Ember let out a choked half-scream, half-cough as the side of her body connected with the ground. She scrambled to her knees, forcing her eyes up in case another attack was coming. Between the black dots that spotted her vision, she watched the defender right himself, balanced by the heavy tusks. To her surprise, he made no effort to pursue her, instead re-assuming his stoic stance with his back against the flagpole. Her eyes traced his large hands—now smeared with her blood—and belatedly, she realized that he placed them against the ground deliberately to sense the vibrations beneath.
A snow-white blur rushed toward the defender, and Ember shouted a warning, but Lance was already upon the elephant. He attacked from the front, his canines bared and his fur standing on end, but his rubber-coated knife bounced harmlessly off of the leathery hide.
The elephant shook off the ermine like he was nothing more than an insect, and Ember had the unique experience of watching her friend fly across the clearing, head over heels. He landed in a crouch, far more ceremoniously than her, his face breaking into grimace.
“All right, Ember?” he shouted.
“Yeah,” she panted, gripping her shoulder with one hand and weathering the pain radiating across her torso.
Lance angled his head toward the defender, once again asking a wordless question. Ember winced, holding up a finger to indicate that she needed a moment to think. Luckily, the elephant seemed uninterested in pursuing them, content instead to watch and wait.
Ember felt a spark of inspiration as she recalled their strategy against the Blue Team lookout. If she was right, Lance would be able to understand her plan without communicating verbally. She pointed at him and then to her ankles, paused, and then indicated herself and mimed a headlock. He gave a small nod, and she responded with an appreciative half-smile.
She counted down with her fingers. Three, two, one.
Lance took off a moment before Ember. He attacked from the front, his graceful strides carrying him quickly across the clearing. He sprang into the air, his lean muscles tensed, seemingly poised to strike the defender in the head. Then, at the last moment, he twisted in mid-air, diving toward the elephant’s ankles.
Ember was already in motion. She felt the contraction of her muscles, imagining the invisible line running through her leg and into the earth beneath. She jumped explosively, wrapping her arms and legs around the elephant’s thick neck at the same time that Lance gripped his Achilles tendons. They locked eyes as Lance wrenched the defender’s legs forward and Ember threw her bodyweight backward in a modified version of a move that Elliot had taught her: the ankle pick takedown.
It was a simple matter of physics. The defender reeled, trying to recover his balance, and Ember let out a shout of triumph. His weight slumped against the flagpole, and the wood cracked and then snapped in two. He fell to his buttocks heavily, the thump reverberating through the clearing.
Ember had the elephant’s throat firmly, now, and he was too preoccupied with keeping his torso upright to figure out how to dislodge her. She constricted with all of her strength, her arms tightening around his windpipe as her legs held her in place. Yes… just a bit longer…
The seconds ticked by. Ember’s arms began to quiver, and then to shake. Then, to her shock, the elephant planted one foot firmly on the platform, heaving his bulk upward. Ember struggled to hang on as he shook himself like a wet dog. As if realizing that she was still attached, he batted at her blindly, his meaty trunk making contact with the side of her head with a crack. She fell painfully from his shoulders. Lance, who was trying to extract the flagpole from beneath the elephant’s feet, was dispatched with a firm kick to the ribs. He groaned, blood leaking from between his teeth.
“Shit!” Ember cursed, making eye contact with the defender, who had retrieved the top of the broken flag. She couldn’t believe that he had resisted the choke, which had been successful even against Elliot. His face changed slightly, and Ember realized that his expression was one of amusement. He pointed a finger in the direction of the neutral zone, inviting them to give up.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Ember’s face reddened, and she had to stifle a scream of frustration. He’s just a student, and it’s two against one! We should be able to beat him easily.
She pulled herself to her elbows. Nearby, Lance took a couple of gasping breaths. He pulled his shirt up, revealing a rapidly reddening patch over his ribs, at least one of which was probably broken. He coughed, once, his eyes watering, but gave Ember a shaky thumbs-up.
We can’t take much more of this, Ember realized. I need to think. She took a couple of calming breaths, dispelling her anger. The elephant was an excellent defender: he kept focused on the flag at all times, his heavy trunk and tusks helped him stay balanced, and he didn’t waste energy blocking blows that he knew wouldn’t do any damage. It’s like dashing oneself against a cliff, Ember thought dejectedly.
She rubbed her head, slightly disoriented from being struck with the trunk. Seemingly unbidden, a trace of a memory rose into her mind: a scene from her childhood in Mapel Valley, deep in the throws of winter. On their snow-covered farmland, a pair of starving wolves had chased down and fought a moose that stood three times their height. Ember watched from the window as the wolves nipped at its legs, clawed at its hide, and hurled themselves at its mountainous sides, their growls drowned out by the moose’s bellows as the snow beneath it turned red with blood. Its antlers had caught one of the wolves in the stomach, goring it, but the distraction allowed the other wolf to tear a hole in its neck.
Ember began to formulate another plan, riskier than the first. Even if she and Lance could wear the elephant down, it wouldn’t be enough; the blue offensive team would probably overwhelm her team’s defenders first. She needed something else—something unexpected.
She activated her infrared vision, scanning the forest for the navigator. He was hunkered against the trunk of a nearby tree, his wide, fearful eyes trained on hers. She felt a pang of resentment before realizing that his timidity might be the plan’s saving grace.
She checked that the defender wasn’t watching her before pointing to a tree across the clearing and making a lassoing motion with her hand. The navigator wasn’t as quick-witted as Lance, and she had to repeat the motions several times before he understood.
She noticed the ermine looking at her in his peripheral vision, and his chin dipped slightly. Ember felt a renewed sense of determination knowing that he was willing to follow her even after their previous attempt had failed. She stood, the offensive team’s signal to mount what would be—for better or for worse—their final attack.
Ember and Lance charged at the navigator again. This time, they met mid-stride before they reached the elephant. “Keep your distance,” Ember said into his ear, “don’t let him hit you!”
They attacked with rapid, glancing blows, aiming for the sensitive spots on his body. At first, the elephant weathered them without blocking, one hand clamped over the flagpole, but the irritation soon grew too much for him to bear. He shook with annoyance, reaching out an arm as if to sweep them away, but they retreated too quickly.
Ember rolled under a blow, the wind from his heavy fist ruffling her hair, and came up next to Lance. “Lure him back,” she whispered. He gave a quick nod, his eyes trained on the defender. It was a plan inspired by far more skilled fighters than herself: they would pick at him like the wolves with the moose and then trap him as Arachna had with Benjamin.
They stayed just out of his reach, taunting him. He took one step, then two, giving in to frustration. When Lance’s sharp teeth nicked the skin above his hip, he charged forward, pushing the ermine aside as though he were made of paper. His beady eyes turned to Ember, and he stepped forward as if to squash her, now within arm’s reach of the tree. “Take him down!” she shouted, praying that the navigator had made it in time and that the elephant had been too distracted to notice him.
Once again, Ember leaped to the elephant’s head as Lance grabbed his feet. This time, though, the defender saw the move coming, and he sidestepped before the ermine could grab him with a self-satisfied expression on his face. Ember smiled grimly—her misdirection had worked. She fought to maintain her perch on his shoulders, keeping a watchful eye on the trunk and the tusks. “Now!”
The looped end of a rope dropped from the branches above her head, and she hurriedly tugged it over the giant’s right tusk. His arm flew up to dislodge her, but she jumped free just as the navigator pulled the rope taut.
The elephant’s body jerked backward as he lunged forward to attack Ember, tethered to the tree like a dog on a leash. His weight worked against him; the navigator had anchored the other end of the rope to a thick branch, and the more the defender struggled, the more it tightened around his tusk, unbalancing him. His grip on the flag slackened for only a moment, but Ember was prepared. She grasped the fractured flagpole with all of her strength, ripping it from his hands—and then, without a second glance, she took off for the Orange Team’s base.