A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (22 page)

The man I thought I’d killed—the one with the knives in his side and throat—apparently wasn’t ready to die just yet. He roared to his feet as blood streamed down his chest from the neck wound, and charged me.

I scrambled up in the nick of time and jumped out of the way. The man had found a long, metal pipe from somewhere. He lumbered toward me and swung.

I ducked to avoid the blow and felt the pipe swish right above my head. The man staggered with the momentum of the swing. I turned around and ran, as fast as my bad leg would carry me, toward the imp.

I slid to a stop beside him. I reached down and grabbed the hilt of the blade embedded in his skull. I pulled—and jerked the imp’s whole body up with the force.

My knife was stuck.

I looked up just in time to see the man who should be dead aim another swing at my head. I ducked, but this time, I was too slow.

The pipe rebounded off the side of my head. The impact threw me to the ground. White stars exploded in my vision.

I blinked through the pain and forced it to join the dark ball at the back of my mind. I looked up, and saw the man standing over me.

I saw the blood coming from his throat. I saw the knife still impaled in his ribs. By all reason and logic, he should be long dead.

But, he wasn’t. He stared at me like one of the Nehym. A thick vein pulsed up the side of his neck and over his forehead. He raised the pipe, steadying himself for the killing blow…

And grunted in surprise. He coughed. Blood splattered from his mouth.

Like an axed tree, he tipped over and fell to the side.

I stared in amazement, not knowing what the hell just happened. Then I picked out the small shape standing over the man’s body.

It was one of the children from the cages. Somehow, he’d broken free. I saw my knife in his hand—the one that had lodged into a large bar. The blade was soaked red from where he’d just stabbed my assailant.

I pushed myself up, grunting as my bad leg almost caved again. “Thank you,” I said.

The child looking at me opened his mouth. No sound came other than a low moan.

I saw past his teeth, and realized in horror that his tongue had been cut.

Suddenly, all the pathetic noises of the children around me made sense. They’d
all
had their tongues cut. That is why they did not shout or cry.

The roar of the crowd came from above me, shaking the dark room. The intermission was over. The next fights were about to begin.

The boy extended my knife to me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Keep it.” I knew he couldn’t understand me, so I took his hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. “For you,” I said.

His lips moved as he tried to mimic the words.

Another roar rose from up high. It was time to go. But no matter what Blackstone said, I could not just leave these children to their fates. Not after one of them had saved me. I saw my face reflected in each of theirs. I saw the hope in the feral boy’s eyes.

I would not leave them to burn.

“Here,” I said, motioning to the boy. “Follow me. Hurry!”

I ran to the nearest cage and took the knife from him. I jammed it into the cheap lock and used a bit of leverage to break it open.

I pressed the knife back into his hand. “Go,” I said, swinging my hand at the other cages. “Go. Free them!”

The boy understood. He took my knife and ran, kneeling beside the next cage to break the lock.

I rushed to gather my knives, wiped them clean, and stowed them back in their place. Then, I ran across the other side of the room, breaking the locks as quickly as I could.

A loud gong sounded above me. It signaled the end of the first fight. Five more, and then the signature one would begin.

I was already out of time. Blackstone would be expecting me to have lit the fuses by now.

My knife jammed in the lock. I jerked it, and the blade snapped from the force. I cursed. I saw the wide, hopeful eyes of the child inside fill with dread.

The gong sounded again. I whirled my head up. I had to go.

“I’m sorry,” I said. The child in the cage looked at me without comprehension. “It’s too late. I’m sorry.”

I got up and ran.

I ran through the doors that led out of there. My leg slowed me. I was already late. I rushed through the corridors that led to the maintenance path below the Arena. I saw one guard slumbering by the door. I threw my knife without thinking, and retrieved it from his body as I passed, not slowing a step.

I skidded to a stop before the first barrel and reached for the little box of matches I’d hidden in one of my knife sheaths.

It was missing.

Alarm filled me. I spun back, looking at the ground, hoping I’d dropped it close by.

No such luck.

My hands patted down every pocket and secret compartment in my clothes. All were empty. The matches were not there.

The gong sounded a third time. The final fight would begin soon. That would be Blackstone’s cue to spark the fire.

I looked around desperately, searching for anything that might help.
Shit
! If I hadn’t taken the time to free the slaves, I’d still be able to run back and retrace my steps. I’d be able to find the matches wherever I dropped them.

Suddenly, I heard screams erupt from above me. Hundreds of screams, all shrill with panic. Hundreds became thousands. I smelled burning wood.

Blackstone had started the fire.

The screams got loud and louder as they spread through the entire crowd. The base of the Arena shook as thousands of spectators tried to evacuate.

And I still hadn’t lit a single fuse.

Not knowing what else to do, I picked up a stone from the ground. I started striking my knife against it. Tiny sparks flew out. They did not have the energy to light the thick, heavy fuse.

I gritted my teeth and struck the rock harder. Again, and again, and again. I knew I was dulling my blade, but I had to get the fire lit. I concentrated all my energy on it…

Out of nowhere, a giant spark appeared. It hissed into the end of the fuse. The wick started to smoke.

I had no time to gloat in my success. I got up and ran, as fast as my leg could carry me, all the way to the next barrel.

I repeated what I had done the first time. Through fluke or sheer power of will, the third strike against the stone lit the fuse.

By now, the terrified screams above me were overbearing.

The fuses were long enough so that the last barrel would blow after twenty minutes. Each successive one was longer than the last, meaning they would all explode at the same time.

I lit the final one. Now, time was really working against me. I had to get up and find Blackstone.

I ran toward the exit—and stopped when I heard the frightened mewls of slaves coming from below me.

I looked down at the ducts. I’d freed the children in one room, but there were dozens more. I could not save them all.

The cries tore at me.

I looked up, heart racing. I knew this was a battle against the clock. Blackstone was waiting for me. He needed me beside him.

Suddenly, I had a moment of what I thought was absolute clarity. Blackstone was more experienced than I. He could take care of himself.

The slave children, on the other hand, could not.

That sealed my decision.

I changed paths and ran through the doors to burst into the second lower dungeon. The entire place shook from the ongoing stampede above us. Terrified wails added to the cacophony.

I skidded to a stop before the first cage. I jammed one of my knives into the lock and broke it open. The boy on the other side looked at me with empty eyes.

I flung the door open. “Come on!” I yelled, gesturing him outside.

He just sat there, at the far end of the cage, staring dumbly at me.

“Come on,” I said again. “Get out!” I grabbed his arm to pull him.

He sunk sharp little teeth into my knuckles.

I yelped in surprise and ripped my hand back. The boy made no indication of moving. He simple stared at me with those dull, lifeless eyes.

A sense of urgency clawed at me. I knew that I should have been halfway up to Blackstone already.

But I couldn’t just abandon the slaves. I’d been in their position. I knew what their lives were like. I could not let them die when the Arena blew.

I looked back at the cage. Surprise gripped me when I found the door closed again. The boy had reached out and pulled it shut!

I needed a collaborator. Someone who would help me. I looked around wildly, and found him.

He was small and ragged, like the rest. But he was the only one who gripped his cage bars and stared at me with intent eyes. I could tell he wanted to get out.

I ran over to him and broke the lock. I helped him out. I saw gratitude shine in his pupils.

“Here,” I said. “Here, take this.” I put my knife in his hand and brought him to the next cage over. I showed him how to guide the blade into the lock, twist, and pull it free.

Then I pushed him toward the others. “Go,” I said. “Go!”

I didn’t wait to see if he complied. I turned and sprinted out of the room.

A few levels higher I broke through a doorway right into a stampede of people. I looked up at the roof of the Arena, and saw flames licking the upper part of the structure. Black smoke fumed up and hid the highest suites from view.

I brought my shirt over my mouth and ran.

Screams sounded from all around me. I bumped and pushed through bodies as I went against the stream. Nobody paid me any mind. Nobody cared about a kid running toward his death.

The smoke thickened as I got higher. I hadn’t reached the flames yet. Already I could feel their oppressive heat.

I saw stairs leading up. I took them two at a time, and emerged into a scene straight out of hell.

I was at the start of a long, wooden corridor. The entire thing was burning. Flames leapt from the sides and the floor. Smoke filled the air and made it impossible to breathe.

I dropped to my stomach and started to crawl. I tasted ash with every breath I took. The dirty air made me cough. Heat bombarded me from all sides. It was overwhelming. I did not know how I could get through with it beating so strongly against my body.

Then I remembered what Blackstone said. I could use the Flame of Souls to control my sleeping mind. I had used it only for pain before. But, if I could use it to lessen my perception of heat…

I knew it was risky. Subduing that sort of feeling meant I could hurt myself badly without knowing it. My clothes could catch fire, and I wouldn’t notice the burning flesh on my back.

But, what choice did I have? Blackstone was relying on my help.

I stopped moving for a moment and concentrated. I piled all the sensations of heat into another small bundle in my mind. I pushed it together and ruthlessly stuffed it in the back, right next to the black ball of pain from my leg.

I will not lie. The feat did not come easy. Whereas with my leg, I could hold the pain back with little conscious effort, holding down
two
different sensations required more concentration than I could believe. The amount of mental power needed almost caused me to black out.

Somehow, I managed to open my eyes. And when I did, a kind of calm nirvana washed over me.

I saw the flames, yet felt no heat. I saw the smoke, yet could not smell it. My whole body felt numb, but it was still entirely under my control.

You know the feeling you get when you stand up too fast, and the blood pools away from your head? The one that takes a couple of seconds to recover from? When you’re in that state, you do not feel fear. You do not feel anything, except for a vague kind of awareness of the lightness of your body.

That is something like what I experienced then—except I felt it an order of magnitude stronger. My body was my own. Yet, at the same time, it was not. There was no room for conscious thought left in my brain. Everything I did was purely on instinct.

I suspect that is how most horses live their lives.

I crawled forward. I would not say that time slowed for me, only that, all of a sudden, I was more aware of everything around me than I’ve ever been before. I could see the flames and predict where they would billow next. I could feel the flex of the floorboards and know which ones would give. It was like my brain was suddenly operating on another plane, much faster than it ever had before. Time did not slow, no.

I had merely transcended it.

I made it through the hallway unscathed. Pushing through the doors, I found a circular hall. The fire was not yet so bad on the other side.

Immediately, I knew why. Blackstone had rigged the hallway I’d just crawled through to burn first. He did it to prevent people from running up and interfering.

I scrambled to my feet, and let that second ball of sensation go. The heat roared into me. It wrapped around my body like a smothering cocoon. But I needed to have full access to my conscious mind.

Sounds of a fight erupted in my ears. They were coming from down the hall. I heard the shrill
ding
of metal upon metal.

A duel.

I ran.

I found a heavy door standing halfway open. Three bodies lay on the floor outside. Their throats were all cut.

I stepped over them and slipped inside.

I found Blackstone engaged in a bloody fight with none other than Three-Grin.

There were more bodies littered all over the floor. Two lay by the walls, while another four were crumpled over a large, locked chest in the back.

Neither man still alive noticed me. They were too busy with each other.

Three-Grin had a curved saber in either hand. The blades were stained red with blood. I looked at Blackstone, and was relieved to see that, aside from a scratch on his thigh, he was unharmed.

I saw the evil wounds cut into the bodies of the deceased, and everything made sense.

Blackstone and I were not the only ones with our eyes on the prize money. When the fire broke out, Three-Grin must have had the same thought. He’d butchered those protecting the chests in the mayhem. I do not know when Blackstone arrived. From the looks of the fight, it was not very long ago.