Page 107 of The Only Way Out Is Up

That means my next match definitely won’t be against Quech and Vripiai. I’m not sure how I feel about that; part of me wants to get that particular fight over with as soon as possible. This way means there are two chances for him to lose before the finals, but much as that would make my life easier, I can’t bring myself to expect it. Vripiai is stronger than any of the Hod runics I’ve fought so far, and that’s not counting Quech’s tendency to beat the opposing masters to death. I wonder how Couvere would have fared if the big man had simply run over and punched him in the face. Not well, I’m guessing.

We need to figure out a plan for Quech, I send to Star. If he’s going to come after me physically, we might have to return the favor.

[Agreement: but later. Pay attention.]

Fair. There’s another fight to deal with before Quech, assuming things work out that way. Who do you think will win this one?

[Certainty: Bitey.]

Why?

[Analysis: it is more…] Star trails off with uncharacteristic hesitancy. [Alive? Real? You do not quite have the word.]

That wasn’t something I’d ever heard from him before. I want to press him on it, but I’m distracted by an older man in a gold-trimmed suit shouting something in my ear. It turns out he wants to congratulate me on the fight, and he’s not the only one. A small stream of well-dressed men and women from the stands have filtered over, eager to shake hands, offer encouraging words, and—presumably—take the measure of this strange barbarian and his handmade runic.

I wish Ky was here to tell me which of these people are actually important and which I can safely ignore. I make pleasant non-conversation with each, silently willing Hisham and Alzimyth to get on with it. Eventually my prayers are answered and they announce the second match, Niami and Bitey versus Almira and Cnista. Once the contestants enter the arena, I have an excuse to get away from my well-wishers and find a good vantage point. Star crouches awkwardly beside me in the stands, much to the amusement of nearby onlookers.

Bitey is fast and deadly, that much I already knew. It plays hit-and-run against the crab-thing, leaping in to swipe and dodging away from the other runic’s pincers. These light attacks don’t do much more than scrape Cnista’s armor, though, and eventually Bitey has to commit, taking a scrape on one flank in exchange for a mighty thwack against the crab’s side. Cnista folds its limbs in and lets the blow knock it violently around the arena, caroming off the wooden walls without taking much actual damage. When its momentum is spent, it unfolds again, just as prickly as before.

These Hod runics seem to focus on defense.

[Analysis: agreed. It seems a poor strategy.]

Against an equally armored opponent, you’d end up in a battle of attrition, with the victor being the one who outlasts the other. But the excessive protection becomes a disadvantage against a more versatile enemy like Star.

Or, apparently, Bitey. The tiger adjusts its tactics under Niami’s direction, circling around the slow-moving crab to try to get ahold of it with both paws. Cnista evades, scuttling sideways, until—

[Surprise: did you see that?]

I did. I could have sworn Bitey had missed. But Cnista had scrabbled in place for a moment, long enough for Bitey to get both paws on it, and now the crab can’t seem to break away. Bitey’s jaws close on its flank, long fangs crushing armor with a horrible metallic screech and a fountain of sparks.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, but I don’t want to look away. Another well-wisher, probably. “Thanks, but I’m watching this.”

“It looks just about over to me,” says Gestian. “What do you think?”

Slowly, I turn. He’s sitting in the stands just behind me, still wearing the Dreikin uniform, a disarming smile on his aristocratic features.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” he says after a moment of silence. “I’m Gestian Vianor. You’re Taj, I believe?”

“Taj Fara,” I mutter. I glance around for Ky, but she’s nowhere in sight. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I thought we could have a discussion about our mutual interests. I know our relationship has been a bit contentious to date—”

“You tried to kill me.”

He holds up a finger. “Technically I didn’t try to kill you, except inasmuch as you were accompanying our dear Kycilea, and the Yesod thugs I was employing aren’t particularly discriminating.”

“And you did kill Weslai.”

“Again, that was Cavcante.” He raises an eyebrow. “Were you particularly fond of him?”

I can’t say I was fond, exactly, but—“He was helping us.”

“Because he was getting paid, I’m certain. His kind do nothing without a financial motivation.” He clears his throat. “Which brings us to you. I’m curious as to what Ky has offered you.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“She can’t be paying you up front,” Gestian goes on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Her access to her family resources has been frozen. I suppose she’s paying in promises. Or more than promises?” He leans closer. “Is that it? Is she fucking you?”