Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [9]
When it came to laying odds, Kвras would take small and sneaky over brute force any day.
The crowd thickened. Most of the spectators crowded the first few rows, seats so close to the arena that their occupants were sometimes hit with a hot spray of blood.
As the bet runner moved into place, climbing the stairs toward the spot where the target sat, Kвras rose to his feet, shouting out a last-moment bet. "Three gold!" He waved his arm, as if trying to catch the bet runner's eye.
The bet runner ignored him.
Kвras clambered down the stairs, unfastening the coin purse at his hip. "Three more gold on the derro!" he shouted again. He continued calling and waving as he climbed the stairs on the other side of the arena.
Before he could reach the bet runner, the gong sounded, signaling the start of the combat.
"Out of the way!" a spectator cried. "I can't see."
Kвras continued up the steps to the bet runner. The boy had positioned himself next to Kвras's target, as was the custom when each fight began, with his back against the wall so as not to block the view.
"Didn't you hear me, boy?" Kвras shouted. "I wanted to place a bet."
The bet runner cringed. "Sorry, Master! Too late. The fight's already-"
Kвras cuffed him, splitting his lip.
The boy was good. He glared back at Kвras as if he wanted to kill him, and cringed when Kвras raised his hand a second time. Seemingly cowed, he slunk away.
Kвras glanced back at the combat, sighed heavily, then squeezed onto the bench next to Valdar.
His target glanced at him, his unusual pink eyes flicking briefly to Kвras's wrist-crossbow and dagger and lingering a moment longer on the scars that gave Kвras's left eye a perpetual squint. If Valdar survived, he'd remember Kвras. Survival was unlikely, however.
Kвras turned his attention to the fight. In the arena below, the quaggoth leaped forward with a roar. Despite her size, she was swift as a jumping spider. The derro deftly sidestepped and slashed, but missed. The quaggoth spun and raked the derro's shoulder with its claws, drawing first blood.
The crowd shouted its approval.
Kвras snorted. "Hah. Perhaps it's just as well I didn't get to place that bet."
His target didn't comment.
The derro feinted with his left, stabbed with his right.
The second dagger almost scored a hit, parting the fur at the quaggoth's hip.
The female sitting on the other side of Valdar leaped to her feet and shook her fist. "Kill him!" she screamed.
The quaggoth slammed a paw into the derro's back, sending the little male stumbling. The derro turned it into a somersault and sprang back to his feet. He shouted something at the quaggoth-a shout laden with magic that sent the quaggoth reeling. Before she could recover, the derro raced in and stabbed her in the thigh. Bright red blood stained her fur. She staggered, blinked stupidly at the wound. Then she fell.
The crowd roared.
"Ha!" Kвras cried. "I wish I had placed that bet. I knew the derro would win. But at least I've made a little profit, this match." He folded his arms and leaned back, as if pleased with himself.
Now was the moment. Before the noise of the crowd ebbed, he whispered a terse prayer that would freeze his target in place. He abruptly leaned sideways, jostling Valdar. The dagger concealed by his folded arm stabbed into Valdar's side.
The point grated against something-fine-woven mail, by the feel of it-turning what should have been a fatal thrust into a bruising punch.
To Kвras's surprise, Valdar moved. Before Kвras could react, Valdar grasped his arm and "spoke" a command with his fingers: Come. Kвras suddenly felt an urge to follow the other male wherever he might lead. Before he could shake off the magical compulsion, his target moved his fingers in a silent prayer.
The arena disappeared.
Off-balance from the sudden absence of the bench, Kвras nearly fell. Rather than leaping away-a move the other male would have anticipated-Kвras hurled himself forward, knocking the other male off-balance. Then he sprang