CHAPTER 75

“No!”

“Malco, look out!”

Essa’s scream makes me look back in time to see the arc of the sword. I throw myself to the ground a second before the slice of darkness cuts a swathe over my head. Rao stands, blade held in both hands while a sickening schlorp sound signals the man in the armor dislodging his hammer from Gedden’s back.

“I think,” Rao says conversationally. “It’s time for your friend to give us some room, isn’t it?”

I scowl, but he’s right. We lost our advantage. My eyes meet Essa’s, and I can see she shares my thoughts.

“Yes,” Rao continues. “A nice one-on-one, with even stakes. Get thee gone, wench.”

She stiffens at that, but rashness is barely in Essa’s vocabulary. She moves in front of the man in armor’s path, back-to-back with me.

“Command?” I ask.

“Tried it. Didn’t work,” she says bitterly. “Can you handle him?”

“Yes. Watch out for the blades. I’ll try to maneuver him out of the way, but still…”

Essa grunts her assent. And then she’s on the move, getting closer to her opponent, making it harder for him to swing his massive hammer. Leaving me alone with Rao.

He’s relaxed. Even happy.

“Finally,” Rao says. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? To finish the job? There’s nothing I hate more than an uppity Untouched, but stealing from me?I t’s about time you learn your place.”

“Yeah? It’s about time you…”

“Sorry,” Rao interrupts, smiling. “Can’t hear you.”

He dashes and strikes. The vertical black arc forms in front of my eyes and I take advantage of the single instant it hangs in the air to dodge sideways and fire off an Incendiary Dart.

Rao doesn’t even hesitate. He draws his hand back, catches the tail of his cape, and pulls it across his body, blocking the spell. It starts no fire, leaves no scorch mark. The only sign it ever happened is the smirk on Rao’s face.

“You thought you could get away with it?” he asks, slicing another cut in the air. “That hand is just the first payment. Believe me, this is going to take a long time.”

Rao draws the sword in a circle on each side, making a black X that shoots forward and misses me by a handspan. A clang sounds behind me as the blade connects with someone behind me.

“Watch it!” says a gruff, echoing voice.

The man in the armor, whoever he is, turns the slot in his helmet to Rao, who doesn’t even seem to notice.

Ear blocks, I realize. That’s why Command didn’t work.

“Can’t keep dodging forever,” Rao says, viperine. “My Mage will be free soon, and when he is we’ll cut you and we’ll slice you, and I’ll personally make sure none of your kind ever think they’re worth more than trash ever again.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I yell.

Before he can answer, I turn tail and run. The crowd laughs, and the crowd cries out, and shouts of ‘coward!’ follow me through the arena. Rao reacts as expected, with a mix of threats and cursing. His grandstanding gives me the two-second headstart I need.

While Essa and the man in the armor have a slow, ponderous fight along the round wall of the arena, Messer is struggling in the sand in the center. His circlet has tumbled out of the wrap of the Waving Veil and rolled away in the sand, but the man himself has almost managed to drag his way out of his prison. His head and one arm are free, casting spells as quick as he can conjure them. The Veil shows burn marks and cuts, and is looking feebler by the second.

This will only work once. I brandish my dagger in the air, bright and flashy. Messer looks in my direction and panic bursts in his eye. I only have to evade a single, badly aimed magical dart. When I’m a step away from the Mage, a moment from being able to attack him, Hunch activates, an icy spike that plunges into the back of my brain to announce the pain I’m about to be in if I don’t get out of the way now.

I obey a second too late. The arc of darkness clips me on the side, sending me sprawling along the sand. Down my back and side, a line hurt makes me grit my teeth. The armor was cut almost to the skin, but before my eyes it begins to reform, small spider silk veins bridging the gap, bringing the two sides together again.

Sparing a prayer for troll tailoring, I stand up slowly, heart beating fast.

Rao is marching in my direction. In his fury, he doesn’t seem to have noticed the sand tinged red, the blood drying in the sun. I point it out to him, a slight gesture of my head imbued with all the mocking I can give it.

Messer lies dead, still half-wrapped in the Veil. A bloody line has been cut from his face, vaporizing one eye and extending down to his jaw.

“Fuck you, Malco,” Rao roars. “Fuck you. You think that changes anything? You did me a favor. In just a little he’s gonna—”

And then Ged arrives. Naked. Angry. Mid-spell.

The magical blow, a solid warp in my vision, like a ball of concentrated wind, hits Rao in the back throws him on his face.

“Want some help finishing him, or--?” Ged asks.

“No! Help Essa. I got him.”

Rao gets back on his feet, spitting sand. Just in time to watch me swallow the second vial of ruddy red liquid.

Strength. Fire. In a second I’m whole again, and I know there’s nothing this bastard can do to me that can even leave a mark. Amidst the roar of the crowd, I charge.

Rao is quick. He maneuvers the long, unwieldy sword down, trying to cut at my legs, but I jump up, so strong I barely feel the strain, and knee him in the face. A spurt of blood dances through the air as we fall, smears the sand when we land, and gushes down his face as we stand. Rao’s nose is broken. That doesn’t seem to help his mood.

The Black Sword swings once, twice, and I dance out of the way both times. The third strike I parry, the long blade smashing against my dagger like it found a brick wall in its place, and follow that with a kick to Rao’s chest that sends him flying back.

He twists in the air even as he falls, a Rogue through and through, and compromises his landing to strike at me from a distance. The blade of darkness accelerates towards at an angle and clips my shoulder. I hear screams when the badly aimed arc strikes the crowd of Godtouched, and feel the blood beginning to run down my arm even as the armor reknits itself at the shoulder.

Can’t stop.

Everywhere is chaos. Gedden and Essa are having trouble with the man in armor. Gedden’s spells are good at keeping the Mage alive, but ineffectual at damaging. Essa has better chances: a single stab of her sword through the eyeslit could end the man. Except… except he’s way too good at what he’s doing. Even with all that bulk of armor, he dodges and parries each of her strikes, while his own never fail to cause damage.

We can’t take this much longer. We’ll be exhausted soon. Which means I need to rid us of Rao. Even if he returns, we will have had time to rest, time to reposition and plan anew.

He stands, sword up. And I dash forward.

The first blade of darkness passes harmlessly under me, barely slowing me down. I time my arrival, giving Rao time for another slice before I run in and barrel him down.

The sword comes up, I dodge preemptively, and only realize that something is amiss when the Black Sword reaches the end of its arc and leaves Rao’s hands, shoots up into the air, having produced nothing. Rao runs.

Off-balance, I still have time to recognize the tells, the hints. Observant provides the details, and I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Rao is familiar with the Dirty Fighter Perk. He’s just outsmarted me. I try my best to make use of my greater strength. I see him reach into his pocket, expect a weapon, and then a fistful of sand falls on my face, blinding me. I swing wildly, in a panic, the din of the audience masking Rao’s steps in the sand.

Just grab him, I tell myself. All I have to do is grab him.

The punch catches me on the chin and makes me see stars. I taste blood, feel the sting of the grains of sand , force my eyes open all the same. The second punch I dodge, and my kick catches Rao on the belly, sends him sprawling.

I take a step forward, lift my dagger high, and suddenly it’s like the blood rushes out from my head all at once.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

No. Please, I think.

Weak. Wobbly. Can’t think, can’t move. It’s like before, but a thousand times worse. I can barely think. Must strike.

Dazed, I try to swipe down, but Rao answers with a kick that drives me off my feet. My dagger flies away to parts unknown, but before I can even try and search for it, Rao is on me, screaming bloody murder, spittle falling down on my face as he ignores weapons, ignores subtlety, and just attempts to choke the life out of me.

I activate Mantle of Flames, letting the fire run down from my heart and around my arms, but Rao just twists his cape around so it’s between us. The flames fail to eat through the fabric. My arms get tangled up in the material, and I can barely fight back. His hands, protected now, find my neck again.

From up on the audience seats, I’m sure that two Rogue-ish types rolling in the sand is quite the pitiful sight. Down here, I feel the advantage of his extra level of development starting to weigh, to shift the scales of battle.

A clang of steel and a scream, and Essa sails through the bright skies before landing somewhere beyond where I can see her. Hammer man has won the upper hand.

“See, little bastard?” Rao whispers, squeezing. His eyes are bulging and focused, paying attention to each little twitch in my face. “No one’s coming to save you. No one’s going to remember you at all. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. That’s a good boy.”

I stop struggling. Can’t fight him. The fire winks out as I find I’m too weak to keep it going. My mind runs through an ever-dwindling selection of angles and tricks, and finally my hand releases his.

“Giving up, are you? Smart.”

Reach the potion belt. Select the correct one. Bring it up as quickly as I can through the building fog, see the sparkle of red…

“Pa-pa-pa-pa,” Rao says. The pressure on m neck releases, letting precious air course through empty passages before clamping down on my wrist. “You’re right. That would be too fast. I have an idea.”

He pries my fingers open with his teeth. My scream is ragged and hurt, and when I can’t take it any more he removes the little red vial from my grasp.

“I’m going to drink this, and then I’m going to pull on your hand. Pull, and pull, and pull, until something interesting happens.” A little pop as the cork comes off. “What do you think?”

“Please.”

Rao smiles. His teeth are bright crimson with my blood. He tosses his head back, draining the vial in one shallow gulp.

“Mm. Yes, I like it when you beg. Beg and I might keep you as a pet.”

His eyes are rigidly focused, his expression savoring his victory. A shiver spreads over him as the potion takes effect. And then his brow crinkles.

“Strange. I don’t feel st—”

My fist connects with throat before he can finish the sentence. He gags, reaches down to me, but it’s like he’s moving underwater. I grab his wrist and twist, dragging him of me. He screams as he falls, cradling his hand.

“What did you do!” he yells. “I can’t—Why—”

In his confusion, Rao attacks me. He moves… slow. Sluggish. Was this the man that was giving me so much trouble seconds ago? I slap his hand away and drive an elbow into his stomach. He lingers in the sand, spitting, trying to make sense of what’s happening. The crowd is going insane.

“That wasn’t a strength potion,” he says. “What did…”

There it is. I pick up Amelia’s dagger and kick Rao upright. I can’t speak. My throat is too sore, too hurt. But I want him to see this.

“You fu—”

The dagger plunges through his eye. His body shakes once, a burst of dying energy, and stills. A blob of hardened beeswax falls from one of his ears. The stopper.

Can’t stop yet. Can’t. Ignore the noise. Ignore the body. Ignore the crowd.

The man in armor is still swinging his hammer at Ged, who’s clad only in the Waving Veil and is having more and more trouble keeping his attacker at bay. As weak as I am, I wouldn’t be any help now. I run to Essa, sprawled on the sand some distance away.

Still breathing. I force her to drink the pink healing potion, which smells of flowers and spring. Her eyes flutter open.

“I feel this happened has before,” she croaks, looking up.

“Yeah. That guy’s worse than the drake, though.”

Essa stands, going from motionless to fighting shape in less than it takes me to finish the sentence. She moves for her fallen weapons and, strangely, grabs the shield by its slot.

“Stand back. This thing is hard to aim.”

“What are you…”

“Shh. Need to focus.”

Essa draws her arm back. Essa concentrates. In the distance, the hammer swings again and nearly crushes Ged against the wall of the arena. I think I see a faint shimmer along the bladed edge of the shield. And then Essa throws.

The shield doesn’t travel like a shield, nor a disk. I remember once seeing a comet. It crossed the night sky over Reach for many nights before disappearing. That’s what this reminds me of. It slices through the air leaving a trail behind, and buries itself in the armored man’s helmet. He stumbles, like he doesn’t quite understand what’s happened, and slowly, very slowly, topples to the sand in a clang of metal.

Silence. Even the audience holds their breath. Ged is the one to break it.

“YES!” he shouts. “Nice one, guys! I—”

A warcry comes from outside the fighting area. There is the patter of feet on stone, and then Messer enters the arena, hands aglow and face contorted as his shout echoes in the empty space. He stops when he sees me, Essa, and Ged. He hesitates, desperately searching for his allies. That’s all the time Ged needs to throw the Waving Veil with an elegant flick of his wrist. It wraps around the Mage, who falls to the sand like a log.

“Just a second,” Gedden says.

Completely naked, he paces slowly to the center of the arena, searching the ground for something. A warble of laughter courses through the audience. The Mage makes a show of it, and finally comes back up holding the Circlet of Flames.

He strides to the struggling cocoon that is Messer, in no apparent rush. I can’t see the Godtouched’s face from where I’m standing, but his cursing is quickly silenced when Ged points the circlet down and lets the fire loose. The scream turns to nothing in a matter of seconds.

“Right. Done,” Ged says. The Veil unwraps and draws around his waist like a nice flowing skirt. “So, we should probably find a strategy. They’re gonna be coming down soon.”

My eyes wander through the audience, whose reaction is hard to gauge. Most seem amused, though Valkas’ stauncher supporters are closer to apoplexy. It doesn’t matter, however. They know I can’t win. Even our spectacular recovery can’t fight the fact that Rao can simply keep coming, forever.

I search the known faces. Nough, Loron, and their friends. My supporters, pleasantly surprised but nervous. Valkas, gripping the arms of his chair like he’s trying to throttle it. And Wyl, watching us intently, still calm, still balanced on the balls of her feet.

“No,” I say, my throat still sore. “No, we’re not waiting. I know where we need to go.”

*

The din of the crowd recedes as I race out of the arena’s open gates, up the steps and into the keep.

“Where are we going?” Ged.

“Come!”

Mirror gallery. Third room. Main staircase. First floor. Two lefts.

My feet pound the polish flagstones in the empty corridor. Gedden is right behind me, though he’s slower than I am. I can’t see Essa when I take a quick peek over my shoulder, though a few people in the audience are beginning to stream into the hallway. She must still be recovering from the fake Kalos’ hit.

Doesn’t matter. Can’t wait.

I run up the main staircase, taking two steps at the time and skidding on the slippery marble. I manage to cast Hunch without wasting too much time.

First floor. Now left. Go l—

I hear it right before I turn. Feet running in my direction. We both slow down as we approach the intersection, both aware of the other, of the impending crash.

The difference is, I’m not stopping. I take Amelia’s dagger in my hand and jump into the new hallway just as Hunch activates. Rao is half-dressed in what must be a secondary armor. He seems surprised as I fly under his blind knife strike and plunge my blade into his kidney. His scream is drowned by our fall, limbs tangling and blades making mad attempts to find purchase.

A lucky attack slices my scalp open and hits my temple with his dagger’s crossguard, making me reel. I may be weak from the toll of the strength potions, weak from exertion, but he’s still too slow. He hasn’t realized what’s happened yet. Hasn’t had time to take stock. After a brief struggle, my dagger has no trouble finding Rao’s carotid just as Ged runs in from the stairwell.

“What…?”

“Follow!”

I lurch more than I run, dazed and exhausted. The corridor stretches endlessly before I find a left curve that leads me to a new gallery, this one covered in mirrors. The third room is the only one with its door open, and that’s where I stop.

The sight I’m faced with doesn’t help with the confusion or the nausea. Rao’s room is small but serviceable, a table, a trunk, and a bed where a body is finishing restitching itself right before my eyes. A final layer of skin is covering the muscle tissue at incredible pace, rebuilding Rao’s face down to every detail. Even his white hair is growing to its normal size.

I drop the dagger and reach into my potion belt. Only two vials remain.

When Rao opens his eyes, I’ve just finished pouring the black contents of the first his throat. His expression changes and he makes to sit up, but my punch takes care of that impulse. He falls back, holding his re-broken nose, and a shiver courses through his body.

I didn’t have time to test this draught. It took a lost of thinking, adjusting, and mixing not just of substances but of different recipes. It’s a new poison. But as Rao’s face flushes red, I think I got it. The first scream lifts the hair on the back of my neck.

Rao’s body contorts. Spasms is the word, and he screams again. He seems to be trying to form words, but each is robbed of meaning by another heave of his chest followed by a deep, guttural, ragged howl.

At first, all he does is claw at his chest, leaving angry red trails with each nail. I only intervene when he tries to slam his head against the wall.

Don’t even think about it, you bastard.

Delos said to give them pain. I’m going to make sure he lives through this.

I can’t help but notice a twisted similarity to my mother’s job as a healer. Sitting by her patients’ bedside, attentive to their pain; this is me also. But my job is to make the pain last, and last, and last.

He twists like a snake with a broken back. His screams are like the wind passing through a ragged cave.

Rao is crying unintelligibly, too weak to weave away from my grasp and kill himself. The sharp smell of piss fills the room. His face is contorted, and his eyes are full of pleading. I force myself to look. To witness.

In a lull between screams, there’s a soft noise behind me. Gedden is standing at the entrance, back turned to me, watching over his shoulder. Past him, the corridor seems to be crowded with the audience from outside. How long have they been there? I think I hear Essa shouting to be let through. They’re all watching Rao’s pain as if entranced.

I turn back to him as the screams grow fainter and finally transform to gasps and gulps of air. He starts fighting me again, feebly at first, but then more forcefully. The poison is wearing off.

“Yield!” I yell as loud as I’m capable with my ailing throat.

He shakes his head, grinds his teeth. I admire his determination, at the very least. I bring my hand in front of his eyes, holding the second brackish potion, and lean down.

“I’ll do this again and again, you bastard,” I whisper in his ear. “I have poison enough to last through to tomorrow, and Essa will hold you down if I need to make more.”

Lies through and through. If anything, there’s a chance the second vial will kill him outright, dispelling the pain completely.

“Fuck you!” he yells.

I have to punch his jaw broken before I can get him to open his mouth, and have to use my knees to keep him from shaking his head too much.

A scream, long, loud, renewed, nearly draws tears from my eyes. Nearly. I think of him striking my wrist, again and again, I think of him outside in the arena, threatening to rip my remaining hand off. And I hold him down and I scream with him, telling him the pain won’t end, the nightmare will endure, screaming that I hate him, and then just screaming.

“I yield!”

It sounds like a horrible flourish tacked at the end of a pitiful whimper of pain. At first I don’t know if I heard it, but then he says it again, and again, until all his screams are just that single word, without pause, without break.

Someone moves behind me, and suddenly a black blade sinks into Rao’s heart. He gasps once, and is finally, mercifully silent.

Essa puts her hand on my shoulder.

“It’s over.”