Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(59)

I lifted my chin. I thought I caught the hint of a mocking grin in return.

Marella stood next to him, her brows drawn together, her jaw tight. As our eyes met, her brows smoothed and she gave a slight smile. She mouthed one word: Win. At least I had one person who believed in me.

A chant started in one corner of the stands and built like a gathering wave that crashed over the crowd, the whole arena throbbing with the pounding beat.

“Gravnach! Gravnach! Gravnach!”

The massive champion had his back to me, as if the presence of a challenger was beneath his notice. The chant beat its way into my skull, sapping my energy. I had to do something, anything to shake off the paralyzed fear that was seizing hold of me. Raising my hands, I sent a blast of fire rolling along the ground. When it reached Gravnach’s feet, he jumped and wheeled around. The crowd hissed and called out, “Kill the Fireblood!”

I expected their hatred, but the intensity of it shocked me.

The crowd faded out of focus as Gravnach pounded toward me in a long-legged run. I waited for him to stop, expecting we would circle each other the way other fighters had. Instead, he kept coming, like a huge fallen tree rolling down a hill, and me no more than a patch of weeds to be crushed in his path. I fought the urge to run.

When he was close enough that I saw the whites of his eyes, I threw myself to the side and swirled a blast of fire at him. He blocked it with two raised forearms and an explosion of cold that stung my face.

Breathless and frustrated, I sent out a series of arrows, aiming for the openings in his defenses. Most of them fell away from him with a sizzle, but a few found their mark, landing on his mask or on his skin with a hiss. He took a step back, and I had a moment of triumph.

Then he bellowed and sent a wave of frost along the ground that slid under my feet. I slipped and landed on my back. The sense of vulnerability was terrifying. For a second, I was motionless, but when he threw himself toward me, I snapped into action and rolled out of the way, sliding to my feet. I sent bolts of fire behind me to gain some time, then whirled and faced him again. Don’t stop moving, I told myself. Don’t think; just move.

The crowd grew louder. “Gravnach, Gravnach, Gravnach!” The chant hit me over and over like a blacksmith’s hammer, pounding my nerves thin.

My opponent circled me slowly. His small black eyes were full of annoyance beneath his mask. I had failed to beg for mercy or whatever it was that most opponents did within seconds of fighting him. At least, that was what I told myself: I was stronger than all the others. I would win.

Faster than I would have thought possible for such a large man, he stepped forward and swept two curving walls of ice on either side of me. I extended my arms and sent out spirals of heat, stumbling backward as he advanced. He threw thin streams of ice over me, making a loose cage. My face must have shown my panic because he smiled at me through the icy bars.

Don’t think; move.

I threw out a hand and blasted a hole. As I slipped out, he threw up a wall of frost behind me and slapped me with frigid air. I stumbled backward and slammed into the wall he’d created before scrambling away.

There was a pattern here. His moves were like little tests, almost playful in their delivery. He was a massive spider shooting out his sticky strands, waiting for one of them to catch his prey. I was the fly, fast and nimble, cutting through his webs and escaping. But each time I was a little slower, a little more tired. Eventually, I would be stuck fast.

I pulled my arm back and shot it forward, releasing a massive tail of the dragon. Brother Thistle would have jumped up and cheered. The end snapped Gravnach below the stomach, making him double over. He stood and shot frost out wildly, but I managed to parry each attack with bolts of fire or by jumping out of the way.

Some of the crowd still chanted, but most had grown quiet. The silence swelled, heavy with excitement and anticipation. Finally, their champion had an opponent worth fighting. A surge of confidence lit the fire in my chest like dry kindling on a pyre. I spun in a circle and let flames dance around me, my hair streaming behind. Gravnach was on his knees, cowering behind a protective shield of ice.

I panted, hardly able to believe I’d gained the upper hand. My eyes flicked up to the king’s box, where he kept the same relaxed posture, but his hands gripped the arms of his seat. This was it. I was going to win and he knew it. If I could do this, I could do anything.

I turned back to Gravnach, throwing a ring of fire around him and staring at him through the flames. I had no choice. It was kill or be killed. I gathered my heat for a final, finishing blast.

With startling speed, he sent frost at the flames and my world turned to ice. My face was covered first, cutting off my breath, then my arms. Panic shot through me as I realized I’d ambled right into his web. I threw myself to the ground, shattering some of the ice. With one hand free, I poured out heat, turning my fear into fire. But more ice built up, layer upon layer that tightened and squeezed the breath from my lungs. I was losing energy, losing focus. Losing the fight.

No, I can’t die yet.

“Filthy Fireblood,” Gravnach snarled. “I won’t let you die quickly.”

He lifted a sword of ice above his head and brought it down at my arm. Desperately, I sent out a wave of heat that sheared the ice, pulling myself out of the way just before the blade cut into the earth at my side.

Before I could push my advantage and free myself, I was bound again. A sense of defeat fogged my mind.