Journey Into Nyx (10 page)

“Anthousa would gladly be his second,” Daxos interrupted.

“I’ll do it,” Elspeth assured Cymede. Anthousa had already departed for the camp to warn the Meletian general
of their intentions. Anthousa had insisted on a backup plan, just in case the Deyda River failed to engulf the invaders.

“Manipulating the water is going to take some time,” Cymede warned. “We’ll be deep in the gorge, and it won’t happen immediately.”

“I understand,” Elspeth said. “I’ll do my best to help the king. Why did you not tell him of your abilities?”

“Anax is mistrustful of Keranos, and he would not like it if I had power beyond him,” Cymede said.

“Even if it was your own power and not a divine gift?” Daxos said.

“Especially then,” Cymede said.

Cymede turned away from them and walked a few paces back up the tunnel. Elspeth knew the queen was giving her a chance to say good-bye. Daxos stood on the very edge of the cliff and peered down at the torrent of water raging below. Watching him, Elspeth was struck by fear. Fear that she might not see Daxos again.

She tried to say something and stopped. She tried again, but no coherent words would come out. Daxos grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I understand.”

Cymede appeared beside them. “If you’re not going to kiss her, then we should get going.”

Elspeth felt herself blushing as Daxos gave her a quick hug and disappeared down the rope ladder.

“You’re going with the man I love,” Cymede said. “And I’m going with yours.”

Elspeth didn’t argue. “Hopefully you’ll finish it before they ever come to blows. And Cymede, I don’t even know the rules of the duel. If things go badly, I’m happy to break them.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on Daxos for you,” Cymede said. “Don’t wait too long to embrace how you feel for him, Elspeth. Life is short and it’s not worth living with regrets.”

K
ing Anax and his men gathered in the courtyard as the last stars of Nyx flickered above them. Elspeth had volunteered to be the king’s second, but he neither accepted nor refused her offer. The horses stamped impatiently. Behind them, Akros was as still and silent as a catacomb. But the roaring of the minotaur invaders could be heard beyond the majestic walls of the city. It sounded to Elspeth as if they were celebrating a victory that was not yet determined. She marveled again at the inscrutable nature of fate as an attendant adjusted the leather strap on the bridle of Anax’s horse. In the next moments, did it matter what she did? Or was the ending already threaded into the loom of existence? Infinite worlds offer unfathomable possibilities. How could anyone—even gods—turn creation into clockwork?

“The rules of the duel are timeless and irrefutable,” Anax told Elspeth. “Both parties must be allowed to approach the duel unmolested.”

The king sat confidently atop a large black horse with a bronze champron engraved with the king’s crest. His composure was immaculate. Elspeth’s mind flashed to other worlds, other moments just before battle. In particular, she remembered Koth on her last day on Phyrexia. She would never forget his words: “If there is no victory, then I will fight forever.” His composure had been immaculate, too.

There were no crowds to witness the king’s departure—just Elspeth and the handful of soldiers who would ride with him. The king’s guards opened the inner entrance to Lateman’s Gate, which consisted of two iron doors at the end of a reinforced corridor that ran through the thick wall itself. Once they entered, they would follow the torchlit corridor to the outer entrance. Under normal circumstances they would exit onto the open flatlands surrounding the city. Now the door would open onto the invaders between the two sets of walls where they could be easily torn apart by their enemies. Elspeth heard the door clang shut behind them. No matter their welcome from the minotaurs, the city was still sealed off to the enemy.

“The combat ground must be clear and unobstructed, with no chance of ambush or trap,” Anax continued as the horses plodded up the flagstones of the narrow corridor. It was so narrow that the king’s legs almost brushed the rough stone walls. Directly behind him, Elspeth rode uneasily on a borrowed horse. At the end of the corridor, a lone guard prepared to open the outermost entrance of Lateman’s Passage. Rhordon the Rageblood had agreed to fight Anax
between the pillars
. They were about to find out whether the Rageblood was lying or if he meant to abide by the rules.

“Prior to the duel, priests must consecrate the area as a
temenos
, a plot of sacred ground. It’s bound by spells so the participants can’t use magic to harm each other,” Anax explained. Explaining the rules of the combat to Elspeth seemed to bring the king comfort. “The Rageblood and I must fight to the death with only physical strength.”

He glanced back at Elspeth. She didn’t respond. She’d made no promises nor was she bound by rules that would let her stand by and watch Anax die. She left herself open to the possibilities determined by the field of battle. Anax slowed his horse when they reached the outer door.

“Your bravery is commendable,” King Anax said to the
young guard who had volunteered for the duty of opening the outer door.

“For the glory of Iroas!” the soldier said.

“For the glory of Iroas!” the king responded.

The solider pulled the lever and the gate swung open. Elspeth braced herself for an onslaught of rage. But instead the roars and clanging of weapons fell silent. For a moment, rays of sunlight blinded her. Then she saw that the minotaurs had left a path of clear ground for them. Without hesitation, Anax spurred his horse through the sea of invaders, and Elspeth followed.

The air stank of rotten meat and fresh blood, and Elspeth almost choked. On their left side, there was a mass of Nyxborn minotaurs. They seemed unreal and pristine, as if they were illusions created by a trickster mage. Elspeth wondered if pain would even register in their shadowy brains. On the right side, the mortal minotaurs with their scars and scabs leered at them as they rode by. Many were missing limbs and carried rusty makeshift weapons. They looked stupid and brutal. Which side would be easier to fight? Neither, Elspeth thought. I’d like to fight neither.

Two minotaurs yanked opened the makeshift gate of their fortification, giving Elspeth a clear view of the flatland beyond. Even though it was daytime, Nyx was visible in the sky above the
temenos
, which had been consecrated for the duel. A shaft of light from Nyx illuminated the spot where the men would fight.

As they rode forward, Anax spoke to Elspeth again. “Once the duel begins, if either opponent steps out of the consecrated ground, he is forfeit and considered a coward. At no time may anyone accept aid from his patron god.”

The Meletian soldiers were amassed along the far side of the combat ground. They were accompanied by dozens of centaur warriors, who had arrived to offer aid to Akros. Elspeth couldn’t see Anthousa from this distance, but if
she followed the plan, Anthousa should be on the left flank with the rest of the warriors from Setessa. Elspeth surveyed the combined armies. There were fewer soldiers than she expected. Maybe it was because they were spread out across open ground compared to the fortification where the minotaurs were packed together. But if fighting broke out, their side didn’t have advantage in numbers.

There was movement at the northern edge of the combat ground, and Elspeth saw Rhordon the Rageblood for the first time. The Rageblood was a huge minotaur with a broken horn and a blood-caked sword. He was bigger and heavier than the others—a giant among his kind. He wore primitive armor fashioned from bone plating and tattered hides.

Anax turned to look at Elspeth. “An opponent may choose to name a second to continue his fight if he falls. I have named you, Elspeth the Hydra Killer. Do you accept?”

“I will fight if you need me,” Elspeth said. She carefully avoided “accepting” anything, just in case that mystically bound her to the rules.

As the king dismounted, Rhordon bellowed a thunderous war cry that echoed across the valley. Elspeth thought of Daxos and Cymede in the gorge preparing their massive spell—the triumph over the elements that would end this all. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the invaders’ fortification. Thankfully, they had closed the gate again. The minotaurs had constructed a few platforms along the top of their wall. These were packed with watchers, but the vast majority of their enemies remained on the ground behind their wall—in the direct path of the diverted river, if all went well. Elspeth slid to the ground and let another soldier take the reins of her horse.

On the other side of the Nyx-enclosed ground, the Rageblood stamped and roared impatiently. His size was staggering. He must have stood eight feet tall, and that was hunched over. His horns could gut a man, and his bloody
sword gleamed with infernal fire. Anax looked small—Anax
was
small—compared to the monster.

Elspeth looked the king in the eye. “He’s nothing compared to you,” she said.

The king drew his
kopis
, a single-edged sword with a curved blade. He stood directly across from the Rageblood. The light from Nyx bathed them both in a strange blue glow. An eerie chime rang across the flatlands, and the enemies stepped onto the battlefield.

Near its surface, the rushing water of the Deyda River was deafening. Daxos had never been so close to the river, and as he stood just inches above its raging power, he was more intimidated than when they’d faced the hydra. Cymede had created rock ledges for them to stand across from each other. He was doing his best to aid her in raising the flow of water rushing below him. But his arms ached, his legs shook, and it felt as though all the energy had drained out of his body.

Spellcasting for Cymede was no passive thing. He watched her with amazement as she arched and turned and bent her arms. He could feel the energy cascading off her and mingling with the ferociousness of the water. His own magic was much quieter and more passive. Rather than match her style, he needed to do this his own way. Daxos crouched down on the ledge, soaked and shivering from the spray, and looked for a quiet place inside his mind so he could join with Cymede.

Finally, he could feel the origin of the river far away in the mountains. He achieved a sense of its wellspring, on the far side of the known world. He could see how it bubbled out of the ground, just a trickle of water, and gained strength with every passing mile. With his heightened senses, he could perceive the fierce jagged edges of Cymede’s spell.
He merged them with the smooth curves of his own magic. And where the two met, the river began to rise.

His concentration consumed him. But on the edges of his consciousness, he was aware that Cymede kept raising their makeshift ledges to keep pace with the rising water. The top of the gorge—and the ominous roiling sky—was getting closer. Soon, the effort became painful, and all he could do was endure it. He could feel tears opening in the pathways of his brain. Veins of blackness—not a void, but something more sinister—began to cloud his vision. He heard his mother’s voice:
How could you leave me alone?

The ledge tipped sideways, and Daxos tumbled over, nearly slipping into the churning water. Cymede moved for him as her slab of stone expanded to become a bridge across the expanse. He met her at the center, and she steadied him. The top of the gorge was only ten feet away.

“Hold steady,” she ordered him. “We’re taking too long.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he said.

“Then seek Heliod,” she said.

“He won’t break the Silence,” Daxos said. “Of all the gods, he won’t be the one who breaks it.”

“If your god won’t, then mine will,” she said. “You’ll have to bear the weight of the river and give me time. Can you do it, for Elspeth?”

Daxos wasn’t sure how much more he could withstand, but he motioned for her to do what she needed to do. Cymede lifted her face to the sky. When her attention left the river, he felt intense pressure, like the hand of a god pressing against him, trying to grind his bones to dust. He frantically cast stabilizing magic to maintain the spell. He was no longer trying to raise the river—just keep it in place while the queen implored Nyx for aid.