A Thread in the Tangle (73 page)

In the fading echo of the gryphon’s battle cry, the nymph’s champion strolled calmly onto the sands.
 
She noted that he was still limping from this morning and favored Oenghus with a seething glare.
 
Marsais hadn’t told her what had happened, but it didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to figure it out.

The crowd quieted.
 
A thrill of anticipation pulsed in the air—a silence that was louder than the deafening cheers from a moment before.
 
The Inquisitor lumbered into the center, while the combatants took up positions on opposite sides of the ring.

“Lord Champion Guthre Dragonbane of Kambe issues challenge to Marsais—Archlord of the Isle for right of ownership of his nymph.
 
May the Law stand and preserve us all.”

Multist marched out of the ring.
 
Marsais bowed to the Hound, who returned the gesture of respect with a salute of his gleaming spear.

In contrast to his challenger, Marsais wore no armor or weapons.
 
He looked naked, standing on the sands, wearing only tunic and trousers.
 
He plucked a pebble from the sand and balanced it on the tips of his elegant fingers.

One heartbeat passed into two.
 
The long seconds before the shield sprang to life was agony for all those who watched, but most of all, for Isiilde.
 
The gryphon stomped, digging its talons restlessly into the sands with a shift of armor.
 
And all the while, Marsais stood with calm poise, dwelling in the moment and not beyond.

Fyrsta held its breath with anticipation.

The runes around the arena flared, the shield shimmered to life, and the gryphon charged.
 
Simultaneously, Marsais tossed the pebble towards the center, weaving a bind to the minuscule stone in midair.

Guthre’s long spear pulsed with crackling blue energy.
 
He heaved the weapon at his thin opponent, but the sands had already begun to stir around the pebble.
 
A whirlwind of force seized the spear, halting its momentum.
 
The tip stopped inches from Marsais’ chest.
 
As one, the crowd gasped, and then the weapon was sucked backwards into the gathering whirlwind.

Ignoring the charging gryphon, Marsais snaked through a complicated weave, so swiftly that she couldn’t follow a single rune in the pattern.
 
Guthre’s voice boomed, and the spear answered its owner’s command, returning to his outstretched hand.

The Hound caught the haft easily, turning his attention to his opponent, who stood on the edge of the barrier.
 
But Marsais had already completed his weave.
 
With a final sweep of his hand, he shimmered, coins chiming above the biting sands.
 
Ten mirror images of Marsais sprang from the one of flesh and blood.

The gryphon ignored the sand blasting into its large eyes, and barreled into its identical enemies.
 
The images of Marsais wavered.
 
The beast charged straight through, slamming into the barrier that surrounded the arena.
 
Energy crackled, lashing at the gryphon until its feathers smoldered.
 
In fury and pain, the creature spun, raking the mirror images with bristling talons.

The real Marsais reappeared on the opposite side of the arena, tracing a series of runes into the sand.
 
With a shout, Guthre tugged at the reins, spinning his mount around to hurl a blackish bolt of raw energy at the tricky Wise One.

Marsais didn’t quite manage to dodge the attack.
 
The bolt slammed into his shoulder, his coins chimed, and he absorbed the blow with a grunt, eyes intent on his work.

Guthre bellowed, raising his spear.
 
A blue aura sprang to life, surrounding him like a shield.
 
The sands bounced off the barrier and the air cleared in front of his eyes.

Marsais’ hair flapped wildly in the wind as the intensity increased.
 
With a sharp clap of his hands and commanding word, the tracings in the sands flashed and a creature appeared in front of him.

It was another gryphon.

The Hound’s mount reared with excitement, while Marsais’ gryphon paced back and forth in agitation.

“Smart bastard,” Oenghus chuckled, “he summoned a female.”

Guthre’s gryphon caught the female’s scent, charging blindly after her despite its rider’s contrary commands.
 
The vortex of sand intensified, drowning out all else in the last, urgent moments before a sudden, deafening boom shook the entire arena.
 
The binding rune backfired, and the air exploded.

Marsais threw up an arm, deflecting the stinging sand, and his gryphon, who was now blinded, reared with panic and took flight.
 
Guthre’s mount pursued the female, and the Hound was forced to abandon his saddle.
 
Despite his armor, the Hound landed and rolled, regaining his feet.

“Charge!” Guthre bellowed, thrusting his shield towards the Wise One.

Before Marsais could react, a spectral bull materialized from thin air, slamming into him with the muffled thud of fragile flesh meeting an impenetrable wall of power.
 
The impact hurled Marsais against the shimmering shield and he bounced off in a crackling daze.

Guthre took two quick steps forward, hurling his charged spear across the arena.
 
Isiilde gave a cry, but Marsais rolled beneath the blade.
 
The deadly tip sped harmlessly past his head.

With a sharp command, Guthre ordered the spear to return.
 
The spear spun in midair, reversing directions, leaping to its master’s hand as he charged across the sands towards the Seer.

Marsais sprang to his feet, thrusting his long arms toward the knight.
 
A stream of crackling lightning shot from his splayed fingertips.
 
The blast of energy slammed into Guthre, but failed to stop the knight’s charge.
 
Coins chimed, echoing in the arena.
 
Guthre jabbed, and Marsais blurred, becoming indistinct, like a wavering mirage on the horizon.
 
He twisted to the side, as the tip of the spear jabbed into the blurry edges of his snaking form—again and again, until steel came back with blood.

Marsais faltered, but only for a heartbeat, rallying his concentration with an intricate weave.
 
When it was complete, he bent and tapped the ground.
 
The sands began to ripple, and the ground beneath Guthre shifted, sinking and opening to swallow the knight whole.
 
Guthre threw himself towards the edge of the newly formed pit, fighting against a waterfall of sand.

Dazed, Marsais stumbled away, clutching his side.
 
Despite Guthre’s sinking predicament, the knight raised his spear heavenward, shouting, “In the name of the Sylph, I smite this foe!”

A column of silver fire roared from the sky, washing over Marsais in a mercurial deluge.
 
Isiilde screamed as her Bonded vanished beneath terrifying forces.
 
The onslaught continued long enough for Guthre to pull himself from the pit of sand.
 
It was apparent by the knight’s stance that he fully expected Marsais to perish beneath the divine fire.

When the column of silver dissipated, there was a universal gasp of shock.
 
Marsais stood unharmed, moving with serpent like quickness, fingers flashing.

“Looks like the Sylph doesn’t favor this fight,” Oenghus muttered.

Isiilde tried to follow the complex weave of nimble fingers, but Marsais’ hands were a blur.
 
As quick as he had begun, Marsais thrust his arms out, wrists crossed, fingers curled inwards.
 
Raw energy burst from his palms, glowing brighter than the sun.
 
Guthre threw his shield up, bracing against the attack.

The Hound chanted a thundering prayer, fighting against the power battering at his shield.
 
He thrust his spear point towards Marsais.
 
A bolt of lightning slammed into the Seer’s chest.
 
Coins chimed discordantly.
 
Marsais grunted, but stood his ground, arms straining, brows furrowed in concentration.

Time slowed, and then stopped, gathering like water behind a dam.
 
The arena pulsed, pressure built, and the air snapped.
 
Time surged forward with a rush of violent energy.
 
Guthre’s shield shattered with an explosion that knocked the two combatants clean off their feet.

The Hound climbed to his feet, dazed, his arm hanging limply at his side.
 
Blood ran rivulets down his scaled armor, dripping onto the sands.

Marsais stayed on his back, fingers flying, lips moving.
 
Guthre lurched forward, hurling his spear as Marsais scuttled backwards.
 
The steely spike sunk into the sand between his legs, and the audience groaned in collective sympathy.
 
But before Guthre could summon his spear, Marsais touched the haft.
 
He jerked in pain, crying out, as a surge of energy traveled up his arm.

The spear was up and returning to its master when Marsais hissed out a command, thrusting his hand towards the Hound.
 
At the very last moment, the spear spun in midair.
 
The haft never reached Guthre’s outstretched hand.
 
Two feet of crackling steel plunged through the jade scales, impaling the Hound through the heart.

The Lord Champion staggered backwards.
 
He ripped off his helmet, let it slip from his fingers, and gazed at the haft protruding from his chest.
 
He took one step, and fell forward into the sand with a dull clunk.

Fifty

I
SIILDE
SAT
IN
stunned disbelief with the rest of the crowd, until realization settled.
 
An eternity later, the arena erupted with a wild chorus of cheers.

Marsais lay on his back, breathing harshly.
 
He rolled onto his knees, attempting to stand, but he fell forward, catching himself with one hand while clutching his side with the other.
 
Blood seeped through his fingers.

“Oen, he’s hurt!” Isiilde said, rushing to the balustrade.

“Stay here, Sprite.”
 
Oenghus vaulted over the low wall, landing with a thud in the arena pit.

Isiilde started towards the stairs, intending to follow, but an iron hand clamped down on her shoulder, bringing her up short.
 
Fear fluttered in her chest.

“You should stay here, nymph.
 
There’s too many people.”
 
The hand and voice belonged to Captain Mael.
 
Concern rather than malice shone from her eyes.

Remembering that Oenghus had asked the same of her, Isiilde remained.
 
The Captain kept one hand on the nymph and the other on her sword hilt, pale eyes scanning the overcrowded arena.

Oenghus knelt beside Marsais, a supporting hand on his shoulder as he leaned forward and spoke in his ear.
 
Isiilde could not hear what he said, but Marsais shook his head in answer.
 
Oenghus pressed a handkerchief to his side, and helped him to his feet.
 
The two strode back to the balcony, surrounded by the thunderous applause of an audience who knew they had just witnessed something legendary.