Galenti The corridor outside the Great Hall in the Palace of the Four Winds was deathly silent as the small band remained huddled in the niche. Warriors took strategic positions, armed with imperial crafted crossbows, while the bulk of the Tenkin fighters moved back to allow them clear lines of sight. All of the Emerald Storm's party now held swords salvaged from slain Tenkins, each one made from Avryn steel. Clustered in a tight group, Hadrian's party made an easy target.
Erandabon stepped forward, but not so far as to block the path of the archers. "Erandabon did not recognize you, Galenti! Et 'as been many years, but you 'ave not lost your skill," he said, looking down at the bodies of his fallen warriors. "Vie travel vis such creatures as deez, Galenti? Vie suffer dee 'umiliation? It voud be dee same for Erandabon to slizzer on dee forest floor with dee snakes, or vallow vis dee pigs. Vie do you do dis? Vie?"
"I came to see you, Gile," Hadrian replied. Instantly there was a gasp in the hall.
"Ha-ha!" The warlord laughed. "You use my Calian name, a crime for vich dee punishment ez death, but I pardon you, Galenti! For you are not like deez." He waved his hand gesturing vaguely. "You are in dee cosmos vis Erandabon. You are a star in dee heavens shining nearly as bright as Erandabon. You are a brother and I vill not kill you. You must come and feast vis me."
"And my friends?"
Erandabon's face soured. "Dey 'ave no place at dee table of Erandabon, dey are dogs."
"I will not eat with you iws, w are ill-treated."
Erandabon's eyes moved about wildly in random circles, then stopped. "Erandabon vill 'ave dem locked up again-safely dis time-for deir own good. And you vill eat vis Erandabon?"
"I will."
He clapped his hands and warriors tentatively moved forward.
Hadrian nodded and Royce and the others laid down their weapons.
The balcony looked out over the bay from a dizzying height. Moonlight revealed the vast fleet of Ghazel and Tenkin ships anchored in the harbor. Dotted with lights, the vessels bobbed on soft swells. Distant shouts rose with the cool breeze and arrived as faint whispers. Like the rest of the castle, the balcony was a relic of a forgotten time. While perhaps beautiful long ago, the stone railing had weathered over centuries to a dull, vague reminder of its previous glory. A lush covering of vines blanketed it with blooming white flowers the way a cloth might disguise a marred table. Beneath their feet, once-stunning mosaic tiles lay dirty, chipped, and broken. Several oil lanterns circled the balcony, but appeared to be more for decoration than illumination. On a stone table lay a massive feast of wild animals, fruits, and drink.
"Sit! Sit and eat!" Erandabon told Hadrian, as several Tenkin women and young boys hurried about, seeing to their every need. Aside from servants, the two were alone. Erandabon tore a leg from a large roasted bird and gestured with it toward the bay. "A beautiful sight eh, Galenti? Five 'undred ships, fifty 'zousand soldiers and all of dem under Erandabon's command."
"There are not fifty thousand Tenkin in all of Calis," Hadrian replied. He looked at the food on the table dubiously, wondering if elf was somewhere on the menu, and selected a bit of sliced fruit.
"No," the warlord said, regretfully. "Erandabon must make do vis dee Ghazel. Dey are like ants spilling out of deir island holes. Erandabon cannot trust dem any more dan Erandabon can trust a tiger, even if Erandabon raised it from a cub. Dey are vild beasts, but Erandabon needs dem to reach dee goal."
"And what is that?"
"Drumindor," he said simply, and followed the word with a swallow of wine, much of which spilled unnoticed down the front of his chin. "Erandabon needs a shelter from dee storm, Galenti, a strong place to veather it. For centuries, dee Ghazel dey 'ave known dat only Drumindor can stand against dee vinds about to blow. Dis ez vie dey 'ave struggled so 'ard to take et. Time ez running out, dee sand spills from dee glass and dey are desperate to flee dee islands. Erandabon could 'ave fifty 'zousand, perhaps 'undred 'zousand. Ants, Galenti, dey are everywhere in deez isles. Erandabon vill make do vis deez, too many ants spoil a picnic eh, Galenti?" he laughed.
A servant refilled the wine glass that Hadrian had barely touched.
"What do you know about Merrick Marius?" Hadrian asked.
Erandabon spat, "'E is dirt, or pig, or pig in dirt. 'E promise weapons…dere is none. 'E promise food for dee Many…and dere is none. 'E will make it 'ard for Erandabon to control dee ants. I vish 'e vas dead."
"I might be able to help you with that, if you tell me where he is."
The warlord laughed. "Oh, Galenti, you voud do dis for you I dink, not for Erandabon. But Erandabon does not know vere 'e ez."
"Do you expect him to visit again?" Hadrian pressed.
"No, dere be no need. Erandabon vill not be 'ere long. Dis place ez old. Et ez not good." He rolled a fallen block of granite from the balcony. "Erandabon and 'is ants vill go to dee great fortress vere even dee Old Ones cannot reach us. Erandabon vill vatch dee return of dee gods and dee burning of dee vorld. You could 'ave a seat beside Erandabon. You could lead dee ants."
Hadrian shook his head. "Drumindor will be destroyed. There will be no fortress f you and your ants. If you release me and my friends we can stop this from happening."
Erandabon roared a great laugh. "Galenti, you make big joke. You dink Erandabon is dumb like dee ants? Vie do you try to tell me such lies? You vill say anything to leave 'ere vis your dog friends."
He finished off the leg by ripping the meat from the bone and chewed it with an open mouth, spitting out bits of gristle.
"Galenti, you offer Erandabon so much 'elp. You must see 'ow great Erandabon ez and vish to please me. Erandabon likes dis. I know of someting you can do to please Erandabon."
"What is that?"
"Dere is a Ghazel chieftain, called Uzla Bar." He spat on the ground. "'E defies Erandabon. 'As even challenged Erandabon for control of dee ants. Now vis no food for dee Many 'e be big problem for Erandabon. Uzla Bar attacks caravans from Avryn stealing dee veapons and the Many's food to veaken Erandabon in dee eyes of dee ants. Uzla Bar challenge Erandabon to fight. But Erandabon ez no fool. Erandabon knows none of 'is varriors can vin against dee speed and strength of dee Ba Ran Ghazel. But den dee stars shine on Erandabon and bring you 'ere."
"You want me to fight him?"
"Dee challenge ez by Ghazel tradition. Dey are clan, not single fighters. Dey do not fight one to one. For dem single combat ez not known. Dee battle will be five against five in dee arena."
"Who will I be fighting with? You?"
He shook his head and laughed. "Erandabon does not dirty 'is 'ands so."
"Your warriors?"
"Vie should Erandabon use Tenkin Varriors. Erandabon need dem to control dee ants. I saw dose dogs dat you lead. Dey fight good. Ven backed in a corner Erandabon saw dee bravery in deir eyes. Dey vill do vell vis you to lead dem. Erandabon knows you 'ave succeeded in dee arena vis lesser men. And if you lose-Erandabon ez same as before."
"And why would I do this?"
"Did you not offer to 'elp Erandabon, twice already?" he paused. "I can see you like your dogs. But you and dem keel many of my men. For dat you must die. But…if you do dis…Erandabon vill let you live. Do dis, Galenti, dee heavens voud be less bright vis out all etz stars."
Hadrian pretended to consider the proposal in silence. He waited so long that Erandabon became agitated. It was obvious the warlord had nearly as much riding on this fight as Hadrian did.
"You answer Erandabon now!"
Hadrian remained quiet for a few moments longer and then said, "If we win, I want our immediate release. You will not hold us until the full moon. I want a ship, a small, fast ship, fully provisioned and waiting the moment the battle is won."
"Done."
"I also want you to look into finding an elven girl who is called Allie. She may have been brought with the last shipment from Avryn. If she is alive, I want her brought here."
Erandabon looked doubtful, but nodded.
"I want my companions freed, treated well, and all of our weapons and gear returned to us immediately."
"I vill 'ave dee dogs you fought vis brought 'ere so you can feast vis dem veen I am gone. Along vis vaat other veapons you might need."
"And the others?"
"Dey did not keel my men, but I 'ave deal vis dem. I 'old dem until deal ez done. All goes vell-I send dem on deir vey. Deal no good, dey go to dee Ghazel. Do vee have a deal?"
"Yes. I agree."
"Excellent, Erandabon ez very 'appy. I get to see Galenti fight in my arena once more." Erandabon clapped twice and warriors appeared on the balcony each reverently carrying one of Hadrian's three swords. More approached with the rest of their gear. Erandabon took Hadrian's spadone and lifted it.
"Erandabon 'as 'eard of your famous sword. Et ez an old veapon of dee ancient style."
"It's a family heirloom."
The warlord gave it to Hadrian. "," the warlord said, picking up Royce's dagger, "Dis Erandabon 'as never seen dee like. Does it belong to dee small one? Dee one ou fought next to you?"
"Yes." Hadrian saw the greed in Erandabon's eyes. "That's Alverstone. You don't even want to think of keeping that weapon."
"You vill not fight if Erandabon does?"
"That too," Hadrian told him.
"Dat one ez a kaz?"
"Yes, and as you saw he is a good fighter. I need him and his weapon." Hadrian strapped his swords back on, feeling more like himself again.
"So, dee Tiger of Mandalin vill fight for Erandabon."
"It looks that way," Hadrian said then sighed.
"So, two sit the battle out?" Royce asked checking over his dagger.
The sun had risen on a gray day. The seven of them ate together on the balcony. The food-leftovers from the warlord-was now suitable for the dogs.
Hadrian nodded. "I was thinking Wesley and Poe ought to be the ones, they're the youngest-"
"We'll draw lots," Wesley declared firmly.
"Wesley, you've never fought the Ba Ran Ghazel before. They are extremely dangerous. They're stronger than men, faster too, and to disarm them you literally have to, well, disarm them."
"We'll draw lots," Wesley repeated, and finding a dead branch snapped seven twigs-two shorter than the others.
"I have to fight, it's part of the deal," Hadrian said.
Wesley nodded and tossed one of the long twigs away.
"I'm fighting too," Royce told him.
"We need to do this fairly," Wesley protested.
"If Hadrian fights, so do I," the thief declared.
Hadrian nodded. "So, it will be between you five."
Wesley hesitated then threw aside another twig and held his fist out. Wyatt pulled the first stick, a long one. Poe drew next and got the first short twig. He showed no emotion and simply stepped back. Grady drew-a long one. Derning drew last receiving the other short stick leaving the last long twig in Wesley's fist.
"When do we fight?"
"Tomorrow at sunset," Hadrian explained. "Ghazel prefer to fight in the dark. That gives us the day to plan, practice a few things, and take a quick nap before facing them."
"I don't think I can sleep," Wesley told them.
"Best give it a try anyway."
"I've never even seen a Ghazel," Grady admitted. "What are we talking about here?"
"Well," Hadrian began, "they have deadly fangs and if given the chance will hold you down and rip with their teeth and claws. The Ghazel have no qualms about eating you alive. In fact, they relish it."
"So they're animals?" Wyatt asked. "Like bears or something?"
"Not really. They're also intelligent and proficient with weapons." He let this sink in a moment before continuing, "They're usually short looking, but that's misleading as they walk hunched over and can stand up to our height or taller. They are strong and fast and can see well in the dark. The biggest problem-"
"There's a bigger problem?" Royce asked.
"Yeah, funny that, but you see the Ghazel are clan fighters, so they're organized. A clan is a group of five made up of a chief, a warrior, an oberdaza, a finisher, and a range. The chief is usually not as good a fighter as the warrior. And don't confuse a Ghazel oberdaza with a Tenkin. The Ghazel version wields real magic, dark magic, and he should be the first one we target to kill. They won't know we are aware of his importance so that might give us an edge."
"Leave him to me," Royce announced.
"The finisher is the fastest of the group, and it will be his job to kill us while the warriors and oberdaza keep us busy. The range will be armed with a trilon, the Ghazel version of a bow, and maybe throwing knives as well. He will likely stay near the oberdaza. The trilon isn't terribly accurate, but it's fast. His job won't be so much to kill us as to distract. You will want to keep your shield arm facing him."
"Will we have shields?" Grady asked.
"Good point." Hadrian looked over the weapons provided. "No, I don't see any."
"The clan is well organized and experienced. They will communicate through clicks and chattering which will be gibberish to us, but they can understand everything we say. We'll use that to our advantage."
"How do we win?" Wyatt asked.
"By killing all of them before they kill all of us."
They spent the morning hours sparring and practicing. Luckily, they were all adept with basic combat. Wesley had trained with his brother and as a result was a far better swordsman than Hadrian expected. Grady was tough and surprisingly fast. Wyatt was the most impressive. His ability with a cutlass showed real skill, the kind Hadrian recognized instantly as something he called killing experience.
Hadrian demonstrated some basic moves to counter likely scenarios. Most dealt with parrying multiple attacks, like those from both mouths and claws, something none of them had any training in. He also showed them how to use the trilon Erandabon provided, and each took their turn with Grady showing the most promise.
Hungry after the morning's practice, they sat to eat once more.
"So, what's our battle plan?" Wyatt asked.
"Wesley and Grady will stay to the rear. Grady you're on the trilon."
He looked nervous, "I'll do the best I can."
"That's fine, just don't aim anywhere near the rest of us. Ignore the battle in the center of the arena and concentrate your arrows on the oberdaza and the range. Keep them off balance as much as possible. You don't have to hit them, just keep them ducking.
"Wesley, you protect Grady. Wyatt, you and I will form the front and engage the warrior and chief. Just remember your line and stay away from him. Questions?"
If there were any, no one spoke up, so they all bedded down for a nap. After the workout, even Wesley managed to fall asleep.
The arena was a large oval open-air pit surrounded by a stone wall behind which tiers of spectators rose. Two gates at opposite ends provided entrance to opposing teams. Giant braziers mounted on poles illuminated the area. The dirt killing field, like everything else at the Palace of the Four Winds, had suffered from neglect. Large blocks of stone had fallen and small trees grew around them. Near the center, a shallow muddy pool formed. A partially hidden ribcage glimmered eerily in the firelight and a skull hung from a pike that protruded from the earth.
Walking out, Hadrian's mind reeled with memories. The scent of blood and cheering crowd opened a door he had thought locked forever. He was only seventeen the first time he entered an arena, yet his training made victory a certainty. He was the more knowledgeable, the more skilled, and the crowds loved him. He defeated opponent after opponent with ease. Larger, stronger men challenged him and died. When he fought teams of two and three, the results were always the same. The crowds began to chant his new name, Galenti-killer.
He traveled throughout Calis meeting with royalty, eating at banquets held in his honor, and sleeping with women given in tribute. He entertained his hosts with displays of skill and prowess. Eventually the battles became macabre. Multiple strong men were not enough. They tested him on Ghazel and wild animals. He fought boars, a pair of leopards, and finally the tiger.
He had killed scores of men in the arena without a thought, but the tiger in Mandalin was the last. Perhaps the blood he spilled finally soaked in, or he had grown older and matured beyond his desire for fame. Even now, he was unw name, Ga what was the truth and what he merely wanted to believe. Regardless, everything changed when the tiger died.
Each man he fought had a choice, but not the cat. As he watched the regal beast die, for the first time he felt like a murderer. In the stands above, the crowd shouted Galenti! The meaning never sunk in until that moment. His father's words reached him at last, but Danbury would die before Hadrian could apologize. Like the tiger, his father deserved better.
Now, as he entered the arena, the crowd once again shouted the name-Galenti! They cheered and stomped their feet like thunder. "Remember, Mister Wesley, stay back and guard Grady," Hadrian said, as they gathered not far from where the skull hung.
The far gate opened, and into the arena came the Ba Ran Ghazel. Hadrian could tell from his friends shocked expressions that even after his description they never expected what now came toward them. Everyone had heard tall tales of hideous goblins but no one really expected to see one, much less five, scurrying in full battle regalia illuminated by the flickering red glow of giant torch fires.
They were not human, not animal, nor anything at all familiar. They did not appear to be of the same world. Movements defied eyesight, muscles flexed unnaturally. They drifted across the ground on all fours. Rather than walk, they skittered, their claws clicking on the stones in the dirt. Their eyes flashed in the darkness, lit from within, a sickly yellow glow rising behind an oval pupil. Muscles rippled along hunched backs and arms as thick as a man's thigh. Their mouths were filled with row upon row of needle-sharp teeth that spilled out each side as if there was not enough room to contain them.
The warrior and the chief advanced to the center. They were large, and even hunched over still towered above Hadrian and Wyatt. Behind them, the smaller oberdaza, decorated in dozens of multicolored feathers, danced and hummed.
"I thought they were supposed to be smaller," Wyatt whispered to Hadrian.
"Ignore it, they're puffing themselves up like frogs-trying to intimidate you-make you think you can't win."
"They're doing a good job."
"The warrior is on the left, the chief is on the right," Hadrian told him. "Let me take the warrior, you have the chief. Try to stay on his left side, swing low, and don't get too close. He'll likely kill you if you do, and watch for arrows from the range."
From the walls, a flaming arrow struck the center of the field and the moment it did, drums began to beat.
"That's our cue," Hadrian said, and walked forward along with Royce and Wyatt.
The Ghazel chief and warrior waited for them at the center. Each held a short curved blade and a small round shield. They hissed at Hadrian and Wyatt as they approached. Wyatt had his cutlass drawn, but Hadrian purposely walked to meet them with his weapons sheathed. This brought a look from Wyatt.
"It's my way of puffing up."
Before they reached the center of the arena, Hadrian had lost track of Royce, who veered away into a shadow between the glow of bonfires.
"When do we start?" Wyatt asked.
"Listen for the sound of the horn."
This comment, overheard by the chief caused him to smile and he chattered to the warrior who chattered back.
"They can't understand us right?" Wyatt recited his line.
"Of course not," Hadrian lied. "They're just dumb animals. Remember we want to draw them forward so Royce can slip up behind the chief and kill him. He's the one we need to kill first. He's their leader. Without him, they will all fall apart. Just step back as you fight and he will follow you right into the trap."
More chattering.
Two more flaming arrows whistled and struck the ground.
"Get ready," Hadrian whispered, and very slowly drew both swords.
A horn sounded from the stands.
Wesley watched as Hadrian and the warrior slammed into one another, metal hissing. Wyatt however shuffled back like a dancer, his cutlass held up and ready. The chief stood still. Wary, the chief chose not to follow. Instead, he turned and sniffed the air.
Grady promptly let loose the first of his arrows. He aimed at the distant pile of dancing feathers, but greatly overshot. "Damn," he cursed, working to fit another in the string.
"Lower your aim," Wesley snapped.
"I never said I was a marksman, did I?"
Something hissed unseen by Wesley's ear. Grady fired a second shot. It landed too short, coming close to where Wyatt feinted trying to persuade the chief to follow him.
Hissing whistled by again.
"I think they're shooting their arrows at us," Wesley said, turning just in time to see Grady collapse with a black shaft buried in his chest. He hit the ground coughing and kicking, his hands struggled to reach the arrow. His fingers went limp, his hands flapped on the ends of his wrists. He flailed on the dirt, spitting blood, struggling to breathe. A third arrow hissed and struck Grady in the boot. His leg struggled to recoil, but his foot was pinned to the ground.
Wesley stared at him in horror as Grady shuddered then fell still.
Royce was already close to the oberdaza when the horn sounded. The clash of steel let him know the fight was on. He slipped around one of the shattered stone blocks, trying to find a position behind the witchdoctor, when the air felt wrong. It was no longer blowing, but bouncing-hitting something unseen. A quick glance at the field revealed only four Ghazel, the chief, the warrior, the oberdaza and the range. Royce ducked just in time to avoid a slit throat. He spun, cutting air with Alverstone. Turning, he found himself alone. On instinct, he dodged right and something cut through his cloak. He thrust back his elbow, and was rewarded with a solid meaty thump. Then it was gone again.
Royce spun completely around, but he could see nothing.
In the center of the arena, Hadrian battled with the warrior while Wyatt taunted the chief, reluctant to engage. The range fired arrow after arrow. Beside him, the oberdaza danced and sang.
Instinct told him to move again, only he was too late. Thick, heavy arms gripped Royce, the weight of a body drove him forward. His feet slipped and he fell, pulled down to the bloodstained earth. He turned his blade and stabbed, but it passed through thin air. He could feel clawed hands trying to pin him. Royce twisted like a snake, depriving his attacker of a firm grip. Repeatedly, Royce cut at the shadowy thing, but nothing connected. Then he felt the hot breath of the Ghazel finisher.
His stroke glanced off the Ghazel's shield. Hadrian thrust with his other sword, but found it blocked by an excellent parry. The warrior was good. Hadrian had not anticipated his skill. He was strong and fast, but more importantly, more frighteningly, the Ghazel anticipated Hadrian's moves perfectly. The warrior stabbed and Hadrian dodged back and to the left. The Ghazel bashed his face with his shield, having started his swing even before Hadrian turned. It was as if he was reading his mind. Hadrian staggered backward, putting distance between him so he could catch his breath.
Above, the crowd booed their displeasure with Galenti. Beside him, Wyatt was still playing with the chief. His ruse had bought the helmsman time. The chief was too afraid of Royce to engage, but it would not last long. Hadrian needed to finish his opponent quickly, only now he was not even certain he could win.
The warrior advanced and swung. Hadrian spun to the left. Once more, the Ghazel anticipated his move and cut Hadrian across the arm. He staggered back and dodged behind a large fallen block keeping it between himself and his opponent.
Towd booed and stomped their feet.
Something was very wrong. The warrior should not be this good. His form was bad, his strokes lacking expertise, and yet he was beating him. The warrior attacked again. Hadrian took a step back and his foot caught on a rock and he stumbled. Once more, the Ghazel appeared to foresee this and was ready with a kick that sent Hadrian into the dirt.
He lay flat on his back. The warrior screamed a cry of victory and raised his sword for a downward, penetrating kill. Hadrian started to twist left to dodge the thrust, but at the last minute, while still concentrating his thoughts on turning left he pulled back to center. The stroke of the warrior pierced the turf exactly where Hadrian would have been.
Grady was dead and the arrows still coming.
Wesley was shaken. He already failed in his duty, and not knowing what else to do, he picked up the trilon, fitted an arrow, and let it loose. Wesley was no archer and the arrow did not even fly straight, but spun wildly, falling flat on the ground not more than five yards ahead of him.
In the center of the field, Hadrian was avoiding his opponent, and the chief had decided to engage Wyatt. Royce was in the distance, on the ground and wrestling with something invisible not far from where the oberdaza danced and chanted.
This was not going as planned. Grady was dead and Hadrian…he saw the warrior raise his sword for the killing blow.
"No!" Wesley shouted. Just then, the sharp exploding pain from an arrow pierced his right shoulder, and he fell to his knees.
The world spun. His eyes blurred. He gasped for air and gritted his teeth as darkness threatened at the edges of his eyesight. In his ears, a deafening silence grew, swallowing the sounds of the crowd.
The oberdaza! The memory of Hadrian's instructions surfaced. The Ghazel version wields real magic, dark magic, and he should be the first one we target to kill.
Wesley clutched the hilt of his sword, fighting back, willing himself not to pass out. He ordered his legs to lift him. Shaking, wobbling, they slowly obeyed. His heart calmed, his breathing grew longer. The world came into focus once more and the roar of the crowd returned.
Wesley looked across the field at the witchdoctor. He glanced at the trilon and knew he could never use it. He tried to raise the sword, but his right arm did not move. He shifted the pommel to the left. It felt awkward, and clumsy, but it had strength. Listening to the sound of his heart pounding, he walked forward, slowly at first, but faster with each step. Another arrow hissed. He ignored it and began to jog. His feet pounded the moist muddy ground. He held his sword high like a banner, his hat flew off, his hair flowing in the breeze.
Another arrow landed just a step ahead of him and he snapped it as he ran. He felt a strange painful pulling and realized the wind was blowing against the feathers of the arrow that still protruded from his shoulder. He focused on the dancing witchdoctor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the range put down his bow and run at him drawing a blade. He was too late. Only a few more strides. The oberdaza danced and sang with his eyes closed. He could not see Wesley's charge.
Wesley never checked his pace. He never bothered to slow down. He merely lowered the point of his blade as if it were a lance and put on a last burst of speed-jousting like his famous brother-jousting on foot. Already the darkness was creeping in, tunneling his vision once more. His strength was running out, flowing away with his blood.
Wesley plowed into the oberdaza. The two collided with a loud thrump! They skidded together and then rolled apart. Wesley's sword was gone from his hands. The arrow in his shoulder had snapped. The taste of blood was in his mouth as he lay face down struggling to push himself up. A hot pain burst across his back, but it faded quickly askness swallowed him.
Royce twisted but could not break free of the claws that cut into his flesh, struggling to break his grip on Alverstone. He could not grab the shadow. Its body felt loose and slippery, as if it existed only where it wanted. Royce would get a partial grip and then it would dissolve.
Teeth grazed him as the Ghazel snapped, trying to rip his throat out. Each time, Royce knew to move. On the third attempt, he gambled and butted forward with his own head. There was a thunk and pain, but he was able to break free.
He looked around and once more the finisher was invisible.
Royce caught a glimpse of Wesley running across the field with his sword out in front of him then dodged another attack. He avoided the blow, but fell to the ground. Weight hit him once more. This time the claws got a better grip. Rear claws scraped along Royce's legs, pinning him, stretching him out, holding him helpless. He felt the hot breath again.
There was a noise of impact not far away and a burst of feathers.
Suddenly Royce saw yellow eyes, bright glowing orbs inches away from his own. Fangs drenched with spit drooled on him.
"Ad haz urba!" the creature gibbered.
The Alverstone was still in Royce's hand. He just needed a little movement from his wrist. He spit in the Ghazel's eye and twisted. Like cutting through ripe fruit, the blade severed the hand of the Ghazel at the wrist. With a howl, the finisher lost support and fell forward. Royce rolled him over, using two hands to restrain his remaining claw and pinning the Ghazel with his knees. The finisher continued to snap, snarl and rake. Royce severed the goblin's other hand and the beast shrieked in pain until Royce removed its head.
The Ghazel warrior staggered suddenly, though Hadrian had not touched him. Trying to keep his distance, Hadrian was a good two sword lengths away, but the warrior clearly rocked as if struck. The Ghazel paused, confidence faded from his eyes and he hesitated.
Hadrian looked over his shoulder to the hill and spotted Grady's body, but Wesley was gone. He looked over his opponent's shoulder and found Wesley on the ground. At his side, the oberdaza lay with the midshipman's cutlass buried in his chest and as he watched, the range stabbed Wesley in the back.
"Wesley, no!" he shouted.
Then Hadrian's eyes locked sharply on the warrior before him. "I only wish you could read my thoughts now," he said, sheathing both swords.
Confusion crossed the warrior's face, until he saw Hadrian draw forth the large spadone from his back. Seizing the chance the warrior swung. Hadrian blocked the stroke, which made the spadone sing. He followed this with a false swing, which the Ghazel nevertheless moved to dodge, setting it off balance. Hadrian continued to spin, carrying the stroke round in a full circle. He leveled the blade at waist height. There was nowhere for the Ghazel to go, and the great sword cut the warrior in half.
Wyatt was fighting the chief now, their swords ringing like an alarm bell as they repeatedly clashed. Blow after blow drove Wyatt farther and farther backward until Hadrian thrust the spadone through the Chief's shoulder blades.
With a roar like a violent wind, the crowd jumped to their feet cheering and applauding.
Turning, Hadrian saw Royce kneeling beside Wesley's dead body. The range lay dead beside him. Hadrian ran to them as Wyatt checked on Grady.
Royce shook his head in silent reply to Hadrian's look.
"Grady is dead," Wyatt reported when he reached them.
Neither said a word.
The gates opened and Erandabon entered with a bright smile. Poe and Derning followed him. Derning stared at Grady's body. Erandabon lifted his arms to the stands like a conquering hero as the crowd cheered even louder. He approached them exuberant and delighted. ?Excellent! Excellent! Erandabon ez very pleazed!"
Hadrian strode forward. "Get us to that ship now. Give me time to think, and I swear I'll will introduce you to Oberlin myself!"