Fantasyland 02 The Golden Dynasty (43 page)

Lahn did not touch me but he walked at my
side through the parting sea of people who had come to watch. He
wore his belt with knives and his sword strapped to his back, the
only weapons he was allowed during a challenge, though, I was told
by Lahn, this was done on an honor system. Like the fights at the
games, there was no referee. During a challenge, anything goes and
no one checked to make certain that someone was not intending to
fight fair.

When we made it to the clearing, I saw
Dortak was already there, painted in black and red, his wounds
exposed and healing but not healed. He was grinning and God, I
would be happy when that grin was frozen on his face in death.

I tore my eyes from his as I walked with
Lahn to the platform. When we both lifted a leg to step up, the
drums started. Hearing them, it took superhuman effort not to start
trembling again. This was not because I didn’t believe in Lahn, it
was just because I hated those fucking drums. It was an automatic
reaction and one I managed (quite proudly, might I add) to beat
back.

Lahn guided me to my throne, a throne that,
again, Bain and Zahnin stood behind.

I was looking at them so I didn’t see what
Lahn did to make them both jerk their chins up at him but I didn’t
like that. That said Lahn was planning for an eventuality that was
different than the one he’d vowed he’d make for me. It was nice and
all that, he was covering his bases and doing it to ascertain that
I would be safe, for I knew from those chin lifts that Bain and
Zahnin had both vowed they would stand against Dortak should he
best Lahn and turn to me.

But still.

I beat back the fear that too sent surging
through my system, sedately turned and sat on my throne.

Diandra didn’t attend me because she no
longer had to. My Korwahk was still not fluent but I’d been exposed
to it long enough that I more than knew my way around.

I was going to miss her.

I looked up at Lahn to see him standing at
the edge of the platform, his painted back to me, hands on his
hips, eyes on Dortak.

The drumming stopped.

Thank God.

Lahn didn’t move and the crowd stayed
silent.

Then Dortak shouted, “When I take your head,
your body will not be thrown on the pyre,” he lifted a hand to
point at a pyre already set up some distance away on top of the
rise we went over to get to Mahyah’s, “I will toss it in the river.
Then I will mount your head outside my cham and keep it there so
every time your yellow one enters and leaves my cham, she will see
it as the flesh rots to skull.”

I clenched my teeth together and forced my
hands to stay loose in my lap.

Lahn didn’t move or speak.

Dortak didn’t like that and, being Dortak,
pushed it even further. “Before that, I will strip your yellow one
naked and ride with her through the Daxshee while I force her to
hold your head. Then I will rip off her yellow crown of feathers,
shove them up her cunt and take her through her ass. In the months
to come, while I use her until she is no longer of use to me, the
sounds coming from her in
my
cham
will be much different from those she cried in yours.”

Yep. One could say it was official. I wasn’t
going to lose a lot of sleep when Lahn took his head.

At this, Lahn moved and what he moved to do
made me suck in breath and hold it.

He removed his belt, turned to me and handed
me his knives. My eyes darting up to him, my hands automatically
lifted to accept them. Then he unbuckled the strap on his chest and
slipped off his sword. After he had done this, he laid it across my
throne so it was resting on the arms.

Then, still bent so his face was level to
mine, his painted eyes came to me and I saw it…
I saw it
… his golden, bright, brutal spirit was
shining close to the surface and let’s just say it… was…
pissed.

Uh-oh. Dortak was
in trouble.

The breath flooded my lungs, the tension
evaporated from my body and I grinned at him.

“Give him hell, tiger,” I whispered.

He held my eyes a second before he blinked
and his spirit was hidden, his fury gone.

Then, swear to
God,
he
winked at me.

No joke! Winked!

I stifled a giggle.

Then my husband turned and moved off the
platform.

Dortak guffawed as he lifted his arm and
unsheathed his blade.

Then his eyes narrowed and he spat at the
advancing Lahn, “
Fool.
”

“I take your head with your own steel,” Lahn
told him casually.

“Ha!” Dortak cried. “I’ve never been
disarmed.”

“Then today will be your first and your
last,” Lahn returned, still moving to him, closer and closer, his
arms relaxed and dangling at his sides, his stride steady and
Dortak finally got smart (ish) and realized that even unarmed, a
threat was closing in.

And that was when he took his stance and
without hesitation and with a mighty roar he charged Lahn.

And Dortak didn’t wait to be just what
Dortak was.

An asshole, a jerk, the king of all dicks
and, lastly, a fucking, dirty, little
cheat.

For during his charge, his left hand came up
and swung out, leaving a trail of yellow dust. He whirled himself
to avoid it getting in his face, advancing through it with his back
and my guess was that whatever it was would blind his opponent.

A hush of shock settled instantly over the
already quiet crowd.

I held my breath again but as Lahn promised,
I needn’t have worried. He was prepared. I knew this when he
instantly dropped, tucking in his body, he landed on a shoulder,
rolling, legs over head, he then twisted and rolled again sideways
several times, landing on his back well clear of the dust. Then,
without delay, he did one of those awesome knee lifts where he
kicked out and, using the power of his legs and strength of his
abs, he regained his feet without using his hands.

Oh yeah, my husband was a badass.

It was then I held my breath yet again but
not from fear.

From awe.

I had heard a lot about what a fierce
warrior my king was, how strong, how swift, how smart. I knew his
strength personally.

But I had no idea.

No freaking clue.

Dortak charged again in full on attack. And
then again. And again. And repeat. And each time he did, Lahn’s
body moved or swayed gracefully, every swing or thrust Dortak
threw, Lahn avoided it and not just by a whisper but by a mile. It
was like Lahn was in his mind and knew exactly what move he would
make. He did ducking twirls, the plait I’d braided in his hair
flying as Dortak’s blade whistled through the air six inches above
him. He jerked his torso back and Dortak’s steel whizzed by him.
Dortak would thrust and Lahn would turn full circle and Dortak
wouldn’t catch nothing but air.

After this went on a long time, suddenly,
Lahn closed in on him, avoided his sword, took his arm and with
apparent ease, he flipped warrior and sword, Dortak landing on his
back on stone. Without hesitation, Lahn kicked him in the mouth and
blood spewed as his head jerked fully around.

Lahn took a step back, declaring, “First
blood.”

This must have meant something for the
crowd, watching in silence until that moment, went berserk as a
cheer rent the air.

And they continued to cheer as Dortak jumped
to his feet and, infuriated, yet again attacked, his swings and
thrusts no longer calculated in any way but clearly, even to
someone like me who knew nothing of this kind of stuff, no longer
strategic but angry.

Lahn, too, changed his tactic. He no longer
swayed, turned and ducked. With every swing or thrust he avoided,
he finished his movement by landing blow after blow on Dortak, a
powerful jab to the ribs that made Dortak grunt; a strike to the
jaw that made more blood spew from his mouth; a heel to the back of
his knee that made Dortak fall hard to that knee and so on.

Again, this went on a long time, so long,
Lahn had opened an oozing cut on Dortak’s cheekbone, blood was
pouring from his mouth from lost teeth and two cuts on his lips,
there were fierce, angry red welts all over Dortak’s torso and back
where Lahn’s fists had connected and Lahn reopened the wound Mahyah
had delivered to his shoulder. Blood was leaking and Dortak’s anger
had turned to wrath, his grunts of pain and effort filled the air,
his sweat mingled with his blood and his movements became jerky and
uncoordinated with the beating he was taking, the effort he was
expending and the emotion he should have kept in check.

Then, so fast it was hard to believe I’d
seen it, Lahn’s hand snaked out, he stole Dortak’s knife at his
belt and planted it in his shoulder. Then without hesitation as
Dortak shouted with surprise, pain and frustration, Lahn’s hand
darted in again, stole Dortak’s other blade and planted it in the
old, now bleeding again wound Mahyah had given him.

Dortak retreated five steps all the while
bellowing in rage.

The crowd, however, went wild with sheer
glee.

Someone close to the front shouted,
“
Puntay zan,
kah Dax!
”
End him, my
king!

And this shout struck up a chant,
Puntay zan! Puntay
zan! Puntay zan!

But Lahn wasn’t done playing and when Dortak
yanked the blades out of his flesh one by one, tossed them aside
and rushed Lahn with his sword raised high, Lahn ducked to avoid
his steel but lifted an arm. Grabbing Dortak’s sword hand and
keeping it held high, Lahn punched him in the stomach on Dortak’s
advance, then delivered a blow to the kidneys at the back, then he
whirled, lifted a leg and planted a boot in Dortak’s back at the
same time he yanked down on Dortak’s arm so viciously, I could hear
the bone break even though I was at least twenty feet away.

The crowd roared at the sound as did Dortak
but his cry was of pain. He fell flat on his face and dropped his
sword, no longer able to carry the heavy weapon in hand on an arm
attached to a fractured shoulder.

Lahn stepped several feet away as Dortak
struggled to his healthy (ish) hand then got his knees under
him.

“
Again, my brother, I’d like to hear it.
What did you intend to do with my tigress?” Lahn called and Dortak,
on one hand and both knees, turned his head to look over his
shoulder and up at Lahn. His face was red, sweating, bloody and
twisted not just with hate but with not a small amount of pain. “My
golden goddess opened the heavens and commanded their tears when
your bride left this earth. She drew a rainbow in the sky to guide
her ashes to the next realm. When
you
fall, the heavens won’t weep and she won’t waste her magic
on a rainbow. When your lifeblood hits stone that is the closest
you’ll get to the heavens. My golden bride will need to waste no
energy in guiding your spirit to eternal agony. Your spirit will
know exactly where it’s meant to go.”

With visible effort, Dortak pushed himself
to his feet, grunted with pain when he bent to retrieve his sword
in his left, non-dominant hand and he lifted it clumsily toward
Lahn.

Lahn stared at him. Then he turned only his
head to me.

“Are you bored yet?” he enquired.

I kind of wasn’t. It was gruesome but it was
also, I had to admit, kind of cool.

But I had the feeling my husband was done
so I called out, “Meena, kah Dax. Na weykun kay nahna quaxi. Ta
jahnay boonahn keeta jahko. Kay zookay juno.”
Yes, my king. You promised me
your paint. We have better things to do. I want to play.

At my words the crowd, again, went wild.

Lahn grinned.

I grinned back.

Then with a mighty roar that probably took
all the energy he had left, Dortak charged, Lahn’s head turned back
then I stopped thinking this was in any way cool and stared in a
horror I hoped I hid as my king ended the contest.

With ease, he dodged the charge and disarmed
Dortak as he did so. Dortak ran passed Lahn but Lahn didn’t delay.
After Dortak came to an awkward stop and whirled lumberingly to
face his challenger, Lahn had already swung Dortak’s steel wide and
instantly executed a low, powerful, smooth sweep, cutting Dortak
off at the knees.

Literally.

With a bellow of agony that hurt to hear
even coming from a monster, the legless Dortak again fell to his
face.

The crowd, clearly delighted beyond reason
with grisly dismemberment, became crazed, their cries, chants and
cheers clogging the air.

But Lahn wasn’t done. He bent and used
Dortak’s hair to drag the still living but definitely fallen
warrior within five feet of my throne, leaving his legs behind.
Then Lahn lifted Dortak’s legless body clean in the air, hefting it
up with an almighty heave. I forced my eyes to stay open as I
stared into the hated, bloody, now pale and agonized face of a man
who it could be said was getting his just desserts… in a
serious
way… before Lahn let his hair
go and as his body started its plummet to the ground, fast as
lightning, Lahn quickly two-handed Dortak’s sword and swung it in a
downward arc, slicing him clean through the neck, Dortak’s body
dropping straight to the ground, his head flying off in a sickening
gush of blood.

I couldn’t help it, it was so freaking
gross, I winced.

Luckily, I didn’t think anyone noticed,
not even Lahn. He was staring down at the headless, legless, very,
very,
very
dead body
of Dortak and the crowd was going insane.