Page 43 of Bloodguard

An eel skims over the water, its thin back cutting zigzag lines through the turbulent surface, but my focus jerks to the shark almost upon me. I turn and thrust the sword forward, praying my grip holds. In my weakened hands, the blow is only enough to nick the shark in the gums. I kick off the side of the wall and plunge my knife into its eye.

The blood spurting out of the shark lures the eel away from me. It takes a bite of the shark’s nose, causing it to retaliate and clamp its rows of razor-sharp teeth down on the eel.

Currents of energy zap across the surface of the water and rake like burning needles across my spine. I bellow my torment for all to hear.

The crowd cheers—thrilled, applauding, and eager for more.

As the eel and shark go to war, more currents of lightning shoot through me, burning and stinging in simultaneous song. I roar, then scare myself when I abruptly quiet.

I’ve finally hit my limit, it seems, my vision taking turns dulling and sharpening beneath that gray and unforgiving sky. I don’t know what happens. I can’t hear, save for the buzzing that follows every twitch of my limbs.

This trial of strength feels like such a waste.

Drowning is the sweeter way to go.

It’s my only thought…until I think of Dahlia, sick but surviving on the meager coin I send every month. My little shadow, who’d follow me to hell itself if I were to lead, needs my bravery more than ever. Self-pity won’t save her life.

I try to lift a leg. It doesn’t work. I’m stuck to the water like a fly on honey.

As I’ve done so many times in my miserable life, I force away the despair and gather my wits. But my wits don’t matter so much when my body is unresponsive. I float away, somehow still holding on to that damned wooden sword. Still, I have to keep trying.

In my periphery, scorched pieces of shark and an eel head bob past me.

They killed each other. Good.

Not that it solves anything. I’m still screwed.

The remaining sharks and eels go after their dead. It’s only a matter of time before they remember I’m still here and vulnerable. A very short period of time.

Cooked meat isn’t more desirable than fresh to these things. What the eel tried to do to the shark, the dwarves, and me was strictly a protective response. They react out of fear and instinct.

Those poor dwarves. It’s why the guards burdened them with carrying the cauldrons. The guards knew the risks and would sell their mothers if it meant sparing their own hides. Maeve knew it, too.

My head bumps against something. I’ve reached another section of wall. But it could be the same wall for all I know.

An elf and a sprite peer over at me.

“He’s dead,” the sprite says, her wings drooping as if I rained on their parade. “What a knob.”

“About damn time,” her elven partner adds.

“Say one more thing about that gladiator, and I’ll feed numb nuts here your wings,” Maeve fires off.

It’s her voice that brings me back. Who needs a cheer squad when I have Maeve’s sweet disposition and vocabulary to spring me back to life?

When I blink, they can’t scamper away fast enough. They don’t want to end up like the humans who went for a swim with me. Damn me, they’re smarter than those fools.

I reach up, surprised I can move my arm. I try to kick. My legs are mostly working. I try out my other arm—it doesn’t work as well as my dominant one, but it’s more than I had moments ago.

And I know the sharks haven’t had their fill yet. When they finish, they will find me. If I’m lucky, maybe they’ll run into one another first. Except luck is a bitch I never was able to bed.

I strike the wall half-heartedly with my pathetic wooden sword. The point barely scratches the stone in my weakened state.

This thing wouldn’t scare away a squirrel. What the blazes was Maeve thinking?

My body jerks at the sound of bear traps. It’s the sharks snapping their teeth—the same monstrosities that chewed Luther to chunks. Wish he’d have given me a little bit more of a heads-up.

Although nothing would have prepared me for sharks. Nothing.

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