Chapter 27

THE NOISE OF the crowd swelled as each side began cheering on their champion.

In the couple of seconds I had to observe Darion while we took our marks, I realized he was as not as tall as a typical New Gargoyle man, but almost as broad in the shoulder. He was powerfully muscled, a man who’d spent a lifetime working his body and wasn’t afraid to use it.

His stature was intimidating, but I’d been fighting larger men and women my entire life. Size wasn’t always an advantage.

The audience quieted. A short burst from the horns marked the start of the battle.

I turned my attention to Darion’s blade. Twilight, the blade of the Winter Court, seemed to absorb the light around it. The sword was identical to Aurora in design, but instead of the golden glow of Aurora, Twilight shimmered deep purples and blues, colors that reminded me more of a fresh bruise than the evening sky.

I instinctively took a classic fencing stance, my body turned sideways to minimize my opponent’s target, and shifted my weight slightly forward.

Darion wasted no time. With a few quick but carefully measured steps, he moved forward, swinging Twilight in an arc and twisting at the waist to add force to his blow. He was going for power right out of the gate, not bothering to protect himself much.

Anticipating a harsh impact, I gripped Aurora with both hands and braced my arms. My blade deflected his blow, interrupting the angle of his attack just enough to prevent a hit.

I swiftly switched back to a one-handed grip, danced a wide step to the side, and flicked my wrist. Darion was still off balance from his maneuver, his elbow raised to leave a small opening. Aurora glanced off his hip, and the New Garg side of the crowd roared.

I’d inflicted no damage, but even a touch would score me points if Titania decided to declare a winner before there was a fatality.

I hadn’t injured Darion, but apparently I’d really pissed him off.

His lips curled into a sneer. “You’re going to die, little stone girl.”

With a snarl, Darion gripped Twilight in two fists, lunged at me, and brought the blade down like an ax. The edge of the sword was aiming straight for my skull. By instinct I knew there was too much power to deflect. Instead, I dove and rolled, and Twilight smacked into the hard dirt where I’d been standing a split second before.

So far, his attack was all brute force, and he was going for deadly shots. He wasn’t trying to score touches, and as we circled each other, each crouched low, I wondered if he knew something I didn’t. Perhaps Titania wouldn’t be following Oberon’s practice of calling a winner before either champion died. Or maybe brute force was just Darion’s style.

He sprang again, going for a driving stab, and I darted out of the way, managing to land a solid hit against the Achilles of his rear foot as I moved. If he didn’t have stone armor, I would have sliced the tendon. He barely seemed to notice the blow.

I shouldn’t have gone for the touch. It kept me too close. He whipped around and landed a backhand blow on the left side of my lower back. Pain blasted outward from the impact, nearly paralyzing me for a second. Immediately after, I felt the slow ooze of wetness. He’d cracked my armor.

Clamping my teeth against the agony, I regained my balance and took a couple of shuffling side-steps to open some distance between us.

I made a few quick, puffing breaths through my lips to clear my head and refocus my awareness away from the pain. Then I let the sensation seep in, as Oliver had taught me, using the sting to fortify my resolve.

I attacked, my footwork lightning-fast and my wrist moving as if following some pre-determined choreography. It surprised Darion, throwing him back on his heels. He used his strength to fend me off, but I wasn’t going for points anymore. He’d wounded me. I intended to return the favor.

I danced him backward, keeping him off balance as much as possible. Every time Aurora and Twilight clashed, there was a small spark like a flint strike.

I gripped Aurora in both hands for a moment of extra power and slashed in a tight C. I twisted at the waist, ignoring the screaming pain in my lower back and throwing all my weight and momentum into the attack. The blade sliced at the side of his knee, hitting edge-on, producing a sharp snap that was like a firecracker report.

He bellowed as his knee buckled. I’d fractured his armor.

I kept up my attack. I knew the pain he was in, and I was sure as hell going to use it.

He was partially hunched over, his non-dominant hand bracing the back of his injured knee while he defended my attack using Twilight in his other hand. He managed to swipe at my torso, gouging a line across my battle shirt and scraping a groove in my rock armor. It hurt but didn’t draw blood.

His knee, meanwhile, was dripping crimson.

I increased the force and speed of my effort, trying to land a hit on his sword arm. If I could force him to switch to his non-dominant hand, I’d have a huge advantage.

Aurora and Twilight clashed together once, twice, sending out small bolts of lightning that left ozone hanging in the air. On my third try, I managed to hit the inside of Darion’s wrist. It wasn’t hard enough to crack his armor, but his grip reflexively loosened. Twilight flew to the side and landed with a dull clang on the dirt.

Darion gave a little chuckle as he crossed his arms low over his torso, gripped the short swords at either hip, and drew them. He was clearly delighted to be able to switch to the weapons he was comfortable with. That didn’t bode well for me.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

Then he flew at me. His injured leg dragged behind, but his blades blurred as he worked both of them in synchronous movements. One of them jarred against my dominant shoulder, not cracking the armor, but ringing my entire body like a bell. My brain rattled, and my vision blurred.

Blinking to clear my eyes and dancing like a madwoman, I forced more speed into my movements. He was working me backward, and landing about every third hit attempt. His short swords wouldn’t break my armor, but a slice to the neck or a hard enough blow to my head and I’d be finished.

Or he could just wear me down with force, as he seemed to be trying to do.

I sank even deeper into the movements, anticipating his swings and drives. After a couple minutes of straight fighting—an eternity at that level of exertion—we’d reached a sort of impasse, neither of us gaining any real ground and both of us breathing hard.

Darion swung out and caught me on the arm again and then backed off. His chest was heaving, and I was sucking wind, too. But the pause gave me a chance to see that the dirt was stained maroon where he’d been moving. He was bleeding very badly from his knee. And then it dawned on me: the Duergar didn’t have a mineral sauna. It and the special salts were closely-held New Gargoyle secrets. The Duergar couldn’t know as much about strengthening and healing stone armor as we did.

Darion’s rock armor was weaker than mine, and I still held a weapon that could destroy his natural shield, if only I could summon the strength to do it.

My arms ached from deflecting blows, my body throbbed from the hits, and I was still out of breath, but I flew at him. His swords whirled into action again. I aimed for his armor, protecting myself only when he went for my head. He landed bone-jarring blows all over my body, but I shut out the pain. I lunged in again and again, taking hits but keeping my focus on trying to get past his defenses.

Finally, he made a mistake, leaving one side open. I swung Aurora and landed an armor-cracking blow on his thigh. He let out a low, strangled noise, his back arching in pain.

I caught him again on the elbow, and he bellowed louder. He brought his blades up again and sent them flying at me, but the one in the hand of the injured arm moved sloppily.

Still, bleeding from three different cracks didn’t weaken his attack much. He came at me with fury and pain flashing in his eyes. After landing a couple of hard hits to my torso and leg, he tossed one short sword away and gripped the other in both hands. Then he began hammering at me with renewed resolve.

One blow flicked off my shoulder and caught my helmet over my ear. Pain blossomed bright and harsh. Sound faded on that side of my head. Spots swirled in my eyes.

The hit just seemed to spur him on. Growling with rage, he swung ferociously. I was quicker, but his brute strength drove me back, step by step.

I managed to smack his forearm with Aurora, but it was with the flat of the blade.

Then he lunged and shoved his foot into my diaphragm. I flew backward, landing hard on my ass and skidding a few feet. Unable to tighten up to stop my momentum, the back of my head smacked the dirt. When my vison went gray, only his enraged howl warned me to roll out of the way.

My sight returned just as he dove at me again. I curled to one side, barely avoiding the blow aimed at my head. Again, I rolled, but he was right on top of me. From my back, I wielded Aurora, barely fending off his punishing blows. He wasn’t saving any strength. He was trying to end it, but not because he was overpowering me. His wounds were gushing blood, and he was getting weaker.

My mind sharpened, sensing his fading energy. I also realized Titania wasn’t going to stop the battle.

He tried to fall onto me, presumably to hold me down so he could slit my throat. I scuttled backward, but not quite swiftly enough. He landed on one of my ankles, pinning it under his shin. I struggled, fending off his strikes with one hand while I tried to pull myself out from under his weight.

He straightened, wound up like a batter at the plate, and swung at my sword arm. As he did it, I saw the rage boiling in his eyes. He was hurting, he was furious, and I was suddenly positive that he didn’t know how to channel pain the way I did. With his size and strength and his position in the Duergar military, he’d probably never had to.

He’d never been an underdog.

I raised my arm to protect my head. The crack of his blade against my forearm nearly made me pass out. I dropped Aurora as the nerves of my arm spasmed and screamed agony.

I couldn’t look away to find my lost weapon, and I doubted I could command my spasming right hand to pick it up anyway. I reached back with my left hand and drew Mort. Magic flooded into my spellblade, lighting it in purple flames. I jabbed at Darion’s face, and he lurched to one side to avoid the magic as it licked out through the air at him, forming tiny blades that would slice his skin like razors.

Finally free of his weight, I pulled my legs in. Just as he tried to lunge at me again, I rocked to my back, and then I sharply shoved my heel at the center of his face. His nose spurted blood, and his hand flew to the injury. I didn’t care how badass and tough you were, a blow to the nose was enough to distract anyone for at least a second or two.

I tried to struggle to my feet, but my damaged ankle wouldn’t take any weight. My right arm, the one I fought with, was still numb from the elbow down. Worse than that, injuries, exhaustion, and blows to the head had stolen my balance. The world was tilting violently, and the edges were going black. If I managed to stand, I wouldn’t last long. I wouldn’t last long on the ground, either.

I didn’t want the battle to end with a corpse. But Darion was fighting to kill, and Titania wasn’t going to call it. If the challenge was going to end in death, I sure as hell wasn’t going to let it be mine.

I pushed up to one elbow, almost sitting. “Even one-handed and flat on my back, I’m bettering you,” I spat at him through clenched teeth. “What kind of champion loses to a woman half his size?”

And then I laughed, a mocking, jeering laugh that carried to the crowd.

His face screwed up, and the parts I could see through the openings of his faceplate began to turn purple. Then he launched himself at me.

I watched him lift off the ground and then loom in the air over me for the briefest moment. I gripped Mort hard, the blade laying diagonally across my torso. At the last possible second, I threw up my injured arm to ward off the blow of Darion’s short sword, and I flicked Mort upright, aiming the tip of my broadsword at Darion’s throat and bracing the end of the hilt against the ground.

The Duergar crashed on top of me, his sword scraping off my arm like a knife across concrete. Then there was a deafening scream. He rolled off me, his sword discarded and both hands on the side of his neck. By design, I’d missed by a few inches, not quite running Mort through the middle of his throat. Blood gushed from between his fingers. He writhed, his screams dissolving into wet, bubbling noises.

My chest heaving, I watched in a daze as the blood streamed down his arm to drip in the dirt.

I could have finished him off, but there was still a chance he could be saved if there was a powerful enough healer nearby. I had no desire for his death on my hands.

I sheathed Mort and crawled over to Aurora. Then, with the legendary blade in my left hand, I forced myself to stand. My vision doubled and blurred, but I squinted and made out where the royal box was. I walked, holding back a scream each time I had to put weight on my broken ankle. With Darion’s agonized gurgles at my back, I limped over to stand before Titania and looked up at her, blinking as I tried to focus. She was the only one besides the champions in the ring who could end this battle. Either she called it, or I dragged my ass back over to Darion and killed him. He was still making drowning noises behind me.

Finally, taking her sweet time, the Faerie Queen of the Summer Court stood.

“The High Court declares the winner of this battle of champions.” Her voice carried through the silent stadium. She gestured at me with her open hand. “Petra Maguire of the Stone Order.”

The New Gargoyle side of the arena erupted in a deafening tidal wave of noise.

I shakily went down on one knee before the Faerie Queen, bowing my head. I even managed to stand up again, using Aurora for leverage. But that was all I had left.

The last thing I remembered was Emmaline running toward me, a glimpse of Lochlyn beyond, standing up at her seat with tears running down her face, and my father vaulting out of the stands and racing after Emmaline.

Then my knees buckled, and the world dissolved into darkness.