Page 51 of Echoes of Fire

“Move!” he roared, yanking me sideways as a geyser erupted where we’d stood, white-hot droplets splattering across the stone.

Three lava-lizards crawled out of an opening near the geyser.

We crashed into the arena wall, my spine slamming against rock still hot from the wyrm’s acid blood. Rath’s body shielded mine as another vent burst overhead, raining scalding drops that sizzled on his scales. The crowd above howled for blood, their savage chants echoing across the ring.

Three vents formed a tightening triangle. I had an idea. “Drive the lizards into the steam.”

Rath’s answering snarl held reluctant approval. He lunged left, swords carving arcs that forced the three new lizardstoward the nearest fissure. I scrambled up a rubble pile, torn boots slipping on loose shale. My burns screamed with every movement, but I forced my body onward.

The largest lizard wheeled toward me, jaws dripping. It leaped in a swirl of obsidian dust. I ducked and screamed, “Now!”

Rath’s blade slammed into the vent’s edge, diverting the steam jet directly into the creature’s face. The lizard’s death throes filled the arena with an earsplitting wail that harmonized with the crowd’s frenzied cheers, hunger for violence intensifying their mania.

We fell into rhythm—Rath herding, me hurling chunks of broken rock to trigger the vents. When the final lizard collapsed in a steaming heap, we stood back-to-back, shoulders heaving in sync. Blood—my own, and a nauseating medley of reptilian gore—dripped off me in rivulets.

The wyrm’s corpse chose that moment to slide into a lava pit, half-submerged, releasing a final gargle.

The resulting explosion of molten rock sent us diving in unison. Rath’s wing curled around me as fiery debris rained down, clanging off his scaled armor. His growl vibrated through my burned cheek, pressed against his chest. “Still alive?”

“Disappointed?” My lips cracked on the word, tasting ash and iron.

His fanged grin flashed in the flickering glow. Despite everything, a flicker of satisfaction sparked in his eyes—a warrior’s thrill at survival against impossible odds.

We were alive. We won.

Do you believe in our fucking bond now?I wanted to scream into the stands.

Across the bloodied sand, Zarvash rose from the spectator stands, his bronze scales polished to a taunting gleam underthe shifting torchlight. His presence commanded the crowd’s attention, and the cheers fell into an eager hush.

“The Forge remains unimpressed!” he bellowed, ceremonial hammer raised high. A small section of the crowd took up the chant, dozens of claws pounding stone in rhythmic unison.

Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy.

The rest of the Drakarn watched in silence, tension coiling in the air like a serpent.

The ground beneath us groaned, fresh steam vents hissing open. Rath shoved me backward as a geyser erupted where I’d stood, the superheated blast singing his scales. Pain flickered across his features, a snarl following in its wake.

“Coward!” Rath roared, twin swords flaring brighter, red lines tracing the steel. “You hide while others bleed!”

Zarvash launched himself out of the stands and glided down, wings spread wide, each leathery membrane etched with golden runes. “Tradition requiresproof, Flame Heart. Your human barely survived glorified hatchling trials.” His copper-tipped tail flicked toward the smoldering wyrm carcass. “The Forge demands a true sacrifice.”

I limped forward, ankle screaming like the flesh might peel away. “We just killed your murder pets. What more?—”

Zarvash backhanded me with his tail. A blow so swift that I barely caught the glint of bronze scales before it connected. He was fast, impossibly so.

The world whited out. I tasted blood before feeling the split lip, my skull ringing from the impact. Rath moved faster than thought—his sword at Zarvash’s throat, heat radiating off him in waves that distorted the air.

“Touch her again,” Rath growled, embers dripping from his fangs, “and I’ll mount your scales on my wall.”

The arena held its breath as the crowd leaned forward in eager anticipation. Even the lava vents seemed to quiet momentarily, their hissing subdued beneath the tension.

Zarvash laughed—a dry, rustling sound that made my skin crawl. He pressed forward until Rath’s blade drew blood. “Strike me down, and the challenge fails. It is not over until the gong chimes.” His tongue flicked toward the shadowed alcove where Karyseth’s priests lurked next to a massive bronze gong, arms crossed. They made it clear the gong would not chime until one or both of us were dead.

It might have ended there, blood spilled to feed the arena’s greed, but Darrokar approached with a thunderous stride, his black wings stirring the dusty air. It took little more than his furious glare for one of the priests to step aside.

Darrokar raised a scaled fist and rang the gong, the brassy note echoing across the volcanic arena like the final toll of judgment.

The challenge was over.

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