The Firedragon Read online

  Suddenly she understood why Connor was so scared. No one had told her what kinds of monsters the contestants would face, but she’d been certain that they’d be the same creatures she was accustomed to dealing with, like bloodwolves. She’d never imagined that the contestants would be thrown against something as dangerous as a hellhorn.

  This wasn’t going to be the game she’d thought it was. She’d known it would be dangerous, but the thought had been a faraway idea … one even she’d believed was exaggerated for the sake of publicity.

  Now, it was real, and Vilk might actually … die.

  Was he right? Had the Triumvirate planned it that way? And if so, why would they bring one of their best Defenders in, just to … sacrifice him?

  She watched the Procul Mirror intently, wondering what Vilk would do. If the hellhorn scared the old guy at all, he didn’t show it. His dark, steely eyes blazed, no less ferocious than those of the monster facing him. He let it get closer to him, then yanked out a pistol and began firing. The creature bellowed in pain, but continued toward him, its large hooves pounding against the stone floor. Vilk fired again, but he might as well have been throwing pebbles for all the good the bullets were doing him.

  “The throat!” Aurelia yelled at the Procul Mirror, wishing she could jump in and help her fellow human. “You’ve gotta cut its throat!” That was the only surefire way to kill a hellhorn, and it would be much easier than trying to chop off its huge head.

  Vilk seemed to know that, because he dropped his pistol and held up his sword as the flaming bull thundered toward him. Aurelia realized now that he must have been shooting at the monster to weaken it. But would it work?

  The beast spat a yellow fireball, and Vilk ducked and somersaulted out of the way.

  Aurelia gasped. She was terrified for the Defender, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the Procul Mirror. If only she could do something to help! She watched Vilk charge at the hellhorn’s neck, but the yellow flames must have been too hot, because he jumped back at the last second. The monster kept coming at him, and he dove out of the way, narrowly missing the sharp tips of its horns. A moment later he sprang up and faced his foe, undaunted. She had to admit, the old guy was pretty good. He grabbed a knife from his belt and threw it at the hellhorn, taking out one of its eyes. Before it could recover, he grabbed a second knife and struck the other.

  The blinded bull stumbled and let out a bellow so loud that it seemed to shake the room, though Aurelia was only watching it through the mirror. Vilk raised his sword and let out a primal cry, then threw himself at the blazing creature. His clothes caught the flames, but he didn’t pull back this time, rushing forward to slice its throat in one fell swoop. Blood spurted onto him, and he dropped to the ground and thrashed to put out the flames.

  The hellhorn fell onto its side, dead.

  Aurelia let out a breath. She’d only just met Vilk – and disliked him right away – but was relieved, even glad, that he wasn’t dead. People mattered more than monsters any day, and Vilk, annoying as he was, counted as a person. Plus, he’d given her some important information, just by going before her.

  The cheers of the crowd buzzed through the mirror, then, and her eyes flew to the judges, who raised their wands and shot red numbers into the air. Two sevens and an eight – Vilk’s scores out of ten. Pretty freaking good, Gramps, she thought. But not as good as I’m going to get.

  Despite the hurried self-reassurance, her heart was beating faster than she cared to think about. This competition was going to be a lot scarier than she’d expected. The Challenge officials had managed to capture a hellhorn and throw it at one of the contestants, and those things were rare. There was no telling what else they had planned.

  A few minutes later, Vilk reentered the room, face contorted with pain. His shirt and jacket had been almost entirely incinerated, and his face and body were covered in painful-looking burns. Aurelia flinched at the slight.

  Professor Williams rushed to Vilk and helped him into a chair, then pulled his thick, dark red wand from his sleeve and muttered something she couldn’t make out. Carved into the wand’s surface were intricate symbols, whose ancient meanings she could only guess at. They glowed gold at Williams’s words, the haze reaching out into the air around the wand as Williams aimed it toward the burn on Vilk’s neck. Aurelia watched, shocked, as the burn slowly transformed back into normal skin.

  She couldn’t stop staring at Vilk’s wounds, even as Williams sought to heal them. The sight of the blackened, bloody flesh made her stomach turn. He’d brushed up against the hellhorn’s flames for mere seconds when he’d sliced its throat … how could they have hurt him so badly?

  If that was the kind of monster he’d been put up against, what would she face?

  She suddenly felt like she was eleven years old again, facing her first real supernatural creature. The memories of the fear flooded her – how she’d had no inkling of what she’d be up against. How her life had depended on recalling a handful of obscure facts about the monster’s vulnerabilities. How she hadn’t known if she’d even had the right weapons to kill it. Now here she was again, preparing to go up against the dangerous unknown, by herself and possibly without the knowledge or tools she needed.

  Whatever it is, I can deal with it, she told herself firmly. No monster had ever been a match for her, and if Vilk, who was at least three or four times her age, could take on a hellhorn, so could she. Plus, now that she had a moment to think about it, if she’d been in his place, she would have thrown the sword to cut the hellhorn’s throat so she wouldn’t have to get burned. I’m totally better than him, she thought. I’ve got no reason to worry.

  But she couldn’t quite make herself believe it, and the fear, still rippling beneath her repeated attempts at confidence, refused to leave her.

  She glanced at the Procul Mirror and noticed that the next contestant – one of the Triumvirate Enchanters, whose name she’d forgotten – was walking into the arena. She’d been so busy thinking about the hellhorn that she’d missed the part when they announced his name, nation, and opponent.

  The Enchanter threw off his brightly colored cloak and held up his blue wand, prepared to do battle.

  There was a long, pregnant pause, and then the gate creaked opened, slowly revealing a creature Aurelia recognized immediately as a manticore. The muscles on the monster’s golden-brown feline body rippled under the lights. Its grotesque face was almost human, and it sneered as it spread its eagle’s wings. Its tail – as sharp and deadly as a scorpion’s – snapped behind it as it stalked toward the Enchanter.

  Whoa. Aurelia stared, hardly able to believe her eyes. I was sure those things were extinct! She’d read about them, but her studies had told her that the Sentinels – the special class of Enchanters who guarded the Triumvirate – had killed every single one of them. Apparently, the textbooks were wrong. Either that, or they’d all been deliberately lied to.

  Suddenly the manticore shot its tail up over its head and released a volley of spikes straight at the Enchanter.

  “Tego!” The Enchanter threw up a force field and the spikes bounced off, leaving small black marks wherever they hit. They were poisonous, Aurelia knew. If they’d hit the Enchanter …

  The manticore jumped up and flew toward the man, whipping its tail from side to side, new missiles emerging every instant. For several minutes – or maybe it was just a few seconds that felt like several minutes – the creature darted around in the air, throwing those black spikes at the Enchanter. The man dodged and grunted, keeping his force field steady, and himself safe.

  Then, he made a mistake.

  He must have realized that he was going to have to actually do something, because he let down his shield to throw a spell at the creature, his magic words lost in the boom of the resulting explosion.

  “Don’t!” Aurelia cried, knowing something horrible was about to happen.

  For a few moments, though, she couldn’t see anything through the red smoke from the
explosion. When it finally cleared, the Enchanter lay on the ground, a spike protruding from his arm. His eyes shifted around swiftly in terror, but he didn’t move. He was paralyzed.

  The manticore swooped toward him, baring its razor-sharp teeth.

  Aurelia screamed and squeezed her eyes shut, her hands flying up to cover her ears as she turned her back to the mirror. She knew what would happen next, and she couldn’t watch.

  A person was dying in that arena. One of her fellow contestants was being killed, and eaten alive. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Yes, people talked big about how dangerous the Challenge was, and yes, people ended up dead in the real world all the time, but this wasn’t real. You couldn’t help that there were monsters in the wild. But someone had created the arena, caught the manticore, and put the Enchanter in there.

  Someone had chosen to let that man die.

  When she turned back to the mirror, she saw that a dozen gold-cloaked Sentinels had appeared in flashes of gold light, forming a circle around the manticore and aiming their wands at it.

  “Dissolvit in cinerem!” they yelled in unison.

  The creature turned to ash.

  Aurelia was too shocked to move. Why hadn’t they come the moment the Enchanter fell? Why had they waited so long? She didn’t even hear what the announcer said after that. The manticore … it had … killed someone. And the people running the Challenge had let it.

  No wonder Connor had called the Challenge a “meaningless blood sport.” She’d heard plenty about how contestants might die in the arena, and she hadn’t cared. The fact that Vilk went up against something she’d never seen before was one thing. But now that she’d seen a monster actually slay a person, the full impact of it struck her from all sides at once, and her heart began to tremble.

  She might die. She’d been so certain before that she’d win, but now she wasn’t even sure if she’d see tomorrow. This might be the last day of her life. In the blink of an eye, it could all be over for her. Just like it had been for that Enchanter.

  If the Triumvirate had allowed an Enchanter to be eaten alive by a manticore, what would they do to a Norm?

  “Contestant Twenty-Four, Aurelia Sun, please report to the arena.”

  The announcer’s voice rang in her ears. It was her turn. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she could back out. Then she scowled at herself, shocked that the thought would even enter her head. She was no coward. She was the Firedragon.

  I’ve gotta get it together. She filled her lungs with a long breath and exhaled sharply. So some Enchanter got himself killed. Nothing’s changed. I’m still going to kick some monster butt, I’m still going to win, and I’m still going to prove that Norms are as good as Enchanters.

  She shook her arms to release the tension, knowing she’d have to stay loose if she was going to be at her best. No need to be scared. I’m better than both those suckers. Vilk’s as old as time, and that Enchanter guy got all cocky with his magic. I wouldn’t have been dumb enough to let down my shield.

  Glancing at the weapons on the wall, she considered whether to bring any. She could take whatever she wanted, as long as it fit on her person. Her eyes lingered on a shield, and she forced her gaze away from it. No. I’ve never needed one before, and it’ll just slow me down.

  Instead, she grabbed a pair of silver-bladed swords – her favorites – and marched determinedly out the door.

  Aurelia stepped into the arena and looked up at the thousands of spectators around her. Several gold-cloaked Sentinels hovered in the air over the arena, holding white Eye Stones in their hands.

  Everyone was watching her. Everyone was waiting.

  All that attention would have made anyone else nervous, but to Aurelia, it was like a swig of cold water after a long, hot bout with a punching bag. The very air energized her, and she reminded herself that she was there not just for herself, but for all the Norms in the world. The icy shards of fear were still embedded in her heart, but she couldn’t let anyone see them. No matter what stepped out of the darkness beyond the gates, she had to kill it.

  It was do or die.

  Though her breath came out shakily, she held her head high to show the world that nothing scared her.

  “Aurelia Sun, Contestant Twenty-Four, from the Triumvirate of North America, will face a spearfiend.” The announcer’s voice brought her out of her head and back to reality.

  A what? She wrinkled her nose in confusion; she’d never heard of a spearfiend before. The officials must have brought it in from another nation. This was her worst fear: that she’d be up against something she didn’t know, and unprepared. She hadn’t thought it was possible, but now all her doubt came rushing back. What if it didn’t have a head for her to chop off? What if it turned out to be the only monster in the world not vulnerable to silver?

  She drew a deep breath. C’mon, Firedragon! This is no time to freak out!

  She bent her knees and widened her stance, giving herself a solid base for any move she’d need to make once the creature entered. The gate across from her opened, and she raised her swords, ready to gank the spearfiend. Whatever that was.

  Nothing. There was nothing behind the gate but darkness.

  Where on earth was the spearfiend?

  Then a wind blew through the arena, sweeping her thick, wavy ponytail across her face. Weird – the arena was indoors. Where would wind come from? Grains of sand stung her cheek, and she dodged. That was even weirder – there was no sand around here. And the weirdness could only mean one thing.

  It’s here.

  She spun to the side and flung her double swords up in an X, just as a bony, spear-like leg shot down toward her. Her blades caught the leg between them, stopping the spike inches from her face, and she yanked her arms apart and sliced through it from both sides.

  Green blood splashed onto her, and the creature let out an earsplitting shriek as the severed leg fell to the ground.

  Her gaze flew to the leg, and then shot up to the rest of the monster. What was it? A tall creature was standing in front of her, behind what remained of the limb she’d cut off. She’d injured it, but it was far from dead. Its menacing eyes glared hungrily down at her, and she could sense it calculating its next move, deciding the best way to kill her. It looked like it was made of sand, with a long beak, curved tusks, sharp horns, and a bladed tail. Between those and its pointed limbs, it had ten ways to impale her.

  Nine, now that she’d chopped off one of its front legs. She noticed the creature’s long, narrow neck, and relief poured through her. She could kill it after all.

  Then the creature started to move, and a collective gasp rippled through the arena from the stands. To reassure the audience – and herself – that she knew what she was doing, she threw them a smirk.

  Big mistake.

  The spearfiend took advantage of her momentary distraction and snapped its tail toward her. She caught a glimpse and dove forward, but wasn’t quite fast enough. The sharp point sliced right through the coat she was wearing, into her shoulder, and stinging pain flared down her back. If she’d moved a split-second later, it would’ve stabbed her through the spine.

  She ignored the injury and looked around wildly, searching. What would it attack her with next?

  Almost before she’d completed the thought, the fiend’s sharp tusks were flying toward her, its ravenous black eyes glaring from behind them. She flattened herself on the ground just in time to feel one of the tusks nick the back of her head. Seeing a pointed shadow on the ground, she rolled quickly to the left. The creature’s beak scraped the floor in the spot where she’d just been lying.

  She couldn’t just keep dodging, she thought anxiously; if she did, she’d wear herself out before she could get another strike in. She started to get up, then saw the creature’s tail flying toward her again and dropped back down. Again, she wasn’t quite fast enough, and though she avoided the deadly point, the powerful tail knocked her flat. The impact nearly caused her to lose her swords, but
she tightened her grip, gritted her teeth, and sprang up. Seeing a bony leg before her, she whipped one sword across her body, aiming for it.

  The creature disappeared, though, and the blade cut through nothing more than a spattering of sand.

  You’re a tricky one. She raised her swords, the rush of combat coursing through her blood, and glared around the arena. This was what she’d been born to do, what every ounce of her being was meant for: Killing monsters. She couldn’t afford to be scared anymore, and she had to make the audience believe she was completely assured.

  The enemy was here, and she had to fight.

  A sand-filled wind blasted her back, the grains whipping past her. It would return soon – she could almost see it appearing in front of her. Any second now …

  She bent backward to dodge as the spearfiend materialized, its face shooting toward her. Her right fist hit the ground and she arched her body up into a backbend, trying to avoid the sharp beak, which then brushed against her stomach. Its tusks were on either side of her waist – one would have ended up in her gut if she’d moved a moment too late – the spearfiend’s pitiless eyes only inches from her own, staring down at her.

  Missed me, monster. She stuck out her tongue and jabbed her left blade up toward its neck.

  The spearfiend disappeared again.

  She pushed off her fist and stood, her heart pounding, and her ponytail clinging to her sweaty neck. Where was it now? How was she supposed to fight something that vanished each time she tried to strike?

  No fear, she told herself firmly. If it gets me, I’m not going down screaming. She flicked her wrists, swinging her double blades by her sides. “La, la, la,” she called in a mocking, singsong voice. “Where aaaare yoooou?”

  She heard a soft rustling as sand scraped against the arena floor, but felt no wind this time.