Suddenly Thorin charged. With blinding speed Aurelius fetched up his sword. Thorin barreled on, his sword coming around in a cleaving blow. Aurelius ducked and dove out of the way just in time, the blade passing mere inches from his ribs and digging into the sand where he'd been barely a moment ago.
While Thorin was recovering from his swing, the boy dashed over to the bronze shield, fetched it up, and began running at top speed between the coral cliffs. Thorin stopped and slowly turned. Rather than follow Aurelius through the cliffs, he began stalking around the rocky formations, his sword raised in a high guard once more.
Gabrian gritted his teeth in anxious anticipation. He watched Thorin walk out into the open, giving a clear view of himself to all of Meria. Once everyone could see him, he held his sword out like an extension of his arm, pointing to the other end of the coral chasm just as Aurelius emerged there.
“Come face me, boy!” Thorin yelled. “Stop hiding and meet your end like a man. Or
are
you a man?”
Aurelius began obediently making his way over to Thorin, following the edges of the coral cliffs. Gabrian frowned and shook his head, willing Aurelius not to do it, not to meet Thorin on his terms. When it seemed that nothing would dissuade the boy, Gabrian closed his eyes to communicate more directly with the boy. “
Stop!”
* * *
“Stop!”
The word rang out like a bell, and suddenly Aurelius stopped walking. He found himself looking around for the source of the voice, and then it spoke again: “
Don’t play his game, Aurelius.”
Now he realized that the voice was in his head. “
Who is this?”
he thought back,
remembering that Malgore had often spoken directly to his thoughts.
“It’s Gabrian. Aurelius, listen to me! Take the high ground. Keep him at a distance. Do not engage him in a swordfight! That’s what he wants.”
Aurelius frowned.
“Oi!” Thorin called out. “You’re boring me, boy! Get over here! You only add to your suffering by making me wait.”
Coming to a sudden decision, Aurelius began climbing the cliff beside him. Once he was standing ten feet above the Ring, atop a short plateau jutting from the side of the cliff, he called out to Thorin. “How about
you
come over
here?
Or are you frightened?” he asked with a teasing smile, and then he turned to climb higher up the cliffs.
Thorin grunted and yelled back, “With pleasure!”
* * *
Malgore felt the telltale disturbance like a faint vibration upon the air. His head whipped around, looking left, then right, searching for the source. The vibrations continued weakly, but strong enough and close enough to be followed to their source.
Someone, somewhere in the Ring was using magic, and Malgore didn’t have to wonder who that
someone
might be, only
where
. He closed his eyes and whispered a spell of revelation, casting himself out among the crowds and following the vibrations to their source. He flew out over the heads of hundreds of cheering and booing fans until the spell brought him to a point halfway around the Ring, to the queen’s own balcony. Malgore focused on the trail, mentally passing over the queen’s mates and children, until he came to her guards. He was close now. Very close. He could sense it. A pair of guards stood to either side of her entourage, he homed in on the furthest set and lingered there, trying to determine which of the two men was the one he sought. Unable to choose, Malgore exerted more of his strength into the spell, no doubt revealing himself in the process, but now he could see clearly which of the two guards was Gabrian.
Malgore lingered there with his mental presence, studying Gabrian’s features. A clever disguise. Had the old wizard killed a man for it? No, not with his own hands; that wouldn’t be his style. Malgore lingered a while longer. The guard Gabrian had chosen was a handsome man, handsome enough to be one of the queen’s own mates, and he probably was. Malgore smiled, abruptly remembering his own dalliance with the queen. She’d had such ample experience. . . . A pity he couldn’t take her with him when he left.
Suddenly, Gabrian’s head turned and he was looking straight at Malgore, as though they were standing face to face. Malgore retreated quickly back into himself; he felt Gabrian try to follow, but he covered his retreat with a powerful spell and quickly lost Gabrian amidst the cheering crowds. The mage opened his eyes to slits and resumed watching the fight below.
Thorin was just now climbing the coral cliffs while Aurelius reached the highest summit of the coral formation. Malgore frowned. Gabrian must have been helping the elder. That wasn’t fair. He’d have to even the odds. . . .
* * *
Aurelius climbed atop the highest point of the coral formation, and there he discovered the means to his victory. Sitting atop the cliff was a bow and a quiver of arrows. Aurelius cast a quick glance over his shoulder to where Thorin was still climbing the cliffs. Thorin was only halfway up. Somehow Aurelius had climbed much more quickly than his opponent. Even so, he knew he wouldn’t have time for more than one shot. He quickly bent to pick up the bow and quiver, slinging the latter over his shoulder, and abandoning both his sword and shield atop the cliff, he rounded on Thorin, and drew an arrow from the quiver.
Thorin looked up from climbing just in time to see Aurelius pull back the bowstring. Aurelius didn’t even have the luxury of a second to take aim. He let fly his arrow with nothing but blind faith, hoping somewhere, somehow Gabrian was watching and could do something to guide that shot to its target. . . .
The arrow flew miraculously straight.
At the last second, Thorin lunged to one side and the arrow which had been aimed for his face, struck his shoulder. The giant man let out a yell, and nearly lost his grip on the cliffs. His sword tumbled from suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering noisily to the ground. The crowds went still and dreadfully quiet. Their champion was wounded and defenseless.
Aurelius allowed himself a quick grin.
Don’t gloat! Shoot him again!
came a quick reproach, and Aurelius drew another arrow. Thorin climbed atop the cliff directly below Aurelius’s, and began striding angrily up to the one where Aurelius stood.
Aurelius found his hands shaking uncooperatively as he hurried to fit the arrow to his bow for a second shot. Thorin reached him before he’d even drawn back the bowstring. In a quick, unexpected move, Thorin reached up with his good arm and grabbed Aurelius’s ankle, yanking him off his feet. Aurelius fell to the hard, jagged coral with a shout of surprise and pain, and Thorin hauled himself up one-handed until he was almost atop the cliff. Aurelius was recovering slowly, too slowly, from his fall, and Thorin snatched Aurelius’s sword from atop the cliff just as Aurelius was climbing back to his feet.
Their eyes met. Thorin reared back, holding the sword high above his head. Aurelius backed out of reach, but Thorin merely smiled, and suddenly Aurelius understood. Thorin didn’t mean to swing at him; he was going to throw the sword end over end like a knife. With no room to maneuver, and no time to pick up his shield, Aurelius was as good as dead. There was only one thing he could do to avoid being skewered by the blade.
He jumped.
It was over thirty feet to the ground. He heard a sword clattering after him, but it missed. Aurelius’s stomach fluttered horribly as he fell. He probably wouldn’t die from the impact, but Thorin would show no mercy to whatever was left of him, so Aurelius shifted his weight, folded his legs, and angled his head down. Now he was diving roughly face first. The sandy arena floor rushed up with sickening speed. The crowds cheered as he fell. . . .
Thump!
There wasn’t even time for it to hurt.
Lashyla watched Aurelius fall with her blue eyes widening, and her pretty mouth opening in a shout of protest. When he hit the ground, she rose to her feet with a long cry of, “Aureeliuuus!”
The crowds erupted in mad cheering, and now they were back to chanting Thorin’s name and stomping their feet, watching as he climbed down from the cliffs with an arrow still stuck in his shoulder.
Lashyla stood there at the front of the royal balcony, her heart hammering in her chest, her body feeling limp and heavy. She couldn’t believe it. Aurelius had just committed suicide in front of her! He’d just given up the fight. He could have stayed where he was, taken an injury as Thorin had done, and then continued fighting. He could have . . .
Lashyla rounded on her mother, her eyes suddenly blurry with tears. The queen’s eyes were dry as she stolidly met her daughter’s gaze. After a moment, the queen waved her hand in a shooing gesture. “You’re blocking the view, my sweet.”
Lashyla almost exploded with fury, but rather than get herself into serious trouble, she fled the royal balcony with tears streaming down her cheeks. Now she hurried down the stairs to the front of the Ring where she continued watching. As Thorin crossed the sand to Aurelius, he broke off the arrow in his shoulder and tossed it away. When he reached the fallen elder, the ringmaster kicked him viciously. The crowd hushed in anticipation. Was Aurelius still alive?
Nothing. Aurelius didn’t even twitch.
Now Thorin flipped Aurelius over and bent to one knee to listen for a heartbeat. Lashyla launched herself over the railing and into the ring. She was out and running across the sand, wiping the tears from her eyes as she ran. If Aurelius were still alive, she would
not
let her mother’s sabershark finish him off. Lashyla had almost reached them by the time Thorin rose from Aurelius’s body and raised his arms in victory. The crowds went wild. Lashyla felt as though a cold fist had just closed around her throat, choking off her breath. She could see nothing through the blurry curtain of tears, but she didn’t stop running until she had Aurelius’s head cradled in her lap.
Lashyla didn’t respond to any of Thorin’s lying apologies or fake regrets. She just sat there, shaking her head, staring into Aurelius’s lifeless green eyes.
Gradually Lashyla became aware of someone lifting her by her arms, forcing her to her feet. A pair of guards came, lifting and carrying Aurelius between them. She was gently guided by firm hands across her shoulders toward one side of the ring, toward the exit. Amidst her sniffling and crying Lashyla abruptly realized that the crowds had gone deadly silent. No one dared to cheer while their princess was in the Ring crying for her fallen lover.
Lashyla twisted around to see who was behind her, guiding her from the ring. She saw Thorin’s crooked nose and grotesquely mashed face, and she quickly jerked out of his grasp. She would not be escorted from the Ring by Aurelius’s killer! Seeming to realize that he was not welcome, Thorin stopped and shrugged, turning to walk off in a different direction.
Lashyla followed Aurelius’s body to the edge of the Ring, and then out through the open doors into the corridor beyond. She would follow him all the way to the shark pit where she would give him a short ceremony and say goodbye. . . .
Just the thought of it made her whole body grow cold and shivery and provoked a new rain of tears from her eyes. She walked up alongside Aurelius, paying no mind to the two royal guards who carried him. She stroked his still-sweaty forehead, brushing a lock of matted brown hair out of his eyes. It was hard to imagine that just a few hours ago they’d been in each other’s arms; he’d been all hers to do with as she pleased, and now no one could have him. Now he was nothing more than fish food.
“I’ll never forget you, Aurelius,” she whispered, blinking tears.
* * *
Malgore had watched it all with a wicked grin: Aurelius jumping to his death, the princess running crying into the ring to save what was left of him, the crowds taking a moment of silence out of respect for Lashyla’s pain. And all the while Malgore had sat there gloating, barely managing to stifle the giddy laughter he felt bubbling up inside of him. Aurelius the elder was dead—Aurelius the nuisance, Aurelius the boil on his backside!
Dead, dead, dead!
He smiled anew and settled in to watch the rest of the show. With luck and perhaps a little interference, tonight he’d witness not only the death of Aurelius, but also of Reven, the annoying wolf; and Gral, the pointlessly stupid troll. It was so nice when one could tie up loose ends together.
* * *
As Lashyla followed the guards who carried Aurelius’s body through the city, she began to grow desperate. Aurelius’s body would be thrown to the sharks. She knew he was gone, but she couldn’t stand the thought of casting him so carelessly aside.
Coming up beside him, she brushed a sweaty lock of hair out of his eyes. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I’m not dead,”
he whispered back.
She jumped back from Aurelius as though he’d electrocuted her. She blinked furiously. Aurelius’s lips hadn’t moved. Had she imagined his reply? It was impossible. She’d imagined it. Aurelius hadn’t just spoken to her. But even as she was thinking how impossible it was, the impossible happened again:
“Take me to your quarters. Don’t let them throw me to the sharks. I’ll explain everything once we’re there.”
Again his lips hadn’t moved. Again he’d somehow spoken to her without speaking. Lashyla blinked in confusion and slowed to a stop in the corridor.
Realizing that she was no longer with them, one of the guards carrying Aurelius turned to look at her. “Princess?” he asked. “Would you like us to go on without you?”
She shook her head quickly. “Take him to my quarters.”
The guard who’d spoken smiled faintly. “Of course, princess.”
But now the other guard turned and offered a bemused frown. “A thousand apologies, oh stunning princess, but he is dead. It is against the laws of Meria to leave a dead body in the city once it has been discovered.”
“It is also against the laws of Meria for a mere man to disobey a maiden’s orders, let alone those given by the princess herself! Take him to my quarters and let me worry about the consequences!”
The guard hesitated. “Very well.”
One guard nodded to the other and they started moving again. Lashyla’s heart was pounding all the way back to her quarters. Once she had Aurelius inside, lain carefully upon the couch, she kneeled beside him and . . .
She bit her lip. He hadn’t moved once nor spoken to her again in all the time it had taken to get back to her quarters. Perhaps she was going gluey . . .
“No, you aren’t losing your mind, Lashyla. Please go outside and instruct one of the guards who carried me, the one called Martanel, to join us. I will need his help to get up.”
Lashyla rose from her place beside the couch and stumbled across her quarters to the door. She felt dizzy and disoriented, as though she were merely dreaming. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep after mating with Aurelius and they were still locked in one another’s arms, awaiting the time when he would have to leave her to fight Thorin in the Ring. It seemed by far the more likely possibility.
Lashyla opened the door. Both guards turned to her, and Lashyla’s gaze flicked between them, unable to put names to the faces.
“Will the one called Martanel please come inside. I require some assistance.”
The nearest guard nodded and gave her a smile that was full of sympathy. “Of course, princess.”
The other guard frowned and turned away.
Once Lashyla had shut the door shut behind them, she turned to Martanel to explain the strange situation to him, but before she could utter a single word, she watched the air shimmer strangely, and Martanel’s face changed grotesquely. In a matter of seconds he transformed from a handsome, vital young guardsman to a wizened old man.
“Lashyla,” the guard said with a voice that was suddenly gravelly with age.
She shook her head mutely, now more certain than ever that she was losing her mind. “I am the one who was speaking to you a moment ago, not Aurelius, but what I said was true. Aurelius is not dead. I have placed his body in a protective spell. Once I awaken him from it, he will be alive once more.”
Lashyla blinked. “I don—I don’t believe you,” she stuttered. “I don’t believe any of this. Who are you?”
“My name is Gabrian. Not the one who came with Aurelius and pretended to be me—the real Gabrian, the one who came before and warned that this imposter would come. The imposter has stolen what he came for, and now he is looking for a way to escape Meria with it.”
“But—”
“There is only one way out of Meria, is there not?” Gabrian interrupted.
Lashyla shook her head, confused. “One could swim . . .”
“He will not. If he tries, I will follow him and catch him, or else your own maidens will do it for me.” Gabrian made his way over to Aurelius, and Lashyla followed him there, her thoughts spinning. Her confusion and wild disbelief muddled everything with a sense of unreality. She watched as the old man reached out and placed a hand against Aurelius’s pale, gray forehead and then began whispering in a strange language.
Lashyla felt a burst of hope. She sank to her knees and took Aurelius’s cold hand in hers
. Wake up, Aurelius. Wake up. . . .
Then Gabrian stopped whispering and waited. After a moment, he frowned. Lashyla looked from Aurelius’s lifeless gray face to Gabrian and back again.
“Nothing’s happening!” she cried.
Gabrian shook his head, replaced his hand on Aurelius’s forehead, and began whispering once more.
Lashyla’s heart was hammering in her chest. She watched Aurelius’s cold gray lips with anxious hope, but when she looked up at Gabrian, his brow was knitted in confusion. As he finished whispering his spell, he opened his eyes and turned to her, the confusion on his face now turned to outright disbelief.
“He is fighting me.”
* * *
Aurelius saw a light in the distance. It was nothing more than a pinprick, the sole star to light a black and empty sky. In the infinite dark it was the only thing to navigate by. That light was the only thing he could see, except for his body, which was bright and oddly luminous. He waved his hands in front of his face, dazzling his eyes, then dropped them back to his sides and frowned.
For lack of better direction, Aurelius walked toward the light. He felt strange, almost weightless, as though he were dreaming. As he drew near to the light, he thought he could see shapes and colors passing through it.
It was the window to another world.
Feeling suddenly desperate to reach that window, to find something more than this nothingness, Aurelius started running. The light drew nearer, and nearer still. . . .
Then he felt something like cold hands seize him by his arms and his legs. Those hands couldn’t hold him still, but slowed him down. He felt them grab on and then slip away, only to grab hold once more. For every set of hands he escaped, another set clawed for him. Aurelius looked around wildly, trying to see what was holding on to him, but he could see nothing in the blackness. Then the whispers came. A flood of hushed and babbling voices that were impossible to understand until one of them began shouting to be heard above the rest.