Rise of the Gryphon (31 page)

She took his looking toward the final matches as a positive sign that he believed she’d win her next one. Flexing her hand that was sore, but usable, she headed to the door. “What have you found out so far?”

“Saw a female Alterant called Black Satin who isn’t any larger than you when she shifts, but her skin is covered in a mottled brownish-gray hide that looks tough to pierce, and she’s got some wicked fangs.”

“What’d she fight?”

“A Thracian giant.”

“Don’t know what that is.”

“Huge bastard that outweighed her by a couple hundred pounds even after she’d shifted. He wore one hand covered in steel spikes a foot long and looked like he could defeat an army single-handed, but Black Satin took him down. She wasn’t quick about it, but she won.” Storm slowed when they reached the area where Lanna sat with her legs pulled to her chest and head down on her knees.

He asked, “Want to talk to her a minute?”

Evalle considered it, then shook her head. “Not until we come back. That way I only catch grief once.” She
watched as people passed until she was convinced Lanna was still out of sight.

Moving on, Evalle drew attention from the crowd.

Too many admiring glances for Storm’s peace of mind.

He hooked his arm around her shoulders in a blatant show of possession. “How did Black Satin kill the Thracian? She have a weapon?”

He kept his words low for her ears only. “That part bothers me. She didn’t have a visible weapon, but I think she used a spell, maybe even Noirre majik, to enrage him. She stayed just out of reach, teasing him like a matador playing with a bull until the giant charged her.”

“He didn’t gut her with his spiked fist?”

“Nope. Her hands turned into two snake heads that had flat fangs as sharp as blades. And she’s fast. She gouged him a couple of times, which didn’t look too bad until he started convulsing and running around crazy, then just dove headfirst into a wall and—”

“Exploded into fire,” Evalle finished, now realizing that had been the loud
kaboom
she’d heard. You could get knocked into the wall, but if you ran head-on into one intentionally you were toast.

“Then there’s Trojan,” Storm said.

“What is a Trojan? Is that his name or his sponsor?” She snapped her fingers, trying to lighten Storm’s mood. “I’ve got it. He fights naked to scare his opponents with his big weapon.” She snorted. “From what I’ve heard from the women working the streets at night, the men who brag generally don’t measure up. Literally.”

Storm tried to smile, but his worry would not relinquish its hold on the tight muscles in his face. “Think more along the lines of a Trojan horse with hidden surprises. Nasty ones.”

“Oh.” She twisted her neck to catch a second look at a man who ducked and disappeared into the crowd. That couldn’t have been Horace Keefer. Tzader wouldn’t send in Beladors, especially when he suspected Evalle was here, plus Horace was retired. Tzader would never send him to something like this.

Had to be a mistake.

“That’s all you have to say about Trojan?” Storm asked.

She turned back to him. “Is he anything like a purple cannibalistic zombie with a bad hair day?”

“Not even close.”

H
ow ya doin’?” Evalle asked as she walked up to Lanna twenty minutes later. The teen couldn’t look more miserable if she tried.

“I have headache.” Lanna sat back against the base of the stadium seating.

Storm had his back to them, keeping Evalle and Lanna shielded. He glanced around at Lanna. “Stop trying to cross the spellbound area and you won’t have a headache.”

Ignoring him, she argued, “I am rested. I can cloak myself. Let me out and I’ll help you.”

“No.” Evalle had all she could handle keeping Storm from interfering. Lanna’s middle name was Meddler. “Just sit tight. I’ve been called to my second round. As soon as I finish the third round, we’ll go.”

“If you win,” Lanna started saying, then quickly amended her words. “
When
you win, they will offer you immortality. I have heard this. You will not accept?”

“From the Medb? No, of course not.”

Dame Lynn’s voice interrupted, announcing, “
Moonlight Warrior takes on Sandspur in five minutes. Place your bets
.”

“What is Sandspur?” Lanna asked.

Evalle considered the match she’d just seen and answered, “Have no idea, but with any luck it won’t be twelve feet tall with an arm span just as wide.”

Storm said over his shoulder, “People are noticing that you’re over here.”

“I’m coming.” Evalle told Lanna, “I’ll be back soon. Okay?”

Lanna pulled her knees up tight and sent Evalle a teenage glower for an answer.

What made Quinn think I had a clue about how to deal with Lanna?
Evalle returned to her holding room just as the guard came for her. Storm gave her arm a squeeze and left.

Her wounds had healed. She was as ready as she could be and reached Gate One as Dame Lynn announced, “
Moonlight Warrior the Alterant versus Sandspur
.” But this time when both gates vanished then reappeared, no opponent stood on the other side.

Evalle stepped into the battle dome, surprised when her boots sank into sand as fine as sugar. She searched the stands on her right for Storm and found him close enough to see the lines in his frown.

Maybe she was getting a pass or . . .

Energy entered the dome.

Evalle spun her attention back to the far side where a knee-high lump pushed up from underground at the mouth of Gate Two.

Displaced sand bulged as a fat, cylindrical creature five feet long burrowed forward.

Evalle didn’t move as her opponent continued to
worm its way to the center of the theater. Shouting quieted to a low rumble of murmurs. Excitement mounted as everyone waited to see Sandspur.

When the critter finally burst out of the sand, Evalle had her dagger in hand, ready.

Sandspur pushed its head up first, two horns bouncing, as if rubbery. Lifting half its body upright, Sandspur was a caterpillar version of the Michelin Man, but this overgrown bug didn’t have the little legs wiggling along the underside. Tigerlike black stripes reached around the aqua-colored body with the wide bands narrowing as the tips almost touched on its belly. Sandspur’s head resembled a daisy, with three white petals fanning out and huge pink eyes with blue centers.

Cute, in an odd way.

Feenix would love that for a playmate.

How was she going to hurt, much less kill, something that didn’t even have legs? How did fighters come into these rings—theaters—and attack something that had never threatened them?

She could see how boxing was a major sport, but beast battles weren’t sport.

This crowd demanded dismemberment and death.

Smiling at the cute little devil would send the wrong message. She’d try to scare Sandspur into begging for relief. Storm wouldn’t be happy with her, but he’d just have to get over it. Flipping the dagger end over end and catching the grip, she moved into a crouch attack position.

Sandspur opened a maw of finger-length sharp teeth
and let out a yell that might be impressive for a caterpillar, but was too thin and high-pitched to be anything scary. Laughter bucked through the crowd.

Evalle had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Poor thing. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long. She didn’t want to see Sandspur humiliated.

“Come on, buddy,” she called over quietly, her words shielded by the roar of laughter. “Let’s rock and get you out of here.”

Sandspur’s eyes went from pink to hot blue flames. Six black tiger stripes wrapping its body unleashed, stretching ten feet out on each side. Along the edge of each stripe, tentacles spiked up like shark teeth and sharp pincers clicked at the tips.

Crap.

Sandspur moved forward as if on a supersonic railway.

One tentacle whipped at her.

Evalle pushed off the ground with kinetic force and landed on the opposite side of the dome.

Sandspur spun in place like a whirligig, tentacles flying in all directions.

So that’s where it got the name.

Getting close enough to stab the fat body would be tough.

Sandspur spun toward her with amazing speed. Its pincers clicked close to her face as she dove away once again. A row of teeth along the tentacle caught her left shoulder, ripping open skin and tearing muscle.

Fighting harder only pumped the blood faster.

No choice.

With a quick roll away from the flying tentacles, Evalle shoved to her feet. She called forth her Belador battle form that she could use without sanction. Her arms bulged with muscle. Cartilage broke through the skin, then her shirt. Her neck thickened and her legs split the jeans.

Her Alterant beast wanted to surface, but she kept her control locked down tight.

Cartwheeling away from another attack, Evalle landed with her feet planted, facing the overgrown worm. “That all you got?”

Sandspur paused, its flowery head tilting to one side, then the thing actually laughed.

I’ll show you funny, you miserable . . .

Big mistake. The fat little turd’s action had been meant to distract her. And it worked.

A tentacle lashed out fast as a whip.

This one stretched way longer than the other five and sliced her calf, jerking her off balance. She bent around and slashed the tentacle with her dagger.

The three-foot piece of appendage whimpered as it crawled off, its pincer snapping at air.

Another tentacle shot out from Sandspur’s body the same length, but this one went for her face.

She dropped her blade to use both hands to catch the black arm just below the pincer. Rubbery skin over rigid cartilage or bone inside. Jagged one-inch spikes along the edge cut into her palms. Her shoulder was losing strength. She struggled to keep the slashing pincer away from her face.

Could Sandspur stretch only one tentacle this far at a time? Looked that way, but now it was using her hold for leverage to inch its fat little body across the sand with the other four arms reaching for her.

Not as fast when a tentacle was caught?

Blood oozed through her fingers.

Two spikes pierced all the way through her palm and stuck out the back of her hand. Pain wrenched her mind in different directions from her hand to her shoulder and leg, but she would not lose to a freakin’ worm.

Dizziness washed over her. Bile rushed up her throat.

Could those spikes on Sandspur’s tentacles be fangs that injected some kind of venom?

Gritting her teeth, she clenched harder on the tentacle, tightening to cut off any blood flow, if blood ran through this thing.

Sandspur trembled, then emitted a crunching and growling sound. It started whipping sand into a cloud.

If Evalle lost her glasses in this bright arena or that much sand hit her in the face, she’d be blinded. But she couldn’t release a hand to grab her dagger, or the pincer would take a piece of her skull.

With the sand tornado circling its body, Sandspur drew its remaining tentacles back around itself and started growing larger.

But it stalled out and wobbled.

Pressure eased from the tentacle Evalle wrestled. She risked a look to glare at Storm, warning him to stop helping her. He gave her a
What?
look in return.

Ignoring him, she arm-wrestled the tentacle toward
the ground. The pincer bent back on itself and bit at her wrist, cutting a gouge.

She rallied everything she had and pressed down with her forearm. That freed one hand to snatch up her dagger. She stabbed the tentacle, pinning it to the ground.

Sandspur screeched and jerked.

Didn’t like that one bit, huh?

The little bastard spun harder to reach her.

Evalle shoved up her hand, palm out, and blinked to clear her vision. Sandspur crashed into a kinetic wall of energy.

Whispering to her dagger to stay where it was, Evalle pushed up to stand. She staggered but kept shoving the kinetic barrier at Sandspur. Forced backward, Sandspur keened as it stretched the stabbed tentacle.

When Evalle held the creature trapped against the ground, Sandspur had the audacity to laugh at her.

Nice try.

Evalle wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Extending her trembling, bloody hand toward the lopped-off tentacle still making angry clicks as it crawled around, she called the appendage to her with kinetics. It flew to her hand. Gritting her teeth, Evalle gripped the angry pincer that snapped viciously at her face and swung it around to face down.

Sandspur stopped laughing.

With one last burst of energy, Evalle released the kinetic wall for a second and stabbed the pincer right below Sandspur’s three-petal head.

Its toothy maw opened and squealed.

The pincer had no loyalty beyond ripping at whatever it touched. Murky red flowed from the ripped wound. Sandspur’s hot blue eyes turned pink, then changed to a dried-up brown as its head fell away from the body.