Page 42 of Bloodguard

Because the damn river sharks weren’t enough.

The cauldrons are massive, large enough to cook the biggest shark.

Is that what they used to carry them in?

No…these wouldn’t have held them all. And the dwarves, for all their combined strength and muscle, would never be able to cart them inside.

The wooden sword bumps my shoulder. I shrug it off, watching, perplexed, as the dwarves cut themselves free from the cauldrons and tip the heavy things forward.

Giant silver-and-black-spotted eels slither out, snatching three of the dwarves by their heads and zapping them as they pull them into the water. The dwarves bellow, their flesh and clothing burning.

That stunt bought me time for the sand kicked up by the eels to settle, so I dip down to do a quick survey of the sharks’ locations on the other side of the arena, counting shadows moving quickly, before popping back up, looking for an advantage. The remaining dwarves curse and wave their angry fists at the guards. The sole woman among them eases away in wide-eyed shock, then kneels on the ledge where her companions fell. She audibly weeps and moves closer to the edge. Maeve pops out of nowhere and snags her around the waist. She speaks into her ear, holding tight to the dwarf as her grief continues to compel her closer to the edge.

It’s not until the remaining dwarves gather around that Maeve releases her. The guards laugh. The other royals in their proximity join them. They stop laughing when Maeve yells, “Shut the fuck up or I’ll throw you in next.”

Vitor and Soro appear amused by her actions. Nothing in Maeve threatens them. To this gluttonous court stuffed with entitlement and riches, this is part of the spectacle they paid to experience. What else would they do—mourn? Offer comfort? I huff.

How quickly they turned from terror back to amusement once they knew they were safe.

Fuck them. I turn and swim for my life, keeping the trident close to my body.

When I stop and look back, I’m unsure where the eels have swum off to. It’s certain some are fighting the sharks over the dwarves who fell in with them. The water grows redder by the second. But there’s not enough food for all the predators to remain in one place. They’re going to spread out—and soon.

The thought has barely formed when another fin punctures the surface and angles toward me. Then it disappears only a few yards away. And I know the shark has found me.

I couldn’t outmaneuver it if I wanted to. It’s moving too fast.

And I can’t get away.

chapter 17

Leith

I dive, swimming toward the shark instead of away.

I’m no match for this thing power for power, but I’m superior when it comes to wit. There’s no need for me to destroy it. I only need to damage it enough to win.

With the trident out in front of me, I’m protected to some extent. I swim straight toward the shark. Its maw is already open. At the last moment, I thrust my trident forward, using the shark’s momentum to stab its own nose. It’s not much, only enough to briefly daze and piss it off. Then I push myself over it and tilt the trident so it rakes the shark’s skin as it passes me.

The points of the trident do their job. Blood spews into the water and swirls like red clouds from the wounds I create. The shark thrashes, and the turbulence rips my only decent weapon away. I use its moment of confusion to flee, but I know it will follow soon, its injuries magnifying its rage.

And alerting the others to new bait.

My body weakens with every stroke. My lungs beg for air. But my mind knows better than to stop.

I may be a skilled swimmer, but I’ve developed far different muscle groups and strategies over the years to stay alive on land, not water.

My body betrays me, falling into motions that resemble more of a crawl. I bump into something and finally look up. I’ve reached another wall, opposite from where I started. It’s only now that I can gauge how far I swam.

With a pained groan, I surface. I flip onto my back, floating, permitting myself to rest long enough to slow my haggard breathing.

I’m fucked for losing my trident.

Then that fucking wooden sword bumps me on the side.

I don’t slap it aside or question whether it’s the mage taunting me. She’s gone, taken away by the guards. I need a weapon, and I need it now.

The hilt maintains that strange, thick wrapping held together tightly with twine. I think I should peel it free until I realize it cushions my sore hand and makes my grip more comfortable. It’s remarkably easy to hold. Pressing my back to the wall, I transfer the wooden sword to my injured hand and pull the dagger out of my belt with the other.

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