Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Dance of Scythe and Spear
Jack shoved himself in between Flinn and Magnus and snarled, “It will be a bright day in Enthall before I let you two kill each other in my gods-forsaken Arena!”
“Let us fight or join in, Warden,” Magnus bit back.
Jack turned his mangled face solely to Magnus and his grin twitched. “I’ve scrapped worse things off my boot heel than you could ever amount to, Andevār.” He turned to Flinn and saw the look of resolve in his eye. He’d seen it before in soldiers, mothers and priests. It was the look one settles on when the world around them seems to burn. He let out a bitter breath. “Fine. You can fight. But you’re using mimic weapons. Either of you try anything and I will join, and it will end.”
Flinn and Magnus hadn’t broken their gaze for a single moment when the broad-shouldered spearman said, “Fine, I’ll agree...”
The tension in Jack’s shoulders eased.
“-but only if you allow for three fatal strikes,” Flinn added firmly. His hand quivered with a venomous anger.
Jack stared at him, his one malformed eye as dark as night. “Three?”
Flinn finally looked away, locking eyes with the older warrior. “It’s that or honest steel, Jack.”
Jack gritted his teeth in frustration and turned to Michael. “Clear the floor.”
Michael nodded and then noticed Sarah, Oliver, and the others all waving to him hurriedly from the stands. He darted up one of the ladders and scurried to a seat between Carter and Sarah. “I assume this goin’ to be some kind of fight?”
Aroha leant passed Carter and asked, “What weapons are they using?”
Michael shrugged. “He said ‘mimic-weapons’?”
The group noticeably relaxed until they saw Sidney as she shoved through much of the crowd and yelled to Michael, “How are they deciding a victor?”
Sidney’s head was shaven down to the scalp, leaving only the fuzz of a morning’s growth. She looked like she hadn’t slept.
Michael’s frazzled brain failed him under the stress of her tone and he stammered, “Uh- Flinn asked for three fatal strikes.”
Everyone within earshot went quiet.
Sidney blinked and nodded before vanishing back into the crowd, making her way closer to the railing, not bothering to sit.
Michael glanced after her as she walked away and asked, “Sidney shaved her head?”
Carter nodded quietly. “For Ilo.”
Sarah looked at her feet. “She’s from Mhairia. It’s a part of their mourning process. My father once told me that for the length of the Conscription War the entire province had shaved heads. Some still do, out of respect.”
Michael nodded as the sound of the crowd grew fiercer and he looked back to the arena floor. He watched as Jack finally stepped away from Flinn and Magnus and made his way up to the far side of the stands, where laid his crossbow. From his hip, Jack drew his dark mace and lay its head on one of the rails, letting out a soft clang!
The crowd fell silent.
Jack looked out over the arena once the silence had evened out and bellowed, “We have two combatants, Paladin Flinn Alexander and Paladin Magnus Andevār. Despite what you may have heard, this will not be a fight to the death! This is Fort Guardian, not a Redthornian death pit! Arcancy is off-limits, this is weapon-combat only...”
He continued to describe the rules of the fight when Michael turned to Carter. “What’s a mimic-weapon?”
Carter tossed up how to answer when he spotted Rose descending into the arena. He pointed to the blonde, wavy-haired warrioress and said, “Watch and see.”
Rose, the young sorceress from the funeral, took Magnus’ scythe as her veins flushed to life with a bright, purple hew. She seethed with pain as the palm of her hand lightly ran from the bottom of the handle to the tip of the blade. Finally, she brought her casting hand away with a fanciful flourish and with a small snap of purple light, an exact copy of Magnus’ scythe appeared in her grasp.
Rose handed it back to him with a hard glare.
Michael opened his mouth in confusion but didn’t speak.
Carter nudged him. “What do you think?”
Michael ran his hands through his hair and leant back, shrugging.
“They’re illusory weapons,” said Sarah. Her fair hair was untidily jammed into ponytail, clearly fresh out of bed. “Alike in every way, except… when they make contact with another person they only deliver pain, not physical damage.”
Jack finished up his speech and raised his mace into the air.
Michael asked, “So, how do they know who wins?”
Sarah folded her arms, looking out over the scene. “Fatal strikes. Usually, each Legacy-on-Legacy fight has one because it’s more realistic, also they hurt more than anything in the world, and almost always send a Legacy to the floor. Typically, it’s pretty clear when they’re over.”
Michael felt his stomach turn as he said, “But Flinn asked for three?”
Carter nodded grimly. “He wants pain. Either for Magnus… or from him.”
“He said never to go after Magnus! What if he just loses three times over?”
Both Michael’s friends said nothing but Aroha spoke from the left, muttering darkly, “I suppose that’s why there’s such a crowd...”
Jack held his mace high in the air as he looked dejectedly over the scene. “Legacies, are you ready?”
Magnus smiled behind the glittering blade of his scythe. “Ready.”
Flinn’s face was without emotion. Beside him, planted firmly in the sand, was his bladed long-spear. It’s machete-like edge was glittering keen, freshly sharpened on the mimic, just like the original.
“Ready.”
Jack gritted his teeth and yelled, “Begin!” as he slammed his mace down on the iron railing, sending out a screeching gong!
Flinn picked up his spear slowly and moved toward Magnus with the weapon pointed downward and his left hand hanging free. “Apologise.”
Magnus cocked his head and smiled brightly. “For what? The fact Ilo never learned how to draw a sword?”
Flinn lunged forward with startling speed and thrust the spear-blade hard at Magnus’ face. Magnus narrowly bent his head out of its path and stumbled back, his smile tight with anger.
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“I said, apologise.”
Magnus began mimicking the same circle-path as Flinn, his scythe swinging back and forward. His smile remained but only on his teeth. His eyes were far more focused, like a snake in long grass. “I’m good-”
Flinn spun on the spot and brought his spear around like a whip, snapping its blade hard across Magnus’ temple before the boy even finished his sentence.
Magnus was thrown to the ground, roaring in pain. He smashes his fists into the sand before he pushed himself back to his knees. He seethed with so much rage that spit dripped between his teeth.
Michael could tell this would’ve usually been met with a roar from the crowd, but everyone beside him was white-knuckled and silent.
By the railing, Jack wordlessly struck the metal once, indicating the first fatal strike had fallen. His face was still grim and tight with worry.
Michael was awestruck by Flinn’s speed. His entire body moved with his attack, from the tips of his fingers to the balls of his feet. He watched as Magnus began circling again, wondering how he could possibly see straight, let alone stand.
“Apologise.” Flinn’s voice was still.
Magnus’ eyes were alive with fury. This time he made no reply and leapt across their revolving circle and before he had so much as landed, his scythe came down and around twice, narrowly missing Flinn as he quick-stepped backwards. Magnus kept pushing, swinging his scythe in brutal arcs, missing Flinn’s skull but mere inches as the spearman ducked and parried the attacks.
Magnus pushed his opponent all the way across the arena.
Flinn ducked and rose up inside Magnus’ guard, driving his mimic-spear up into the boy’s stomach and out through his back in one swift motion.
Magnus roared out in a feral scream and collapsed to his knees as Flinn stepped out, leaving his spear inside the young man.
This time the crowd winced on mass. Michael covered his mouth.
Magnus was hunched over the shaft of the spear like a kebab with one last hanging piece of barbecue in the middle.
Jack struck the railing for a second time.
Flinn stepped over to Magnus’ back and placed his hand on the neck of the spear, but as he made to pull it out, Magnus spun and ripped his blade across Flinn’s face, sending the older Legacy careening into the sand.
Flinn writhed in pain, blinded for the space of a moment.
Magnus smiled as he pulled the Paladin’s spear out of his stomach. He turned and tossed the weapon behind himself as they both rose to their feet.
Michael watched on the edge of his seat as Flinn saw his weapon glittering in the sand behind Magnus.
Flinn breathed out his pain and looked Magnus square in the eyes. He raised his weapon-less hands out in front of him and this time said nothing.
Magnus relaxed into his smug, unguarded stance and snidely asked, “Have you decided you don’t want that apology?”
Flinn didn’t say a word. A cold hatred edged its way onto his face. It was dark and hungry and it only vanished as and he barrelled forward in a plume of sand.
Mangus huffed and brought his scythe around easily ripping it through Flinn’s side but the spearman merely roared and threw himself forward despite the pain, slamming Magnus to the ground.
They struggled for a moment until Flinn fought his way on top and began striking the red-eyed Legacy hard in the face. Over and over he drove his fists into his opponent’s head. Flinn outweighed him by a degree or more but Magnus didn’t lose so much as a drop of blood.
Then Flinn froze. His fist cocked in the air, a confused look of discomfort spread across his sweaty face.
Magnus’ lower hand was upturned toward him, and almost unnoticeably his fingertips were flickering with glowing veins.
The crowd grew increasingly confused as Flinn slumped back, shaking with pain as he collapsed into the sand.
Magnus rose from the ground and picked up his scythe, quietly hiding his other hand behind back while it glowed with Arcancy.
Flinn’s blood had turned against him. It felt as though it boiled beneath his skin, and as though his muscles were attempting to rip free from his bones. His pain belonged to Magnus.
Nichole stood and was clutching the guard rail as she looked over the scene with horror. “Mimic pain only lasts a few seconds, why isn’t he getting up?”
Sidney’s hand tightened around the railing and her eyes glared.
Jack’s spat as he struck the rail for Magnus’ point. He watched Flinn writhe and shouted, “Alexander, I need you to rise or you forfeit.”
The crowd was on the edge of its seat as Magnus stalked over to Flinn. He placed the blade of his scythe on the fallen spearman’s neck and softly said, “I’ll bet you wished this was a real blade... that way you could tell Ilo all about this embarrassing little show.”
Flinn convulsed in his body when a tight, sick smile spread onto his face and his eyes glowed for only Magnus to see.
Magnus threw his hands out, red erupting from his veins and Flinn screamed out like he was being boiled alive. Everyone in the arena came to their feet shouting.
Jack picked up the crossbow. “Andevār, shut it off or I’ll put you down! We’re done!”
“No!” Flinn roared, knocking the scythe aside and his entire person exploded with starfire. It hit Magnus like a warhammer to the chest and sent him hurtling back-first into the sand.
Flinn got up in a raging mess, grabbed his spear. Magnus was up in a flash too. They met in the middle with weapons flying. Flinn lunged and Magnus knocked it to the sand, stamping the shaft of the weapon so hard it wrenched from Flinn’s grip. Magnus slammed his scythe handle hard across Flinn’s skull, dazing him, and reeled back his scythe.
The crowd began shout and it wasn’t for the fighters present.
Magnus turned just in time to see Sidney come crashing to the arena floor. She rose with her steel quarterstaff in hand.
Magnus sneered at her and raised his off hand, sending a flash of bright pain into Flinn. Flinn clenched up and collapsed, spasming in the sand.
Sidney rounded on Magnus. “Couldn’t win without your Arcancy, worm?”
The sickly-pale boy shrugged and said, “I was getting bored.”
Jack shouted from the rail, “This fight is over. Selene do not engage with him.”
Magnus didn’t take his eyes of Sidney. “Jack, the fights not over ‘til its over. You can come down here if you want.”
Jack didn’t hesitate and pulled on his helmet, but Sidney shouted, “No, Jack! You stay there!”
Sidney squared her shoulders and placed both hands on her quarterstaff as she stepped between the writhing spearman and Magnus. “Ilo was my fuckin’ friend too.”
Flinn stopped writhing behind her and Magnus flexed out his fingers, and his scythe came up in a flash. He closed the distance between them in an instant, lashing toward her stomach, but it didn’t land.
The arena went silent as they watched her standing there. It wasn’t that she was fast, though she was. It wasn’t that she was agile or fluid, though she was. It was that while others were moving, she had been there long before. It was that way on the obstacle course, and it was that way in the arena. While others threw their punches. She struck.
Like a crossbow bolt.
She glanced his weapon away with bottom end of the staff, snapped up in a viscous uppercut, dislocating his jaw with a wet crunch and before he had the chance to scream, she ripped her weapon back down, smashing it against the top-corner of his skull and sending him hard to ground as still as a corpse.
The arena was silent as a tomb.
Jack looked out over the madness and took his helmet off again.
Sidney turned and helped Flinn to his feet. His body twitched sporadically with the lasting nerve pain, and they slowly made their way out of the Arena together.
The crowd began to disperse as Michael looked down at Magnus, lying on the coliseum floor. “Is he- Are they just going to leave him there?”
James stood with the others and said, “He’s fine, trust me.”
Almost as though he heard them speaking, Magnus’ body twitched and he rolled over onto his back, groaning for a moment.
Michael followed the others down into the pit as Jack picked up his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. Michael watch the Javen warrior descend and walk squarely up to Magnus.
Magnus spat, “Get out of my way,” and went to bowl through his shoulder but only clattered into him like Jack was made of bricks and concrete.
Jack looked down at Magnus. “You’re cleaning out the moat. Barehanded, for a month. And if I see you use Arcancy on another Legacy again. You’re done here.”
Magnus rolled his eyes and stalked away, glancing at Michael for the space a moment. He held Michael’s gaze just long enough to let Michael to see him grab his own jaw and move it sharply back into place with a wet and meaty crunch!
Jack stopped Michael and his companions, reminding them that their training was about to begin, and informed them of the different creatures they’d be fighting. He talked about different possibilities and the kind of conditions they might be under, but all Michael could think of were Flinn’s words the day before.
Magnus Andevār is difficult to understand. To reason with. To fight. So, best to not.
Michael came to realise why James had decided the safest place for him was behind his battleaxe.
Michael waited until Jack was done with his briefing and then tapped Sarah on the shoulder. “So, he’s not Draendican, is he? Magnus, I mean.”
Sarah softly said, “I’ve heard different things from different people. Problem is that no one likes Magnus, so no one is exactly unbiased in their thoughts.”
*****
Michael soon got to see how his oldest friends fought. Before long, they moved together like a unit, like they’d been born to fight together. It was close to being the exact thing Michael had dreamt about since he’d been old enough to dream of anything.
Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t stop hearing the noise Magnus’ jaw made as he pushed it back into place.