Arc 6: Chapter 9: Sunset

    The wind howled. It tore away sound, thought, sensation. I was nothing, just a crumbling fragment of debris in the storm’s grip. Siriks and I drifted further and further apart as we were buffeted by warring currents, slammed by slicing torrents of unsettled air.

    It seemed to last forever. And yet, the ancient broken ring of the Coloss and its little gray island, like an abstracted eye from this angle, swiftly grew larger in my vision. Siriks shouted something at me. I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like “You fool!”

    Fair. I ignored him, focusing on the swift encroaching ground. Unfortunately, I possessed no sorceries for flight.

    Even as we fell to our deaths, a stray thought wormed through my growing panic. There are ogres in the storm.

    A problem for later. My focus went to the clusters of indistinct black shapes scattered beyond the outer ring of the tournament island. Like flocks of birds, only I knew they weren’t birds. Their shapes grew more distinct as we fell, clarifying into stony gray forms with huge wings and gleaming silver eyes.

    While I hadn’t exactly expected to need them this way, I felt a surge of relief that Markham had heeded my warnings. I’d told his small council about the Mistwalkers gathering around the city, and he’d released them out in force to guard the tournament.

    I focused on the nearest gargoyle, laced my breath with aura, and spoke.

    “Catch us.”

    My command rang out, audible as any peel of thunder rolling across the storm above. Immediately, the nearest sentinels peeled off from their flocks.

    The ground dominated my vision. I could make out the inner ring of statues and spires along the Coloss walls now, the congregated masses on the stands, even the tiny figures of the tourney knights still waiting on the island. I forced myself to relax.

    A particularly large beast swiped the air like a diving falcon and caught me, not as gently as I’d have liked. Clawed appendages closed on my shoulders and waist, three separate sets of digits clamping down. If not for my armor, I suspected they would have cut me to ribbons. The gargoyle sported a cherubic face fashioned of gold, like a mask set over its pitted gray flesh, and twin sets of wings carved to evoke the feathered mantle of a seraph. Its body otherwise resembled a chimeric union between a lion and an eagle.

    When the contents of my skull no longer felt like jelly, I searched and found Siriks. Two smaller gargoyles had him, each holding a shoulder so he hung suspended between their beating wings. Not the most dignified look, but at least he wasn’t paste.

    The bit of metal still embedded into my stomach was agony, but I grit my teeth against the pain and focused on the ground.

    “Set us down on the island.”

    The gold-masked golem let out a growl, but acquiesced to my order. It dropped me perhaps ten feet off the island’s surface, and I had to roll into the fall. The lance of pain in my abdomen nearly made me faint. I managed to get to a knee, placing a hand against the gap in my breastplate as I caught my breath.

    The gargoyles dropped Siriks a moment later. He stumbled, righted himself, then stared at me in something between wariness and incomprehension.

    I felt the eyes of several thousand people on me. Ignoring them all, I heaved to my feet and faced the cymrinorean ambassador.

    He’d managed to keep his spear. How knightly, to keep hold of his steel even as a death no feat of arms could avert rushed right for him.

    And I was weaponless. Even still I faced him calmly, while the storm muttered above and the sea rolled against the island.

    “You’re mad,” he told me bluntly.

    I shrugged. Siriks shook his head slowly.

    “What you said... is it true?”

    I said nothing. No telling when the Coloss’s strange magic would make my voice audible to the stands. He seemed to understand.

    His eyes drifted to the breach in my armor. “You’re injured. And weaponless.”

    I nodded.

    Siriks sniffed, pace several steps to his left, then lifted his spear high. Its broken tip gleamed with rain dew. I tensed.

    He planted it in the sand, let his hand rest on the lacquered haft a moment, then stepped back. A calmness fell over his youthful face.

    “I yield. You fought very well, Ser Sain. I am satisfied.”

    He turned and spoke directly to the royal box. “Cymrinor withdraws from this tourney.”

    In the tradition of tourney, no fighter is allowed to withdraw from the field until a match is resolved. However, in light of my victory over Siriks Sontae, the Emperor allowed the melee to continue while I observed from the sidelines, immune to the results.

    Ser Jorg had already yielded, so he sat with me and chatted, oddly casual after the epic clash he’d just observed. He proved to be a friendly, personable man, the Grotesque Knight. He told me I was blessed, to have earned such mercy from the gargoyles whose resemblance he’d taken for his armor.

    I decided not to tell him I’d used my powers to compel them. I felt it might put a damper on his mood.

    Siriks stood alone near the edge of the island, arms folded and expression pensive. Whatever he thought, he kept it to himself and didn’t offer me so much as a glance.

    He didn’t know. I hadn’t been sure.

    Karog waited until every member of his team had lost, then fought both Narinae Tarner and Hendry Hunting at once. He insisted on fighting them together, in fact. Narinae proved shockingly good, fast as a hummingbird and more aggressive than I’d have expected. Hendry was a staunch support, big and solid at her back, preventing Karog from simply overpowering the smaller fighter with sheer aggression.

    When Karog slapped the boy hard enough to crack his spine, an angry backhand I suspected was more reflex than intent, I winced in tune with a wave of dismay from the stands. When Hendry just stood up, rubbing at his neck, Karog’s eyes widened.

    It was obvious neither of them could beat the ogre. He was too powerful, too fast, too skilled. He seemed to have limitless stamina, not so much as breaking a sweat or pausing for breath as he battered at the two humans.

    But Narinae maintained a stoic focus, concentrating on keeping her feet and preventing a situation where she might have to yield, and Hendry kept pace with them both.

    “She can’t win,” Ser Jorg said, rubbing at the stylized goatee on his helmet. “What’s the lass doing?”

    “Making certain she doesn’t leave empty handed,” I said. The other knight glanced at me, surprised at my sudden verbosity.

    Sure enough, I sensed a strange tension from the woman. She threw herself into the fight, the eyes beneath her burgonet shockingly bright. Even after the spectacle between Siriks and me, the crowd grew more and more excited.

    Karog lashed out with his cleaver, using it skillfully as an assassin’s dagger, the weapon blurring through the air as he advanced in a relentless barrage. Narinae deflected or dodged every strike, but she was flagging. I could hear her muffled shouts and grunts through her helm, as she poured every ounce of strength she had into staying up, staying in the fight.

    The storm continued to swirl, a spiral of clouds centered directly above the island. I found my eyes half lidded, soaking in that feeling. And I kept my attention on the storm, wary of the beasts I now knew lurked in it.

    Hendry made a mistake that cost him the fight. Narinae was hurled back by an almost casual swipe of Karog’s blade, one that knocked the sword from her hand. Hendry placed himself in front of her. Gallant, but foolish.

    Karog kicked him, hard. Hendry went down on his back in an impact so hard it bounced him. Before he could rise, the ogre stepped forward and planted a boot heavy as a tree stump on his chest, pinning him. I heard his guttural demand for the boy to yield.

    Perhaps Hendry’s iron bones weren’t easy to break, but they could still warp. Karog pressed down, and I saw the lad’s breastplate deform. I fought against the urge to intervene.

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    No one else heard Hendry surrender, but Karog was close enough to hear, or perhaps just read his lips. The ogre stepped off him.

    Narinae found her sword, and dove back into the fight.

    It happened very suddenly. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it, that moment of awakening, but even still the intensity of it shocked me. Karog roared at his remaining opponent, the sound incredibly similar to the throaty bellow of a lion. He lunged forward, clove down with all his considerable weight behind the blow.

    She laughed softly. “I kind of like it. Besides, you’re the one who took these.”

    She reached out and brushed the blue flowers, where they remained tucked into my left pauldron above my heart.

    “Just playacting,” I said.

    She was a quiet a while, then spoke in a softer voice. “I don’t think so. I think...”

    She propped herself up on her hands, staring at me. “I think you were more yourself than you’ve been in a long while down there, maybe ever. I’ve seen it a few times, you know. How noble you can be. I think the helmet let you be more honest to yourself.”

    I lifted my eyebrows. “You think that prancing cock was who I really am?”

    She flicked my nose. “I think that gallant knight is who you want to be.”

    Outside, the sun set. Catrin seemed to grow less lethargic, her grip on my arm tightening. The dull color of her eyes brightened, taking on a nocturnal glow. Her nails scraped against the steel over my bicep.

    “Are you going to do it?” She whispered.

    I sensed the change in her, and knew to be cautious. “Do what?”

    “Kill her.”

    My eyes opened, staring into the room’s darkness.

    “Al?”

    “I have a plan,” I said. “The pieces are already moving.”

    Catrin curled closer against me, one leg brushing over my thigh. “Will you tell me? I want to help.”

    Again, I didn’t answer at first. My senses weren’t just on her, but on the surrounding room. When she’d entered, I hadn’t known it was Catrin at first.

    It had felt like the demon.

    “I need you to trust me,” I said.

    Her voice came out tighter. “He’s not listening.”

    “You can’t know that.”

    “Are you going to kill her not?” Then, with less anger she added, “I’m scared, Alken. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to stay like this. It hurts.”

    Another voice echoed through my memory. Hurts, hurts, hurts, it hurts—

    I laced my fingers through her hair, pulling her against my chest. She clutched me tightly.

    I wouldn’t fail her like I’d failed Kieran. I wasn’t certain I’d survive it any more than she would.

    “Tomorrow night,” I said. “This will all end tomorrow night.”

    “What are you going to do?”

    I closed my eyes. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you. I’m sorry.”

    Her nails made white marks along my armor. “I thought you trusted me.”

    “I do. But you’re not all yourself right now.”

    More angrily she said, “I could take it from your blood.”

    I nodded. “You could, if I was willing to let you.”

    “Yith said you wouldn’t trust me. That you’d choose them. This damned kingdom that’s made you miserable.”

    My jaw tightened. “Yith is a parasite.”

    “So am I.”

    She has stolen every moment she’s pretended to be alive from those who truly are.

    I pressed my lips to her hair and spoke softly. “I know it hurts. I know it’s hard. Just endure it one more day.”

    “I wouldn’t have to if you just killed that bitch!”

    When I didn’t answer, she began to plead.

    “Please, Alken.”

    “She deserves it. She’s evil.”

    “She’s a slaver.”

    “A murderer.”

    “It hurts, I need it to stop.”

    “You promised you would save me.”

    “Just kill her. Let the rest of these bastards sort it out.”

    “Please. Please please please please—”

    I held her tightly, let her rave, and hated myself.

    But I did not tell her my plan.

    And I did not give in to her pleas.

    And I swore to myself that I would send Yith Golonac screaming back into Hell.