Death Match by E. A. Copen

Author:E. A. Copen [Copen, E. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 1723953962
Amazon: B07G9MG99X
Publisher: E.A. Copen
Published: 2018-10-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Loki’s banquet was held in a massive rectangular room, bigger than if all the rooms in our apartments had been combined into one big room. Torches wrapped in iron baskets provided the light. More iron curled from the ceiling in stiff arms, each grasping a wax candle.

A huge table took up the center of the room piled high with meat, mead, and bread. People ripped into whole boars and speared the bodies of decapitated fish. At the head of the table, Loki sliced into the body of a huge buck, portioning it for those seated near him. His Valkyries stood guard at all entrances and exits to the room. On a balcony above us, a live band played music that could only be described as Viking folk metal.

Emma and I split the room in two, her taking the right side of the table and me the left. Over the dull roar of the crowd, it would be difficult to question anyone, so I resolved to put that off. Better to develop a rapport with a few people first. I spied a few fighters I recognized from the arena a third of the way up the table sitting in front of a huge pyramid of sausages and closed on them.

Let’s see. There was the guy with the dark, curly hair and the Roman nose. He had fought in the qualifying round if the swelling over his left eye and nose was anything to judge by. No one at the feast was armed aside from the Valkyries, so it was hard to say what position on his team he occupied, but I pegged him as a swordsman or a mage.

Next to him sat a slight blonde woman with sharp features. She laughed often and loud, but never with the dark-haired man. Mostly, she seemed interested in the man across from her, a muscular jock type. He leaned on the back of his wrist while pulling apart some grapes and tossing them into her mouth to catch. He tossed one and I reached out to catch it before she could.

I palmed the grape and made it disappear, flashing my hands to show it was gone.

The man across the table sneered. “You think your parlor tricks amuse us, wizard?” He had an accent. Middle Eastern maybe?

“No wizardry needed.” I reached into my sleeve and pulled the grape back out. “Just sleight of hand. I can teach you if you’d like.”

The dark-haired man drew a dagger and buried it in the table. “Fuck off, mage. This table is for real fighters.” His accent was recognizably Italian.

“Don’t be like that, Antony.” The blonde smiled up at me and grabbed at my arm. “I like magic.”

“Magic is cheating,” said the Middle Eastern guy. “This tournament would be much more interesting without it. Just skill and strength.”

“Spoken like a man who doesn’t know the first thing about real magic,” I said with a wink at the pretty girl. “You don’t have a mage on your team?”

“Of course I do.

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