“No, the judges wouldn’t allow poison. Tevrae is legal but just about everything else is banned,” Jail said with a shake of his head. “I’m not sure if he is playing the crowd or not. If he is, he is doing a spectacular job,”
“I don’t think it’s an act,” Jala whispered, her eyes going glassy. Hemlock’s words echoed through her mind as she watched Kithkanon draw another line of blood across Finn’s bare chest. I, of course, already know how it’s going to end but I don’t want to miss the expression on your face when you see it. “I don’t know anything about Kithkanon. Can Finn be brought back if he loses?” Jala asked Jail quietly.
The crowd gave another loud roar as Kithkanon managed to knock Finn from his feet. Rolling quickly, Finn barely dodged Kithkanon’s blade as it sank into the sand beside him. Kicking up with one leg Finn managed a savage blow to the other man’s knee, giving him the precious seconds he needed to get back to his feet.
“See the swords Finn is using, Jala?” Jail asked quietly and Jala turned her attention to the black blades her husband held.
“Oh, I thought they were his Barllen blades. I didn’t look at the hilts,” she muttered, unsure how it mattered what Finn fought with. The blades on these looked the same as the Barllen but the hilts held large sapphires in them instead of the silver sculpted women.
“Notice how Kithkanon’s are the same dull metal only a bit lighter in color than Finn’s?” Jail asked.
“Yes,” Jala replied, her gaze following Finn as he locked blows with Kithkanon again sending sparks flying from the clashing blades.
“Both sets of swords are Soulblades. They capture the spirit of who they kill. Finn’s are dark because he keeps the souls trapped there. Kithkanon’s are lighter because he burns the souls for magic. If Finn dies on those swords there is no coming back,” Jail explained softly.
“Oh Fortune,” Jala breathed, her chest lurching painfully. Swallowing heavily, she nodded. Finn was backing off from the fight again, bleeding from a dozen wounds and breathing in heavy rasps. Warily he kept both swords up for defense and seemed to be trying to buy time to regain his strength.
Kithkanon circled him with barely a gleam of sweat on his dark skin. Smiling, he flicked a sword in Finn’s direction. “Almost over, pretty boy. What was that you were saying all over town, that you would slaughter me?”
Please have a little more faith, Vezradesh. I can feel your despair from here, Finn’s voice broke through her thoughts and she caught her breath again.
Damn it Finn concentrate on the fight. I do have faith, but I have never been so scared in my life. I love you, she sent the thought to him praying she didn’t distract him more and felt tears welling in her eyes.
“Almost over,” Finn agreed and launched a final assault, his swords blurring with the speed of the attack. Kithkanon met him blow for blow and then everything slowed at once. Jala stared at the scry in confusion as she watched both men frozen in place and then let out a sob as a dull gray sword point pushed through Finn’s back slowly. Blood welled at the corners of Finn’s mouth and it looked as though he was trying to speak. His legs began to tremble and then one knee buckled. His beautiful face held such a look of bewilderment on it that another sob broke from her throat and tears began pouring down her face.
“Oh gods, Finn,” she whispered, watching as Kithkanon slowly backed away leaving his sword protruding from Finn’s chest, lodged just under the ribs and angling up sharply. It had to be through a lung and dangerously close to his heart she knew. There was no way a wound like that wasn’t mortal. More blood ran down Finn’s chin and he blinked in shock and pain. The crowd in the Arena was as silent as death and Finn’s head began to bow. Smirking, Kithkanon raised his remaining sword to the crowd turning slowly away from his dying adversary.
In that moment Finn moved with the speed she was so used to seeing from him. His sword plunged up through Kithkanon’s neck and into the skull just as the duelist was turning quickly back to face him. Ragged and panting Finn spat blood into the dead man’s face, his expression frozen in shock. “Now it’s over,” he muttered. “Make sure your opponent is dead before you gloat, fucker,” he added, looking to the judge, pain clear on his face. “Would you kindly announce me the winner so I can get a fucking healer?” he growled.
Nodding slowly, the judge approached Finn, his eyes locked on the sword blade running through him. “You should be dead,” the man whispered as he took one of Finn’s arms and raised it high. “Finn Sovaesh is the victor,” he yelled loudly to the crowd. A roar that made the others seem faint filled the Arena as the judge dropped Finn’s arm gently, still staring at him with a bewildered expression.
“Ya, well I’m not,” Finn grumbled and looked down at the sword blade. “Val, a little help here,” he called over his shoulder as loudly as he could manage.
Valor approached quickly, his face bloodless. “Shit, Finn,” he said, the words faint. “Do you want me to carry you or bring Rose here?” he asked, his gaze locked on the sword hilt.
“Actually I’d like you to grab the sword hilt and pull the damn sword out of me. I can’t quite reach it myself,” Finn snapped, the pain showing through in his voice.
“I can’t believe he is alive,” Jail said quietly beside her.
“Did you truly expect my nephew to lose?” Arjuna asked dryly. “Of course he won. Finn always wins.”
Looking up, Jala let the scry fade and brushed a hand across her tear streaked face. When she moved her hand away she found Arjuna and Neph watching her with amused expressions. “You knew he would win against Kithkanon?” she asked faintly.