Behind him, the fire continued to burn. Killian felt his heart pounding, his fear for Elyse tripling. He scoured the arena, pacing to find any trace of the Blade.
There.
A scrawny man had stooped to fish something out of the dirt. Killian spotted the deep gray hilt that seemed to absorb and destroy all sunlight as the man marveled at his newfound treasure.
“Hey!” Killian ran toward the man. He couldn’t have been more than thirty yards away, but his voice was lost in the din of the arena.
“You there!” Killian yelled louder this time. He waved his hand, desperately trying to get the man’s attention.
As Killian approached him, another man, older and more sturdy-looking, trudged up with a sack over his shoulder. He dropped the sack to the ground with aclangand held it open by the mouth.
The first man made to toss the Blade of Hanael in the bag, but stopped when Killian shouted, “Wait!”
Both men lowered their brows to glare at him.
“I need that knife,” Killian sputtered out as he approached them.
One of the men, the bulkier one, snorted and squared his chest. “Well, it’s ours now, so you best find another one.” He held up the sack, which clanged again, the sound of at least a dozen weapons clattering together.
Killian held out a hand, trying to dissipate the tension. “You’ve got plenty of other weapons. Just let me have that one,” he reasoned, gesturing to the Blade.
“Must be worth something if he wants it so bad,” the skinny man muttered to his companion.
“Oy! Look what I found!” A third man, tall and muscled, came barreling toward them, a long sword in each of his hands. He slowed when he saw Killian and scowled. “What’s going on here?”
“This guy thinks he can take our knife,” the skinny one said, waving the Blade of Hanael. “But I found it, so it’s mine now!”
Killian glanced toward the ring of fire, the flames burning high. He didn’t know how much time he had to argue. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned calmly. “Just hand over the knife.”
The skinny one glanced at each of his friends, laughing. “Hurt me? It’s three against—”
Killian didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. He pounced, thrusting his fist straight into the man’s neck.
The man doubled over, clutching his throat and wheezing. Amazingly, he didn’t relent his grasp on the Blade. The tall one lunged at Killian, swinging one of the long swords in a wide arc. Killian dipped backward, letting the sword sweep above his chest.
The stout man had already reached into the sack and pulled out a dagger. He jabbed it at Killian’s side, but Killian spun away. He lifted his foot and kicked at the man’s wrist, sending the dagger flying into the dirt.
The tall man came in hard again. He’d abandoned one of his swords and now had both hands gripping the hilt of the long sword as he swung it over his head. Killian leapt toward the skinny one, who watched, terrified, one hand still pressed to his throat. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and shoved him between himself and the tall one.
The giant with the long sword faltered, afraid of hurting his friend. He changed the arc of his swing, missing his friend by a few inches. Then he reared back, holding the hilt at chest level, elbows out, trying to find his next move.
Killian shoved the skinny one toward his friend, and the two men went tumbling to the ground. The Blade of Hanael slippedfrom the thin man’s hand. Killian lunged, dropping to his knees and stretching his body toward it.
Somehow, the stout man was already there. He grasped the Blade just before Killian could wrap his fingers around it.
The stout one made to kick at Killian’s side, but Killian caught his boot in his hands. He twisted, and the man cried out as his shin rotated, and his whole body dropped to the ground with awham!The Blade tumbled to the dirt. Killian was already on his feet, scooping it up.
As fast as he could, his heart driving him forward, he ran toward the flames. Toward Elyse.
47
Elyse
Thefire raged, and raged, and raged. All Elyse could see was orange and white, even when she squeezed her eyes shut to collect herself.
She knelt on the ground, arms trembling to hold her up, thighs seizing, and focused on one thing.Hold your shield, she told herself. The effects of the salt circle had hit her hard—perhaps even harder than when they’d tested it before—and she could feel her magic ebbing. Sweat poured from her face, falling onto her hands, into the dirt.
Lazarus stood over her, his hands extended at his sides. Above each hand hovered a ball of black smoke that churned and twisted, its shape indefinite as the edges wavered. Death in its purest form.
