CHAPTER 71

The swing of Delos’ club misses me by a hair. I twist out of the way, slash at the elf’s outstretched arm, and find it gone. Hunch activates just then, but there’s nothing I can do; Delos spins on the ground, too fast for his size, and sweeps my legs from under me. He’s on me as I fall, pulling my head up by my hair and resting the tip of the club against my neck.

“I yield,” I gasp.

“Yeah,” he says, mouth close to my ear. “But that doesn’t take care of your problem, does it?”

The club taps against my neck, simulating choking. I grit my teeth and wait. A score of heartbeats pass before Delos, eases the pressure, and releases my hair with a sigh.

I rest my forehead on the mat, spit dribbling from my mouth while I focus on catching lungfuls of precious air.

“I’ve seen Amelia’s training,” the elf says. “Your performance is well below her standards.”

“Maybe your performance as a teacher is also lacking,” I say as I stand.

Delos doesn’t react to the taunt, his strong face impassive and hard as stares at me from across the private training room.

“Your opponents tomorrow won’t be trying to teach you. They won’t hold back, nor will they stop just because you say you yield. Do you understand?”

The echo of Amelia’s favorite sentence only puts me further on edge. The truth is my muscles are tired, my reflexes delayed. I spent all night up with Ged making more potions, trying more combinations. An extra pair of hands was always useful, but having an immortal Godtouched on hand to experiment on was invaluable. The grey goo I’d though was a pretty good armor potion ended up turning Ged’s teeth to stone and to collapse one lung. I could still see Ged impaling himself on my dagger instead of waiting for me to find a solution, then turning up ten minutes later the picture of perfect health.

As his previous body dissolved around the clothing it wore, Ged jokingly commented that I should be making poisons rather than potions. Clearly I had more of a knack for the first than the second. That had gotten me thinking, and after that the night spiraled towards a host of exotic recipes I didn’t fully comprehend yet.

At some point, Ged had gone to bed, bored and sleepy. All the poisons in the book, all the ones I could remember by myself, were either too weak or too strong, debilitating at first, deadly after enough time. And killing Rao got me nowhere. I was still mulling over this problem, observing the assortment of potions and poisons I’d made, when someone knocked on the door. Delos had come to collect me for our practice session. He didn’t seem very interested in the fact that I hadn’t slept.

“Again,” the elf said, dragging me out of my muddled thoughts. “And this time put up a proper fight. Make me feel you at least have a chance of not embarrassing Lysander.”

“Is that all you care about?” I retort. “Whether I embarrass—”

Before I can finish, Delos rushes me, quick and light on his feet, but powered by enough mass to run me over. It’s Bago all over again. I sidestep his tackle and parry the attack he elegantly transitions into before retreating. He rushes me again, not giving me anything; not space, not time to breathe. If you want it, take it.

I cast Incendiary Dart at his legs. The flash of surprise in his eyes is quickly interred under the sheer weight of his focus, but even though he dodges the worst of the flame he’s forced to retreat and put out a patch of flame on his knee. I gain a second, a step of distance between us. Whether my gambit pleases him or not, I’m unable to say. Delos doesn’t complain about my use of magic nor does he seem particularly preoccupied with his burn.

He stands straighter and paces in a circle around me. I turn softly, paying careful attention to his movements.

“What else do you think I should worry about?” Delos asks.

“What?” I mumble the question without thinking, too busy keeping track of his hands, waiting for the assault I know is coming.

“Other than the embarrassment to Lys. Have you found a way out of the fact that you can’t win? That even if – and that’s a big if – you manage to kill them once, two times, three times, they’ll just keep coming?”

His eyes never waver from mine. After a moment of silence, he jumps forward, swinging the club down in a wide arc that I dodge ungracefully. A quick rap of beats when the clubs meet in the air, and then space again, breathing room when Delos takes a step back.

He’s toying with me.

“Well? This fight will be your moment of glory. Your swansong. What are you going to do?”

“I…”

His strike is quick and long, covering more ground than seems possible, the club the sharp tip of the spear that is Delos. The strike dispels my clumsy Incendiary Dart, catches me on the solar plexus with uncanny precision. I grunt and double over.

On my knees, grunting in pain and struggling to breathe, I can’t move a muscle while Delos crouches in front of me. He uses the club to lift my tearing eyes up to his cold and steady gaze.

“You were saying.”

I bite my lip, push the pain down and force the air up, my mouth to form the words. My answer comes out in a whisper.

“Louder.”

“I want to hurt him,” I repeat. “I want to hurt him as much as he hurt me. If I’m going to die.”

Delos nods, the crook of a smile appearing in the corner of his mouth.

“Almost perfect. Make no mistake: you are going to die.” He says it steadily, staring deep into my eyes. “But yes. You can hurt him. Every single Godtouched out there, every one of them, has dealt with death. Death is no problem at all. It ends the pain, rebuilds your body. After the first ten times you stop fearing it altogether. But pain,” he whispers. “Pain is the great equalizer. We feel it as much as you do. Hurt him, Malco. Hurt him so deep he shits himself. That’s the best you can hope for.”

I remember Gedden last night. Happy to help with testing, and quick to reach for the dagger when the pain grew too hard to bear. When he returned, his teeth back to normal, his lung healed to perfection, he only lamented how high up in the keep his respawn spot was.

A knock on wood. Delos releases his hypnotic hold on me and turns to the screen that just then slides open, revealing an expanse of sand and grass in one of the keep’s many courtyards. The practice yard is deserted, and only a few private rooms, such as this one, are in use. In the doorway stands Essa, no longer in the hefty armor she carried to the trial but in lighter padding suited for practice.

“My apologies for interrupting your training,” she says, bowing. “I was hoping I could join you.”

Delos hesitates a moment, then nods, gesturing for her to come inside. I struggle to my feet, half bowed by the pain radiating from my core, to smile at Essa with a confidence I don’t feel.

“Glad you could make it. Sure your patroness won’t mind?”

“Patroness Lucia has been of a mood recently. After she realized there was no way we could win the duel, more precisely. She’s been keeping her distance from me.”

Her eyes are somber, but not despairing. She joins me on my side of the room and takes her time rotating her shoulders and neck, warming up her muscles.

I’m not going to get a better chance.

“Essa. I’m sorry you got dragged into this thing,” I say. “I didn’t know—I didn’t realize what I was getting into.”

“It’s not your fault,” she answers. “. I will admit I was… shocked to find out the rules are less than honorable. But you are defending your sister’s honor and your own.”

A strangled laugh. We both turn to find Delos’ closest approximation to amusement, a faint scowl, scrawled across his face.

“It surprises me that it surprises you,” the elf says by way of explanation.

“It makes no sense, Delos,” I protest. “You just said Godtouched die like everyone else, only they get to come back. It stands to reason that the fight should be until Rao or mine’s death, regardless of who gets brought back.”

“You don’t get it,” Delos says, still smiling. “Even though you have the answer writ large in every face in Red Harbor, still you don’t get it. “He shakes his head. “Kid, it’s not about the rules, it’s not about fairness. It’s about ensuring a very simple status quo: Untouched on the bottom, Godtouched on top.”

“But in a real fight—” Essa begins.

“In a real fight?” Delos interrupts. “Alright. Pick up your sword, girl. Not the practice one, the real one. Malco, get your toothpick.”

I unsheathe the dagger Amelia gave me and join Essa in the center of the training mat. I give her a nervous sidelong glance.

Is he going to make us fight each other?

But Delos is busy undoing the straps in his leather armor. He slides it off his muscular body and places it carefully on a bench before picking up his own sheathed sword and approaching us.

“Ready?” he asks.

Essa gets it before I do. She gets into position, sword pointed up at an angle, just as Delos jumps forward. Her parry is the only thing keeping the leather of scabbard from smashing across my face.

“Good!” Delos yells. “If Malco dies, you lose! You just bought yourself another second in the ring.”

He strikes again, another spearing motion that covers half the training space in a singular step. This time, I’m ready for his enormous reach and sidestep the attack entirely, letting it pass between me and Essa.

“Strike me down!” Delos snarls. “Don’t retreat when you have an opening, strike!”

He whirls in place and lashes out, his sword slashing in an arc aimed at Essa. I yell to warn her, but there is no need. Perfectly poised, she parries his slash and diverts it, striking down at the elf’s outstretched leg and scoring a cut along his thigh. Delos snarls and steps away, sword up.

He blows the hair out of his eyes. A smile creeped up his face, intense and predatorial. He focuses on Essa completely, the opponent to match his bloodlust.

Another strike and a parry. A feint and a step back. Delos tests and prods, looking for weak spots. When Essa doesn’t let herself be goaded, when every strike is met with a precise and guarded counter, the intensity of his attacks only increases. I note that Rev has nothing of the rage I saw in the dungeon when she turned her blade against Metalface and his gang. They both move like dancers. Like Medrein and Rev training back in Reach, only stronger, faster. I even feel the familiar sense of having been forgotten, dagger arm drooping to my side, aware that my interruption would be unwelcome.

Or at least that’s what I think. When a vicious series of attacks brings them closer to me, Delos suddenly breaks their elegant formation and spins, grazing my side, then pulls his weapon and strikes again before I can recover.

The attack stops midway. Delos looks down, to the tip of Essa’s sword sprouting from his chest. The smile grows, reddening with a wave of blood, and he sinks to the ground, eyes glassy and dead.

“Pay more attention, Malco,” Essa says. “This was a test. They’ll be coming for you in the ring, you can’t afford to get distracted.”

I blink and nod. The way she just returns to business after skewering her sparring mate is nothing sort of amazing.

“That was… incredible. You’re a Warrior type, aren’t you?”

“Paladin,” she says, breathing heavy.

Though Delos never gained the upper hand, it’s clear the fight took its toll on Essa. How much longer could she have held the elf’s attack back?

“I had that option too. The Legend ability seemed interesting, are you—”

“Look out!”

The running of bare feet sounds on the wooden floor outside and Delos breaks through the screen, rolls on the floor, and grabs the sword dropped alongside his earlier body, now barely more than foam.

With a warcry, the elf renews his attack, this time ignoring Essa completely and focusing all of his attention on me. The first slash goes over my head when I crouch.

Don’t hesitate.

My dagger plunges into Delos’ torso, drawing blood and a scream. Mantle of Flames pops into action right after, enveloping my arm and burning a line up to the elf’s neck.

But even that isn’t enough to stop him. With a twist he grabs my wrist in place, putting me between him and Essa. And then he strikes. The sheathed sword whacks against my side, and then my knee, which buckles. Delos raises his hand again, aiming the pommel directly at my head.

“Kneel!”

Essa’s shout sounds like a wave underwater, washing over and through me. Delos’ body shakes and, holding onto my hand still, unbelievably, the elf kneels.

Essa’s sword comes down and lops the head from his shoulders. Its arcs and rolls until the final squelch. The flames roil around both my arms and my entire left body smarts when I stand.

Don’t rest, says the dungeon mind. He’s coming.

“Can you do that again?” I ask Essa.

“Command? No, I need to—”

This time we see him coming through the broken screen. Delos isn’t taking the stairs to the courtyard. Instead he jumps from somewhere up above, rolls on the outdoor sandpit, and dashes towards us.

“Kick the sword away!” I yell.

Before she can, the elf is upon us, this time ignoring the weapon completely and diving straight in with elbows and knees instead of slashes of his sword. I manage to roll out of the way, but Essa is caught in the onslaught. A punch catches her across the chin, a sweep throws her to the ground. My Incendiary Dart catches the elf on the back, ignites a patch of skin and makes him turn to me.

A spinning kick flies by, a handspan from my face. Delos grins like a madman.

“Give me pain, goddamnit!” he yells, getting into position once again.

My dagger flies in his face, clumsy enough that he has no trouble catching my wrist, which allows my real attack to pass undetected. My knee lands between his legs, throwing him to the floor.

If I was hoping that was enough to have him writhe on the floor for a few minutes, to end the fight. Instead, curled up on the floor, he reaches up, grabs his sword, and swings it at me. A brief struggle ends with my dagger on his neck, my fingers slick with blood and spit. The last thing Delos does is throw the sword outside to the grass.

“He’s not gonna stop,” I say as soon as the eyes roll back in his skull. “Get up.”

“Then how do we make him stop?” Essa asks, out of breath. “Run? Let him defeat us?”

“Tomorrow that will translate to letting Rao kill me. I’d rather we didn’t do that.”

“Then?”

“I—”

A grunt as a body hits the grass outside, rolls on its shoulder, picks up the sword and dashes to us.

“Get in front of me,” I say. “Like the first time.”

Delos’ two handed downstrike meets Essa’s skillful parry. The elf pushes her away with a kick, but she recovers with a step and rights herself, striking to gain space and time. Just like that, the dance begins anew, the strikes, the tests, the grace.

Only this time I’m not letting Delos have his fun. Incendiary Dart catches him on an arm, burning part of his long hair away. He strikes at me, but Essa parries again, giving me the chance to slash under them both and cut a line on Delos’ side.

His kick sends me flying, but another Incendiary Dart catches his leg, setting fire to his pants. He retreats, swinging his sword in a wide arc to stake a territory.

“Don’t kill him,” I tell Essa as Delos pats the fires away, revealing angry red burns. “Just knock him down. Can you do that?”

She doesn’t waste time with an answer. Instead, Essa closes her eyes, and something swells within her. She seems to grow with the rhythm of her breathing, her arms to grow heavier. And then she dashes, a roar flowing from her throat.

Essa’s bullrush catches Delos in the chest and actually picks him up off his feet. His sword flies as they hit the ground and begin to struggle for domination. Delos doesn’t stop when I rest my dagger against his throat.

“Yield!”

He looks up at me and smiles.

Fuck it, then.

I chuck the dagger away. His grin trembles just as he realizes what I’m about to do. And then I rest my flaming palm on his face.

I’m sure the screams can be heard all over the keep. Delos thrashes.

“Don’t let go!” I yell at Essa.

She redoubles her efforts to keep his arms pinned, even as he buckles and twists like an eel in a net. I switch my position, and my flames take up the side of his face, fusing ear to scalp and blistering everything they touch.

It’s an eternity. I do not know where I find the strength to keep my hand in place, the pressure steady. But finally he says it, a gasp through charred lips.

“I yield!”

Perhaps foolishly, we release him. A second later, he lunges for my dagger and strikes his own heart, falling motionless.

Both me and Essa sink to the mat, saying nothing, breathing deeply. The air is heavy with the smell of burnt flesh, but neither of us can move a muscle.

“You think,” Essa says, gasping. “He’s coming?”

“If he is,” I say after a moment. “Let him kill me. He wants it that bad, he deserves it.”

But when surprisingly light steps echo in the ruined training room, they’re unhurried. A body towers over me. With his hands behind his back and his face pristine, Delos is back to his old impassive self.

“You made three errors,” he says casually. “Can you tell me what they were?”

“Decided sparring with you was a good idea?” I try.

He’s not amused.

“We let you reach a weapon after we disarmed you,” Essa says.

“Very good.”

“I did too much damage with the fire,” I venture. “You would have died from your wounds.”

“And?” the elf prods.

I close my eyes.

“We stopped. When you yielded, we stopped.”

“Exactly,” he says, pleased. “Tomorrow, when your enemies are giving their utmost to kill you, remember this: the battle ends only with your death. If you’re not dead, you are the bringers of pain.” He smiles at the destroyed room, taking in the small gathering of onlookers that is watching from outside. He looks pleased with the morning’s work. “Dismissed.”