Koralltis nodded, “Then that will be the first of them.”
Tyrion felt a moment of relief. His paranoia had been aroused by the question. If it had only been to choose the first to enter the arena, then he could relax a bit.
A half an hour passed while the other trainers brought their nameless combatants in and settled each within their private cells. Tyrion watched the process with interest. In the past he had been kept within a cell himself, unable to observe. He was surprised when he saw Dalleth bring his nameless in, for one of them was Haley, who wasn’t nameless at all, she was now known to the She’Har as Gravenna.
“Why is she here?” he asked Thillmarius. “I thought these were only going to be first-blood fights.”
The Prathion gave him a curious look, “I do not know either. This is the first I have heard of her being brought today. Koralltis must have something interesting in mind.”
Tyrion felt a stone settle in his stomach. ‘Interesting’ for the She’Har usually meant bloody.
Koralltis began projecting his voice, calling the trainers to bring out their first entrants. Tyrion’s name was one of them. He walked over and touched the door to Gabriel’s cell.
“It’s time, boy.”
Gabriel gave him a brave grin, “I know, old man.”
His tone was entirely too familiar. “Are you angry?” he asked.
“Nope.”
He glared at the young man. “You need to be. This isn’t a joke. Look at me!”
Gabriel did, but his face was unrepentant, “I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s alright. I’ll do what I have to do. I don’t have to hate you to do that.”
“You need your anger, boy. Find it and chain it. Keep it ready but your mind clear. Fight calm and when the moment comes, let the anger help you make the choice. Hesitation will get you killed,” he said seriously as they walked to the edge.
“Relax, Father,” said the boy. “I’m going to make you proud.”
The words stunned Tyrion. He stood watching the young man’s broad back as he walked onto the dry earth of the arena. I’m not your father. I don’t deserve that name. I’m just the man who brought you here to suffer. Your father is the man who loved you, who raised you, not me.
Never me.
Half a minute later the starting chime sounded, and the lights changed. It had begun.
Gabriel was facing a boy from the Gaelyn Grove, a skinny, feral looking kid who was probably half his weight. Not that size mattered much, it was aythar that made the biggest difference, and Gabriel outshone his opponent by a large amount in that regard.
Focus on your shield, thought Tyrion. Wait for him to make a mistake.
The match began with a burst of activity. The Gaelyn boy went from still to moving in an instant. He sent a powerful bolt of force at Gabriel even as he ran to one side.
Ignore it, he’s trying to distract you so he can…
The attack was strong enough to shake Gabriel, even though it didn’t come close to penetrating his defense. Before Tyrion’s son could refocus his attention on his opponent, the Gaelyn mage had transformed, taking the shape of a large falcon.
Tyrion cursed. The Gaelyn mage might be unblooded, but he was far from average. Few of them at that age could handle a bird form, but those that could were a lot more trouble. The Gaelyn boy would have unparalleled mobility now, and Gabriel had missed his best chance to take out his opponent, while he was shifting.
Gabriel began sending sharp, powerful bursts of force at the bird, but none of them came close to hitting.
Don’t waste your strength, thought Tyrion. That’s what he wants.
Kate put a hand on his arm, “What’s happening?” From her perspective all she had seen was Gabriel acting oddly while his foe changed into a bird.
“The other boy is pretty skilled,” said Tyrion tensely. “If I had fought one like him my first time, I probably wouldn’t have survived.”
She watched his features, reading the worry there. The cold impassive face was gone, replaced by that of a man riddled with anxiety, a man watching his child fight for his life. Just when I think he’s gone, beyond hope, I see this, she thought. She hesitated a moment and then reached out, putting her hand over his. “He’ll be fine. You didn’t have anyone to teach you. He did.”
The warmth of her hand surprised him, and Tyrion found himself blinking as he struggled to contain his emotions. The constant tension of the past week, along with his self-imposed isolation, had left him tired. His soul felt tattered and frayed, as though it might come apart, and the warmth radiating from her hand seemed to travel through him, eating away at his careful composure.
I feel nothi… He stopped in mid-thought, struggling with himself. Finally, he let himself relax and turned his hand over, enclosing her small fingers with his own.
He squeezed it tightly as the fight continued. Gabriel’s attacks were growing wilder, less focused and noticeably weaker, even his shield was beginning to grow thin. The Gaelyn mage circled him at a distance, conserving his aythar, waiting for the moment his enemy would be vulnerable.
Tyrion’s eyes narrowed. Even fighting wastefully, Gabriel shouldn’t have been that weak. The boy had more strength than that. Then he understood.
Gabriel’s shield flickered, and he began to run, until the earth rose in front of his feet, tripping him.
Kate’s gasp was audible. “You have to do something, Daniel.”
“I can’t,” he told her. “If I try to intervene they’ll kill me, the boy, and who knows what would happen to the rest of you.”
“But he’s losing…”
“No,” said Tyrion. “He knows to keep a firm grip on the ground around him. I beat that into them. He let that happen; watch what he does next.”
The falcon stooped, diving at speed toward his fallen opponent. As he did, the he focused his aythar, forming it into an even more powerful shield and encasing his talons in wicked blades of force. He wasn’t going to waste his strength on ranged attacks. He didn’t have the aythar to waste on that. He would seize the opportunity, while his foe was tired, while he was down, and he would take the kill in one devastating attack.
Gabriel’s aythar flared brightly a second before the Gaelyn mage struck, too late for his opponent to change course. His shield expanded powerfully, forming a wedge that sent the falcon to one side even as it ripped through part of it with its reinforced talons.
The bird landed awkwardly, off balance from the unexpected resistance, and then he caught Gabriel’s return strike at close range, unable to dodge. Tyrion’s son hit the falcon with a blow that landed like a battering ram, with predictable results.
The falcon’s shield shattered, and the Gaelyn mage staggered, falling to the ground nearly senseless from the feedback.
Gabriel loomed over him.
Now! Don’t waste time. Some of them recover more quickly than you’d expect. Tyrion found himself clenching his jaw.
A long pause ensued. Gabriel had gathered his will, but he held back, staring intently at the bird on the ground. It beat its wings, trying to regain its balance, to take flight, but it was still too uncoordinated to get off the ground.
Just when Tyrion thought he might have waited too long, the boy released a loud yell and sent a flat plane of aythar slicing downward. It neatly bisected the avian body, and the Gaelyn mage began to thrash about, flinging droplets of blood in every direction. The lower half stopped moving within seconds, but the upper half took almost a full minute before it sagged to the ground.
A wing flapped once more, and then it went still.
The arena lights changed. The match was over. Gabriel stared down at his broken foe, trying to comprehend what he had done.
“You can go collect your charge now,” said Thillmarius, nudging Tyrion.
Glancing at Kate, he saw that her eyes were wet. He gave her a soft pat on one shoulder. He remembered the first time he had killed a man, a warden who had been suffocating her. She had calmly t
ried to dash the man’s brains out afterward, while he was helpless, but now she seemed softer, more vulnerable.
“It was just a chicken,” he told her, referencing their conversation from that day.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, Daniel, that wasn’t a chicken. That was a child—a poor, lost, motherless child.” Unlike, fifteen years before, she was no longer a child herself. She was a woman, and a mother.
He hated the look on her face. It reminded him of everything he had given up, of who he had once been. His chest tightened. Stepping away he went to bring Gabriel back.
There are no winners in the arena…, he observed silently …only the living and the dead. The only choice given is the choice of what to lose, your life or your conscience.
Brigid Tolburn was next. Tyrion opened her door, and for a moment he was caught by her baleful gaze. Ice blue eyes framed by hair as black as his own; they burned into him with a malevolent resolve. She looked away quickly, knowing better than to challenge him, but he had already seen it. It filled him with conflicting emotions, of course the sting was only to be expected when you knew your child hated you, but he also felt relief.
She’s ready to do someone a terrible harm.
“Remember what I taught you,” he said as they walked to the edge.
Brigid nodded but didn’t speak.
“Whoever you face, just imagine it’s me,” he told her. “Give them what you’ve been wanting to give me, and you’ll do fine; just keep your head until the fight is almost won.” He put a hand on her shoulder to propel her forward, but she flinched away at his touch.
She darted a glance at him from eyes shadowed by her hair, and he could see a touch of fear on her face.
“Win this, Brigid,” he encouraged. “Win this and I won’t have to punish you again.”
A faint nod and she turned away, marching to face her opponent, another male, this time from the Centyr Grove. As the lights changed and the chime sounded she began running directly for him, wasting no time.
The boy had begun summoning a spellbeast from the moment the lights had changed, but he stopped and began running as well when he saw her charging toward him. Unable to focus, he ran full tilt, attempting to gain some distance, but Brigid never gave him a chance to collect his wits or focus.
She kept after him like a mad dog, her wild hair flying behind her. She was single minded in her determination to reach him, and despite his longer legs he failed to outpace her. He was obviously malnourished, while Brigid’s limbs were strong and fresh with the power of youth. He ducked and dodged, changing course rapidly, but it only made the distance between them shorter.
At twenty feet she leveled a blast at his feet that sent him tumbling, and then she was on him. At close range she ignored his desperate attacks, and then she used her aythar to drive him into the ground, smashing his shield near instantly.
“Burn,” said Brigid, with horrific results.
Kate turned her head, unable to watch, but Tyrion never looked away, even as the Centyr boy smoked and screamed.
Brigid walked back toward them even before the lights changed. She already knew she had won. When the shield around the arena went down, she walked past Tyrion, giving him a cold stare. Her lips moved, and she silently mouthed a word as she passed him, ‘burn’.
He didn’t reply, gracing her instead with a tight lipped look of approval and a nod. “She did well,” he said to Kate.
“That was awful,” she responded. “Couldn’t she have chosen something less painful?”
Layla had moved closer, standing on the other side of Tyrion now. “There is no weakness in that one,” she stated calmly. “You must be proud. We should celebrate tonight.” The warden leaned in, letting her hand rest lightly on his shoulder. There was no mistaking what she meant by ‘celebrate’.
Tyrion didn’t comment, instead he moved from between the two women, going to fetch the next one to enter the arena.
Kate looked from Layla to Daniel, and quietly she was relieved. She had expected the female warden to be enthused by the victory, but it made her happier to see that he didn’t revel in death in the same manner.
Jack was next, his body tense and anxious as he stepped into the arena. Having been in the cell, he hadn’t seen either of the previous fights, but the sound of the crowd had made him nervous. He walked across the dry earth and stared at his opponent, a light haired girl from the Prathion Grove.
It reminded Tyrion of his first fight in the arena. He had faced a young redheaded girl then, but without understanding the rules, or knowing how to shield himself, he had nearly died. In the end he had gotten lucky and managed to choke the girl to death just before his own imminent demise. It was the healing skills of the She’Har that had kept him alive.
Jack had none of those disadvantages, though. While he was one of the newer ones to gain his mage abilities, he had been taught to shield himself, how to attack, and he had been drilled on the absolute rule of death in the arena: only one could emerge alive.
This girl was a bit stronger than the one Tyrion had faced however, and Jack was still a little unsure of himself when it came to trusting his magesight or using his other abilities. He was still stronger than his opponent in terms of absolute aythar, but of Tyrion’s offspring he was the weakest so far.
The Prathion mage vanished as soon as the chime sounded.
Jack spun, looking behind himself and nearly lost his focus on his shield.
Damnitt, thought Tyrion. He doesn’t trust his senses, he’s still relying on his eyes first. Even worse, he’s confused the Mordan and the Prathions. The boy had obviously thought the girl had teleported.
The girl reappeared in a new location, but a flicker in her aythar told Tyrion that all was not what it appeared to be. Even he couldn’t be certain, but he would have guessed that she had gone invisible again, leaving an illusion of herself behind to throw off her opponent.
When the Prathion mage didn’t move, Jack leveled a potent blast in her direction. Naturally it passed through her illusion without affecting it in the slightest. Jack gaped at it, unsure what to do next.
Move boy! screamed Tyrion mentally, wishing he could project himself to the teen. She can’t see you while she’s invisible, but if you stay in one spot she’ll ambush you for certain.
“He was smarter than this during the training,” noted Layla clinically, “but some can’t keep their wits once the battle-fear strikes them.”
“It doesn’t look like anything is happening,” complained Kate. To her eyes the only events to occur had been the girl’s vanishing and sudden reappearance.
“The boy is about to die,” announced Layla.
The girl appeared again, this time closer. As before, she vanished immediately after, leaving behind a second illusion of herself. Once again Jack took the bait, sending a powerful attack at her illusory self. Still confused, he spent his time looking back and forth between the two visible representations of his enemy.
“Damn his stupid ass!” swore Tyrion. “She’s close now, and he still hasn’t moved.”
Layla shook her head, “Why doesn’t he use that clever ground trick you taught them, to detect her feet against the ground?”
“He’s forgotten,” said Tyrion. “He’s forgotten everything.”
The next time the girl appeared, it was in four places, each of them in close proximity to Jack. One image appeared a split second before the others, focusing his attention in that direction. He sent a desperate attack in that direction, while letting his concentration on his own defense lapse slightly. His shield weakened just as the other three images appeared, one on either side of him and one directly behind.
Whipping to one side, he sent a second attack at the one on his right.
The Prathion mage was to his left, and her attack came at close range, a focused lance of power that tore through his neglected shield and went completely through his chest. A second and third attack struck before he could finish falling to t
he ground.
Jack was dead.
“That girl has promise,” said Layla admiringly, but Tyrion wasn’t listening. His world had narrowed, his vision spiraling into a small tunnel. All he could see was Jack’s broken body lying on the dry earth.
Kate looked at him in alarm, she was upset as well, but she could feel a strange humming beside her. Staring at Daniel, she could see the air shimmering around him, like heat waves seen from a distance. Layla had backed away a step or two, alarmed by whatever her magesight was showing her.
Tyrion felt as though he was being smothered; he couldn’t seem to draw enough air into his lungs. His heart was pounding out a furious rhythm in his chest. Death had never affected him like this before. Jack had been ill-suited to the arena, a sensitive child, and Tyrion had been reluctant to treat him as harshly as the others.
This is my fault.
Byovar was there now, saying something to him, but he couldn’t seem to hear the words. Looking up, the sky was a deep blue, uncluttered by clouds. He could feel it calling to him. There was no pain there, only emptiness, a vast airy space devoid of the suffering that was inflicted on those who walked the earth.
Kate touched his arm again, and he looked into her eyes. She was suffering too, but there was more than just that. He could see worry there, an abiding concern, for him. Unlike Layla, unlike Lyralliantha, or any of the others, she could understand the turmoil in his heart.
Kate was afraid, not merely of him, but also for him.
Concentrating, he slowed his breathing, bringing his attention back to the here and now. I feel nothing, he told himself.
“I’m sorry, Byovar,” he responded to the She’Har lore-warden. “I was lost in thought. Could you say that again?”
“Koralltis is calling for the next one, Tyrion,” said the She’Har.
“Of course,” he replied, automatically moving toward the holding cells. Next will be Sarah…
Chapter 23
Sarah’s fight went smoothly, as did David’s, Abby’s, Ryan’s, and finally Emma’s. Each of them faced their opponents and dispatched them without major incident, their training and superior strength being more than enough to make up for the random surprises they encountered.