Cerbera

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Zifor looks up from his sketchpad, a crease line in his forehead between his brows.

  “No.” I say, “But it’s the only idea I have.”

  “What exactly is the Trial of Sun and Fire?” Zifor asks. I glance up at him, pausing running the gray lump of whetstone over the edge of my bone dagger.

  “The Xroi’teyr ifre?”

  “Yeah, that.” Zifor mumbles.

  “It’s an old way to settle blood debts, used back before the Siege of Catalina. It’s combat based. Each person chooses a weapon and fights to the death.” I say, standing up. I put the whetstone in my pouch, sliding the dagger into its sheath on my left thigh.

  “The death?” Zifor comes over, arms wrapped around him, hugging the leather book he had to his chest like a prized possession.

  “Aye. Either that, or until the time limit is passed.” I put my hands on my hips, leaning back in a stretch, the muscles in my lower back straining in protest.

  “Time limit?” Zifor cocks his head to the side, hair falling away from the right side of his head, revealing a sliver of his ear.

  “Aye. Tavarn will explain it.” My tail flicks, brushing the backs of my calves.

  Zifor had changed. It wasn’t just the way he held himself, it was the way he acted around Lore. When we’d first gotten here, people had treated him like a plague victim; which was impossible considering that no one with Emhic in their blood survived the plague. Then people had started to change. We no longer had to worry about getting knifed in the middle of the night or dying of food poisoning.

  Tavarn had given us each a blade; Zifor’s was strapped to his calf, a narrow strip of green and brown against the gray of his trousers. Mine hung in its sheath on my thigh.

  “When is it?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Aye. It starts when the moons rise, and ends when the sun does.” I say. Zifor nodded, swallowing.

  “Who are you fighting?” He asks.

  “You’ll see, Zifor.” You’ll see.

  The moons are out, four orbs of rust and copper throwing their light across the treetops, turning the moonlight that filtered through the leaves pale orange and gold.

  Tavarn stood in front of a ring of fire, his skin glowing red from the firelight. A sword made of Argonain steel was in his hands, as well as a long, curved staff made of jade colored wood, an elegant blade emerging from the top, crowning the weapon like a silver, melted candle. Delto stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest, his skin tinted dark indigo from the flames that shine and flickered, their bellies yellow and blue, roaring and crackling.

  “The Xroi’teyr ifre is a sacred trial only invoked in times where bloodshed is inevitable but necessary. Step forward, Cerbera of the Barrow, Skylar Prince of Argona. For when the moon rises, so does the sun.” Tavarn’s voice carries over the platform, the wooden deck glowing like the heated end on an iron. I do as he says, stepping forward, hands at my sides.

  Skylar obeys as well.

  The Prince of Argona looks like he had just crawled out of an alley, his curly copper wire hair filled with mud. Dirt caked his face and throat, making his thick angular brows and piercing pale blue eyes stand out. Sweat gleamed on his jaw, reflecting light off his tanned skin. Skylar wore nothing but a simple rope belt over a loose linen shirt and black breeches, his feet bare and muddy, speckled with brown and red.

  His hands were bound in front of him, a black snake of rope twirling around his wrists. I size him up, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, the slopes and lines of his chest and abdomen, the way his fingers curl outwards, the backs of his hands pressed together from his ropes.

  “Blades or fists?” The question comes from Delto, who takes a knife and frees Skylar with it, killing the black snake with three quick metallic slashes.

  “Blades.” I say.

  “What she said.” Skylar gestures to me with his chin. I scowl at him, straightening. Even though he’s a good three meters away from me, I can tell that he’s taller then me, the tips of my horns level with his jaw; he’s around the same height as Delto.

  His reach would give him an advantage, but would also be a weakness. Aareon’s lessons come back to me.

  Find his tells. Find what makes him weak, and use it against him.

  I set my jaw, bowing at the waist to Skylar.

  “Ren Du’ty drey mou.” I say.

  Skylar blinks, “What?”

  “I take your life with remorse.” I give him the translation, digging my nails into my palms.

  “Draw blades, if you will.” Tavarn hands the sword to Skylar, taking a few steps back. Delto clicks his tongue, giving me a tiny nod. I finger the pommel of my dagger. Skylar spots the movement, his eyes going to the sheathed weapon, lips twisting upwards in a slight grin. I don’t miss the way he stares at me, like I’m someone right out of a fairy tale, someone destined to fall in love with the wayward prince and help him reclaim his stolen throne.

  He thinks he’ll win, a longsword against a single dagger.

  I can’t wait to wipe Skylar’s smug smile right off his angular face.

  Tavarn’s and Delto’s arms begin to glow, bright orange flowing up their veins like molten fire trapped beneath their skin. Skylar adverts his gaze, turning to the ring of fire that is now a semicircle.

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  “Fight until the fire extinguishes. No exceptions.” Tavarn says, voice straining. A bead of sweat traces the right side of his face, following the gilded edge of his cheekbone. “Understood?”

  “Yes.” Skylar hefts his sword.

  “Aye.” I say.

  “Now fight!” Delto snarls.

  I run into the circle of flames, Skylar on my heels. The wall of fire closes around us with a loud boom, sparks floating up, bright red stars against a backdrop of ink.

  “Don’t make this harder then it has to be.” Skylar holds his sword in both hands, the tip a silver dart aimed at my heart.

  “Shut up.” I draw my knife, inverting it in my hand. I slid into a loose crouch, legs spread wide.

  Skylar smirks, flashing white teeth. “Make me.”

  I lung, aiming low. Skylar takes the bait, his body folding to block a possible blow to his knee or shin. At the last second, I feint, slicing a red slash across his stomach, dancing away in retreat.

  Skylar hisses in pain, staggering back.

  “Guess you missed the lesson about fighting people with daggers.” I smile.

  “Never took it.” Skylar grunts, clamping one hand over his wound. The blood glows rust gold under the moonlight, glittering like stolen jewels. The smell of iron drifts up, mixing with the scent of smoke and burning wood.

  “Then you’re a fool.” I wipe the blood on my blade on my pants. Skylar rolls his neck, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

  “A fool with a sword.” He swings at my head, crossing the distance between us in three long steps, sword a golden flash. I duck, striking out with my blade to his knee, cutting open the skin right above the joint.

  Skylar screamed, a sound of pure agony that reverted off my eardrums, echoing throughout the night. Wounds around the knee were some of the most painful.

  I back step, working my way around him, taking advantage of Skylar’s pain to slash open his shoulder blades, an ugly wound materializing from the crock of his right armpit to the peak of his left shoulder. He screamed again, falling to his knees, sword clattering to the ground a few feet away. I step around him, flipping my dagger tip over pommel in my hand.

  “End it.” Skylar’s wheezing, his head back, baring the dirty expanse of his skin. I bend down, picking up his sword.

  “No. Get on your feet and die like a man, not a sniveling coward on his knees.” I throw the sword at his feet, the emeralds embedded in the pommel and crossguard flashing yellow in the firelight.

  “Fine.” Skylar picks up his sword, climbing to his feet.

  “Four more hours, Weakling. Think you can last that long?” I slid into a fight stance, keeping Skylar in my peripherals as I turn a hundred eighty degrees, turning my back to him.

  “Think you can?” I hear a hitch in his breath, followed by his footsteps thumping on the wood. Whirling around, I block his blow, the sound of steel and bone connecting ringing out, driving hard nails into my ears.

  “Smart.” I pant. He smelled of cinnamon and salt, his face mere inches from mine, breath hot and moist. Eyes pale and hard, stolen fragments of sky.

  “Now who are you calling weak?” He hisses into my face.

  “Shut up.” I growl back, shoving him back as hard as I could. Skylar’s sword slipped, cutting a gash across the outside of my left thigh, hot agony whipping into me, shooting up my leg like a bolt launched from a crossbow, causing me to stumble.

  “Not so tough now, are you?” Skylar chuckles.

  “Like hell.” I slash his cheek open, forcing him to step back, red mixing with the brown dirt on his face. Skylar takes another step away from me, teeth bared, jaw clenched.

  “Why are you doing this?” He asks

  “You’re just like someone I used to know, always getting into other people’s business.” I lift my dagger, using it to shield my chest, lifting my other hand to hover between the blade and my body.

  “Who was it?” Skylar asks, cocking his head to the side.

  “Just like him, always asking questions.” A small smile hits my lips, pulling them up in the corners.

  “Who was he?” The sword comes towards my head. I duck, grunting.

  “Why do you care?” I swing at him. He sucks his belly in, narrowly avoiding getting another slash parallel to the first one.

  “Always in other people’s business, said so yourself.” He swings again, and we stay like that, dodging and slashing, neither of us able to land a hit, a chaotic dance with blades and blood.

  A dance of steel and bone.

  He lands another wound, cutting a fine line open across my right collarbone, a sharp needle of pain. I yelp, cutting open his cheek in retaliation, a diagonal line running through the other cut on his face.

  I do a whip kick, swing my leg in an arch, smashing my heel into Skylar’s hip, sending him sprawling on the wooden deck, his sword clattering away. Pain shoots little rivulets up and down my leg every time I put weight on it, a pain I’m used to, yet not at the same time.

  “Save your words, I don’t need to hear them.” I hiss, stalking up behind him. Skylar flips around, his linen shirt stained red from blood.

  Blood. It’s all around us, drenching my leg. Turning his shirt red, coloring the ground crimson and scarlet.

  Skylar climbs to his feet, staggering with each breath. I growl, lifting my blade.

  Time to end this.

  I rush at him, swing my dagger towards his throat, when the fire goes out. I stop, the edge of the bone blade kissing Skylar’s neck. The sun peeks out from the treetops, reflecting off both our weapons.

  “Yield.” I say, gritting and bearing my teeth. “Yield if you know what’s good for you.”

  “I yield.” Skylar pants. His mouth is open, blood in the corners of his lips, my blade resting right above the mountain peak of his Adam’s apple, resting tucked beneath his jaw.

  “Then you’re smarter then you let on.” I say. My arm is trembling, shaking. Skylar notices, because he reaches up and wraps his hand around my wrist, steadying it.

  “And you haven’t killed me yet.” He says.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?” I snap back at him. Skylar raises a brow.

  “It’s over, Cerbera.” I turn my head, looking over my shoulder, to see Tavarn, Delto, and Zifor standing just outside of the ring of charcoal.

  “Fine.” I spit, stepping away from Skylar. He stays where he is, falling onto his knees, head tilted back, exposing his throat.

  “Mercy, really?” Delto raises a brow, a slight smile tugging on his lips, pulling on the scar through his left eye.

  “Yes.” I put my dagger in its sheath, groaning slightly.

  “Why didn’t you kill me?” Skylar says. I turn to face him.

  “The time limit, Weakling.” I say.

  “Thanks, I guess.” Skylar says. Then he collapses, falling over to his side.

  “Um, Cerbera?” Zifor swallows.

  “What?” I say.

  “You’re bleeding.” He says.

  “Thank you for letting me know.” The world teeters sideways, going black and quiet.

  The she-dragon roared, sending all her rage out into a single bellow. She hated it. Hated the fact that she was stuck in a cave, with no idea where the war would start. She growled, raising her haunches.

  The Great Shadow might have been the one to banish her here, but that didn’t mean she’d let him forget her.

  “No, it really doesn’t.” She flicked her tail, snorting ash colored smoke into the murky confines of the cavern.

  She turned back to the pond, dipping a few talons into it. She had to see another vision. Another one, she didn’t care what it showed her, she just wanted to see it. She hated it, how powerless she was in this cavern. How little she could do, a dragon mentally chained to this infernal pond.

  She whacked it with her spade, hissing at the electric blue and swirl white water. She had tried to break it before, and nothing had happened.

  Finally, finally, another scene floated to the surface.

  It was a boy, Black Lore, from the gray coloring of his skin and the angular curves of his horns. Bright blue eyes on his face, dark gray lips parted. The boy lay on his back, inky black blood leaking from a wound across his midriff, his dark leather clothes flapping in the wind.

  “Show me something else, I beg you.” The dragon lifted her head, straining to pull her eyes away from the vision of the Black Lore boy dying.

  The scene shifted, to a mountain view of a city smoldering, ablaze with fire and destruction. A massive black creature with gold wings sat in the city’s heart, sparkling blue flames billowing from its mouth, charring the stone and wooden buildings, turning them charcoal black. Smoke filled the sky, turning the sun blood red. The she-dragon shuddered, a chill racing up her spine.

  “So this is how you warn me? Glimpses of what might happen?” She shook her head, sitting back on her hind legs, pulling her wings tight around herself.

  The Great Shadow’s silence answered for him again, a great blanket of gloomy, dark suffocation lying on the she-dragon’s shoulders.

  She shuddered, feeling chills slid into her bones. Another thing she hated, that she was at the mercy of the weather.

  “Do your worst, Great Shadow. I can take it.”