Bloodguard

chapter 5

Leith

A horn blows, and I take off.

Fifty yards separate me from the nearest pile.

My boots dig into the sand as I race across the uneven ground, my arms pumping so hard I grimace when the axe wound in my shoulder rips open again.

Forty yards.

The ogre behind me curses half a second before the air shifts from hot to scorching.

I cut right.

Thirty yards.

His screams precede those of two others crying out in agony.

I push faster.

Twenty yards.

The scent of cooking flesh fills my nose.

Ten yards.

Blistering heat pricks my skin.

The dragon turns. I dive over the pile, rolling across the sand and squelching the flames licking the exposed skin on my shoulders.

A wave of yellow and red erupts inches above me as I land on my chest, flattening my body as low to the ground as I can get, using the pile of weapons as a barrier to the dragon’s fire. The crowd bursts into screams of horror and delight, all but drowning out the screeching of two more gladiators burning alive.

Five gone. Five left.

And the dragon.

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to ignore the burning agony rampaging along my shoulder. The dragon fire sealed my axe wound, but it cost me.

My entire body trembles, the pain taking control. Move , I tell myself. If you want to live, MOVE.

I keep low as heavy claws pound the earth, and then I push up on my knees and move closer to the pile. I manage to pry my eyes open, but they ram shut again as the smoke stings them like a rake of needles. Blinking several times, I try and try again, fighting the instinct to protect my vision.

Sight is useless to a dead man, and I want to live .

I crawl forward and feel around. I’m not far from a stash of weapons. I need to keep moving.

My hand slips over the familiar feel of a sword. Tears blur my vision as I slap around to find the hilt. As soon as I’ve gripped it, I whirl, and something brushes against the sand.

My vision clears enough to see. The remaining dwarf gapes back at me on all fours. What’s left of her braid is singed close to her neck. Her fingertips scratch over the hilt of a shorter sword. She snatches it, but it doesn’t budge. It’s melted into a shield and blazes knows what else.

“Truce until the dragon is dead?” she asks between labored breaths.

She cringes at the sound of flesh tearing from bone. The dragon found more food near the exit of the arena. At my nod, the dwarf stands and starts searching for usable weapons.

Sullivan stumbles to my side. Half of his face is red and blistered, and he’s holding his left arm tight against his body, but he’s still alive.

“Are you good with a bow?” I ask the dwarf.

She shakes her head. I motion to Sullivan. “He is.” Given how Sullivan is guarding his arm, at least I hope he still is. Sullivan doesn’t protest, so I keep talking. “You find a bow, you give it to him,” I tell the dwarf, “and we’ll give the dragon someone else to eat.”

Understanding lights the dwarf’s bloodshot eyes, and we scramble around the pile, searching for anything we can use. It won’t be long before the dragon finishes his well-cooked cuisine.

“Spear!” Sullivan shouts. I look up, and he tosses it to me one-handed.

I catch the weapon and jab it into the soft sand, then grab two daggers from the pile and shove them into my belt. “There should be four,” I say to myself as I pick up another sword, judge the weight, and toss it back into the pile.

“What?” Sullivan asks. He kicks a piece of armor melted into a mace.

“I count five dead since the start of the match,” I explain, continuing to rummage as fast as I can. I toss him the next good sword I find. It’s heavier and harder to wield, but there’s little to choose from. Most of the weapons are damaged or useless, and running to the other piles will only capture the dragon’s attention.

“Six with him.” I jerk my chin to the mangled mess of bones the dragon just spat out.

Sullivan realizes what I’m saying. “You, me, and the dwarf make three.”

It only takes a beat to find our missing man.

Mere feet from where the dragon feasts, the image of the wizard fades in and out. He’s huddled against the exit, using whatever magic he has left to make himself invisible. Except wizards can’t maintain spells for long without their staffs.

And if we can see the wizard, the dragon can, too.

The giant creature whips his head in the flickering wizard’s direction. Without hesitation, the beast abandons the bones for fresh meat. He’s either pissed that the wizard fooled him or tickled fucking pink that he gets to gobble down a magical being, because he snaps his jaws over the shrieking wizard and swallows him whole.

“Now!” I race forward, seizing the opportunity like a drowning man reaching for shore.

I’m not positive Sullivan and the dwarf will follow me. I can’t be sure I’d follow them.

As I close the distance, the dragon angles toward me, taking a defensive stance. But it’s not the dragon I’m aiming for, and I hurl the spear with every ounce of speed and strength I can muster.

My spear nails the dragon rider through the throat. Blood spurts from his jugular, drenching the dragon and inciting his rage further.

The crowd is on their feet, watching the dragon shake off the dead body of his master and devour it. Some scream while others are shocked into silence. I keep running and stab the dragon in the throat with my sword. The point is sharp enough to puncture the scales and weaken him, maybe even suppress his flames, but it’s not enough to sever his head or prevent him from swallowing us. All I did was buy some time.

The dragon jerks in anger. I dive and roll away from his smacking wing, barely escaping the lethal blow. What I don’t avoid is his hind leg that kicks me into the wall like I’m a fluttering insect.

Stars explode in my vision, and my shoulder dislocates with a gruesome pop . But I rise, gritting my teeth, then snap my shoulder back into place against the wall and stagger toward a sword lying near a pile of bones.

An arrow shoots through the sky, followed by two more. Sullivan found a bow—excellent.

I snag the sword and push my legs into a run.

The arrows land weakly, bouncing off the dragon’s scales. Sullivan’s injured arm is preventing them from having enough force. I watch as he falls to the ground and uses his feet to shoot two arrows with more power. One pierces the dragon’s scales, and the beast roars loud enough to send ice shooting through my veins.

The dwarf has luck with a whip. She smacks the end across the dragon’s snout, and the leather wraps around his maw, slamming it shut.

The dwarf digs her heels into the ground, laboring to straighten the scaled beast’s neck.

“Kill it,” she yells at us. “By the great phoenix, kill it!”

Another arrow flies past me, puncturing one of the dragon’s eyes, which sends the massive dragon into a frenzy. The beast shakes his head, yanking on the whip and flinging the dwarf to the side. She loses her footing and skids across the sand, but before she can get to her feet again, the dragon eviscerates her with his claws.

The dwarf screams just as my sword comes down on his neck. My strike is vicious, but it’s not enough to slice through the scales, and the dragon doesn’t even flinch. He just snacks on the dwarf as if I did nothing. His tail flicks back and forth as he eats, and I must run to avoid getting smacked across the arena again.

I can’t gauge where Sullivan is until his hollers overpower the dwarf’s screams. My sword is gone, and the pile of weapons is nowhere close, so I reach for the daggers in my waistband and sprint forward, toward his voice, compelling myself to move faster.

Nothing of strategy remains—only the will to survive.

I glimpse Sullivan, caught beneath the dragon, desperately trying to reload his bow while the thing snarls at him, teeth still bloodied from the dwarf.

I leap onto the dragon’s neck, locking my legs around his head. I thrust both blades into his remaining eye and hammer the hilts, pounding the points deeper and deeper and deeper.

The dragon lashes violently, and I barely hold on.

My thigh muscles spasm, struggling to keep me on his back, but I know if I go down, I’ll never get up again. I slam my fists onto the daggers again and again, the hilts and my hands covered in blood and tissue, using every bit of strength that remains in me to drive them all the way into the beast’s brain.

When the dragon finally collapses, I do, too. I don’t fully realize I’ve fallen until I hit the ground with a sickening thud and a sharp crack of bones. If anything essential actually broke this time, I have no idea. My whole body has become one giant pulse of pain.

I can’t place where I am. I can only feel.

Waves of agony scrape my flesh like hot, pointy sabers. Fluid drenches my scalp. It’s not sweat. I know better.

Screams of excitement pierce through my muffled hearing. This is one of those battles I can’t easily rise from, and I sure as hell don’t.

My weight teeters from side to side as I struggle to stand. My vision isn’t much better as it fades and clears in violent waves.

I trip over the remains of the dwarf, falling to my knees beside a discarded sword. I use it to stand again. I need to keep moving. This isn’t over.

Sullivan and I are the only ones left. The moment I’ve dreaded is finally here.

Sullivan…

He waits a few yards from me, kneeling. At least that’s what I think he’s doing, until I realize his legs are gone and his good arm is partially eaten. I stumble to a stop in front of him, breathing hard enough to choke.

Blood pools in his mouth. “What are you waiting for?” he slurs. “Do you think I’d let you live?”

I sway where I stand, my eyes burning.

He’s trying to alleviate my guilt.

It doesn’t work.

The tip of my sword finds his heart and pierces it clean through as the first of his tears spills across his battered face.

Those who are scared always cry.

The crowd is on their feet. I keep still, watching Sullivan’s body bleeding out. A new bar of brutality has been raised in the arena today, and rage freezes the blood in my veins.

My gaze lifts to the audience, to the bloodthirsty crowd that cheered as I killed my friend. Some of them are horrified. Others are crying. But they make up the minority. Row after row of spectators are screaming with joy at my victory.

“Bloodguard!” they chant over and over.

They want me to celebrate with them. I won’t.

Instead, I cut away a section of Sully’s hair, clutching every strand in my fist as I stand before the crowd. I turn to the royal box, searching for the High Lord with an unspoken threat that he will one day die upon my sword as well. But my eyes latch onto the brown-haired elf’s instead. Did she come back to watch me be torn apart?

Well, too damn bad, lady.

When she bows in respect, I all but stop breathing, then mentally shake myself. I refuse to believe there’s an ounce of admiration in her cold heart. I walk right out of the arena.

Hope is the only thing that can kill a gladiator like me, and I’m not dying today.