“You are such a throwback,” I informed him. “Your claim. Do I look like a gold mine to you?”

Raoul snapped a shut-up look over his shoulder. “Let me handle this, please.”

I wanted to say something really mature like, “He started it.” But maybe this wasn’t the time.

Raoul said, “She’s Eldhayr. Do you really want that kind of fight? I could bring the whole Eminent screaming down on your head, and when we were done with you not even a spark would remain to prove you had ever existed.”

“You could,” said Brude, grinning craftily, “if they were at your shoulder. But they must be scattered to the seven winds at the moment. No, I will take her now, while the time is ripe.” He looked at me as he savored that last word, his eyes full of the plans he’d made for us.

“You can’t make me stay,” I told him. I put my hand on Raoul’s shoulder. “Can he?”

“He’s a Domytr. That gives him the ability to try.”

I paged through my mental dictionary. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“You wouldn’t have. They’re rare. Hand-picked by Lucifer. And exclusive to this side.”

The Domytr and the Eldhayr began to circle one another. I shadowed Raoul, still searching for some form of naturally occurring weapon. I saw rocks, but they were all set into the earth so deep, no way would I be able to extricate one before the fight had ended. I clenched my fists, and when the movement didn’t even crack my knuckles, I wondered if the Thin had even left me enough strength to heft one.

Brude charged, yelling a battle cry that liquefied all the food in my bowels. Shit! We should run!

Ah, the voice of reason. Why is it we never listen to her when the battle is on? It would spare us such a lot of pain. Or in Raoul’s case, a blow to the nose that seemed to break it, and a punch that glanced off his eye, but only because his head was already rocking backward.

Holy crap, that guy can swing a staff! Only it’s not just the wood talking. I think his tattoos are getting darker when he attacks. Almost like they’re being reinforced. And look at that. They’re coalescing! Forming some sort of second skin. Except I have a feeling it’s a lot more durable than most armor.

Raoul pulled his sword. A rune-covered steel that shone like sun on the water, he wielded it with the ease of a master. A lunge. A slash across Brude’s upper chest that bled so freely it began to look like he’d slipped on a red T-shirt for the occasion. But as I watched, the tattooed armor folded over the cut and the bleeding stopped.

“Your metal cannot harm me here,” Brude said triumphantly.

Oh, that’s reassuring.

Raoul snapped, “Play with someone else’s head, Brude. Mine is bent on your destruction.” He jumped forward again, smashing his blade against Brude’s staff. Something should have broken. Maybe it was Raoul’s pride. He backed away.

“Are you done playing already? Good enough.” Brude’s eyes jumped to mine. “I believe it would be better to finish this quickly, after all. It has been so long.” He nodded in decision and slowly lifted the staff, walking around Raoul as he also turned. Waiting for him to make a mistake. He leaped forward, moving so quickly I barely caught the shift in his shoulders that signaled his intentions.

I bounced away from Raoul, allowing him the room he needed to adjust. He veered sideways, cracking his sword against Brude’s staff as it passed within a millimeter of his head.

Raoul’s heel to the king’s ribs should’ve scored the best shot he’d made so far. Brude grunted, but only with effort. The armor had slid forward to intercept Raoul’s blow. I’d fought supernaturally shielded opponents before, so I knew Raoul felt like he’d just connected with the radiator of a Mack truck.

He reversed the sword in his hand, holding it so the blade emerged from the back of his fist like you might hold a dagger in a knife fight. Rushing toward Brude, he battered the king with multiple kicks to the torso and a blow to the temple with the hilt of the sword.

Brude didn’t bother to block the blows. The armor did all that so well his head barely jerked, though Raoul had hit him hard enough to snap his neck. He responded with a combination of slashing attacks that forced Raoul to pull back or lose some choice parts.

Oh goody. How about I just stand here like a helpless Victorian Miss whilst the menfolk battle for my honor? Or I could—I looked around. Nope. No heroic rescue wrote itself on my brain as I scanned the scene. Well, this sucks. I moved completely off the path, avoiding the sweating, heaving fighters on my way to a light-gray boulder. I leaned against it, brushing my hands against the rough crags of the stone. Down by my hips I discovered a stash of small rocks in a recess where either the wind or a bored hand had chipped them off and left them for later. I picked one up. Tossed it up and down in my hand.

And lofted it at Brude.

It hit him. Of course it didn’t hurt. His inked-on shell came to his rescue. But I threw another anyway. It became the only way I could find to amuse myself between rounds.

Round One: Raoul busting his ass to no avail.

Medium-sized piece o’ granite to the small of the king’s back. Bang—two points!

Round Two: Brude nearly taking off Raoul’s head.

Two small pebbles to the Domytr’s left thigh. Hey, they hit at the same time. I am the Queen of Rock Pelting!

Round Three: Raoul throwing such an intricate combination of moves I didn’t recognize what discipline he’d pulled them from, which meant he was now fighting out of the School of Desperation.

Flat stone, perfect for skipping, bounced right off the ear. It’s no fun when he doesn’t even flinch. How are we ever going to get past that goddamned armor?

Вы читаете Jaz Parks 5 - One More Bite
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