“Then, for the sake of the friendship we once had, I ask you to leave.”
“Not without that sword.” Wysaro’s gaze fell upon Hamon. “Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, father.” Hamon bowed.
“Bring it to me.”
Hamon walked toward the edge of the arena, where Kegohr sat in the front row, the Sundered Heart Sword lying in its scabbard in his lap. The half-ogre closed one massive fist around the weapon, his expression grimly determined. Beside him, Vesma stood, spear in hand.
“The half-breed and the little girl,” Hamon said as fire flared from his curved swords. “It’s going to be a pleasure cutting you both down to size.”
I flung myself at him and tackled him to the ground. The fire on his swords died as they went flying from his hands and fell in the dirt just out of reach. Hamon howled in fury, and I felt the fire magic run through him as its heat blazed from his skin.
I didn’t have time to deal with his temper tantrum, so I scrambled to my feet and across the arena, hand outstretched.
“To me, Kegohr!” I shouted.
He stood and threw the sword. It was a clumsy throw, more powerful than accurate, but I leaped up and caught the sword before it could sail over my head. I landed with one hand on the scabbard and one on the handle as I drew the blade.
Hamon ran at me, and I dropped the scabbard before I raised my empty hand, palm first. The power of Untamed Torch flowed through me. There was no time to think or to shape the attack, so I let it fly free, a shapeless burst of magical flames that sent Hamon flying, his hair singed and the corner of his robes on fire.
He lay in the dirt as he stared at me in shock, a spoiled brat denied the thing he wanted.
“Pathetic boy,” Wysaro snarled. “Must I do everything myself?”
He spread his arms and fire engulfed him, as it had clothed Yo Hin during our fight. He rose into the air and came soaring across the arena. The flames stretched out behind him like the tail of a comet as he hurtled toward me.
I raised my Flame Shield, stretched my right leg back, and braced myself for the impact.
Suddenly, another fiery figure smashed into Jiven Wysaro and slammed him against the side of the arena. Initiates scrambled clear as a section of the stand creaked in protest before collapsing into a heap of planks and poles. When the dust cleared, Master Xilarion stood over Lord Wysaro, a simple wooden staff in his hands.
“You could have been a good man once, Jiven,” he said. “I am sorry it has come to this.”
“Not as sorry as you will be.” Wysaro threw up his hands, and it looked for a moment as if his whole body was exploding, the fire burst so violently from him. It flew in every direction, ignited the surrounding stands, charred the ground, and sent initiates running for cover.
Master Xilarion stood unmoved by the pouring flames, a shadow amid the light. He released his staff, and it floated in the air in front of him, held up by magic. He brought his hands together, as if he was holding a football between them, and strained his shoulders.
The flow of fire shifted before it rushed toward that point in front of Xilarion. A sphere of fire grew between his hands, brighter than the flames around it, like the shining heart of the sun.
I didn’t have time to watch and see what happened next. Wysaro clan Augmenters were rushing into the arena with weapons raised and fire flaring. I ran to meet them, Flame Shield on my arm and the Sundered Heart Sword in my hand.
All the qualms I had about using the sword disappeared. This wasn’t an honorable fight between peers who were trying to prove our strength and skill. This was a battle to the death, a fight not just for my sword but for power in the lands around us. It was do or die, and if it turned into the latter, then I would go down swinging my sword and channeling Vigor.
I met the Augmenters as they spread out from the entrance and headed for the ruined section of the stands. The enemies were trying to catch my injured companions while they were vulnerable, and rage bubbled in my stomach at Clan Wysaro’s dirty tactics.
The first of Jiven’s men was too intent on rushing to the attack, so he didn’t even see me coming. I cut him down in a single stroke, twisted the sword around, and caught one of his companions across his Flame Shield. The man halted in his tracks and thrust his spear toward me. I summoned a Plank Pillar, and the pointed edge of my opponent’s weapon lodged into the wood. I darted around the pillar and cut him down while he was still trying to dislodge his spear.
Aside from Hamon and Master Xilarion, I had been the only guild member standing in the dirt of the arena, and I feared that I was about to be surrounded. The Wysaro Augmenters, clad in the loose garb of ninjas, flowed around me in every direction. I was forced into constant movement, ducking, darting, and parrying, fending off attacks from left and right.
Just as the numbers seemed about to overwhelm me, a small, lithe figure appeared at my side. Vesma’s spear spun and twirled as it darted into the gaps between her opponents, constantly attacking where they least expected. Any time they came too close, the Flame Shield flared on her arm and threw out a bright disk that blinded them, giving her vital seconds to regroup.
“That’s new,” I commented as my blade tore through a ninja’s stomach. “Why didn’t you use it in the tournament?”
“I
