Bloodfire Quest (The Dark Legacy of Shannara, #2)(83)
Redden slumped back as the cage door was closed and locked anew. He watched as the Goblins led the Ard Rhys away from the viewing stands and the Straken Lord, and out into the center of the arena.
She did not look back at him.
They took Khyber to the center of the arena and brought her to a halt. Tarwick took a moment to check her body armor and weapons; he reached up and carefully removed the conjure collar from around her neck. He hesitated a moment afterward, perhaps waiting to see if she intended to do anything. Then, satisfied that she did not, he stepped away and allowed one of the Goblin guards to offer her a short spear, one perfectly suited to her size and weight. She took it without a word and watched as they turned and walked back toward the risers.
She could have killed them all, could have decimated them without effort, but what would it have gained her? The only one that mattered was Tael Riverine. She needed to save her strength for him.
She stood waiting, her gaze shifting between the risers and the cage that still held Redden Ohmsford captive. She had hoped he might be taken out and given some small measure of freedom, but the Straken Lord must have foreseen the possibilities for escape, however remote, and had chosen to shut them off completely. She knew the boy was disappointed and afraid. She didn’t have to look at him to know what he was feeling. But there was nothing she could do about it.
She gazed around at the grayness of the land and sky and thought that this was a miserable place for anyone to die.
Atop the risers, the Straken Lord rose to his feet and started down. When he reached ground level, he threw off his black robes and revealed that he was dressed as she was, in lightweight black body armor. He bore similar weapons. He accepted a short spear from one of the Goblins, hefted it in one hand to test its feel, and nodded in satisfaction. Then he turned to those gathered on the viewing embankment and thrust both arms skyward. A deafening roar of approval greeted the gesture, his minions chanting and screaming, leaping up to mimic him, arms raised, fists pumping the air overhead.
The Straken Lord turned from the crowd and began to stalk toward Khyber.
She stood where she was, holding her ground. She had already begun to summon her magic, and she found it strong and ready as it gathered at her fingertips. The shouts and roars of the faithful had resumed, cheering for Tael Riverine, urging him on. Let them howl, she thought. She would try to give them something to really howl about. She would kill him quickly. She would catch him off guard and overconfident, and she would end his life before he could end hers.
But, instead, he was the one who caught her off guard. Still moving toward her, he went into a sudden crouch and flung his spear directly at her with a strength and accuracy she would not have believed possible. She flung herself aside just in time, barely avoiding being skewered as the deadly missile whizzed past her. She rolled and came back to her feet to see him racing toward her, blades in both hands.
She had only seconds to respond, but that was enough. She gathered up the threads of her momentarily scattered magic, hardened them into a solid mass, and sent it hurtling toward Tael Riverine. But he deftly sidestepped the dangerous attack, barely slowing. Even so, he could not escape her second strike, which followed close on the heels of the first. It caught him squarely in the chest and threw him backward like a straw man.
Fresh screams rose from the assembled masses, but Khyber was paying no heed now, consumed with her struggle to stay alive. She drew on her magic again, moving toward the Straken Lord as she did so, closing the distance between them. He was sprawled on the earth, smoke rising from his damaged armor, but he was quick to rise. Aside from the scrapes and cracks in his armor, he appeared whole. Knives flashed from his hands as he sped toward her, and she barely managed to use her magic to knock them down. Others followed, and she found herself on the defensive as he closed on her.
She took a few steps backward. She did not want him to get close enough to grapple with her. If that happened, she was finished.
Moving sideways now as she gathered fresh magic, she barely eluded another pair of knives and then she attacked. She caught him with another strike, this one to his head, flinging him away, tumbling him head-over-heels across the rocky earth, spines tearing at the ground as he rolled. Yet almost immediately he was up again, shrugging off whatever pain and injury she had inflicted.
Then he charged.
She could not recover fast enough to bring another strike to bear, so she snatched up the spear she had left lying on the ground and used it to sweep his legs from under him as he reached her. She leapt aside as he tumbled past, then backed away quickly and braced for his recovery. He spun around and came for her, but she clenched her hands and drove him backward with a fresh explosion of magic. Then she struck at him once more, another surge that caught him midsection and thrust him away. He was on fire now, all of his spines red-hot and steaming, his armor half melted, and his dark body singed and peeling in a dozen places. Most of his weapons were gone, either expended in his earlier attacks or lost during the course of their battle. He dropped to his hands and knees, shaking himself like a dog, gasping for air.
Finish him!
She summoned fresh magic, intent on doing exactly that. This was her chance, and she could not afford to let it pass.
But something was wrong. She felt the magic respond, then immediately dwindle. Confused, she summoned it again, willing it to life—to her fingertips and her service. Again, it sparked and again it quickly failed.
In the same instant, she felt her strength begin to fade. A sudden weakness overcame her, as if all of her energy had been drained away. She tried to collect herself, to harden her resolve against what was happening, to recover the power she had possessed just moments earlier.