Page 44 of WarBride

We gallop past our foe, heading straight for the pit wall. Elydark banks, charging partway up the path, before leaping out and over the reptant’s head in a graceful arc of flame. The reptant lunges for his underbelly, narrowly missing. The licorneir lands lightly and puts on speed, but Lurodos and his monster are now at our heels. The crowd roars with laughter at the sight of us fleeing before their champion.

But Elydark is no beast’s prey. He dodges nimbly to one side, and I mold my body to his, keeping my seat as naturally as though we are forged into one being. The reptant, too set upon its path, careens forward, while Lurodos shrieks in ravenous madness on its back. Elydark rounds to face them, mighty chest heaving, flame snorting from his nostrils.

Lurodos whips his beast around, smashing his own flail viciously into its haunches. The creature is panting, bleeding, and hungry for some vent for its rage.

Elydark lowers his head. Lurodos sees this through the black tears sluicing out from his eyes. He laughs, spitting more virulium ooze, and drives his reptant into a charge. For a moment my heart tightens. I have no love for reptants; even so I hate to see the creature die because its master is too rabid for blood to care. His mount is more afraid of Lurodos than the licorneir, however. So it charges.

Elydark lunges forward to meet it before I even give the command. His head is lowered, his lancelike horn sharp. The reptant springs, huge claws outstretched, huge jaws open to rip into its prey. Lurodos laughs wildly on its back, black tears streaming from his cheeks, flail whirling in a furious cycloneoverhead. Elydark swings his head up, neck muscles rippling. His horn pierces straight through the roof of the beast’s mouth, through its brain and skull. With a shake of his head, my licorneir sends the reptant hurtling to one side, Lurodos still on its back. They roll five times before coming to a stop.

The crowd goes berserk, as thrilled at the downfall of their champion as they would be for his success. In their eagerness they jostle and press each other, until several fall over the edge into the pit. They grip the walls, struggling to climb back up again. One unlucky soul tumbles all the way to the ground and lies stunned from the impact.

Are you all right, my friend?I sing into Elydark’s head. The reptant’s claws caught him a terrible cut across one shoulder. My licorneir shakes his mane and utters another ululating cry. His soulfire rips through me, a triumphant anthem that bursts from my own throat in wordless song.

But Lurodos is not yet defeated. On hands and knees he pulls himself out from under his reptant. With a leap he springs atop the fallen carcass, throws back his head, and howls like an animal. His blackened eyes are lost to demonic hunger. His body seems larger somehow, hunched and warped, and his teeth have elongated.

Movement off to one side. Lurodos whips his head, distracted by the sight of that fallen Noxaurian trying to scramble up out of the pit. Lurodos lunges at the man, who lets out a single, terrified scream. There’s a confusion of violence and wet, crunching sounds as Lurodos rips out his victim’s throat with one hand.

I don’t wait to see more. It’s time to put this demon down.

Now, Elydark!I urge, and my beast obeys, leaping like a bolt of lightning from a cloud. I lean to one side in the saddle, my sword carving a deadly arc in the air, ready to cut Lurodos in two as he bows over the fallen spectator. But Lurodos moves withunnatural speed, dodging my blow. Elydark pivots neatly, lowers his head, and begins a second pass. Lurodos is ready for him this time. He brandishes his flail, swings it with all his might. The spikes come into ringing contact with Elydark’s horn. It cannot hurt him—such weapons are nothing against a licorneir in flame. But it knocks Elydark off balance. He stumbles, and I struggle to keep my seat.

Shaking his head, Elydark carries me several yards farther.Are you spent?I ask and am answered by a roar of heat in my head. I turn him one last time, determined to take off my enemy’s head with this pass. Moving as one, my licorneir and I fly across the packed earth.

Lurodos braces for our assault. Even as my sword draws back for a deadly stroke, he hurls his flail. The chain wraps around my weapon, yanking my arm askew. Lurodos springs, grabs hold of me, and yanks me from the saddle. I hit the ground hard, rolling, breath knocked from my lungs. There’s dirt in my eyes, grit in my teeth, the throb of my heartbeat drowning out the uproarious howls of the watching mob.

Lurodos is on me before I can drag in a lungful of air. He grips my throat, squeezing, his knee digging into my chest. I grapple with him, manage to elbow him in the face, using the sharp edge of my bracer. His head twists to one side. He turns slowly, looking down at me, black demon’s blood pouring from his eyes, his lips, his tongue.

A flash of fire at his back. Lurodos has just enough awareness through the virulium madness to look up and see death descending. He leaps out of the way, dodging Elydark’s deadly horn and hooves. I roll over, desperately gasping, and pull to my feet. My sword lies but a few yards away, still wrapped in the chains of Lurodos’s flail.

“Shakh-damned half-breed!” Lurodos roars, spewing black bile with every word. Hunched and lumbering, he nonethelessmoves with strange agility, narrowly avoiding my licorneir’s blows. “Can you not fight your own battles?”

He does not understand the truth. He does not realize the deep bond between a licorneir and its rider. They are as one as two souls may be, and to separate one from the other is like hacking off a limb. Nonetheless I send a song straight from my spirit:Stand down, Elydark.

My licorneir throws back his head, stamping in protest.

No,I insist, and square my shoulders, teeth bared.I want him for myself.

Spattered reptant blood burns in the fire of Elydark’s being, filling the air with an acrid stink. The great licorneir shakes his horned head, but retreats, still eying Lurodos closely. I approach, moving in a wide circle around my prey. Lurodos retrieves both his flail and my sword. The spiked ball swings gently back and forth, a hypnotic pendulum. He has every advantage now, but he cannot wait for the prime moment of attack. Virulium drives him to recklessness, and he throws himself at me.

I anticipate him and dodge both the swinging flail and the flash of the blade following soon after. Lurodos strikes again, too wild, and I avoid it, but narrowly. On his third attack, the flail strikes the ground with such force, the spikes stick hard.

Springing on the opportunity, I plant my foot on the chain, dragging Lurodos down, then kick him in the face. Lurodos goes over backwards. I whip out my remaining knife and lunge.

Lurodos is too fast. He blocks my blow with my own stolen sword, then lunges at me, slashing, hewing. It’s not pretty, but it’s so erratic, I struggle to anticipate him now. All the while, Lurodos shrieks, a ravening, insane, unending battery of sound. I deflect a blow with my bracer. The power of Lurodos’s attack rings with stunning pain up my arm. But though I’m driven to my knees, I adjust my grip on my knife and plunge the bladedeep into Lurodos’s unguarded side. My angle is wrong; it does not reach his heart.

He screeches. Pain means nothing to him now, caught fast in virulium’s grip. He takes hold of the knife, wrenches it out of his side. Black blood gushes from his wound. With a swift backhand, he cuts me across the upper arm, a vicious blow.

I stagger back, pain bursting across my senses. But then I feel it—worse than pain. The burn. The rush. The poison in Lurodos’s blood, which now mingles with mine. I’ve not tasted virulium in such a long time. But I’ve never forgotten . . .

With a roar I throw myself at my enemy, strike him in the gut, in the face. My blows are hard enough to knock the wind out of Lurodos, at least enough that I can back up, put some distance between us. My breath comes in painful, wrenching gasps. Around the edges of my vision, darkness licks, eager, hungry.

Lurodos bleeds profusely, but he does not seem to feel it. He wouldn’t. He’s too far gone to feel anything but rage. He’s got both my weapons now and stalks toward me, tongue lolling, blood gushing from his side, poison spewing from his mouth. His is the face of death, unrelenting. I take a single step back then brace myself, ready to take him with my bare hands if I must.

Something glints in the air, catching my eye.

The next instant, my own knife plants in the dirt, a few paces from me. The twin of the blade in Lurodos’s hand.

I don’t have time to consider its miraculous appearance. I simply lunge for it, catch it up. Turning, I’m just in time to deflect Lurodos’s blows. Then, quick as thought, I plunge the blade straight into my enemy’s black eye.

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