“I don’t understand you at all.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she turned away to wipe it off her cheek. She did not want the other fighters to see her crying, but her emotions were churning out of control.
Ursula held up the sword, watching it flash wickedly in the starlight. She studied the steel for a moment—it did look sharper. She turned back to Bael, but he’d already taken his place at the end of the line of champions, just on the other side of Bernajoux.
Hothgar held out his hands once more. “The eight that remain have proven their skill in battle and air. Today, the duels will test their prowess in single combat.”
All around her, the crowd roared, baying for blood.
* * *
“The contest begins with Bael and Zoth.” Hothgar nodded at the two demons. “Proceed to the field of blood.”
Ursula’s mouth went dry. Not big on euphemisms here, are they?
Along with the rest of the champions, Ursula stepped away from the center of the arena. She glanced at Zoth—a massive demon, his arms as thick as tree trunks. Furs and metal breastplates encased his gargantuan chest. In one hand, he held an iron buckler. In the other, a short bastard sword.
He grinned, revealing a ragged row of teeth.
Bael stepped forward, drawing his sword. Although Bael stood at least six and a half feet tall, the behemoth had a good foot on him. Still, Bael didn’t appear in the least bothered, despite the monster looming over him.
“When I sound the gong,” Hothgar bellowed, “the duel begins.”
An icy wind whipped over the arena, and a deathly silence fell. Even though she’d learned that Bael had slaughtered his own wife, she wanted him to survive this. Maybe he wasn’t a sociopath. Maybe there was some valid reason, like his wife was a monster who needed to be put down.
But then, why would he keep her painting on his wall? And the wedding ring around his neck?
What possible reason could someone have for slaughtering someone he loved?
So that was the memory he was so desperate to run from, the one that tormented him.
She watched as Hothgar lifted his mallet and slammed it into the brass gong. The crowd roared.
Zoth slammed the flat edge of his sword against his own shield, in an apparent attempt to intimidate Bael. Zoth shifted his weight from one foot to another.
His tactic didn’t appear to be working. Bael stood perfectly still. He held his sword loosely, his body perfectly relaxed. Only his eyes betrayed any tension as they carefully tracked the demon’s movements. Watching that penetrating alertness in his gray eyes, she began to understand the true meaning of predator.
The air seemed too thin around her and then suddenly Zoth charged. Propelled forward by shadow magic, he aimed his sword straight at Bael’s heart. At the last possible moment, Bael swiftly stepped aside, like a toreador dodging a charging bull. But his sword remained steady.
In a beautifully savage motion, he ripped it through Zoth’s torso. The demon slumped forward, and Bael pulled his sword from the creature. Blood and gore pooled in the dirt.
Zoth mutely opened his mouth to scream, but in a swirl of shadows, Bael was standing over him. His silver sword flashed in the starlight, and he slammed the blade through Zoth’s neck.
Ursula’s blood ran cold. The whole fight had taken maybe two seconds. Bael displayed a level of skill she wouldn’t be able to match if she practiced for a thousand years.
Her knees began to shake. She could only hope her own death would be just as quick.
For a few pregnant moments, the crowd fell completely silent. Then, a chorus of boos filled the air, and a team of oneiroi ran out to clear the body. Zoth’s blood left a thick streak of crimson across the crater floor.
The crowd was not happy. They’d wanted a duel. This had been an execution.
Hotghar approached at the front of his stage. “That was—” He paused to think. “Very efficient.”
Bael nodded silently, his face perfectly still. For just a moment, his icy glaze flicked to her as he took his place at the end of the line.
Definitely a sociopath. Ursula reached into her pocket, her fingers coiling around the silver ring. She rolled it between her fingers. What would he do to me if he learned I’d crept into his quarters?
Hothgar banged his gong again, silencing the crowd.
Of course, no one had bothered to tell them the order of duels, so she had no idea when she’d have to fight Bernajoux. Nervously, she glanced down the line at him. Something about the smug grin he wore infuriated her.
Hothgar’s booming voice summoned Valac of Phragol Mocaden and Inth of Alboth to the field of blood. Inth stepped forward, wearing a full suit of armor and carrying a long pole arm. Valac—a muscular demon whose skin had a bluish hue—stood across from him, gripping a battle axe.