his future. Whatever the black angel had in store for him, Prosef would meet it head on.
It would not be long. He could end these tests as soon as he wished.
The first was to be an obstacle race, of all things. The Magnates created ethereal rings of orange and yellow, like hoops of fire, that hung in the air around a course of their own magical making. Prosef had few desires in the world aside from his mother¡¯s, which he was content to make his own¡ªshe was the wisest person he knew, far wiser than Fenaback¡¯s Magnates¡ªbut one of those desires was to learn what manner of power the Magnates wielded. Ancient and mighty, it defied the laws of the Kinships, extending far beyond them into the realm of the impossible. Prosef¡¯s own Kinship, however, bordered on that. Today, for the first time, he would take the shackles off, allowing the Magnates, his family, and perhaps the Lord Above, to see his true potential.
And then he would leave, bound for the Earth to conquer it for House Vesev.
Among the contestants were a few of the Dolce weaklings, like Felicity, one of Otto¡¯s granddaughters. The Dolce were more numerous than the Vesev, despite being a younger family, possessing as they did less patience and objectivity in their choice of marriages. Otto encouraged all their children to bear descendants for the family, never stopping to question whether they were all worthy or fit. Prosef¡¯s father, Victro, current leader of the Vesev despite his middle age, had reportedly gone through four potential wives and divorced another two¡ªand some said he personally saw to it that any offspring had been terminated early¡ªbefore settling on Hilda of House Fandarck. She had been the perfect choice, possessing the wit to ally herself with the more powerful Victro Vesev and subtly deny her birth family the benefits of the marriage. There were some who questioned her loyalty because of it . . . and Prosef had personally dueled and killed one for it.
The real problem, however, in these lesser families was not the choice of marriage partners but what they did following their other dalliances. The Dolce were notorious for their multiple illegitimate children they not only allowed to live, but¡ªrather than dumping them in Castile to dwell with the non-allied at the very least¡ªgave them a place in the family. Such thoughts sickened him.
Present today were multiple of the lowborn Castile rats, those with blood so ignoble or diluted that many didn¡¯t even possess a Kinship. Prosef could spot them by their bearing and speech, so obvious were the signs. Alas, the Harbinger of the Lords Above had seen fit to announce the invitation to all the people of the city, which was normally reserved for only the elementalist families, as it should be. They stretched and warmed up for the obstacle run like the others, as though being in their top condition could give creatures of such low birth a chance in these games.
To the north stretched the longer southern Skyfall of Isle Fenaback, small but greatest of them all, and between the floating land and the new stone-molded arena on which they now stood spanned the course, a twisting snake of flame-hued hoops. Prosef was relatively certain they were incorporeal illusions of the Magnates making, not real flame, but he would find out when he got close to one. There were floating walls, however, and moving objects¡ªsome looking quite dangerous¡ªthat blocked certain paths or narrowed them, all to add a bit of challenge and variety of outcome to the competition, making it about more than simple wingpower and speed.
The contestants started in a line, all thirty-one, readying themselves for the sky sprint ahead. Magnate Chassan, who evidence suggested was once a Cragborn, had assisted the Harbinger in the creation of Grimstaf VIII, though Hilda had doubts as to the extent of his contributions. He held his flag aloft, the signal to commence the first game, and then promptly dropped his hand, issuing a beam of light that swept the air in front of where the flag had been held, at the top of the contestants¡¯ vision.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
Prosef¡¯s wings burst from his bare back, ethereal red-and-violet tendrils that made the suggestion of wings but did not perform in the same motions. Rather, they vibrated like a hummingbird¡¯s, blowing both wind and a stream of hot energy behind him as he shot into the air. His acceleration was not the quickest¡ªnot quite, being outdone by one Flameborn of House Tarnack, but he stayed ahead of the others as he soared toward the first ring. It was about ten paces in diameter, its brilliant gold light outdoing the morning sunrays, its middle smooth and solid while the outside trailed tongues of flame.
The Tarnack Flameborn passed through the ring just ahead of him, and two other elementalists were right behind Prosef. One was a Windborn, while the other, a Dewborn, was shaking water from his wings purposefully as he flew. The announcer had said that nothing was off-limits as far as touching other contestants or inhibiting their flight in any way.
The next ring was a hundred yards in front, with a series of rotating stone blocks in front that forced one to go around or else time their passage just right. Accelerating to full speed, Prosef simply ducked beneath them and sped under the stones. As he came under the last one, the Flameborn spun above him, slicing with a wing. Prosef ducked it and returned the gesture with a crimson burst from his wings. It blasted through the air, clipping the man even though he tried to evade it. The Tarnack cried out as the energy seared his leg.
Just a taste, my friend. Prosef sped past the Flameborn without a backward glance. Despite the cursing, he was not out of the running, and he was fast, so Prosef would have to do something about him eventually. A few more hoops, a few more twists of the course, and Prosef found that he didn¡¯t have to vie for first place anymore: a glance behind revealed that he was still at least three wingspans ahead of the nearest opponent, which was the Dewborn. A fast Dewborn, he thought. To beat a Windborn was no small feat.
The obstacles grew increasingly complex, until Prosef could not simply fly at full speed but rather had to use his head to plan out the best way, or veer suddenly to avoid projectiles from strange devices. An alternating set of incinerating beams blocked one orange hoop, the only path to which was a floating tunnel of stone. He stopped, glancing in his peripheral to see the Dewborn coming in, readying a wing to splash him with water, as though that would do anything. Vibrating his wings at an increased frequency, he ducked, slowed, and then threw the young man headlong into the flames. He cried out as the flame-spitters scorched his side, though he tried to shield it with his water-molded wings. His body struck the bottom side of the stone cylinder hard and fell, Prosef zipping overhead of him.
The medics swarming below would get him. Would he live? Prosef did not have a preference either way.
Prosef was not around to see how many of the youths and alumni eliminated in such a fashion from the race, because he stayed at the forefront until the very end. At last, he swept through the last hoop, which ended back at the island, west of where it had begun. The controlled elementalist brand of cheering and applause greeted him as he waited for the others to finish. The way they''d announced it, it sounded as though everyone who finished would move on to the next round of the tournament. When all were accounted, this proved to be under two dozen people, as nine had fallen¡ªinjured or unconscious¡ªand been carried away by the medics.
The next round was the martial arts trial, a favorite on Fenaback. There were three distinct arts taught on the island, with each family specializing in a school with its own variations. The Vesevs taught a variant of the striking art, known for its speed and power, with an emphasis on heel kicks, spinning kicks and fists and elbows. Power brings order. That was what they taught. His mother, Hilda, had taught him the Fandarck school, which was a blend of the throwing art and the grappling art. Thus he had learned to be prepared for most styles of attacks, in addition to sword and bow training.
Today, in this round, it would be all unarmed combat, traditional combat. No limitations on style. One-on-one, no elemental enhancements, to submission. This gave the slight advantage to non-elementalists, but there were only two of those remaining and Prosef was not worried about them. The Magnates said nothing either way regarding brutality or whether lethal techniques were allowed, so Prosef resolved to not use excessive violence.
Each opponent went down with relative ease. Those who were good on their feet he took to the stone floor, and when his opponent proved proficient at grappling, he pulled the stops and crushed them quickly, forcing a submission. They fought three rounds, each time against a different opponent, and those with two or more losses were eliminated.
That left twelve contestants, as a few finished with three wins. After a short break, Magnate Horace announced the last stage, which would be the same but with elemental powers and weapons. Prosef had been expecting it, though he wished he could have brought his own custom katana to the arena. Instead, they had an armory of dubious but sturdy close-range weapons. The Vesev heir took a long, half-decent-looking katana, trying out a few practice swipes to make sure of the balance.
The rules, however, had shocked many of the spectators and even the contestants: each duel would be to the death, with the winner moving on. Should he be too wounded to continue, the winner could withdraw and forfeit. Judging by the looks on the others'' faces, however, Prosef wondered if that would happen at all. Feeling a tingling of his dormant wings at his back, he flexed his off-hand. Now would be the time. He would display his full power. His wings would be the demise of at least one of those present. Perhaps more.
Writings of Enta Kuln #39
[These writings are attributed to the great historian of Hestelle Cathos, though it is uncertain when she wrote them, nor whether she remains alive today. Only fragments remain, but they shed light into the worlds of our Pillar.]
¡ª Entry #39 ¡ª
The oceanic abyss is as dark as I remember, as welcoming as a castle lord to raiders. The endless seas roil and churn, with no hint of shore. There are those who spread myths of islands, some infested by beautiful but deadly sirens, others idyllic fantasy lands of paradise. Equally, they are fanciful tales. Perhaps the idea of any scrap of land in such a place¡ªa refuge from the loneliness of endless sea¡ªis a comfort to those who come from caverns of stone and mighty fortresses and would otherwise be afraid of the Depths.
No, upon the great seas there is no hint of land. Only dark waters reaching down seemingly into infinity, waters that churn and soar and plummet, seeking prey as though to catch and devour it. Occasionally, such prey does fall, and devoured it often is, if the storms have not torn it too thoroughly to tell one bit from another. In those cases, the smaller monsters and the little fish dispose of it. But on the water''s surface there are ships¡ªthis much is true. I know, for I have been on a few. Some are crewed by the undead, others by stranger creatures, most of whom are nearly incapable of speech. Their purpose? Their destination? Few alive know.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Now, I realize I make the Depths out to be a horrorscape fit only for the suicidal and the damned, but I have enjoyed my previous excursions here. The storms of passage . . . not so much.
The true wonders of the Depths¡ªand for that matter, the true terrors as well¡ªlie deep beneath the surface, worlds upon worlds hidden beyond the reach of mortals. And of course, the Royals have no jurisdiction down here. There are many lord of the Depths, some more notorious than others. I write this entry from the coral palace of one King Sootenfeleos, ruler of the lower Nightwaters. Perhaps you''ve heard of him . . . but likely not. To many, he is an enemy; to fewer, an ally; to fewer still, host. Let us say that my skill in shadow weaving and dream bending take me far in some circles.
Chapter 31
Aha. Telsan saw his friend across the arched gate. Before, there seemed to be only one boy guarding it, one he didn''t recognize, but Solis and that young Snowborn, Lane, came suddenly to look out eastward. Must have to do with those idiots breaking in through the middle. A lapse of judgment or control on Filian¡¯s part, that. Telsan''s companions had spotted the duo traipsing through the central gate for seemingly no reason other than to get captured¡ªif indeed that was allowed. None seemed to know on that count.
Telsan tried not to let on his linear thinking. His companions were three, two of whom were quite loyal to Filian while the other was a keep-to-himself Ornis¡ªof the clan with a human head but birdlike plumage on his neck, arms and the top of his head. While he couldn''t speak for the other keeps, this one on the northeast corner of their side was a glorified pile of rubble, with sprawling walls that would confuse any attackers more than their defense would help.
The rule that Telsan and his companions had unearthed in this region of the map pertained to recruiting enemy team members, and specifically the legality of it. He had a plan that could result in all three of them winning this round, although he wasn''t sure if that kid would get in the way of it. Knowing his friend, Solis was already more than frustrated at Lane for hanging around him. How had a lad such as he actually gotten approved for the tournament?
"Hey, guys, something''s going on in the east!" one of the lookout members shouted, drawing Telsan''s attention away from the gateway. A group of winged opponents were gliding over the high wall on the southeastern side, near the far keep of Telsan''s team. "Should we tell the others?"
"No, I think they can see too," said Telsan''s fellow Ornis from beside him. They were both watching the gate, while the other two scanned the sky.
The party of flyers was five strong. They would take the small side keep quickly, likely capturing Filian''s men and carting them back through the gate to stash in the keep. That''s what Telsan would do. He was half surprised that this was the first real offensive either team had made. I would have thought someone would be a little more gung ho. Or just plain foolhardy. The question was, who had sent those flyers over, and with what purpose? It wasn¡¯t something the Erika Dolce he knew would do¡ªassuming she was the one running operations over there¡ªor at least . . . not without a plan.
¡°Well, Tissan, I¡¯ve got an idea,¡± Telsan said suddenly, elbowing the feathered man. He¡¯d put off voicing his plan to him for fear of upsetting the ill-tempered Ornis, but now seemed like a favorable opportunity.
¡°Hmm?¡± was Tissan¡¯s only response save for a snort and a twist of his neck whose suddenness indicated annoyance.
Telsan ignored the gruff response and dipped his head toward the gate. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking on our chances of barging across that gate and taking some prisoners for ourselves. You know . . . converts.¡±
Tissan rolled his eyes. ¡°No. That¡¯s stupid. If we took them by force, then how would we get them to willingly convert? And what would stop them from changing sides again once they know it¡¯s legal? I don¡¯t remember that message saying anything about a limit to how many times players could switch sides.¡±
Drat. He had a point. Telsan hadn¡¯t thought that far, because he knew Solis would willingly convert. Lane as well, more than likely. ¡°I have a solution for that, too,¡± he said, thinking quickly. ¡°My friend Solis is one of the guards there, and we already had a deal to help each other win this round if at all possible. I think they split us up on purpose.¡±
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
Tissan narrowed his eyes. ¡°Weren¡¯t you the one who was sticking by your girlfriend, the Fenabackan girl?¡±
A brief hesitation. ¡°Yes.¡± He didn¡¯t feel like denying that ridiculous claim right now. ¡°But he¡¯s our friend. If you just let me go in and talk to him, I can work something out.¡±
¡°Uh-huh. And what¡¯s to stop you from betraying us? You could just join their team.¡±
¡°And I could also march on over right now and tell them whatever I wanted.¡± Telsan let the soft threat sink in. ¡°Come on, man.¡±
He could practically see the thoughts processing in Tissan¡¯s head. With a sneer, he at last relented. ¡°Fine. Go ahead. But I¡¯ll be listening in, and I¡¯ll spread the word if I see you¡¯re selling us out.¡±
Looking back toward the upper castle levels where their teammates stood watch, Telsan considered going to tell them as well. But he would only risk ruffling more feathers. Approaching the gate through the pillared archway, Telsan gestured to get Solis¡¯ attention and sidled up to the gate. His Snowborn companion turned his head with surprised recognition. With an uncertain glance at Solis, the boy gave Telsan a brief wave and then signaled someone else, the other guard who had previously been the only one there.
¡°What news, Telsan?¡± Solis said softly.
¡°Found a way for all three of us to pass. We found a rule lying around that said how to recruit members from the opposite team.¡±
¡°Where did you get those weapons?¡± Erika Dolce¡¯s voice was calm as she spoke to the two men who faced her. One was but seventeen or eighteen years and held a long pike, while the other looked to be in his forties. He held a savage axe.
¡°The armories, of course,¡± said the older one. ¡°Guess we¡¯re the first ones to it.¡±
Armory . . . No wonder there were no weapons in sight. Erika did not like the feeling that was budding in her chest.
¡°Oh, and Daryn sends his greetings,¡± said the young man. His face was just misshapen enough that it bothered Erika on some level. How many fights had he gotten into back at the village? Her brain worked frantically as she took in their menacing posture, the nervous elementalists hanging about, and her chances of talking her way out of it. The dumber the folk, the less diplomacy worked. Only minutes prior, a large fight had ended with Daryn and his faithful leaving the main castle to play the game on their own terms. The overgrown schoolyard bully had expertly stirred the discontent in many of the boys and men, possessing scant brains for anything else but . . . sufficient cunning to undermine her grip on the team. The idiot kind of cunning.
And now they came back with steel weapons.
¡°So we¡¯re supposed to tell you to stand down,¡± said middle-aged rebel. ¡°I suggest you do as we say, lass, because we¡¯re all armed now. See, look?¡±
Two more men sauntered up the stairs, following cries of alarm. Both were armed with swords, carrying three between them both. The dual-wielder had blood on the tip of one of his swords. They took up threatening stances against the wingless elementalists, who technically could still overpower the attackers but were never going to. Even if it got them disqualified, one could not say what such men as these might do . . . and no one was in a hurry to risk dying to a Kinless.
¡°Stand down,¡± she said to the four, trying the only thing she saw left: persuasion. She didn¡¯t get very far before Daryn himself came up, followed by the remaining two rebels who had sided with him. Each armed, Daryn himself brandishing a stout spear and a wooden shield.
¡°Sorry, Erika,¡± said the big boy. ¡°Guess luck favors the strong. Resist, and we¡¯ll start hurting your precious friends here. Maybe kill a couple. We figured out the secret to that, y¡¯know? We¡¯re allowed to kill teammates.¡±
Erika hesitated. Was he serious? That would seem to go against the pre-established rules the Magnates had outlined. ¡°Very well. What¡¯s your game now?¡±
Daryn gave a self-satisfied smile. ¡°Anybody who wants can join me. We¡¯ll get you outfitted with weapons and make you part of the new team. Everyone else is getting locked up.¡±
She nodded slowly, wondering what would come of the five-strong scouting part she¡¯d just sent out. It had been his idea, no less. ¡°All right, then. Boys? Girls?¡±
The elementalists looked to her, some with shrugs, others with grumbled complaints. Naturally, most of them would rather work with her.
¡°Oh, but one thing.¡± Daryn approached Erika, and then lashed out with the butt end of his spear, catching her on the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re getting locked up either way.¡±
He raised his spear, then struck again.
Chapter 32
Thunder roared in the sky below Fenaback as the arena games came to a close on Grimstaf VIII. The crowd was silent, enraptured, having just witnessed multiple gruesome deaths at the hands of their next generation. Prosef Vesev faced off against his last opponent in the final round, the Flameborn from House Tarnack. His burnt leg had caused him little issues so far, and he proved to be the most skillful fighter of them all by lasting this long.
Truth be told, Prosef was still surprised that the families had gone along with the idea of allowing the entire last round of contestants be killed off save for one. But of course, they were in close communication with the Magnates, and predictably . . . none of the family leaders had looked at all surprised when this twist had been announced. But he knew that many would be incensed that their champion had fallen, their gamble wasted.
The fighting ring was cropped out in the central stone floor of the island. Prosef squared off against his opponent as they stared into his eyes for a hint of first intentions. Prosef still wore his belted waistcloth and loose trousers, nothing else, and had yet to receive a single scratch. The Flameborn, Veran Tarnack, had received a cut across his upper left pectoral area, which stained his light coat but otherwise hampered him no more than his leg. His flames were alive and flared, matching his sandy hair that stuck nearly straight up. He was taller and more heavily muscled than Prosef, being a few years older and coming from a large-boned family, but that only slowed him down. He wielded his two-edged hand-and-a-half longsword as easily as Prosef did his own katana.
Prosef ignited his purple-and-red wings with a gush of scarlet, just before Magnate Victus gave the starting signal. The two merely circled each other starting out, and Veran said with a frown, ¡°What are those, anyway? You don¡¯t have an ordinary Kinship, do you?¡±
Prosef allowed himself a small smile. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯ll see soon.¡± As he had resolved in advance, he¡¯d held off on using his wings¡¯ true power until this last fight. Would he need it? Likely not, but he planned to go out with as grand a finish as possible, if only to shock his father.
The Flameborn advanced with a textbook lunge, clearly a feint, and swiftly arced his blade in a sideways swipe. Prosef dodged it effortlessly, keeping his blade lowered. The swordsman lowered his own blade, still circling him, watching with patient observance. Both men were drained of much of their stamina at this late stage of the tournament, so this contest would be a battle of endurance as much as anything. If Prosef allowed it to go so long, that is.
He did. No sense in getting cocky before the win was in his hands. Veran had not gotten so far by luck. And considering his two injuries, Veran¡¯s did not heave as much as the Vesev heir would expect.
The big man came in again, this time spinning with a flair of his fiery wings instead of his blade. Prosef nimbly stepped back, refusing to use his own yet. But as Veran pressed the attack, moving in a rippling combo of flame and sword edge, Prosef knew that he had to.
With a thrum and a downwards jet of energy, Prosef launched into the air, zipping to his opponent¡¯s left side. He blocked Veran¡¯s next sword strike and made a lunge of his own, following into a descending combo that forced the Flameborn backwards toward his edge of the arena. They traded back-and-forth like this for a minute, using their elemental wings to evade upward, backward or side-to-side with hot bursts.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Prosef saw his opponent¡¯s jaw clench, saw the solemn determination in his posture, and then he burst forth with flames, sprouting additional orange tentacles from the strategic holes in his coat. Like most Kinships, Veran was only able to produce appendages from his back, but he was evidently powerful and proficient enough to get creative with their number and uses. He lashed out with the fiery whips, chasing Prosef up to a dozen feet away and farther, and then rocketed forward with a hot blast. He was an artist with his Kinship, worthy of some respect from Prosef . . . but he was no true elementalist master like Callo Dolce, the famed Stormborn.
Prosef kicked off the ground, bending his arms and legs forward while reaching out with his wings to propel himself backward. The rapid oscillation of the energy wings threw him backward instantly, and a gust of violet energy and red sparks stopped his acceleration. Veran did not stop his attack, but his face showed a hint of astonishment.
Then Prosef took off the shackles.
His wings accelerated their buzzing and grew in length, becoming blurry shadows in the air that streamed with patterns of red and violet light and cascaded sparks. Veran Tarnack drew back, assuming a defensive posture while he assessed his rival¡¯s threat level.
Prosef stepped forward and swung his right wings, leading with that arm and the long katana it held. Where the wings rose in an arc, they left a slow-fading shadow that mapped out the trajectory, tracing a burning line at the tip that melted through the stone floor of the ring and shot toward Veran. The Flameborn stepped aside barely in time as the line streaked past, burning into the floor even beyond the arena boundary. The line that the wings had carved in the air cut off Veran¡¯s wing at the point where they intersected, causing the remaining portion to instantly fizzle out. The look that he gave Prosef was one of confused wonder, quickly concealed by determination not to show any fear.
Murmurs passed through the crowd, and Prosef could imagine what they were thinking: ¡°What is this power?¡± He dashed toward Veran in a zizgag approach fueled by the power of his wings, sweeping and spinning unpredictably with his increased wingspan. Veran tried to stop the wings with his own, but, just as before, the red-infused violet light nullified the orange flames entirely. He tried to get in close with his sword, but Prosef blocked it and forced him further off-balance with his wings.
One booted foot took the Flameborn to the stone floor, and Prosef batted aside his steel longsword. Pointing his wings down into the ground, now static in their thrum of energy, Prosef pinned him to the ground with his blade at his throat.
¡°How?¡± croaked the beaten man. ¡°What is that power? What do you call such a Kinship?¡±
He had no pitiful words of defense, Prosef had to give him that. Veran had known what he was getting himself into, and even now his face showed steel determination in the mix of terror and shock.
¡°I call it my violet flame. I believe it to be somewhere in between Flameborn and Waveborn.¡± He felt he owed the explanation to his foe, and he spoke the words quietly enough that only Veran could hear. The audience around them was silent and tense, awaiting the end. ¡°But instead of waves of light or sound, or barriers between particles, my wings harness something else entirely, a sort of life essence. I suppose you could call me Lifeborn. Or . . . Deathborn.¡±
His wings had ceased their vibration and lessened in intensity, and he now closed them around his opponent, scooping his body into an embrace. Veran clenched his eyes against it, but Prosef could not say how much heat nor how much pain he felt from it. Then he commanded his wings to bring him the Tarnack¡¯s essence, and they obeyed. Red light pulsed backward along the wings, streaking in interweaving patterns. A scream came from Veran¡¯s throat, but it was almost immediately cut off.
As Prosef stood up straight, unfurling and then banishing his wings, the audience gasped. Even the Magnates looked shocked to see what he had done:
Veran¡¯s body lay on the stone, a shriveled husk clinging to lifeless bones. Prosef had drained his essence away, leaving no life left.
Chapter 33
The Tapiq flyer came from the central area of the arena, announcing news that Solis and his companions couldn¡¯t quite wrap their heads around. He had just spoken with Telsan regarding the team switch and was now conferring with Lane and Liam. He looked down at the young boy now, the only one with him after Liam chickened out and turned down their offer. It was a gamble, letting him know about their potential switch, but then he would know anyway if they up and disappeared.
¡°Well, kid? Guess there¡¯s only one thing to do now.¡±
¡°Find the armory?¡±
¡°No! Head on over there.¡± Solis pointed through the gate. ¡°Come on.¡± He waited for Telsan¡¯s signal, then tugged the ten-year-old through the gate.
¡°Finally doing it?¡± Telsan asked, at the same time as his Ornis companion, Tissan, said:
¡°What happened to the third guy?¡±
Solis glanced at his Snowborn companion. ¡°Well, he kind of chickened out. I didn¡¯t really want to let him in on it, but he was going to find out soon, anyway. We¡¯ll tell you what our message said, though, and also . . . we¡¯ve got some news from our side.¡±
He began to relate what he¡¯d heard about Erika and the finders of the weapons cache.
¡°So that¡¯s what all that hubbub was over there,¡± Telsan mused. ¡°I wonder . . .¡± He glanced to his right, beak pointing back toward their main keep.
¡°Hey, wait a minute,¡± Tissan interrupted. ¡°What was this about your new rule?¡±
¡°Oh. You see . . . it¡¯s the same one at both keeps, apparently. A team member can change sides.¡±
¡°Oh, for squawking out loud! Really?¡± Tissan reached up and ruffled the feathers at the top of his head in a gesture of annoyance.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Solis snorted. ¡°No, ours had two: You can¡¯t remain on enemy territory for more than ten minutes at a time or you¡¯ll get kicked out of the game, and . . . there¡¯s a third relic per side that can be brought back to the opposing side for a win.¡±
¡°And of course,¡± Lane chimed in, ¡°that ten minute thing would only get you if you hadn¡¯t changed sides first. Speaking of, we just say it? Don¡¯t have to shout it or anything?¡±
Telsan shook his beak.
¡°We want to switch to the southwest team,¡± Lane and Solis said almost in unison.
¡°And we accept,¡± Telsan finished. ¡°There. Should be good.¡±
A twitch, like a small rumble, passed through the ground, like the island visibly reacting to the change of rules, and the boys could tell it had worked.
Phoenix sighed, casting about once more to see if anyone was having more luck than she. Their elementalist group had found one more rule, but she wanted to find more. One had already gotten threatened by a winged Filian loyal and slinked back to the castle like a good boy. Phoenix had watched¡ªrather, listened¡ªwithout doing anything, because there was nothing she could do. She and around half of the other elementalists who¡¯d been stationed at the castle were off looking for messages right now, trying to get some kind of upper hand on Filian.
Suddenly, she turned, hearing wingbeats. White wings lowered two bodies to the ground, one held in the other¡¯s arms. Wait . . . ¡°Solis!?¡± She tried to keep her voice down, but her shock got the better of her.
The mop-haired boy grinned. ¡°Thought I spied your red getup over here. It¡¯s not easy to hide,¡± he added, seeing her expression.
¡°I¡¯m trying to,¡± she grumbled. ¡°But what in the . . .¡±
Telsan alighted beside her friend. ¡°Hey, Phoenix. Did you guys all fly the coop?¡±
The glare returned, pointed his way. ¡°We¡¯re out being useful for the team. No sense in all the elementalists up there just . . . never mind. We found a couple rules. You guys?¡±
Telsan grinned. ¡°I think we¡¯re making headway.¡±
After a cursory exchange of information, they were interrupted by elementalists Chester and Frill, who excitedly announced a new finding. Looking over their shoulders furtively for Filian¡¯s flyers, the group followed them to a stairwell tucked underneath what looked like the crumbling corner of an abandoned fortress. Phoenix had to constantly remind herself that this entire arena was made from scratch a mere hour ago, as the design was amazingly . . . real. The stairwell led to a long room outfitted with racks upon racks of . . . weapons.
It was an armory.
Chapter 34
Solis swished his long rapier from side to side, cutting the spring breeze. He didn¡¯t properly know what to call it¡ªdidn¡¯t know what half these weapons were¡ªbut that wouldn¡¯t stop him from calling it Slicey-Poker in his head. Though he might switch to ¡°Swishy Fishbone.¡± The former was descriptive of his uses for it, the latter of its single-bladed edge¡ªnearly three feet in length¡ªand slightly curved shape. Plus, it rather rolled off the proverbial tongue. He¡¯d just have to refrain from letting the name slip around Phoenix; somehow, he knew she wouldn¡¯t approve.
Maybe just Fishbone.
¡°Hey!¡± called a voice from his right. ¡°You going to stop waving that around and come with?¡±
It was the Ornis called Tissan. His feathers were ruffled atop his neck, but Solis didn¡¯t think he was really that upset. Most Ornis weren¡¯t prone to wild fits of anger over something as simple as . . . well . . . Okay, maybe I ought to get going.
He promptly stopped, resuming a neutral stance as though he hadn¡¯t been overcome with the natural instinct of a child with a particularly fine stick.
Telsan dropped down from the sky, where he¡¯d been treading air, looking over the wall. Catching Solis¡¯ eye, he gestured out toward the main arena gate, where a melee unfolded. A melee they were supposed to be watching. The scuffle had tipped drastically in favor of Filian Cornel¡¯s fighters, their new teammates. None appeared to have found weapons.
¡°Guess our guys won that little skirmish, huh?¡± he said. ¡°But uh . . . does Filian know we lost the southeast fort?¡±
¡°Filian doesn¡¯t know squat,¡± Solis muttered, brushing the comment aside automatically. ¡°We still going in search of their treasures?¡± As he said it, he took a sweeping gaze around, allowing himself to briefly remember that there were still hundreds or thousands watching awkwardly from the bleachers not far to the south. What did they think of the proceedings? What were the Magnates going to do to push the game on? At this rate, it could go on all night.
Chester the Flameborn¡¯s voice came from behind him: ¡°We should get to the southeast fort. Of course . . . we also need to keep Filian out of the keep here.¡±
Recalling their purpose, Solis looked about him and saw agreement on all faces. ¡°Oh, right. Tissan?¡±
The Ornis nodded and beat his wings, taking to the air. His choice was a pair of spears, apparently a staple weapon in the northern Ornis reaches, while Solis of course took Swishy Fishbone. He felt good about their odds. Lane was to stay with the other elementalists, and Telsan would back them up if needed. The nincompoops in the central arena could do whatever they wanted.
A minute later, they were gliding in upon the wind, arcing toward the facing wall of the smaller keep. Some manner of fight, apparently quite a vicious one. A pair of seemingly unconscious combatant were being carried off by the medics, leaking blood from wounds. Solis recognized a few of those still putting up a resistance, members of their own team, and called out to one, only succeeding in distracting him. Publis? Was that his name?
Diving in, Solis took aim at his opponent, deciding how best to repel the buff Tapiq without harming him . . .
Wait. He¡¯s got a weapon too.
Solis¡¯ eyes widened in fear, and he felt an uncomfortable tickle at the back of his mind. A warning bell. But he stayed his course. A quick glance showed that Tissan was still beside him. Crying for him to hold up, but he wasn¡¯t going to listen to whining. He landed in a flurry of footsteps, approaching from the attacker¡¯s right as the defender backed off. Solis jabbed with Swishy Fishbone and was turned aside by the long spear of his opponent.
So he moved in closer, grabbing the spear¡¯s shaft with his off hand and sweeping the guy¡¯s leg out. He jerked the spear away as he fell.
¡°Solis!¡± Tissan¡¯s voice alerted him to a threat from his right: Another armed attacker, this one with an axe. Solis ducked and thrust out instinctively, feeling and hearing his thin blade punch into flesh. Just the small slab of muscle below the armpit, probably only penetrating shallowly there, but Solis¡¯ heart pounded hard as the small, grey-winged man bellowed in pain, swinging again even though Fishbone was still stuck in him. Solis ducked away, careful to keep his wing out of the weapon¡¯s arc, and in doing so yanked his blade out at a slightly different angle. Another groan accompanied the motion, and finally the attacker bent over with a moan, clutching his left hand to his side awkwardly. Blood leaked between the fingers.
¡°I, uh,¡± Solis started to say, unsure what he was trying to say. I¡¯ll just hope the medics will come for him soon, he thought, looking upwards. He waved at one of the circling figures, but before he could gesture toward the fallen axeman, Tissan¡¯s cry of alarm alerted him. He turned to see a young man he recognized attacking the Ornis boy with a double-edged sword; one of Daryn Gobross¡¯s henchmen.
With a low, almost animalic growl, Solis launched himself at the older boy, swiping for his leg. Doofus, or whatever his name was, turned just in time, and Fishbone scored only a few layers of skin. Perhaps a hair deeper, judging by the annoyed look on Dummkopf¡¯s face as he retreated.
¡°So it¡¯s you, Solis,¡± he said with a sort of dark guffaw. ¡°Didn¡¯t think we¡¯d see you so soon! Hey boys, it¡¯s Lightwing! What¡¯d ya do, switch sides now?¡±
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
Only as he looked about him did Solis realize how many were here from Erika¡¯s side, armed with weapons. At least three men, one woman. Judging by the brute¡¯s confidence and words . . . Solis wondered if somehow Gobross had indeed won dominance. Last he knew, the two were still competing over whose side of the field it was.
The young man saved by Solis had taken a spot beside his two backup rescuers. Why didn¡¯t I think to take extra weapons? But Tissan was already solving that problem, handing the man one of his spears. The poor guy seemed almost at a loss for what to do with it. Two more of his companions were awaiting pickup by the medics on the floor. Did they even know about them?
¡°Just give up,¡± said the brute, slowly circling Tissan but looking at Solis. ¡°The fort¡¯s ours. We got to the weapons first, you know?¡± As he spoke, two more backup wingmen stepped out of the other rooms. ¡°So you up and switched sides for your friends, huh?¡±
Solis thought about replying, but he was increasingly distracted by the number of enemies in the room, multiple with blades stained redder than his own. He didn¡¯t like this. Any close combat with one of these goons was a game of trust, trust that the opponent had the mercy not to kill. What could the medics possibly do if someone risked the rules just to carry out a little grudge? Or perhaps to endear themselves to Gobross. That might just be the way to do it, huh? Would even he really be that cold, though?
Yes. Maybe.
¡°Solis, um . . .¡± Tissan said.
Solis didn¡¯t even look his way. He didn¡¯t have to. There was one option here. ¡°Let¡¯s cut our way out of here and get back!¡± he shouted, making for the opponent on his right, the closest. It was the woman, somewhere in her thirties and armed with a sword and shield. Solis was no expert with weapons, but even he could see she didn¡¯t know how to use them. He didn¡¯t know anyone who ever used a shield. Her diminutive size made her an easy target, or so he hoped, although the young man next to her made to immediately back her up. In fact, his peripheral vision indicated that one of the newcomers had as well.
Forget about them. One at a time. Solis lunged for the woman, hoping she would block. She did. He swiveled, spinning on his momentum before kicking directly for her shield before her sword could go anywhere. He felt bad for her shoulder¡ªin fact, her whole light frame¡ªbecause that was a solid kick. Telsan would be proud. Maybe a bit lucky with the spacing. She was thrown backward with a cry, and Solis spun on his male opponent, who wielded a halberd. Great Earth, he¡¯d always wanted to see one of those up close. Not pointing at him like this, though. He¡¯d passed one up in the armory, not because he didn¡¯t want one but because he had at least rudimentary weapon skills with blades.
The man started their combat with a forward jab, which seemed downright unfair to the white-winged boy. He used his wings to backstep three paces, right up against the wall behind him. Great. They were in a courtyard of sorts, and he wasn¡¯t sure how close he was to the nearest door¡ªwhich was unfortunate, since they were supposed to be escaping. Solis closed back in with a dual swipe of his curved saber. The halberd¡¯s iron end was far longer overall than most spears, and caught his blade steel on steel on the second swipe. With a low curse, he sidestepped, trying to maintain momentum, and retaliated with another double cut. The man evaded with surprising agility. Just as Solis made a second attack, something slammed into him, throwing him into an unintended roll. He saw the walls of the keep go by, and then he was staring up at the sky. Multiple faces leered over him. Somewhere dimly in the background, voices shouted, ¡°Get him!¡± and maybe something about traitors? What traitors?
¡°Solis! Hey!¡± squawked Tissan. Solis jerked away on reflex as a blow landed, an enemy¡¯s weapon glancing off the cobblestones where his chest had been. Could¡¯ve killed me, the blighters! He tried to rise, then raised his blade instead to block a halberd blow. Then a form overtook the halberdier, rolling with him in a tumble of wings and a spray of feathers. In the confusion, Solis rolled to his feet and faced his other two opponents. One was the woman. A third was fast approaching with a ball-and-chain.
Out of the rolling mass of feathers, one form rose, spinning a halberd in a vicious arc and approaching the others, who shied back. Those speckled wings, that beak . . . ¡°Telsan!¡±
His friend didn¡¯t reply, sweeping into the enemy with an unstoppable fury, halberd spinning to crack one full on the head with the flat, subsequently thrusting the hilt backward into the woman. The blow to her chest looked painful, but she had asked for it. Breathing might be painful for her for a while . . . but it was for Solis right now, too. Solis had one other attacker, one of the newcomers with some manner of spiked weapon on a whip.
As it came at him, Solis sliced and caught the whip¡¯s cord, but not full-on, and the metal end wrapped around his long blade. Grinning, the attacker yanked and pulled it from his hands. Solis took that opportunity to leap right in and slam an elbow into the young man¡¯s chest. The shock hurt him, even though it was the other shoulder he¡¯d landed on, and he wished he¡¯d simply gone for the face. There was nothing remotely fair about this fight, and he¡¯d never been offered any quarter.
¡°Tissan!¡± was the first thing he heard out of Telsan¡¯s mouth. Solis had just begun to grin, seeing they had beaten their opponents, but turned now with a frown. He saw the last Gobross loyal fighting not Tissan but the remaining teammate from the fort guard, who gushed blood from one leg. Tissan was . . . well, he didn¡¯t look good.
Solis growled again, even more animalic in both tone and intensity. Telsan threw the halberd butt-end first, taking the man in the back, and immediately ran to his countryman, stooping at his side. Solis leapt into the fight, beating the bully¡¯s weapon from his hands as he righted himself. His teammate tried to go in for another blow, but Solis stopped him. He didn¡¯t want the casualties to grow worse. Instead, he knelt on the thick man¡¯s chest, squeezing out a heavy grunt. ¡°What is wrong with you!¡± he hissed into his face, the level of his own anger shocking him. It was the protective urge to avenge someone for a wrong, even one he didn¡¯t know personally.
He got only a sneer in reply. ¡°The others would have done worse. He put up a fight. I¡ª¡±
¡°Oh, shut up!¡± Solis struck him across the mouth, just once, before he got hold of himself.
Telsan had pointed his beak to the sky and was shouting, ¡°Medics!¡±
But they were already coming, and indeed had made off with the first wounded combatant Solis had come upon. Two more descended, faces grim, and briefly inspected the fallen contestant. ¡°Will he be all right? Please!¡± Telsan pleaded. All he got was a slight darkening of the medics¡¯ expressions, but they kept their professional integrity and said nothing, lifting the body on a flexible stretcher between them with powerful wingbeats.
All was still. The keep felt lonely and abandoned, the wind whistling through slitted windows. All other sounds seemed infinitely distant.
Solis shared a look with his friend. ¡°Thanks. They¡¯re . . . they¡¯re gonna pay for this.¡±
Telsan gave only a short, sharp nod in reply.
Chapter 35
¡°Here they come,¡± Chester said, not glancing back at his companions. Phoenix thought the Flameborn boy meant it as a warning call, but it came out closer to a fearful whisper. Meanwhile, he stood leaning on a spear longer than his height, and was far from the only elementalist armed. What was he so afraid of?
They were the only two on the top level, visible from the air. As yet, the opposing side had not come in force upon their main castle, though Telsan had just flown out to back up Solis and Tissan after seeing all the medics. She looked their way now, seeing no more activity from the angelic flyers. Hopefully, that was a good sign, because soon she would have her hands full. Were they coming back, or . . . ?
¡°Ho!¡± said Filian from midair, like a blond would-be king. ¡°Where did you come upon those armaments?¡±
Chester just shrugged, not moving.
¡°We found them here in the keep,¡± Phoenix lied. It was close to the truth, as the armory was an outer branch technically, but they wanted to keep their fearless leader as ignorant as possible, at least until he saw them as an equal group. Their abilities would be evened out greatly between the two classes of their team, but the smaller party of flyers would still hold the advantage, even were Solis and Telsan and Tissan here. Well . . . maybe it would be a bit different then.
She saw the look of consternation on his face as he landed, the members of his squad landing beside him on the stone. ¡°I . . . thought we had scoured the place well,¡± he said musingly, yet with a dangerous edge to his voice. ¡°What¡¯s this word of new teammates joining from the opposing side? They¡¯re saying it¡¯s possible now.¡±
Phoenix glanced at Chester. ¡°A couple of them did. Lane! Come on up here. You others, too.¡± She tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.
Filian took a warning step forward. ¡°I¡¯d be careful if I were you, Dolce. You might think you¡¯re something, but we can certainly set you straight.¡±
He turned to watch as the others, including the small boy Lane, emerged from the stairway, each brandishing a weapon. A few of them made sport of their leader. Without Telsan and Solis here, she felt like she ought to speak for them, though perhaps that was for the best anyway.
¡°Filian, we¡¯re sick of being bullied around," Phoenix said. "We¡¯ll tell you where the weapons are only if you agree to act like a team.¡±
The other winged folk shifted and kicked their feet, looking about themselves as though weighing her words for themselves. They didn¡¯t have time to come to a conclusion, however¡ªand Filian himself, red-faced, was just piecing some choice words together¡ªwhen shadows shifted and winged figures appeared over the wall. Phoenix looked along with the others, beholding a dozen or more warriors, seemingly armed with weapons, cresting the wall and heading straight for their main base.
¡°Well I¡¯ll be . . .¡± said one of the older contestants from the winged folk, though there were other less savory utterances to go with it.
As the opposing team descended and wing-glided toward the castle, Filian turned to Phoenix and the others with a wide-eyed look. ¡°What are you standing there for? Get ready to defend.¡± Stalking over to Lane, he snatched the spear from the boy¡¯s hands. Or . . . tried to, but the little nine-year-old jerked it back and made to poke at him. Filian adjusted his stance and lunged in after the first retraction, gripping the haft and yanking the kid off-balance. He then kicked him, sending the smaller boy sprawling nearly over the stairway. Thankfully, the last wingless elementalists coming out saved him from falling, but Phoenix still glared wide-eyed at Filian¡¯s cowardly display until her attention was demanded by the current threat.
Soon, a battle ensued, and the two teams were clashing upon the rooftop. Some of Filian¡¯s winged men shied back behind the elementalists, while others received weapons from them, and still others fought for them even while the northern team purchased ground on their castle. Phoenix engaged one of the winged warriors, a woman with a long spear, practically a pike. She was both taller and stronger than Phoenix, who struggled to respond to the long weapon''s attacks with her buckler and shortsword. She tried to deflect each strike without allowing it to hit another of her companions, but the entire tower top was chaos.
A quick glance round failed to locate Lane, so she could only hope the boy had gotten to cover. Solis and Telsan . . . they might already be on the opposing side if they¡¯d gotten the eastern keep under control already. She hoped they would come. Ducking under the next diving lunge, the woman¡¯s biggest yet, Phoenix came back up with a sweep of her sword, trying to maximize its range . . .
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
A cry of pain signaled her blade¡¯s connection with the meat of her calf. Her enemy stumbled on her downward force and plowed over one of Phoenix¡¯s companions, wings scrambling. A thin line of blood trailed on the tip of Phoenix¡¯s blade. Hope I didn¡¯t cut anything too vital . . .
They were winning the fight. She could see that now. Filian was fighting like a mad crow, pecking with his spear and occasionally using wings or feet. She¡¯d never thought him to be all that, but perhaps he did have skill. He ran his opponent through the chest, driving his spear in deep, and let it plunge to the ground with him and he stole his opponent¡¯s weapon, continuing on with it.
Phoenix spared the fallen man only a glance, though the wound looked nearly fatal. They had to end the fight quickly so that the medics could arrive. Only a few left . . . and there, they were already fleeing. Phew.
Filian kicked the last one, another whom his companion had downed, eliciting a groan. Then he stepped back as the medics rushed in to bear the fallen away. Surprisingly, they had held their ground well despite the disorganization, have superior numbers. ¡°They shouldn¡¯t have attacked while we were all together,¡± said the blond tyrant, trying to sound calm despite his quick-breathing chest. ¡°Now . . .¡± he cast about as though looking for something, or someone.
Phoenix lit up the boy at the same time he did, shouting, ¡°No! Get away from him.¡±
It was too late. Lane cried out as Filian lunged for him, grabbing a fistful of his clothes and pulling him close. He struggled until Filian put his sword tip right up under his left arm, bringing forth a gasp as he punctured skin. ¡°Let¡¯s all just calm down a little bit,¡± he said, still breathing hard, a manic look in his eye. The boy went still.
¡°Let him go!¡± growled Phoenix.
¡°Nahhh. We don¡¯t need him, really. They wouldn¡¯t do anything if I just killed him here. Look, just everyone put down your weapons. Give them to those with wings. We need the useful warriors armed, then we can let some of you keep yours. Now!¡±
With an inner roar, Phoenix complied, dropping her shortsword. Then the small shield, which she threw down with the utmost force. The rage building inside her was like the heat of her wings, yet unable to come free. Bound by the inhibitor that the Magnates had put in place. Was it the same inner flame? It seethed, seeking to lash out at her friend¡¯s rival, now her enemy. She¡¯d never liked him, but now he had crossed a line, threatening the life of an acquaintance, almost . . . well, she couldn¡¯t say friend, but he was nine years old. There was cowardly, and then there was this.
Phoenix glanced around nervously as her companions threw down their weapons one by one. Stand your ground, idiots! she wanted to say. Stand and fight! But she herself would not, because of the boy Lane. One of the elementalists protested, but she shouted for him to comply.
¡°Fine,¡± he huffed, seeing he made for a minority of one. ¡°But it¡¯s just one kid.¡± The look he gave her was anything but happy.
Phoenix said nothing to him, but
He struggled harder now in Filian¡¯s grasp. The struggling ended in a cry of pain, and Phoenix saw the first blood trickle down the rich boy¡¯s blade, soaking Lane¡¯s shirt.
¡°Filian Cornel! What is wrong with you?¡± she shouted, though he was not far away. Some of his own winged squad looked distinctly uncomfortable, but not enough to say anything. ¡°The Magnates are watching.¡±
¡°As though they¡¯ll step in,¡± he retorted ¡°If any accidents happened, what would they do? I said hand the weapons over. Step back, or we¡¯ll start drawing some more . . . blood.¡± Seemingly uncaring of what Phoenix and her companions did, he withdrew his blade from the boy¡¯s side and held it up, inspecting the red stain. ¡°You know, it¡¯s kind of funny how the special and the non all run on the same blood. Oh, sorry. Just something I¡¯ve thought about before.¡±
You sick little . . . Phoenix thought for a split second about rushing in, but she didn¡¯t know if he was playing some messed up game or if he was actually serious. She backed up slowly as the winged stepped forward to retrieve the weapons, although only a few of them did so. Others were clearly hesitant, off-put by their leader¡¯s sadistic show.
¡°OK, that¡¯s all of them,¡± Filian said. ¡°Thanks for complying. We¡¯ll find your stash in a bit. For now, maybe we should thin out some of the weak.¡± Wrenching the struggling, protesting kid by the neck, Filian pivoted him off-balance so that he hung almost off the edge of the fort and then . . . then he kicked with all his might.
Phoenix watched it in slow motion, eyes widening as she shouted the torturer¡¯s¡ªthe murderer''s¡ªname. Before she knew what she was doing, she was rushing forward, screaming she knew not what. She could hear nothing over the pounding blood in her ears. Elementalist blood. She hardly made it a few feet before his men stopped her, one with an outstretched blade and two others by tackling. Perhaps it was their intervention that saved her from severe damage from the weapon; she was in no mind to care about even her own body. Filian was her only focus.
Through eyes of red, she saw him. Only him, a smirk upon his odious face, smeared with a tinge of fear. Or at least doubt. His words eventually registered as well: ¡°. . . born. You¡¯re not exactly making a good impression on your team here. Your friends don¡¯t even seem to be around to save you.¡±
Phoenix struggled and thrashed, tears streaming down her face. She hurled insults at Filian, but she knew they fell far short. She cut off, growling ferally to the galloping beat of her heart and the fiery rush within. Somewhere deep inside, a barrier snapped¡ªor perhaps without¡ªand suddenly the pounding pressure of magma became a volcanic eruption.
Fire streamed erratically from her skin, enshrouding her, and she thought her captors let go but could not tell. She screamed, and the fire exploded outward.