Warrior of the Wild(12)

“The sensible thing,” Torrin says, “would be for one of us to take on three, and the other to take on two, including the big one.”

“I don’t think they’re going to give us much say in the matter.”

As if in agreement, all five of them race for Torrin, clinging to the left side of the path where he stands, instead of spreading to the right side where I am.

I try not to be offended. He is taller, bulkier. And while I am certainly no fragile or dainty thing, I must not look as threatening.

How very misguided of them.

“Rasmira, get over here,” Torrin says. It’s not fear in his voice. Mostly anticipation, but he doesn’t like his odds five on one.

“Perhaps I should just run. I need only be faster than you.”

Torrin gives me a gesture, and by the gasps in the audience, I can tell at least a few people saw it.

I laugh and leap to his side just as the horde reaches us.

They pounce, hind legs sending them flying through the air, jaws unhinging, teeth flashing in the light of the sun.

I hold my ax out in front of me, turn it sideways, and use the length of the rod to connect with three separate ziken, careful not to let teeth get anywhere near where my hands are spaced apart. I skid back across the rocky soil at the impact. One of the beasts takes the rod in the mouth, another at the neck, and the third—the monstrous one—hits at the knees and continues sailing over my head.

Brown blood smears the rod from the ziken who took it in the mouth, but that particular beast finds its feet and licks its lips, as though even more crazed by the taste of its own blood. A tooth flicks to the floor as it roves its mouth with its tongue. A canine. Good.

I bring my ax down on its head, the sharp blade sinking in deeply, right between the beast’s eyes. Before I can pull it back out, the monstrous ziken charges me again, this time from behind.

I spin my body around, bringing both ax and impaled ziken with me. The two beasts collide, and my ax finally dislodges from the first one’s head as both beasts are sent flying off to the left.

The final ziken, the one that took the rod to the neck, is still wheezing on the ground. I step up beside it, raise my ax high in the air, and bring it down across its neck. The head rolls off to the side, brown liquid spreading across the rocky ground.

Another loud whistle rises up from the stands.

I look up at Torrin. He’s swinging his ax back and forth, keeping his two ziken at bay.

“They’re both still alive?” I ask. “Come, now, Torrin, I’ve already killed one, and I got stuck with three of the beasts, as well as the large one that made you piss yourself.”

“Then give yourself a pat on the back!” he shouts back to me.

I laugh and turn, ready to meet the two beasts that have found their footing once again.

My hands tighten around my ax, loving the feel of the leather-laced handle. I feel powerful when I hold it, unstoppable, even. My blood sings in my veins from the thrill of battle, and I eagerly await the next onslaught.

The ziken that took my ax between its eyes has already healed itself. Its armored skin has reconnected so perfectly, one wouldn’t be able to tell it was ever injured.

And the large one—its eyes flash orange with the direct sunlight shining on them. Thick droplets of saliva hit the ground as it licks its lips.

“Come take a bite of this,” I say as I swing my ax at it.

It dodges to the side before taking a swing at me. One clawed foot connects with my breastplate. Sparks rain to the ground at the contact, and the ziken cackles menacingly at the sight. It’s startled by the hot sparks, and I use the beast’s confusion to send another swing its way.

My ax embeds into its shoulder, and I yank it back out as the other ziken decides to pounce again. In the same motion, I swing my body around, connecting with the smaller ziken’s side.

I remove its head with the next swing.

That leaves the big brute. It eyes me warily, takes in the dead ziken we’ve already dispatched—

And runs off down the way Torrin and I just came from.

“Get back here!” I yell as I bound for it.

Torrin catches me by the arm and halts me. “Leave it, Rasmira. Let’s see if we can reach the middle of the maze before the time runs out!”

I wipe my bloodied ax blades on the leather covering his greaves.

He leaps backward. “Disgusting.”

I grin. “Race you there!”

It doesn’t take long to reach. The middle of the maze is a vast opening. It seems that everyone else has already arrived, and they’re all battling their own ziken—some taking on two or three at a time.

Torrin takes no time at all to launch himself into the fray as if he didn’t sustain an injury. I hop in after him. The hourglass must be done soon, and I don’t want to waste a minute of this experience. It’s an opportunity to show everyone what I can do.

The ziken are everywhere. It’s a wonder we ran across any in the maze. But they are no match for us. We have been trained for the last ten years to do one thing: kill them. They don’t stand a chance.

Axes swing. Heads roll. Brown blood flies everywhere. It’s disgusting and thrilling and freeing. I don’t care that I’ve got blood in my hair, that Havard will probably pass his trial and continue to cause trouble in my life. I don’t care if my mother still doesn’t approve. In just a few more seconds, I will be a woman. I will be free from my father’s household. Torrin will court me.