“Looks like you’re in a fair bit of pain,” he says, mistaking my emotional turmoil for pain. “Let’s find Bahador and Faelas and get you patched up.”
Before we can move, shadows emerge at the far end of the hallway, growing larger, until two hulking figures come into view.
Eyrians, both of them, tall as redwood trees and armed with wicked-looking metal bars. I gasp, but Darian remains calm. With a gentle shove, he presses me against the rough stone wall.
“Looks like I don’t need Bahador and Faelas’shelp to win coins. Stay back,” he hisses. His voice is low, but it’s laced with an ironclad command.
“I can help,” I tell him. Two against one? And two Eyrians, at that. I’ve seen them train. Each and every one of them is a honed killer.
“You’re injured, Arien,” Darian cuts me off, and his tone leaves no room for argument. He plants himself between me and the approaching warriors.
The Eyrians don’t waste time with flowery pronouncements. They lunge in unison as soon as they get close enough. The stale air in the hallway vibrates with the clang of steel as Darian meets their attack head-on. He parries a vicious blow from one of the bars while the other Eyrian lunges from the opposite side.
Darian twists and the clang of metal echoes once more as he deflects the second attack, the force nearly jarring the weapon from his grasp. These Eyrians aren’t some bumbling brutes. These are honed warriors, and their movements are precise and deadly.
But Darian is no slouch himself. He weaves between their attacks, his blade a blur of silver as he ripostes. Pressing myself against the rough stone wall, I watch with both awe and terror.
The Eyrians press their attack relentlessly and accurately, but when one of them lunges forward, leaving himself open, Darian sees his chance. With a lightning-fast riposte, he disarms him. The metal bar clatters away across the stone floor. Then, he hits him hard with the back of his blade, leaving him unconscious on the floor.
I gasp at the sight of him momentarily exposed to a brutal attack from behind. The other Eyrian takes full advantage, bringing his weight down on Darian in a bone-crushing overhead strike.
But Darian reacts with surprising speed. He dances to the side, and a strangled cry escapes my lips as the metal bar whistles past the spot where his head had been a mere heartbeat ago, the force of the blow sending a tremor through the very foundation of the cellar.
Without hesitation, Darian lunges forward, and the two engage in a brutal dance of death. When their weapons lock, the Eyrian manages to take a step forward, pushing Darian back.
As if someone else is controlling my body, I reach for the dagger I’d takenfrom Kortyz. Just as the Eyrian takes another step forward, I throw the dagger with my one good hand, as my entire body rebels at the effort. To my surprise, it finds its mark, sinking deep into his thigh.
The Eyrian grunts in pain, losing his balance and stumbling back. Seizing the opportunity, Darian unleashes a powerful elbow strike to his chest, then follows up with a brutal kick, sending the Eyrian crashing into the wall and crumpling to the floor, unconscious.
Darian, chest heaving, stalks over to the unconscious warrior. A quick pat-down produces a single coin. He repeats the same with the other one, then saunters back, jingling the two coins triumphantly.
“Two new friends! Seems the Eyrians are feeling generous today. Though I must admit, your little surprise attack certainly helped speed things along.” He flashes his charming dimple as he grins at me.
Without waiting for a response, he gestures for me to follow as he charges toward the spiral staircase. I trail behind, but before I can take my first step up, a voice echoes through the hallway. “Hold on, wait for me!”
I see Lila barreling toward us, panting like a wounded animal. “Thank the Nine, I found you!” she exclaims, clutching her side. “I thought I was done for back there. It was a bloodbath!”
Darian flashes his charming grin. “Well, looks like the‘we-are-not-dead-yet’alliance is holding fast.”
Lila is doubled over, breathing hard. “I swear, I aged a decade in those tunnels. Those Jamshahis—”
“We don’t have time, Lila,” Darian says, cutting her off. “Let’s get a move on before we become someone else’s target.”
The air grows warmer as we ascend the stairs. When we emerge at the top, my eyes widen at the vastness of the arena. It stretches out before us like a coliseum carved from the earth. It’s floor is bathed in the harsh light of a dozen torches. In the distance, I can hear the clash of steel.
“Took you long enough,” a voice booms. Bahador, his brown doublet blood-stained and his hair plastered to his forehead, strides toward us with his sword held loosely in his hand. “The training yard’s swords are a joke compared to the real deal we found down here,” he remarks with agrin, which falters as soon as his eyes land on me. “Nine hells, Arien, what happened to you?”
“She claims it’s not all her blood,” Darian says. “Though some of it certainly appears that way, judging by the face and the shoulder.”
Faelas materializes beside Bahador. “Coins?”
“Just snagged two from a couple of Eyrian friends,” Darian replies, displaying the trophies with a flourish. “So, three in total. Arien has three of her own.”
Faelas’s eyes flicker to me, taking in my battered form, but there is no surprise in them, to my shock. Perhaps he’s already suspected I wouldn’t shy away from a fight and can carry my own weight. He then looks at Lila, and she shakes her head solemnly. “I’m just glad I’m alive and will be thankful if you see me safe to the inner ward.”
“We can wait until dawn’s kiss,” Bahador suggests. “The desperate will crawl out from their holes when the watch hour is near. Easy pickings.”
“No,” Darian says firmly. “We go back. Arien is wounded.”
