Nadine stood gaping. What was Magnus doing? Was he mad?
Nadine looked at Azolirum in a new light. He was no longer an abomination obviously designed to kill. He was an instrument the god of creation himself must have put together for the specific purpose of disassembling the barbarian called Magnus the Vast. Those alien, silver rims had grown parchment thin amid the widening black pupils that fixed squarely upon her barbarian, the man who was too stupid to even flinch.
Sudden fear tore at Nadine’s insides, pulled her guts apart and stretched them as tight as the cord of a bowstring. The breath she’d been waiting for didn’t come. Her hand went to her lancet, and she squeezed it for dear life to keep her knees from giving out.
Azolirum extended his muscle-ripped arm in Magnus’s direction, and pointed one claw-tipped finger like the point of an iron dagger. “I accept your challenge.”
15
Oath Mark
If Magnus stopped long enough to consider what he was doing, the horde king would kill him before he crafted an explanation. So he wouldn’t. But he was still probably going to die.
The common area rumbled and groaned with the excited howls of the Nozverak as their leader stripped his hide shirts, revealing a deadly expanse of muscle rippling beneath tight, blue skin. Kreesha.
Erik grabbed Magnus by the front of his shirt and pushed him back toward their clansmen, who huddled around with advice for the fight to come. Erik silenced them all with a slash of his hand through the air and an angry, blue gaze fixed upon Magnus.
“What are you doing, brother?” he demanded in their father tongue. “The Nozverak challenge their opponents to the death.”
Magnus raised his brows in an assessing way as he peered around Erik toward the violent, brawl-like show the Nozverak were putting on behind him. “I pieced that together.”
Erik squeezed Magnus’s shirt, bunching the fabric in his fingers. “Call it off.”
Rather than remove his brother’s hands, Magnus reached behind himself to peel his shirt overhead. “I don’t think your best friend Azol is going to let me limp out of here, no matter what I do.”
Erik’s hands fell away with the shirt when Magnus dropped it to the ground. “Take Yrsa and go. I’ll hold him off.”
Magnus snorted. “Your confidence in me is encouraging, brother. Truly, it is.” Several hands slapped him on the back as he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.
Erik batted the encouraging hands away before shoving Magnus hard in the chest. “Are you listening to me? He will kill you. You can’t beat him in hand-to-hand combat.”
Magnus drew in a breath and put his hands on Erik’s shoulders. Leaning his head in close, he said, “If I escape now, his own men will turn and kill him for posing an alliance with cowards. This truce between our kinds stands because of the respect he has for you.”
Erik narrowed his eyes. “It stands because they’re desperate.”
Magnus swallowed. “As are we all, brother.” His gaze slid in the direction of the Ebronians, to Nadine who was chattering about something with that piece of shit, Samar. “All except her.”
Only one thing was more certain to Magnus than his own impending death: his hamma was never going to give up the Eye. Not willingly. That meant this mission was either doomed to failure, or her own people would take it from her. Magnus couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.
Azolirum stood at the center of a forming ring. Eyes on Magnus, he cracked his knuckles one by one before turning to revel in the rowdiness of his men. Perhaps Magnus didn’t have to win to preserve the accord. Perhaps he only had to show these creatures their potential allies were not so inferior as they believed them to be. Magnus could do that much. He was damn certain of it.
He swept an arm out and pushed Erik aside. His clansmen cheered him on and moved in between the Ebronians and the Nozverak to close the circle that would serve as the stage for the massacre to come. Magnus cut through the crowd in confident strides, a half smile formed on his lips.
“Put him down, Magnus!”
“Show these under-landers who we are!”
His clansmen shouted encouragements in Dokiri. They clapped, cheered, and did everything they could to make their voices heard over the deep bellows of the Nozverak, which carried far within the cave. Even the Ebronians joined in for his side, though with notably less enthusiasm. Did it shame them that one of their own hadn’t been the one to defend their captain’s honor? It should. Still, Magnus couldn’t rescind it. This was his right. His task. His duty. And he would’ve killed any man who’d tried to claim the honor for himself.
Magnus circled the periphery of the ring, coming close to the edge near the Nozverak. Slavering as they were, he’d show no fear before the opponent who circled the opposite side with uncanny eyes fixed upon him. Magnus had never faced an opponent taller than himself. Or broader. Azolirum was both by as much difference as Magnus from Hollen. How long had it been since his oldest brother had bested him in a fight? How long since he’d been fool enough to even try?
Magnus flicked a glance at the double rack of horns on the horde king’s head, then counted to make sure there were, in fact, five claws for each of his hands. Magnus got the distinct impression that, though this was supposed to be a hand-to-hand fight, he had shown up to a wrestling match only to find his opponent fully armored and swinging an arsenal of blades from both arms. He might as well have been wearing a spiked shield atop his head for good measure.
I wonder if they’ll have time to burn my body before they go under the mountain.
Azolirum cracked a menacing smile at Magnus, then squatted down low like he was ready to charge. “I hope she was worth it, nozturel.”
At the last moment, Magnus looked at Nadine, fully expecting to see her engrossed in conversation with Samar. She wasn’t. Her eyes were fixed solely on Magnus. And they were wide with fear.
For me.
The thought barely registered before Azolirum made good on that threatened charge. Head lowered, he bounded across the ring with a roar so mighty it shook Magnus’s bones. There was only one thing left now, the instinct to survive. He leapt out of the way.
Azolirum stopped, was slow to straighten, but when he did, he whipped around, black claws out. The Nozverak cheered as Magnus pulled in his belly to keep his organs from spilling on the ground. The horde king grinned at Magnus, who sped around the ring, looking for an opportunity to slip about the massive creature’s back.
“Get behind me, nozturel, and you’ll be licking the viro from my ass.”
Getting behind him was his best chance. Magnus could wait. He’d have to.
It didn’t take long. Azolirum charged him again, horned head down. This time, Magnus lunged to the side before bounding back to land upon him. Quick as he could, Magnus shoved an arm under the Nozverak’s throat and clamped on.
Azolirum roared, then sputtered as Magnus put all his strength into his grip. The Nozverak rammed his face this way and that, and Magnus strained to avoid the dark horns. A sudden lash of pain had Magnus opening his arms. Azolirum was out in a heartbeat, and it was all Magnus could do to roll away before he was grappled.
He rose to his feet and clapped a hand over his left shoulder where the Nozverak had reached back and caught him with his claws. Warm blood was spilling over. Kreesha. New plan. Magnus widened his stance and prepared himself for the next charge. Assuming it came. It had better come.