Zeriel shoves me toward the nearest, slick black rock, and we claw up, dragging ourselves onto its glistening surface.
The reavers are faster in the water, their skeletal bodies propelling them with an unnatural, serpentine grace. One lunges toward us, its jaw unhinging. Zeriel’s blade flashes in the gloom, lodging into its right eye. With a shriek it flails in the pool.
Another comes for him from his blind side, a silent torpedo of bone just beneath the surface. Panic seizes me. No time to think strategy. I react on pure instinct, reaching out with my mind with a sharp, dissonant pulse of purewrongness, aimed directly at the creature’s predatory focus.Prey is behind you. Danger is above.
The reaver’s attack falters for a half-second, its trajectory shifting just enough. Its jaws snap shut on empty water, inches from Zeriel’s thigh. He spins, reacting to the splash, a flicker of surprise in his eyes as the creature slips back into the water.
That wasn’t luck,I send.
I noticed.
You’re welcome.
Save it. We’re not done.
The water is a churning chaos of death. Nearby, Rook Fenvale is a whirlwind of flashing blades, but he’s surrounded and a second away from being torn apart.
My eyes find Blaise. He moves with an annoyingly fluid ease,the water… almost seeming to flow with him rather than against him. A reaver lunges, wide jaws snapping for him—and then, for no reason I can see, it jerks, its momentum breaking. Blaise drives his blade into the exposed joint, bone splintering in a muffled crack. To others, it might seem like a lucky strike. But the gleam in his eyes tells me luck had nothing to do with it.
I keep a wary eye on three more reavers circling us, nudging at them with my gift as subtly as I can to drive them back, while Zeriel and I search the walls for any path of escape.
Damiar Korren catches my eyes as he struggles to find a handhold, his massive frame a liability in the water. His ward, another terrified woman whose name I never knew, clings to his back. A reaver closes in. With a guttural roar, Damiar rips her from his back and thrusts her into the creature’s path. Before I can stop it, the reaver’s jaws close on her torso. Damiar uses the precious seconds her death buys him to secure his hold and continue to climb.
Yet another display of sheer, callous brutality that steals my breath. These aren’t people anymore. They’re animals, chewing off their own limbs to escape a trap.
To my left, Zarah Teshal, the Desert Expanse champion, scrambles up the rock, her clothing now shredded and soaked. She spots a fissure in the stone—a clear, direct path upward. At the same moment, Alestir Velthorn, bloodied but still fighting, sees it too. He lunges for the same handhold Zarah reaches for.
Their hands collide. Alestir snarls, kicking out to shove the woman away. But Zarah is faster, her knife flashing out, slicing a deep gash across Alestir’s calf. Alestir retaliates, grabbing Zarah’s arm and twisting, trying to use his own momentum against her. For a split second, they are a frozen tableau of desperate violence, two predators locked in a struggle for the better path.
Then their combined weight proves too much for the slick handhold. Alestir’s grip slips. He grabs for Zarah’s tunic, a final, spiteful act, and the female champion loses her footing too. They tumble together, a tangle of limbs and curses, sliding down theglistening black rock face—catching the direct attention of two more reavers.
This is ridiculous.Something snaps in me.
“STOP!” My voice is a raw shriek that cuts through the din. “YOU IDIOTS, STOP FIGHTING EACH OTHER!”
The survivors pause. Alestir freezes. Damiar stares across, his face a mask of bloody determination. Even Blaise halts his attempted ascent to look at me, a flicker of something close to amused curiosity in his eyes.
“They’re herding us! Killing us one by one while we tear each other apart!” I yell. “You’ll all die down here if you don’t cooperate!”
Silence. Even the reavers have stilled, as if something in my voice has given them pause. The only sound is their hideous, clicking bones and the drip of water. Everyone’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind—including Zeriel.
I exhale sharply. “We get to the top.Thenwe kill each other. Not before.”
A beat. Then a few heads nod. Finally, words they understand.
Zeriel, gripping the rock beside me, speaks. His voice is low, but it carries with an undeniable authority. “She’s right.”
Thank you. The decree from on high has spoken.
Blaise offers a slow smile. “What a novel idea. A brief, distasteful alliance. Very well. It might be amusing.”
You started something,Zeriel sends to me, a note of something difficult to decipher—annoyance, respect, surprise, all at once—coloring the thought.
Just trying to stay alive,I shoot back.A concept you seem to appreciate.
The climb becomes a coordinated, somewhat less desperate struggle. Especially because it’s easier for me to manage the minds of dragons when they’re not being constantly aggravated by moving spectacles.
There are ten remaining champions including Zeriel, and seven remaining wards including me.
