Chapter 12
While Brenin chose to wait outside the arena to see if the assassin appeared, Kathryn and Chance found a spot near the fence surrounding the arena. Chance stood behind her to try to protect her somewhat from the crush of humanity, but they were both squashed and could barely breathe. “Is this really the best we can do?” Chance yelled over the cheering as the fighters took their positions.
Then he realized Kathryn’s eyes were fixed on Ren and she hadn’t heard a word. He smirked and muttered, “Must be nice to have someone worry about you so much.”
Ren glanced around for Kathryn, but without realizing it, he was looking for her distinctive red hair. Since she’d dyed it brown and was wearing a veil to blend in with the crowd, he couldn’t pick her out.
His opponent captured his attention by being even bigger than he was. That was a rarity to begin with. Bjorn Dagur was massive, hairy, and heavily sun-browned. In his hands, he clutched a massive stone hammer.
The cheering died down. All eyes turned to King Tarik.
King Tarik was younger than Ren had expected; perhaps 26 or 27. He was covered in gold jewelry from head to toe, and even his clothing was embroidered with shining gold thread. His jet black hair hung down nearly to his waist. And from the way he moved as he stood up from his gigantic golden throne to overlook the arena, Ren felt he was a man who knew his own authority and enjoyed wielding it.
There was an expression of amusement in his dark eyes as he looked down at the combatants. The crowd was completely silent as he raised his hands and called, “Welcome to Tephrayana! This contest, unlike those of previous years, will allow as many as four champions, all of whom will receive a title as a lord or lady of Tephraya and will take up residence here in our glorious kingdom. Tephrayana salutes your courage!”
The cheering began again, and he allowed it for some time before waving for silence. “The rules of the battle are simple. At this stage, you will begin at the word of the Marshall of the arena and continue to fight until one of you is incapable of combat. You may surrender at any time, but your opponent may choose not to receive your surrender.”
Ren frowned at these words. He had a pretty simple code when it came to fighting: fight anyone who wanted to fight, and leave alone anyone who didn’t. So refusing to honor a surrender didn’t make any sense to him.
But King Tarik was already continuing, “Prepare for battle, and acquit yourselves well!”
The crowd cheered once more, and then all eyes turned to the Marshall, a tall, thin warrior with snake-like eyes. The man held up his right arm. “Ready, combatants!”
Ren twisted his staff in his hand to feel the balance and grinned. He liked the familiar feel. His opponent was perfectly still and watchful.
“Fight!” the Marshall lowered his arm as the shout rang out.
General Dagur wasn’t especially fast. Unlike Xian, all of his energy seemed to go into the enormous power of his strikes. Ren had to jump backwards to avoid the hammer, which came down so forcefully that it smashed several inches into the sand of the arena.
Ren instantly dashed forward with the staff, hooking left and right in rapid, painful blows.
Dagur was wearing metal bracers on his forearms, and he blocked the hits as he yanked his hammer free. This time, he aimed for a sideways blow. Ren decided it was time to see just how powerful those strikes were. Planting his feet and stiffening his body against the blow, he held his staff in both hands and took the full force against his weapon.
The hammer sent him staggering back about a foot, but he recovered quickly, long before Dagur managed to attempt another blow.
This time, Ren stepped in close and slammed his staff against Dagur’s face, sending him reeling. “You’re good. ‘Fraid you’re not good enough, though.” Ren bashed the end of the staff against Dagur’s right hand. The man yelled in pain, but maintained his grip on the hammer and tried to elbow Ren in the face.
Ren danced backward, raising his staff to block another blow from the hammer, which momentarily threw him off-balance.
Maybe Ren saw something out of the corner of his eye, or maybe it was some instinct that saved him in that moment. But he felt his body jerking backwards almost automatically as a crossbow bolt flashed past his face. “What the-”
His eyes instinctively turned to see who was shooting at him. Seeing his momentary distraction, Bjorn stepped forward, smashing his bracers against the staff and sending him staggering back. Ren lost his balance and fell on his back in the sand.
From the sidelines, Kathryn saw everything. She tugged Chance’s sleeve and pointed. “The assassin!” was all she said.
He followed her finger and saw a dark figure, high up in one of the watchtowers that surrounded the city. The figure was working on reloading his crossbow. He would be out of sight of Brenin, who was at the other entrance to the arena.
Chance swore. “Can you reach with your magic?” he demanded.
“I don’t think so. I should have thought of the watchtowers.” Kathryn glanced over at the arena, biting her lip until it bled.
“It’s too hard to move in this crowd; we won’t be able to stop him in time. Should we tell the Marshall to stop the fight?” Chance began.
Kathryn ducked under his arm and swiftly dashed through the crowd, her small frame making it easy for her to slip through the tighter spaces. She gained speed as she ran, and he could barely keep his eyes on her. “She’s crazy,” he muttered before following as quickly as he could.
Meanwhile, Ren slammed his staff directly into Dagur’s throat. The big man gasped for air and fell backwards, clutching his neck. Dropping the staff, Ren lunged forward, tackling him in the sand. He punched him once before grabbing him in a wrestling hold and choking him with his arm around his neck. “Tap twice to give up,” he said flatly.
Dagur struggled, and he was stronger than Ren expected. He actually managed to stand up with Ren hanging off of him, struggling to keep his grip. Then Dagur grabbed him and threw him off violently.
Dagur was still staggering, clutching his throat as Ren struggled to his feet, snatching up the staff. Then Ren pointed the staff at him and said calmly, “Give up. You can’t beat me. I’ll be honest. You’re relying too much on your physical strength. I could probably show you a thing or two, and you’d win this whole thing. But right now, you’re not ready.”
Bjorn glared at him furiously and seemed to be trying to find words to reply.
Then Ren whirled and blocked another bolt with the staff, and Bjorn Dagur seemed to realize he had no chance of defeating him. “How are you so fast?” he muttered grudgingly. Ren could hardly understand the words because of his heavy accent.
But he did understand that Dagur was admitting defeat. He grinned. “Hope we’ll fight again someday when you’ve had a little more time to hone your skills. And…drop the hammer. Use a mace and chain instead,” he advised. “The chain gives you a little more variety and range in your attacks, plus you’ll find it easier to change directions in the middle of an attack.”
Bjorn Dagur shook his head. “I have never fought someone like you,” he observed. “But who else is trying to kill you?”
Ren shrugged and glanced over at the watchtower. “No idea. But…I don’t think I need to worry too much.”
At that exact moment, Kathryn had reached the edge of the crowd, her eyes fixed on the shadowy figure in the tower, and her hand reaching into her pouch for her only remaining blinding opal.
The assassin was getting ready to fire another shot. Kathryn struggled to focus, raising her hand and throwing her entire heart and soul into bringing the full weight of her magic to bear on the man who was trying to hurt Ren.
She saw him flinch and lower the crossbow, but his face was in shadow. She cursed as she realized the opal was already spent. Her skill wasn’t enough to drag out its full power.
He glanced around to see who had attacked him, but Kathryn had wisely backed away and melted into the crowd. Still, she saw the vicious gray eyes and mouth twisted into a grim smirk, and she knew that face would be burned permanently into her memory.
Chance reached her side and said quickly, “He’s already headed down the tower; he’ll be gone by the time I get there. What do you want to do?”
Panting from her race through the crowd, she said grimly, “Go after him.”
“But that would leave you by yourself,” he began.
“So what? I can take care of myself just fine! Go! We’re not letting him get away with hurting Cal.”
Chance raised an eyebrow at her words, but grinned. “All right, milady. Watch your back.” He dashed off before she could reply.
“You too,” she muttered.
Kathryn returned to the arena to watch the remaining fights. Over the next two hours, Ren fought, rested, and fought again. He defeated most of his enemies in three or four blows. No one could come even close to challenging him.
At the end of the day, Chance had still not returned. Kathryn hid her worry as she walked home arm in arm with Ren. Brenin grumbled, disappointed to have missed a fight with the assassin.
Ignoring him, Kathryn said, “You did very well today.” She couldn’t quite hide the worry in her voice, though. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
Ren studied her for a moment and then smiled and took her hand. “It’s okay. I made it through. And I’ll make it through tomorrow the same. Something I realized today is that…you were right. I would never be happy hiding away in a cabin somewhere in a little town. I mean, if that was what you wanted, I could be happy with almost anything. But there’s a part of me that loves all this. As I was hearing the cheers today, and as I was talking with that guy, Dagur…I could hardly believe how much fun I was having.” His grin widened. “I want to fight strong people. I want to climb the ranks and have everybody know that it’s a bad idea to mess with me or with…the people I want to protect.”
Kathryn couldn’t help but laugh a little, although for some reason she was feeling pretty emotional and almost teary. She patted his hand. “Just promise me you’ll stay safe. All right?
Ren laughed. “I’ll try. Promise.”
Earlier in the day, as Ren was battling opponent after opponent, Chance was resolutely pursuing just one.
He caught sight of the hooded figure shortly after leaving Kathryn and followed him. The assassin climbed atop a building and started running across the flat roofs. Chance pulled himself up and continued to follow. He was surprised by just how quickly the assassin managed to move. But he kept him in sight, barely glancing at his feet and hoping he wouldn’t fall.
The assassin glanced over his shoulder. Chance’s face twisted into a grim frown as he saw the cruel gray eyes and smirk of the man who had attacked his young friend.
Chance reached into his robe and pulled out one of the throwing knives he’d purchased the day before. Even as he flicked the knife in the direction of the assassin, he saw the man slip off the edge of the building and leap to the street below.
Cursing, Chance bent his knees to give extra power to his jump as he launched himself after the killer.
The assassin turned and flung three knives at him simultaneously. Chance hit the ground just in time to dodge, and his mouth went dry as he realized that two of the knives had missed him by barely half a centimeter on each side of his neck.
Hal smirked and straightened from his crouch, reaching for another knife. “You’re not experienced in this sort of fight,” he observed.
Chance glared at him. “I’ve fought plenty of trash in the past,” he retorted, lunging.
Hal jumped back, throwing another knife before dashing down a side alley. Chance dodged and chased after him.
Hal glanced over his shoulder, remarking, “You’re very persistent; almost as if you’re trying to get revenge for something. Did I kill one of your friends?”
Without replying, Chance snatched up a nearby rock and threw it, instantly adjusting for Hal’s speed and direction. Hal saw the rock heading for him just in time and ducked, but it cut his cheek.
Instantly, his face changed to one of rage. He whirled and tackled Chance, slamming him against the wall.
Chance grabbed his wrist just in time to prevent a stab wound in the stomach. But his hands trembled as he struggled to hold Hal back. The assassin was strong, and Chance’s breath came in short gasps.
He stomped down hard on Hal’s foot, and the man fell back a step, cursing. He backhanded Chance across the face, and the young man staggered. Before he could recover, Hal was already dashing away. “Coward,” Chance muttered before racing after him.
And so the chase continued. Chance briefly lost sight of Hal at one point, but after a few minutes of searching through the winding streets, he glanced around a corner and saw the assassin knock at the door of a small hut.
A youth of about 18 opened the door and started to say, “What do you want?”
Hal put a knife to his throat and shoved him inside, shutting the door behind him.
Chance cursed. “He’s got a hostage. Great,” he muttered.
He cautiously approached one of the windows, crouching so he could see inside without being seen.
Hal had already tied the boy to a chair and was standing over him with a knife to his throat. “Are you expecting anyone to come join you?” he demanded.
The boy’s response convinced Chance he wasn’t entirely normal. He seemed amused, in fact. He said with a thick Tephrayan accent, “Yep. I’m expecting my big brother. Stay and say hello if you like. He’s all about hospitality.”
“Well, I will be gone before his arrival once I take care of the pesky rat that is following me. Behave yourself, and you won’t be collateral,” Hal said dryly. Then he raised his voice. “Hey, brat! You still out there?”
Chance chose not to reply, but Hal continued, “I’m going to kill this kid if you don’t come in with your hands up. If you know anything about me, you know I’ll do it, and I won’t hesitate.”
As Chance tried to figure out what to do, Hal pressed the knife against the boy’s throat, cutting into his flesh as he gasped in pain. “Wait!” Chance yelled. “I’ll come in.”
He opened the door and stood with his hands up. He was more afraid than he had ever been in his life, but he was used to getting out of tight spots. Surely he could get out of this one.
Hal smirked. “Toss your weapons on the floor. Carefully. I’d hate for my hand to slip,” he snapped.
Chance complied. But as he was putting down his dagger, Hal threw the knife in his hand.
It caught Chance in the shoulder even as he ducked and sent him staggering back, clutching at the wound with a shout of pain.
Hal already had another dagger in hand. He lunged, slashing rapidly as Chance desperately retreated and shielded his face and upper body with his arms as well as he could.
Then suddenly, a cold blast of air seemed to come from nowhere, stopping Hal only briefly in his tracks. It was enough. Chance’s eyes glowed blue, and a dagger made of Azura appeared in his hand.
As Hal’s mouth dropped open, the weapon sliced through his metal dagger effortlessly, and he stared dumbfounded at the sheared object in his hand.
Chance instantly regretted revealing his secret, and he pressed his lips together tightly as he darted forward with his dagger. It was time to end the fight.
But Chance stumbled a bit on the uneven floorboards. Seeing an opening, Hal lashed out with his foot to hit Chance in the stomach. He staggered back with a gasp, and Hal fled.
Chance started to follow, but the boy blocked him. “Hey. You’re hurt, so you’d better stay here,” he said lightly. “Don’t worry; my friends will take care of that guy. We don’t take too kindly to foreigners coming in here and threatening us.” Somehow, he had released himself from his bonds.
“Just as I thought, you weren’t normal,” Chance observed. “Who are you?”
“My name is Jai.” The boy sat him down and tore the sleeve of his shirt so he could see the injury better. “It’s not too bad. He practically missed you,” he said cheerfully.
Chance cocked his head. “Practically missed kind of just means he hit me, doesn’t it?”
“Depends on how negative you want to be,” Jai informed him as he started bandaging the wound. “There; all set. So, you’re a mage, are you? A Navinorian mage, no less.”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Chance said tightly.
“Of course not! You saved my life after all. Well, I’ll be going now.”
“Just a minute.” Chance reached into his robe and shook his head with a reproachful look. “You have my money, I believe.”
“Oh! Sorry about that; I didn’t realize,” Jai replied cheerfully. He handed him the knives and the small sack of money.
Chance noticed the sack was somewhat lighter than it had been, but he decided the ragged-looking boy could probably use it, so he didn’t say anything except, “Don’t you live here? Why are you leaving?”
“Oh no, I don’t live here. I just hang around here from time to time. Anyway, maybe I’ll see you around. What’s your name?”
“Chance.”
“Nice to meet you, Chance. And don’t worry about that assassin. He won’t bother you again.” With that, the boy left.
Chance watched him go with a slightly puzzled face and then shrugged, wincing in pain as the movement sent a twinge through his shoulder. “What a peculiar kid,” he muttered.
It took some time to find his way back to Zafiyah’s home, but he eventually did. The young woman met him at the gate with a wide smile. “Miss Kathryn informed me that you pursued an assassin. I see he managed to do some damage. Did you succeed in eliminating him?” she asked.
For some reason, he desperately wanted to say yes. But he said, “No; he got away.”
She looked disappointed. “Pity,” she said, turning away.
Chance rolled his eyes and followed her inside, saying sarcastically, “My shoulder is fine, by the way; thanks for asking.” Later, he met Kathryn outside Ren’s room and told her what had happened.
She looked troubled. “If he comes back to target Ren again tomorrow, it will be a problem. We’ll have to keep an eye out,” she said grimly.
Chance shrugged. “Sure, but for some reason, I think the kid was telling the truth. I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow we hear about a dead body being found in some street and it turns out to be Hal.” Despite his confident words, he looked as surprised as the rest of them when Haron reported just that at the breakfast table the next day.
“Well, that problem is solved,” Ren said cheerfully. Brenin looked less confident. The body hadn’t been identified for certain. But he kept his worries to himself. He would keep his eyes open just in case.
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