Page 44 of Fortune's Blade

The blow was stunning, and so liquid fast that I had not seen it coming, although I should have expected it, too. It seemed that this creature and I were constantly underestimating each other.

It would not happen on my end again.

I landed hard, or as hard as one can in sand, before rolling back to my feet and shaking off the blow. My ribs felt caved in on one side, where the creature’s clawed hand had caught me, but it was a bruise not a break. My bones were hard to shatter, and although the creature had tried, it had failed.

I dragged in a rough breath, then two. And had the air crushed out of me again when someone grabbed me from behind. It hurt, but it was Ray, so I allowed it.

“Are you alright?” I asked him.

“Me? Me? I’m not the one dueling a goddamned dragon!”

Neither was I, I almost said, only to realize that that wasn’t exactly true.

There were a number of the creatures, I saw now, which would explain the multitude of shadows that had rippled over the ground. But most of them were standing back, were staring at the great purple one, were doing nothing that I could see. He, on the other hand, was coming at me down the length of the arena.

And he was coming fast.

I did not know how to fight him, and my weapon no longer worked except as a staff, and I seriously doubted that it was going to be enough. But Ray had an idea. I did not know what it was and there was no time to ask, but he was putting something inside my hand, was raising it to my lips, was saying “trust me.”

I did trust him.

And I had learned the hard way to listen to him.

I swallowed whatever it was, and then creature was on me.

It tried to roast me with its breath, which was hot enough to scorch multiple lines in the sand, blackening the gold underfoot and creating a crazy pattern as it followed my leaps and bounds. I stayed ahead of the blasts, if only just, but that would not be the case for long. If I faltered, I was dead, for we were well matched in speed and there would be no time to recover from even a single mistake.

So, I did not make one. And I did not stay in front of it, where it could burn me. I caught hold of its tattered wing instead, part of which was trailing after it through the sand, and vaulted onto its back. It did not seem to like that; it screamed again, perhaps because I had torn the wing even more in the process.

I did not mind the scream, but the bucking-far-worse-than-a-bronco that I suddenly found myself riding was a different story.

Ray was running alongside us, yelling something, but I wasn’t sure what; I couldn’t hear him over the pounding of my heart. And that was despite the fact that the arena was suddenly, eerily quiet, even though the stands remained full of fey. The stadium was large and would not empty quickly, but most people no longer appeared to be trying to get away.

They were just standing there, staring at us with blank expressions that I couldn’t read and did not have time to worry about, as the creature I was fighting was clever. When it could not overwhelm me one way, it tried another. And changed form, shifting from dragonkind to its alter ego in an eyeblink, and causing me to suddenly find myself rolling around on the sand once more, wrestling an eight-foot-tall fey with the strength of ten men.

That would have been a problem, except for one thing.

I am dhampir.

The dragonkind seemed surprised to find that I matched him in speed and resiliency. And even more to discover that I hit as hard as he did. It was an even fight, something that was refreshing, as Dory had faced impossible odds more than once.

I was used to waking up surrounded by hostile mages, their hands already wreathed in spell fire. Or an army of torch wielding humans with stakes at the ready. Or a master vampire ages older than we were, who was furious and looking for blood.

Ours.

I had survived them all, even if I had not always won the fight, and had gotten both Dory and me out of there in one piece. Through the years, long odds had become normal, and I no longer feared them. The same did not seem to be true for my opponent, however.

He had an equal chance to best me, but I formed the impression that he was used to easy victories and did not know what to do with either pain nor fear. So, I made him feel more of both, hoping that he might flee the field. Instead, he fled back into his stronger form, which was not much of a surprise, as I had expected it.

I had not expected what happened next.

His blood, now liberally smeared on my hand, sank into my skin with a golden flash. And I began to feel strange. Very strange.

“Yeah!” Ray yelled, from somewhere behind me. “Yeah! Kick his ass, Dorina!”

I did not know why he was yelling so loudly, as if he possessed the world’s largest bullhorn, but it was distracting. As were the other, suddenly magnified sounds all around me. Suddenly, I could hear everything.

That included the wind blowing across the sand in a thousand tiny shushing noises; the creak-creak-creak of a metal windmill—somebody’s junked lawn ornament—slowly turning half an arena away; the nervous shuffling of the previous, almost silent crowd; the caw of a bird far overhead.

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