Flame's Shadow Page 2

  Dravus came in third.

  Korata was going to kill him.

  * * *

  Dravus rested his head against the pedestal of Genthric's statue. The pedestal was ten feet high, with the statue another fifty feet of intricately carved stone on top of that. Genthric was one of the illustrati of legend, presented in the statue as a man with a thick beard and an arm stretched out in front of him, pointing to the east. His domain had been water, and at the base of his statue were waves carved in marble, splashing up near his robes. Dravus had always liked the statue, in part because of how much history it held; Genthric had commissioned it himself. Dravus could always imagine that the statue would be there for a hundred more years.

  Korata had been kind to him, in her own way. He'd heaved up his breakfast after the race, and she had come to pat him on the back as though there were some honest affection between them.

  "I'll take a man's money, but I won't take his pride," she said with a smile. "I'm not one to gloat. Take the day off - no deliveries, no jobs. Come by the restaurant tomorrow morning and we'll go to the bank together. It can't be an easy loss, but I'll make it as painless as possible."

  Dravus had walked through the city streets in a cold sweat after that. He was going to have to run away, there was nothing else for it. The note of credit came with a hold, and there wasn't any way to break that. It was possible that he would be able to slip into the bank in the early hours and take out his money, but if it were transferred into its weight in coins, it would be nearly impossible to move. He could get the money in the form of a promissory note that he'd take to another bank, but he didn't know whether he'd be able to get that note honored in another city. He didn't even really have any idea where he was going to run away to, or how he would get there, nor how he would protect himself against Korata. She surely had some reach within the Sovento States that extended beyond just Genthric. He could change his name and disappear, he was fairly confident in that, but then he'd been confident in his ability to win the rooftop race, and he was keenly aware of how that had turned out.

  Either way, he would have to wait to get the money, so there was nothing better to do than rest against the statue. He could pretend that it was simply another day, and nothing was wrong. Tomorrow he would run.

  Dravus's chest and stomach hurt from where he had hit the edge of the building, and his forearms had been scraped up enough to bleed. His tunic was a mess, and would have to be washed. He stood up slowly, using the marble pedestal for leverage, and looked up to the statue of Genthric, which stood firm and resolute as ever, pointing off east, to distant lands. You couldn't trust the stories about the illustrati, but Dravus had learned all of the stories about Genthric anyway. Genthric had founded the city in the early days, and ensured that it was safe from anyone who tried to challenge it. He could walk on water, and would run straight across the sea to engage directly with pirates or rogue navies. He wielded water like a whip, cracking it hard enough to break bones, though it was also said that he was kind, and slow to hurt his enemies. He was everything the illustrati were meant to be, a symbol of goodness first and a strong arm for defense and negotiation second.

  Dravus's domain was shadow. He had nowhere near the level of power that Korata had, and she was only barely at the lowest level of illustrati. Still, the rooftop races had gotten his name circulating, especially after he'd had six wins in a row, and he had to figure that news of his loss would make the rounds even more than the wins had. People had started to take note of him, in however small a way. He couldn't really feel the difference in terms of speed or strength, but he'd been able to feel his domain for the past month. The shadows seemed more alive to him now, and he could move his own shadow with a bit of focus, rotating it until it was perpendicular to the direction of the sun. He could see a little better in the dark, though it was hard to know whether he was just imagining it.

  He was going to practice moving his shadow around before he realized that it had become too cloudy for that; his shadow was diffuse and indistinct. He tried moving it anyway, just for something to distract himself, but the change was barely noticeable. A person couldn't get stronger from training their power, only from an increase in fame or notoriety, but it was supposed to be possible to gain a greater level of finesse. Mostly to take his mind off Korata, Dravus looked beneath his feet at where his shadow was and rotated it slowly around himself. If he was thinking about that, he would stop thinking about how Korata was going to kill him.

  The clouds parted, and Dravus was bathed in sunlight, which made the shadows sharp and clear. When he looked up, he saw a man falling from the sky and heading straight towards the statue of Genthric. Motes of light hung in the air behind the falling figure.

  The man seemed to descend in slow motion when painted against the vast expanse of the sky. He struck Genthric's outstretched arm and snapped it off with a terrible crash. Dravus was standing close enough that a chunk of marble nearly hit him in the head. He flinched backwards, too slowly to react properly, and was saved from a caved-in skull by luck alone. When he lowered his arm from in front of his face, he saw a man with skin the color of a coffee stain laying near the statue. The man was perfectly bald, and his silver armor was torn, like it had been ripped into by some enormous beast. The marble tiles of the plaza had been shattered where he had landed.

  Dravus moved towards the man. It had to be Lexari. He was bloodied and broken, and he wasn't moving. Dravus moved closer, through the rubble that Lexari had created during his meteoric descent, and touched the fallen man lightly on the shoulder.

  Lexari convulsed and coughed up a thick clot of blood, then looked around wildly. He tried to stand up, but cried out in pain as his leg gave way beneath him. One of his eyes was a deep red, and the other looked half-crazed. He wiped blood from his mouth.

  "He's coming," said Lexari. His voice was unsteady, nearly cracking. Light shot forth from his injured leg, and encased it in a soft white glow. Lexari stood up with great effort but no obvious unsteadiness this time. He cast a glance towards Dravus. "He's coming."

  Dravus backed up. More people were moving forward from around the plaza, and they were all talking. He heard Lexari's name mentioned several times, mingled with notes of confusion and fear.

  A loud booming sound came from the other end of the plaza, and Dravus looked over to see dust rising up from the caved-in roof of one of the markethouses. A man in dark red armor stood in the center of the destruction with his hands on his hips. His face was nearly lost within a mass of black hair and a thick black beard. He leapt down from the building, dropping three stories with no seeming concern, and slammed into the plaza floor with a loud clang of metal against marble.

  Zerstor was as widely known as Lexari, and immediately identifiable by his armor. His domain was rust, and the armor he clad himself in was corroded in a way that would have made it useless on any other man. He couldn't fly, but he could leap long distances. There were prohibitions against speaking his name out loud, but everyone did it anyway, in part because he had never shown his face in Genthric before, and in part because the stories about him were too lurid and too outlandish not to share.

  Dravus wracked his brain for more information. You couldn't trust the stories about the illustrati, because half of them were false, but now Zerstor was standing just a hundred yards away, and walking closer. Zerstor held his hand out to the side, and a few of the crude plates that made up his armor flew through the air and snapped into position to make a long, rusty sword.

  "Get back!" shouted Lexari. He was quickly forming light around himself, sealing over his armor where it no longer protected him. There was a brilliant flash, and afterward he held a spear of white light in his fist. "Get back!" Lexari shouted a second time, and this time Dravus realized that he was talking to the growing crowds, not to Zerstor. Dravus had heard about the fights between the two causing collateral damage and civilian casualties, but he made no move to leave. He wasn't about to miss this.


  "Five fights is too many," said Zerstor, revealing a mouth of broken yellow teeth. "Do you recall when I left you bleeding in the desert? I should have ended you there. But it was just you and I alone then, a cozy little battle fought across the dunes, and I needed someone to spread the story for me. I knew you would do it too. You never could keep your mouth shut, even when it would have served you best."

  "I spoke the truth, nothing more," said Lexari. They were still some distance apart, and Zerstor was making no effort to close the distance quickly. "To pretend that I hadn't been beaten would have been dishonorable."

  "Perhaps," said Zerstor. He swung his sword out to the side. "If you try to run, I'll kill every last person in this plaza."

  "I'm afraid you broke my leg," said Lexari. He let out a weak laugh. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and Dravus didn't see how it was possible that he would win this fight. "So I suppose this is it then."

  "How does it feel to see your death closing in on you?" asked Zerstor. He smiled with his jagged teeth. "You always knew that it would be me that got you, didn't you?"

  "I've had a thousand enemies," said Lexari. "That you haven't heard of most of them is testament to their fates."

  "You say that for the benefit of these fine people," said Zerstor as he cast a glance at the crowd. He slammed a gauntleted fist up against his armored chest with a loud clank and stared at Lexari. "I was always special to you. A monolithic evil that you could build your reputation on. I had my reasons to leave you alive in that desert, but you had your own reasons for never killing me. You could have murdered me in Lerabor, but you chose not to."

  "You set Sanguin on them!" shouted Lexari. "She washed the streets in blood! How could I have responded but to try to save the innocents?"

  Zerstor had stopped his advance, and stood some distance from Lexari. He made no move to engage, but it was clear this was only a calm before the storm. The crowd around them had grown thick, and Dravus could see people watching from the windows around the plaza, and gathering up on the rooftops. Dravus's view was considerably closer. He was in the inner circle, with nothing but empty air between him and the illustrati. A small part of him recognized that the wise thing to do would be to slip backwards through the crowd and put as much distance between himself and the fight as possible, but the promise of witnessing a piece of history firsthand was too powerful of a lure. And besides that, what did he really have to lose?

  "I grow weary of your moralizing," said Zerstor. "It never rang true for me." He turned away and looked to the crowd. "I know you better than to think you were stalling for the guards to come, but it seems that's been the result. Something to whet my appetite before I kill you, I suppose."

  The parapetti were pushing their way through the crowd, with their polearms clearly visible above the throngs. No one was eager to move aside for them. This wasn't how the stories of the illustrati went; none of them had ever been brought down by a simple guard. It didn't even happen if there were a dozen guards, fought all at once. The illustrati varied in their powers, but Zerstor had to be one of the most famous men on the face of the earth. Though he was handicapped by having the domain of rust, it was virtually impossible that he would be beaten by any ordinary man. For their part the parapetti seemed to understand this, and didn't move with much haste. An older woman cried out that they were going to their deaths, and Zerstor grinned.

  "Leave them," said Lexari. He had finished all of his modifications of light, and his armor glowed from all the haphazard repairs that he'd made with his power. In his hand he held a solid spear of light, which was long and sharply pointed, but otherwise unadorned. "They're only doing their duty."

  Zerstor nodded. "Yes, as people do."

  One of the parapetti broke through, and held his polearm before him like it would shield him. The others followed close behind.

  "I'll offer you a deal," said Lexari. There was urgency in his voice. "You walk free, past all these guards, and I will not stop you. You leave this city and its people in peace, without shedding more blood. In exchange, I have bards around the world that can sing of our battles. I have riches that I can give you, to spare these lives today."

  Zerstor smiled. "You pretend at being protective to cover your own cowardice," he said. "That's a little too transparent for my liking. And besides, you know that there's nothing you can offer me. I'm driven entirely by fame, am I not? 'Not the false fame of bardic songs and embellished legends, but a trueness of character that cannot be faked.' You said that, didn't you, about yourself? Well, we're much alike, in that regard."

  When Zerstor moved, the whole world seemed to be standing still. The first parapetto had enough time to lower his polearm a handspan, but Zerstor simply stepped around it. All Dravus saw was the guard crumpling to the ground with a rusted hole in the center of his breastplate. Zerstor had cleanly decapitated the second guard when Lexari arrived behind him, thrusting forward with his spear of light.

  Zerstor dodged, and the crowd scattered as he moved towards them. He whipped around at the same time, to face Lexari. His pitted sword was held cautiously in front of him, and it didn't waver in the slightest.

  "If you're really so brave and noble, so ready to protect these people," said Zerstor, "then guarantee me that this fight is just between the two of us."

  "I can't control what other people -"

  Zerstor spun towards one of the parapetti, easily slipping within the reach of his polearm. When he finished his spinning motion he was holding the guard in front of him. The guard's head was gripped tightly in his armored fist. His perfectly balanced sword was held in the other hand and pointed towards Lexari, as motionless as before.

  "You were about to speak the words of a coward," said Zerstor. He squeezed the parapetto's head with a sudden violent motion, and everyone in the plaza heard a sickening crunch as the man went limp. Zerstor let him slump to the ground. "Order them to stand down. Send them away. Tell everyone that this final fight is not to be interrupted."

  Lexari didn't have the slightest trace of hesitation. "This is my fight, and mine alone," he called to the crowd. "If Nemm arrives, tell her that I have made a commitment. She might be the only one aside from me that could defeat this monster. Everyone else stand back. If you value your lives, you will leave. Any agents of Genthric among you, I command you to stand down by the power vested in me by the senatori not three days ago." He held his spear in front of him, and settled himself into a more aggressive fighting stance.

  The two men began to circle each other carefully. The crowd gave them a wide berth, but didn't dissipate entirely, even as the dead parapetti were taken away by their comrades. Dravus was one of the closest, with a mass of people to his back. He was ready to take off running at any moment, if Zerstor turned his attentions towards the crowd, but there seemed little chance of that at this point.

  Zerstor and Lexari moved slowly, sizing each other up, and shifting their weight so that they were never the slightest bit off balance. They were taking their time. A low murmur began to build from the crowd as people talked in low voices to their neighbors. Dravus was glad that no one had tried to engage him in conversation. He was fairly sure that the only thing he could have said was that they were about to see Lexari die. Lexari's left leg was the injured one, and it was encased in light like a thick plaster cast that allowed limited mobility. Whenever Lexari needed to step to the side with it, the motion was quicker and slightly tentative, as though he was worried it would give out.

  Zerstor struck out first, swinging his sword at just the moment when Lexari was moving that injured leg. If Dravus had been able to make a bet in that brief fraction of a second, he would have bet that it was the killing blow, but Lexari flipped backwards with astonishing speed and landed easily on his feet. His left leg was stiff, but he'd been exaggerating the extent of how that limited him.

  Some primal part of Dravus had expected them to go at each other then, to tear into each other like he'd seen cats do when they were fighting,
or like dogs with a piece of meat. He wanted it, in some way, a fevered, brutal brawl that seemed to have been promised to him. But Zerstor and Lexari went back to their circling, and continued on with feints and footwork. They reminded Dravus less of the four-legged animals he'd seen skirmishing in the alleys, and more of two birds pecking at one another. To be frank, it was disappointing.

  Dravus almost missed it the first time it happened, and even after he wasn't sure what he'd seen was correct. Zerstor had thrust his sword forward, and Lexari had spun away, but something had happened at the point of contact between their weapons - or rather, failed to happen. The next time, Dravus was more sure of it. Lexari's spear had passed straight through Zerstor's sword. It threw their entire battle into context, with all the distance that they kept between them and their tentative jabs at each other. Neither was able to parry a blow, and if Lexari's spear could go through armor like it went through the sword, a single proper thrust would almost certainly give Zerstor a mortal wound.