The Warring Son by Bryce O'Connor

Author:Bryce O'Connor [O'Connor, Bryce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: O'Connor, Bryce; 1st edition
Published: 2016-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

XIX

RAZ BLINKED away the momentary blindness of stepping back into the day. When he could see normally, he had to actively deny himself the temptation to stare openmouthed into the stands.

Never in his life, not even in the thriving mass markets of Miropa, had Raz ever seen so many people.

His fights before today had drawn the crowd, even selling out the Arena, according to Rhen. Now, though, the masses flowed like ants, an ocean of colored furs and cloth that undulated unnaturally, as though blown by a hundred different winds in all directions. They numbered so many that Raz could literally feel the heat of their bodies in the moderate coolness of the air that—by all rights—should have been frigid.

So this is what thirteen thousand looks like, he thought to himself, standing in the pit at the mouth of the portcullis that had already begun to lower behind him. Who knew there were this many people in the world?

As he looked around, a form directly across from him caught his eye. The Chairman sat in a great throne-like chair, scooted very near the edge of his box. His eyes, clear cold blue even from this distance, were watching Raz expectantly, though he demonstrated no such inclination by any other indication. Beside and behind him, an ever-present shadow almost invisible in the shade of the alcove, Azzeki Koro stood watch. The whites of his dark eyes were on Raz as well, though Raz imagined there was more hope for failure in them than the Captain-Commander would ever let his master see.

And there, below them both, suspended by ropes against the stone wall some seventeen or eighteen feet above the pit, was Ahna.

Raz couldn’t help it. He smiled.

Clever fucking bastard.

“Ready to die, lizard?”

Raz looked away from the dviassegai. Though no one had called a start to the fight, the four finalists were already spread out to encircle him. They held their ground for the time being, but Raz could see the itch in their forms, a longing to bear steel down on him. His back was barely a foot from wooden crossbeams, and he had nowhere to run.

Still, he kept smiling, turning his attention to val’En who had, naturally, posed the question.

“One day, Southerner,” he answered, setting his body into a defensive stance as Tern heaved himself to his feet above the pit. “Tomorrow even, possibly. But not today. I hope you remember my promise.”

val’En looked none too pleased with this response, his already pinched face twisting into an even uglier snarl. He was the middle left of the half circle. Ryvers and Barth flanked Raz on either side with their shields readied before them, and Sona held middle right. She appeared the distinct weak link of the lot, her smaller form still covered by the wide mantle. Raz watched her size him up, eyeing him from behind a crop of dirty-brown bangs. Her gaze rested momentarily on every part of him. Legs, shoulders, chest, head. She had the look of someone prepping themself for a split-second decision.

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