“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Norman Benson, the Bard of Xalir!”

  Thousands cheered my name. Their eyes watched the empty teleportation circle for any sign of me. As I teleported into the arena, I adjusted the strap on my mandolin. It was crucial to my plan to beat Thrig. Since he couldn’t be killed, not by any known means, my only way of winning the fight was forcing him to concede. I doubted I could do that without maiming him in some way. Hence the need for Kingmaker.

  Beth, Nia, and Greenspring all sat in a group close to the arena’s edge. I couldn’t see their faces very well, but I could tell they were nervous. Why wouldn’t they be? I was too. Thrig was not only a master fighter—if the rumors about him were true—he was invincible. In his match against Gunner, he was able to withstand every attack without flinching.

  It took the combined force of Nia, Greenspring, and a clever trick on my part to take Gunner down. Thrig made it look like child’s play. Still, I wasn’t afraid of facing the ‘Mad Joker.’ Not entirely. After all the training I had done, I was sure that I could at least even the odds. Plus, I doubted Trafford would let me die so easily.

  Zadona and Valna were seated next to Trafford, who watched from above the arena. Trafford leaned forward excitedly, a smug grin on his face. In order to keep appearances, neither Zadona nor Valna paid much attention to my entrance. Though I could tell they were slightly worried. But my focus wasn’t on any of them. Behind Trafford’s chair, hidden in the shadows, was Gunner.

  Even in the shadows, his eyes glimmered.

  “Thrig Paleshield!”

  I was so focused on the Rebel King, that I hadn’t heard the announcers introduce my opponent. He casually walked into the center of the arena. His double-bladed axe dragging through the dirt floor behind him. The groove left by the weapon was wider than my head. Thrig eyed me up and down, his face devoid of emotion.

  “My name is Thrig Paleshield,” said Thrig, speaking clearly over the roaring crowd. “I used to be part orc, but now I’m a human.”

  I hadn’t expected him to introduce himself. “I’m Norman, Norman Benson. Pleasure to meet you,” I said with a bow.

  “You never completed your quest.”

  I pulled my mandolin in front of me. “Not sure what you mean. You know, we don’t have to fight.”

  To my surprise, he nodded. “It would be a pointless endeavor. You must complete your quest. My god demands it.”

  “And what is my quest?”

  Thrig pointed up toward Trafford. “Up there.”

  I readied my hands on the strings. “I can’t fight him ‘til I beat you.”

  He squeezed the handle of his axe. “That is true.”

  “Let the match begin!”

  During my match with Despoina, I noticed a considerable amount of dust was kicked up with each step I took. So, as soon as the match started, I ran away from Thrig. The crowd booed and hissed. Based on his fight with Gunner, I didn’t expect him to make the first move. I had to take the initiative.

  While I ran, I tried to kick up as much dust as I could. My hope was that I could—

  Thrig’s axe flew through the air, missing my head by half an inch. A loud boom rang through the arena as it smashed against the wall. As quickly as it came, it returned back to Thrig’s outstretched hand. The entire blade glimmered with a foreboding green aura. It extended down the handle, surrounding Thrig’s hand.

  “No,” he said, bringing his arm back to throw the axe again. “I won’t let you run away.”

  The crowd was silent. I felt like everyone could hear my heart beating against my chest. I strummed my mandolin. Electricity ran across Kingmaker’s strings. As I played I looked up into the titan’s eyes. They were hard to see with the dust kicked up from his throw. Blank, devoid of feeling.

  I smirked.

  His axe crashed into my chest. I hadn’t even seen his arm move. A cloud of dust flew into the air, making it hard for even the crowd to tell what was going on. All they could see through the fog was the glow from Thrig’s axe and sparks bouncing across the dust particles. Beth covered her mouth as she watched in horror.

  Thrig reached out his hand, calling his axe back to him. It did return, but with it came a bolt of lightning. It shot through his arm, cauterizing the wound in an instant. His axe, carried by its own momentum, crashed into the wall behind him. The Mad Joker fell to his knees, gripping the burning hole where his arm had been.

  The crowd roared.

  I stepped out from the cloud of dust. “Thunder God’s Mimic. A spell of my own creation, with the help of my friends.”

  For the first time since I met Thrig, his eyes seemed to fill with energy. “How?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  I glared at him. “You’re the wall I need to climb to save my friends. I’m sorry, but you must give up.”

  Thunder God’s Mimic. Once I showed Beth the book Zadona gave me, she suggested I combine my illusions with my new lightning magic. Beth only knew what little magic I had taught her; as such, she had no concept for what was possible for magic. It was that innocence that led Greenspring and me down a rabbit hole of experimentation. In the end, it was Nia who cracked the final key to the puzzle.

  Valna’s generosity, Zadona’s friendship, Greenspring’s mastery, Nia’s strength, and Beth’s love. How could I lose with so many people counting on me? Back home, my children were waiting for me to return. Arienne, Charlie, I will see them grow. I will save Zadona and Valna from Trafford. I will defeat Thrig!

  Letting go of my mandolin, I raised my hands in the air. “Cumulonimbus! Lend me your power!”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Storm clouds appeared above my head, small bursts of lightning exploding within. Thrig stood up, letting go of his arm to reach for his axe. In the span of a single blink, it returned. Its radiant aura turned a dark red as he threw his head back and laughed. I wanted to run and hide, but I couldn’t. My legs wouldn’t move at all.

  Clapping my hands together, I shot a lightning bolt toward Thrig. It was impossible to see if I hit, so I didn’t leave it to chance. As soon as my spell finished, I set up another Thunder God’s Mimic and ran into the cloud of dust. Even with the amount of damage I dealt to Thrig, I was sure the fight was far from over.

  To create a Thunder God’s Mimic, I had to do three things. First, create an illusion of myself. This was done through a normal illusion spell. Second, fill the empty space inside the illusion with electricity. Normally, I would have to use a drum as the sound is closest to the sound of thunder, but Kingmaker would suffice. Third, hide.

  Crouching low against the arena wall, I peered out into the dust cloud. The dim glow of Thrig’s axe seemed to come from everywhere. Red, a foreboding color. I much preferred the green that he had started with. Holding my breath, I carefully made my way around the edge of the arena, trying to get behind Thrig.

  Then, all of a sudden, the dust that had been wafting away from the center of the arena began to get sucked in. I felt the strong wind tug at my clothes. I dug my heels into the dirt, staying in my spot. The dust cloud was drawn into a huge ball floating above the arena. Thrig stood below it, his axe raised above his head. His eyes flared with anger.

  Blood burst from his arm wound, splattering onto the arena floor. It dripped like honey from his body as something began pushing its way out of the empty hole. My eyes widened as I realized it was an arm. The same arm that I had destroyed with my first Thunder God’s Mimic. Thrig clenched his new hand into a fist, then pointed toward me.

  “You are not him.”

  The ball of dirt fell behind Thrig, accompanied by the roar of the crowd. Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed my mandolin and began playing the song of strength. Unlike how I beat Gunner, boosting Thrig was out of the question. I was sure he could kill me without the extra help.

  “You are not destined to kill me,” said Thrig, slowly walking toward me. His whole body seemed to emanate a fearful aura.

  I needed time. Time to come up with another plan of attack and time to win. Using the song of strength was a last-minute resort. If I could evade Thrig’s attacks, I could look for a weakness. My lightning had been able to destroy his arm, if I aimed for his head… I didn’t want to kill, but I knew that Thrig had survived losing his head once before. He would be fine.

  As quickly as I could, I aimed the neck of Kingmaker toward Thrig’s head. I had one shot, one chance to end the fight. Thrig pulled his arm back, ready to throw his axe toward me. It glowed with a green hue. He was quick, but the song of strength made me fast. But I had no hope if he decided to move. If he moved his head even an inch, he would survive.

  I slammed my hand against my mandolin, sending a bolt of lightning out toward Thrig. Splinters shot from the neck, large cracks forming and filling with electricity. If it wasn’t for the leather strap holding Kingmaker to me, I would have dropped it. My hands burned, but I tried to stay steady.

  The bolt of lightning seemed to move in slow motion. Thrig remained still. Did he think he could withstand the hit? Why? Why was he allowing himself to be hit?

  The glow around his axe faded. He stared into my eyes, but there were no emotions behind his gaze. It was like looking into the eyes of a puppet. Once the lightning bolt struck him, a blinding light filled the entire arena.

  The crowd fell silent.

  The blinding light faded. In one clean attack, I destroyed his head and sent him flying toward the arena wall.

  The entire fight had been a facade. At no point had Thrig, or myself, been in any danger. As the crowd roared with excitement, I looked up toward Trafford. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He clapped politely, a disgusting smirk on his face.

  I looked down at Kingmaker. It was destroyed. It had been a gift from Piopus, the first instrument I ever received. When he gave it to me, I was just a young boy. It had been big for me then, but he told me I would grow into it. All those years since I first received it, and now it was gone.

  “Goodbye, Kingmaker.”

  Even though I was mad at my former master for steering Zadona in the wrong direction, that didn’t stop the tears. The last connection I had to Piopus was no more. Still, I couldn’t just leave it on the arena floor. Clutching my beloved instrument to my chest, I stepped onto the teleportation circle.

  The effect of the song of strength faded as soon as I appeared in the waiting room. I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Thankfully, I wasn’t injured, so I recovered quickly. Still, all I could do was sit on the floor and wait for my body to recover. One of the guards came in and checked on me.

  “Are you alright?” said the guard. They wore the red robes of the Lawmaker’s Assembly, but without any symbol designating them as a member.

  “I’m fine,” I said, supporting myself on the weapon’s table. It was a struggle to get to my feet, but I managed. I wasn’t sure how well I could walk. “Can you help me outside?”

  The guard shook their head. “I was told to make sure you waited here.”

  I wanted to go meet with the others, but I didn’t have enough strength to argue. That was fine, even if it was a bit annoying. It gave me a quiet moment to mourn. Setting my broken mandolin onto the bench beside me, I stared at it until I couldn’t bear to look any longer. At least I was alive. I was glad for that.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” said the guard.

  The door opened slowly. It was Thrig, his head now fully restored. I was surprised to see that he had recovered so quickly. Now it was even more obvious that he had faked losing. There was no way I could win in a fair fight against him. That only made me more depressed.

  Thrig shut the door behind him. “Congratulations on winning.”

  “I didn’t win. You chose to lose.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I did.”

  Staring at the shattered remains of Kingmaker, I had one question on my mind. “Why?”

  Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall. “I never wanted to fight you. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed our fight. Thunder God’s Mimic was a pleasant surprise. Someday, I would like to fight you again once you get stronger. I didn’t want to fight you today, or in this tournament at all. No, your fight is with another. That is what my god tells me.”

  “Your god?”

  “Hrafnkell, god of vengeance. I serve him with my whole body and spirit.”

  I had heard of Hrafnkell before. He wasn’t just the god of vengeance, he was a blood-thirsty god of murder. Hrafnkell didn’t have a formal church, as his rituals of worship were too vile to be allowed within city walls. Only in the wilds, or hidden deep underground could you find an altar to him.

  “You believe in his teachings?” I asked. Hrafnkell gave his blessings to those who got revenge. It didn’t matter how you got revenge, all that mattered was that those who were wronged felt satisfied. Killing, stealing, and other immoral acts were all considered valid methods of revenge.

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  Thrig smiled as if he was remembering a pleasant memory. “He helped me when I was a young boy. Without him, I wouldn’t be alive.”

  “Even with your healing ability?”

  His smile faltered. “I wasn’t always cursed with eternity.”

  “So you threw the fight for your god? Why would he care whether I win or lose?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  He stared into my eyes. “You have an unfinished quest. Hrafnkell sees your desire for revenge, even if you don’t. Deep down, you are unsatisfied. But that will pass once you finish your quest.”

  “My quest?”

  “Yes, your quest for revenge. Revenge against the one who has wronged you. Who kidnapped your daughter, forced your brother to work, hurt your friends. The one they call the Rebel King.”

  “Gunner?”

  Thrig nodded. “You will fight him again. My god has deemed it so.”