All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [113]
“We can do this,” she told them.
They lined up.
Eliot moved close to her. The look in his eyes was pure concentration. Fiona had seen him like this before—in that alley as he fought a hundred shadows, and when he had faced the Infernal Lord of All That Flies, Beelzebub.
He looked like a hero.
31
WHAT MATTERED TO ELIOT
Eliot set his pack down on the sidelines.
Inside was Lady Dawn. Fiona was right—speed would be the key to winning this match. Playing a violin while balancing on some platform didn’t make a lot of sense.
As he let go of the pack, though, his hand twinged. He tried to will the pain away, telling himself that he’d be close to his violin soon. It ebbed, not entirely subsiding, though.
He ran back to Team Scarab.
Mr. Ma gave him a look, communicating volumes of irritation.
Jeremy muttered, “Try to keep up with me, Post.”
“Just worry about yourself,” Eliot snapped back.
He had confidence, thanks to Robert. Training every day after school had more benefits than new muscles and learning how to throw a punch. Sure, Eliot did know how to hit and kick and stand without getting knocked down—but there was a lot more to fighting. Mainly not being scared.
He glanced at Team Wolf. A rough bunch. Mean and lean, and that near-albino Donald van Wyck snapped his teeth at them like they were fresh meat.
Whatever. Psyching the other side out was obviously part of this game, too.
He smiled back . . . and Van Wyck’s grin faded.
Mr. Ma raised his starting pistol and fired.
They ran.
Robert, Mitch, Jezebel, and even Amanda sprinted ahead of everyone else.
Sarah and Fiona circled to his left, clambering up a cargo net.
They were bit too far away for comfort, but Eliot trusted Fiona. She’d get to him quickly, when he needed help.
Jeremy took the lead and Eliot followed him to a wooden ladder. It was a good choice, because it was a straight shot halfway up through the jungle gym . . . but the end dangled three body lengths over their heads.
“What’re you doing?” Eliot asked, panting. “We—can’t—reach that.”
Jeremy’s hands moved fast, fluid motions like the sleight of hand Louis had made with his three playing cards—then he pulled a hemp rope . . . from nothing.
Eliot blinked as he remembered the Covingtons were conjurers.30
Jeremy threw the rope and it swished over the lowest ladder rung, lashed about, and knotted itself with a bowline. Jeremy flicked it once and the rope knotted for climbing as well.
“Hurry,” Eliot whispered.
Jeremy scrambled up the rope.
Two remaining members of Team Wolf spotted Eliot and ran toward him.
He went up the rope while Jeremy was still on, and sent the line spinning.
His progress wasn’t great, but he got up out of the reach of the boy and girl from Team Wolf just as they got to the rope.
They started up after him.
Fiona and Sarah, however, had circled around to intercept them.
Eliot focused on climbing. He couldn’t stop and help. As much as he wanted to fight (for the first time in his life) and test himself, that wasn’t his job. He was supposed to draw as many of Team Wolf away as possible, let the rear defenders take them out . . . and if he got the chance, get to the flag.
He grasped the lowest ladder rung and scrambled up to the top.
Jeremy gave him a hand onto a platform connected by four chains.
It swayed and tilted. Eliot grabbed one of the chains for balance. He looked down.
Sarah had conjured a web of ropes spread between her and the other students. Fiona grasped handfuls of the lines. Where strands wrapped about beams, they severed, collapsing in a heap before the other students, blocking them.
“That way.” Jeremy pointed to a series of platforms similarly hung by chains.
Each was an easy jump, no more that a body length apart. Landing would be tricky. Those platforms would swing all over the place.
Eliot glanced up, but saw no sign of Robert or the others.
A quick glance down; he couldn’t see Fiona or Sarah, either . . . but he did notice then that he was three stories up. A chill ran along his spine,