A Dead God's Tear(83)

She gave a ghost of a smile, "Only you could manage to save while almost dying. A blessing shrouded as an accident."

When it was obvious that he didn't understand, she pointed back to the hallway. "You tripping the trap blocked the hallway, protecting us from that thing. I find it amusing that you, like most humans, are able to wander the world, never knowing, never understanding, and yet somehow come out on top. Perhaps it is an innate magic of your species."

Marcius now saw what the elf was talking about. The block had sealed off the hallway behind them, coming up to almost touch the ceiling, leaving only a thin amount of space. There was little way anything could follow them now. He shook his head in wry amusement, the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment of the elf's words.

So, they were given temporary reprieve. . . but reprieve where?

He looked around, taking in the area for the first time. The whole room was expansive, enough that it would take tens of moments to reach each side if he had sprinted. It sloped inwards, like a funnel, and deep grooves were chiseled into the floor, all leading to a single grate in the middle.

But his eyes were drawn to the statue right behind the grating. It stood out, not particularly large, but possessing a regal bearing that drew them in. It looked to be of a knight, or similar warrior, wielding a sword that it raised in defiance to an unknown threat.

The level of detail was impressive. It was as if the sculptor had captured a real person and imprisoned them within a shell of stone. Selene seemed to be equally taken with the statue, but for an entirely different reason.

"The sword. . . " she said, "I can't believe it, but I think I know this sword."

Marcius looked closer. The sword was well made, with only a few instances of stylization. It was a sword designed to kill, sharp and honed. The only thing of note was the red gem inlaid on the center of the pommel. It flowed into the handle, thick vein like protrusions anchoring it securely. The image reminded Marcius of a heart bursting forth from a chest.

"What is it?"

"Long ago, when we first came to these woods, before our binding to the heart tree, the leader of our people once wielded a sword. But," and she tentatively poked the red jewel, "he and the sword were lost when the Mysts came. At the time we did not know the dangers of this land. It was also said that the sword had a gem for a heart and that the sword was alive. But many things are said in story, and not all are true."

Marcius considered the information. "Well, it's possible that he was transported here when the Mysts came, as we were. And that gem does seem like a heart. . . "

Selene nodded. "If this is the sword, it is my duty to bring it back. Such an artifact of my people does not belong in a place such as this."

Something caught Marcius's attention. He couldn't place the feeling, just a certain sense that he had missed something obvious. His eyes flickered to the grate and the general layout of the room. What was it? The feeling was screaming at him now, demanding his attention.

The room was sloped, open and wide, and it had those deep rivets in the floor. His eyes were drawn to where they had tended Selene's wounds. The blood had gathered in the rivets and as he watched, it slowly flowed downward, toward the grating.

Now that he focused on it, the layout did remind him of old accounts of the coliseums of old Morlia, where they would hold their blood sports.

"Selene," he said, the realization causing a hitch in his voice. The elf turned around curiously. "I don't think-"

His words died as a stone section of the wall melted away and a beast the likes he had never seen before stalked through.





Chapter 29

Selene cursed under her breath as the beast roared a challenge. The thing that walked out could barely be considered a monster by her estimation.

It was something worse.

The body was little more than a seeming mishmash of random parts, joined together by a series of scales and fur that followed the joints like stitching on a coat. It didn't seem natural, coming off as something that might have escaped from an insane wizard's laboratory.

The creature had the form of a wolf, but as if the animal was twisted and shaped to be a monster. It was a creation of the Myst, like the creature she had fought in the tunnels. How they had escaped to wander the depths of these ruins was a question she couldn't answer.

Despite the ill-shaped joints and random bulges of muscle, it loped forward smoothly on all fours, its massive nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air experimentally. A low deep growl rolled out from a mouth with dagger sized teeth as the green eyes flicked back and forth between Selene and Marcius, regarding the two of them with a proprietary air. If Selene didn't know better, she would have sworn that the thing sneered.

It began advancing on the two of them with the slow stalk of a predator that knew it had all the time in the world.

"This is an arena. We were led here to fight." Marcius surprised her with his words. "We were led here to fight and to die."

Risking a glance at the apprentice, she saw him unmoving, a glassy sheen in his eyes. Damn it all. He had looked into the beast's gaze. There were accounts of nether beasts with the ability to enthrall their prey with a meeting of eyes. This one seemed to have that power.

Slowly she reached up, drawing her knife from her belt. It felt so tiny in her hands. Especially when contrasted against the rippling muscles of the thing in front of them. Still, it was better than nothing.

She was so tired! Every fiber in her body felt disgustingly lethargic, as if she was slogging through mud when she moved. She had lost a lot of blood and everything shifted beneath her feet, uneven and shaky.

No! Selene shook her head, willing away the tiredness. She wasn't going to come this far and quit. They'd find a way to get through this. They had no other choice. She focused her attention on the nether beast's shoulders and paws, trying to ignore the rippling muscles that showed themselves. It could not do an attack that didn't depend on those parts. She would be ready to defend the two of them.

There was a shifting of the beast's hindquarters, like a cat Selene thought oddly.

It charged.



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Marcius couldn't move, couldn't take his own eyes away from those glowing green orbs. They held him fast, and he was as immobile as stone. No warning came, no roar, nothing but the swift silent promise of death as he realized the beast was moving, running, toward him.

His mind screamed to move, to duck, to do anything, but his body couldn't obey.

He didn't see the paw as it whipped around, claws extended. One moment he was fighting back the numbness that had taken hold, the other he was on the ground, watching with an odd sense of detachment as his lifeblood seeped out, running down the grooves of the floor toward the grating.

The beast snarled lightly, its face mere inches from his, and he could smell the fetid stench of its breath; the sickeningly rotting scent of flesh.

Then it disappeared and Selene stole his attention. She was there, swiping viciously at the beast, driving it back. She was a whirlwind of fury, and even the beast seemed taken aback, not sure what to make of this prickly new opponent.

Marcius thought she was doing remarkably well for someone with a broken arm and significant blood loss. Still, she was losing, being pushed back.

What are you doing? Help her!

He winced at the sudden intrusion of thought in his head; it hung there, like a solid object, interjecting itself, demanding his undivided attention. Marcius couldn't even feel his arms and legs, beyond a certain tingling of vertigo. The entire room kept spinning.

Get up! You will die here today if you don't do something!

Marcius wished the voice would just leave him be. He was so tired. . . he just wanted to sleep. . .

She will die, too.

His eyes snapped open, instantly seeking out the elf. Selene was losing ground, the beast using its superior reach to corner her. She fought with a fury born from helpless desperation, but even he could see it wasn't enough.

Can you move?

He concentrated, struggling, and was rewarded with a twitch in his fingertips.

Well, it was a start. Marcius tried reaching forward, to pull himself up. He was amazed to find that he could, though it was just a small jump before impossible, taking every bit of inner strength he could muster.

The sword. Use the sword.

He struggled up, crawling his way to the statue's feet, then up its body. Every inch was a battle, every movement a struggle against his body. Only the thought of Selene kept him going. He would not be useless, not this time.

An eternity seemed to pass before his fingertips finally curled around the hilt of the sword. He pulled. Nothing. He pulled again. Still nothing. The sword was held fast in that statue's stone grip.
     
 

     

Marcius stared at his hands in disbelief, betrayal etched into the forefront of his mind. He was going to die! It started as a tremble, a twitch of his shoulders, and then he started shaking and his fingers began to slip. Marcius didn't have the strength to hold much longer. . .

Your blood! The sword needs your blood!

What? His blood? He looked down to where the beast's claws had ripped him open. It didn't hurt, in fact, it didn't feel like anything beyond a pervasive coldness that was spreading slowly outward. He wondered if this was what it was to die.

Marcius wiped his hand across the wound, smearing his fingers. He reached up and ran it along the flat edge of the blade, the warmth of the liquid contrasting sharply with cold indifference of the blade. Marcius watched in silence as the blood began to swirl together, moving to one collective point until it was a tight sphere, a dew drop on the cusp of the blade.