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I staggered out of the portal and onto the familiar sands of the arena of the Areopagus. My hands were wrinkled and shaking, my teeth chattered violently against, but I was alive.
As the sun beat down upon me, I welcomed its shining rays. I felt like a drowned rat and was becoming aware of just how much my body had been running on adrenaline. The constant danger and racing for my life had distracted me from the cold rain and the biting wind that I had endured. The sun warmed my face. I breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“Again, you scrape in by a thread, syntrímmia,“ Ares called.
“I don’t even know what that means,” I replied, looking down at the water dripping off my boots into the sand, “but it sounds fearsome.”
“It means debris,” Ares replied, his laughter echoed by the remaining champions.
I looked around me, wondering who else had made it back.
Alexa, the priestess of Hera, stood sodden and wet, her staff gripped in one hand as she grinned triumphantly. Beside her stood the Reoánaighsidhe, champion of Winter. I was hardly surprised to see him. He remained one of the more dangerous competitors on the field, and in Poseidon’s arena he seemed to have encountered little resistance. I had been avoiding him, and as I had been one of his closest competitors, I imagined he had made a straight shot through the arena. Unlike the others, he appeared perfectly dry. The cold, biting wind hadn’t fazed him at all, and he seemed almost rested. It was hard not to be envious given the hells I’d had to crawl through to make it here.
Then out from behind the Reoánaighsidhe, another figure hobbled into view. His hulking form threatened to blot out the sun as he towered over me. Pyrros, champion of Phobos, had made it back.
My jaw dropped in utter disbelief. I had punched a hole through his leg and sent him into the depths of the sea. How had he managed not to drown, let alone make it past the Scylla and up the peak to return to the Areopagus? Clearly, he had more grit than I’d given him credit for, and my blood boiled at the sight of him.
He had killed Tadashii. He’d driven his sword straight through my friend’s chest.
On seeing me, he scoffed. “Two good legs and still you struggled to make it back. You’re lucky that there were two of you or I would have finished you on the causeway.”
I stepped up into his face. It would have been more intimidating if my head reached higher than his shoulders. “You’re lucky we are here and you can hide behind Ares, or I would finish the job I started in the realm of Poseidon.”
I was going to walk away but instead I pointed at his maimed leg. “Mark my words, the next one goes through your heart.”
Ares strode to us and pushed us apart. “There will be time enough to settle your differences tomorrow. Tonight, we rest, recover our strength, and then tomorrow, we put on a show of arms that will never be forgotten.”
“And what will that be?” the Reoánaighsidhe asked. “You’ve had us walk through death, drowned us in the depths of the sea. What arena shall we compete in tomorrow? It seems the heavens would be all that remain.”
I listened intently for Ares’ answer. The Reoánaighsidhe was already planning ahead, jockeying for advantage in the coming challenge. He had identified the fact that Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades each rule one of the earth’s domains and we had fought over two of them. Only Zeus’ remained. It seemed the logical option for the third trial.
Ares laughed. “Oh, that it was so. Unfortunately, none of you can fly. So we’ll leave the skies to my father and tomorrow you will face your simplest but perhaps your bloodiest challenge yet. You will fight here in the arena, nothing but the shifting sands beneath your feet. Four of you will enter, one of you will conquer. And I will grant the winner power, the likes of which you have never wielded.”
The arena was silent, and I knew why. The arena was a killing field, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The third challenge was likely to be the swiftest of them all. I’d be surprised if it lasted more than a few minutes, and even more surprised if the power unleashed didn’t take much of the structure with it. While Pyrros hadn’t exhibited much in the way of arcane potential, the Reoánaighsidhe was fae and could no doubt bend the arcane to his will. Alexa, like her fellow priestesses, would have been tutored by Hera herself and would be a deadly practitioner.
And then there was me.
While not as powerful as either of the elementalists, I had a dirty bag of tricks at my disposal, one of which I had yet to show. Few wizards could transmute one substance into another, and I had deliberately avoided doing it during the challenges, knowing that we were being watched and that patrons would doubtless brief their champions between challenges. I had played my greatest gift close to my chest, hoping to gain an advantage in the third challenge.
On the killing fields of the arena, I hoped it would come in useful.
“Do tell, my host,” Alexa asked, “what sort of blessing do you have in store for us?”
Until that moment, I had assumed that everyone knew what we were competing for. I figured my ignorance was from my prolonged slumber at Knight’s hands. It seems that was not the case. He had loosely referred to it as his blessing and given my chances of surviving to receive it, I hadn’t really given it that much thought.
I had to admit, I was curious what form the blessing of Ares might take.
Ares held up a hand and a set of gleaming silver strips appeared in it. Each was about eight inches long, an inch wide, and flat like a small ruler.
“Before I tell you, each of you must wear one of these.”
The champions exchanged nervous glances.
I could sense the power radiating from the bands. Whatever they were, they were enchanted and I knew as well as my fellow champions the danger of accepting such a gift.
“What do they do?” Pyrros asked, drawing closer.
“They measure your beating heart,” Ares replied. “When only one of you remains, the final challenge will be over, and the winner will claim their prize. In the meantime, the magic that binds them together will prevent any other from stealing the prize.”
Ares looked at me as he said the words, as if daring me to make the attempt. I had no such suicidal tendencies. Doing so would compromise my position as a guest, and likely result in my brutal execution.
Pyrros, model of restraint, offered his arm. Ares snapped the silver strip over his wrist and the band sprang to life coiling around his arm and tightening until it formed a silver band that exerted a faint white light.
“Next!” Ares called.
Alexa offered her left wrist and Ares repeated the process. The band again gave off its silver light as it activated. Ares took a step and stood before me. He said nothing; he didn’t need to.
I raised my right wrist, and he snapped the band over it. The silver wrap tightened as it melded into itself, forming a seamless band. Arcane power streamed through it, and I could feel my own pulse. Each beat of my heart registering with a small tingle at my wrist.
Ares moved on to stand before the Reoánaighsidhe. The Winter champion stood with his hands at his side as Ares offered the last band and didn’t move.
“It isn’t iron,” Ares replied. “Such torture would not be fitting from your host.”
I understood the sidhe’s reluctance. If it were iron, such a binding would have been agony even for a warrior of the Reoánaighsidhe’s stature. He went to raise his right wrist, paused, and then lowered it to his side, before offering Ares his left arm. Ares snapped the band over the Sidhe’s left wrist and it tightened, forming the same silver band the rest of us now wore.
“Excellent. Now you’re bound together until the end,” Ares declared. “As for the blessing, I am true to my word.”
Ares pulled off his golden braces from his forearms. He gripped the two of them together and held them up.
“I will grant the victor the strength of my arms for a week. Stored in them is a measure of my might, as well as the muscle memory of every battle I’ve ever fought. Foes more numerous than the stars in the night sky have fallen before them. Even the gods in their strength have succumbed to my blade. Whoever wears these will have no equal on the field of battle. They are yours for seven days to do with as you will.”
Ares raised a hand over the sands of the arena, and an obsidian plinth rose out of the ground. He laid the braces flat on top of the plinth.
“Here they wait for you. Tomorrow, you compete for the greatest prize you will ever hold. Three of you will die, one of you will triumph, and all of you will be immortalized for your valor. Go, rest. You will need your strength for tomorrow.”
“Ares, you toy with the balance of our world for your entertainment.” The voice of Titania, the Queen of Summer filled the arena. “You know the damage this could bring. It is madness.”
There was a harsh edge to her tone. I looked up and found her on her feet before her throne. Her hair billowed about her as the flesh of her cheeks turned red with rage.
A quiet settled over the arena as Ares turned to face her. His lips rose into the slightest hint of a smile at her challenge.
“Titania,” Ares called, “relax, it’s just a little fun and a fitting prize for whichever champion manages to survive such an ordeal.”
“Nonsense,” Titania replied. “Summer must match Winter lest the world lose its balance. You risk granting Oberon power with which he has proved he cannot be trusted.”
The air in the arena grew tense. The Sidhe queen’s fists were clenched and power coalesced around her, ready to heed her call.
The Sidhe were normally impossible to fathom, but her predicament was readily apparent. Her champion had already fallen, and she no longer had any hope of victory. The Reoánaighsidhe, Winter’s champion, was still on the field and looking like a strong contender. There was every chance that Oberon’s champion would triumph, and the already considerable Winter Court would be bolstered by a boon from the god of war.
Balance could be a precarious thing and Ares had just offered a nuclear missile to one side of a Mexican stand-off and granted them permission to use it as they saw fit. The Summer Queen seemed fit to burst. I could sense the waves of power emanating from her like the warning klaxon of an air raid siren.
Call me a cynic, but the prospect of winning hadn’t really dawned on me so I hadn’t given that great a thought to the blessing that might come from it. I had assumed my patron would gain it in my stead, and now that I knew what the boon was, what Edward Knight would do with the power of Ares was causing my heart to palpitate.
But dangerous as he might be, it was not nearly as terrifying as the bracers going to one of the Sidhe courts, or to one of the Gods currently jockeying for position on Mount Olympus. If you’d asked me a week ago about giving Knight that much power, I’d have called it insanity. There was a reason I’d withheld the oracle’s gifts from him. Now he seemed like the safest option.
How times had changed.
Beyond the gift itself was the political impact it would bring. No doubt it would bind Ares closer to the victor and when I considered the chance that that might be the Winter champion, I grasped firmly the danger Titania saw. Ares had taken a side in an eternal struggle, and he was managing to do it in front of everybody, without seemingly like he was doing so intentionally. Ares stared up at the Sidhe monarch.
“I gave you an equal chance. You should have brought a more fitting champion.”
Titania’s eyes blazed gold, and the sun overhead seemed to intensify, heat filling the arena until waves of it could be seen rising from the sand. Sweat rolled down my brow as the energy surging through the arena grew.
Oberon didn’t move, but I did sense his subtle workings as he prepared his defenses.
I thought Titania was going to strike down Ares for his insult. The Sidhe queen was a being of incredible power, but in spite of her daunting presence, Ares simply smiled up at her.
“Would you lift your hand against your host?” Ares asked, folding his arms.
Titania simmered like a kettle ready to boil over. It almost seemed like Ares was goading her. Insane a prospect as that might seem, he had put her in a precarious position. He’d given offense enough to warrant a reply, but as a visitor in his home, she was still bound by the ancient obligations of a guest. Such things might seem a needless courtesy to humans but to the Sidhe, such laws were everything. Attacking her host would be a grievous affront, one that would lessen her status among the supernatural community and mark her as a monarch that could not be trusted. With everything Winter already stood to gain, she could ill afford to lose her standing as well.
She unclenched her fists and mustering all the composure she could manage, she forced a pained smile.
“Of course not,” she muttered. “I simply wished to remind you of the consequences of your actions. I wish you all the very best. Please, excuse me, I have matters of court I must attend to.”
Before Ares could reply, the Sidhe monarch vanished. She didn’t summon a portal and pass through it, or glide gracefully out of the pavilion. She simply vanished. One moment she was there and then she was gone.
A smile crossed Oberon’s face. And I knew that no matter what happened tomorrow, I couldn’t afford to allow the Reoánaighsidhe to triumph, whatever it meant for my own well-being. Watching the two courts go to war or potentially seeing Winter overthrow Summer entirely was in no one’s best interest. Particularly those who had to live in a world whose climate was dictated by the waxing and waning of the Sidhe courts.
Ares might not care. From the safety of the Areopagus, little could affect him. But at home, winter was already unusually bitter. We could ill afford any increase in strength for the Winter court.
Oberon rose from his throne. “My host, I hope you’ll excuse me. The last time my wife was this upset, she sacked a daingneach. Lovely as she is, she has a terrible temper. I must go and see to the disposition of my forces. I shall return tomorrow.”
The King of Winter snapped his hand and he too vanished on the wind.
“I’ve got to learn that trick,” I whispered to myself as Zeus rose from his throne, smoothed the white toga he was wearing, and cleared his throat.
“Well, that’s quite enough excitement for one day,” Zeus said. “I think I’ll retire also.”
Hera rose from her throne, wrapped her arm around his, and smiled. “Let me accompany you back to Olympus, my dear. I would have the pleasure of your company.”
Zeus raised an eyebrow, but Hera offered no further information. Looking down at Ares, he nodded. “Our thanks for the diversion, and my best wishes for our remaining combatants. May Tyche smile on you all tomorrow.”
“Yes, I shall return tomorrow for the final challenge,” Hera added. “In the meantime, my son, behave yourself.”
Ares didn’t answer, but Zeus waved his hand and a golden gateway materialized before them. No sooner had they passed through it than it vanished from existence.
The sons of Ares watched them go. Deimos had lost his champion, Lycus. Pyrros remained in contention but neither of them looked particularly pleased. Clearly, they had hoped both their champions would survive and that the unholy pact between them would result in one of the two of them wielding their father’s power.
Phobos and Deimos, fear and terror. The thought sent a cold shiver down my spine to consider what either of them might accomplish with their father’s experience and skill.
I looked at Pyrros and again found myself extremely disappointed that he hadn’t drowned, or better yet been mauled by the Scylla. It was no worse than he deserved, after what he had done to Tadashii.
The arena was silent. I looked for Knight, but surprisingly he was nowhere to be found. The Director too was missing, and I found the coincidence troubling. What were they up to?
Ares turned to us and waved his hand. “Food and drink will be sent to your quarters along with a healer to see to your wounds. There will be no festivities this evening. Most of our patrons have abandoned us and you best focus on your plans for tomorrow. All of you will enter, one of you will leave. Do not try to remove your band at any cost. It would be unwise.”
Ares stalked quietly out of the arena.
I looked at the remaining champions and considered my options. There was Alexa, priestess of Hera. I’d had little or nothing to do with her for the entire trial, but I had cut down a number of her compatriots at Delphi. I doubted she had any fondness for me.
Then there was Pyrros. I’d already had a solid crack at amputating his leg. If he gave me another opportunity, I hoped to do my darnedest to take off his head.
Last but not least, the Reoánaighsidhe. The deadly Sidhe warrior seemed to have emerged from Poseidon’s realm almost entirely unscathed and as I looked at him, his catlike eyes settled on mine and a chill ran right through me.
There wasn’t a single one of these champions I could reasonably hope to form an alliance with, which was a problem. If any two of them joined forces tomorrow, it would prove deadly. What was more, they had motive to do it to increase their own chances, the same as Lycus and Pyrros had today. With no friends among them, I figured it was fruitless to try.
The three of them made no effort to leave, so I turned and made for the gate, feeling truly alone.
There was every chance I’d be the first to fall tomorrow, and on that particularly depressing note I dragged my rain sodden self out of the arena.
“Hey Syntrímmia, I will look for you tomorrow,” the Reoánaighsidhe called.
I didn’t have the energy to reply, but my mother had always told me it wasn’t polite to ignore people, so I held up one fist over my shoulder and slowly extended my middle finger, affecting a salute befitting his station until I passed through the gates.
I had made it about five paces into the hallway when a voice to my right interrupted my thoughts.
“I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
My breath caught in my throat as I whirled and found myself staring at Hachiman, the god of war.