Page 39 of Bloodguard

I wrench my eyes open, trying to get my bearings. At first, it’s dark, and the gritty sand scratches my exposed skin. The pitch-black storm clouds above rob me of light, and the heavy mix of soil and sand obliterates my sight.

As the water deepens, the sand settles enough that I can see.

It’s been years since I’ve swum. During the wet season, water replaces Siertos’s desert landscape, causing us to go from dry and blistering to wet and cold almost overnight.

But the swimming lessons taught me to hold strong. I concentrate on relaxing my strokes, making each come more naturally so I can move swiftly through this rage-filled sea.

I forget there’s nowhere to go. I need to preserve my strength and attempt to relax.

It doesn’t take long for the water to become more of a friend that I can move with and not an enemy I’m forced to fight.

The crowd cheers when I come up for air, grateful the mage didn’t drown me and ruin their good time. I can’t place where I am in the arena, though. The walls aren’t visible through the rainfall, despite how its severity has lessened.

Nothing is close enough to guide me. I try to gauge my position based on distance from the screaming crowd, but even they are hard to hear through this weather.

All exits were likely sealed by the mage and her spell. Even if they weren’t, there’s no benefit to finding one. If I break through, it will take too long for the water to drain, and the force could suck me through and eliminate me for leaving the arena.

What does she have in store for me? I didn’t drown, and as far as I can tell, I’m the only one in here.

I swim in the direction where the crowd is crammed and at its loudest. That’s where Vitor and his cohorts are seated and where my opponent should appear. I want to be close, just not so close that I can’t use the distance in my favor.

My strokes carry me smoothly across the water. This swim would be enjoyable if it weren’t for the filth and death trapped in the sand from a century of battles.

Again, I come up for air, trying to get a feel for what I might be up against next.

The mage, while gifted enough to perform this degree of magic, isn’t perfect. Spells of this caliber are rare and daunting. They’re also impossible to maintain for long periods, as they drain the wielder’s energy.

She can’t kill me with another spell.

Not while she’s preserving the sea she conjured.

She’s the first act of what will be a very deadly play. So, what’s the second act, and why all the waiting?

Something large is hurtled into the arena, followed by another. I wait a moment, just long enough to make sure they aren’t alive and looking to eat me, then dive under and swim down…

Several sacks secured with rope rest at the bottom. I go back up for air, fill my lungs as much as possible, and dive down again. It takes several moments of yanking the rope to spill the contents.

The first sack contains a shield, a trident, and a glass globe the size of my head, along with a pipe. It’s a device of sorts to help me breathe underwater, if only for a short while. I release it and let it float to the top. It will take me time to figure it out—time that could impede me. If the weapons are already distributed, I’m out of time and need to hurry.

The second sack is slightly easier to open. Several daggers lie on top. I push them out and grab the handle of a scythe the length of a short sword. The last two items are a rapier and a wooden sword with a sharp metal point.

What in the shit and stones is this mess?

I’m losing air at a faster rate than I intend, unable to get past the wooden sword. Its hilt is wrapped with strange plush leaves and twine, like something a child might play with, if it wasn’t for the sharp, pointed tip. I determine the lords are trying to trick me and move it aside.

I decide on the trident and the largest dagger, shoving the latter into my belt as I kick for the surface again.

Whatever bit into Luther like a sweet treat is due to arrive soon. I take in the immediate area, treading water as I wait for whatever it is to strike. The wooden sword floats toward my face and stops.

How…

I swim toward the center. The weapon follows. I try returning to where I first started. The weapon shadows me the rest of the way. It’s not easy for me to see and likely impossible for the royals to notice from this distance. So how is this happening?

It brushes against my arms, poking at me with its hilt and insisting I take it. I frown and dive, swimming away from the wooden sword, certain it’s a trap.

My lungs were ready to burst by the time I retrieved my weapons, and they resist as I dive now. As the rain lessens to a breathable degree, I take the time to settle my nerves and surface again, pulling in several slow and deep breaths.

In the minutes it took me to forage through the sacks, the mage finished filling the arena. Waves slap at the edges where several royals crane their necks, pointing and cheering when they find me alive.

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