Chapter 29 Dahvid Tin’vori

Dahvid quietly reached for his sword tattoo.

Again, he altered the summoning. Swiping two fingers across the tattoo instead of one. His sword manifested in the air. His opponent watched him, still smiling at their private connection. It took all of Dahvid's concentration to not look at Cath. He did not want to think of the world this man had shared with her, their secrets and their dreams. Darling gave the signal.

The third fight began.

His opponent wasted no time. He reached out with a thumb and ran it down the tattoo centered along his chest. It was a great bear drawn midroar. Only the colors betrayed that it was one of Cath's creations. She'd only ever attempted to draw one creature on him, and maybe this was why. The air rippled with magic—something that felt hungry and ravenous—but nothing manifested. And then his opponent reached for a second tattoo. A third. A fourth.

The man grinned as the tattoo on his chest shifted. Dahvid could only stare, along with the rest of the crowd, as the bear on his opponent's chest stood on its hind legs. The other tattoos were migrating across the man's skin. And the bear began to eat them. One by one. Every tattoo had been activated and now was swallowed in its waiting jaws. Dahvid had never seen anything like…

There are Tusk warriors who are image-bearers,Ava had once told him. She was nestled in the very corner of their cramped room, her nose in a book. She'd been sick all week. She'd looked frail because of it, her large eyes even larger above hollowed cheekbones. This book says they link their tattoos together. Feeding the power stored into a single tattoo. And that tattoo defines them. Their battle style, their temperament.

Dahvid had nodded back to her. I know. They're called…

"Berserkers."

Dahvid sprinted forward. It felt like he was running in slow motion. His opponent's weapon fell to the ground with a clatter. Great tremors seized every muscle. The man lifted his chin, his jaw clinched, veins protruding from his neck. The power of all those tattoos was filling him from the inside out. Dahvid knew he had mere seconds to strike. He swung his sword in a brutal downward arch.

The blade struck right in the center of the image-bearer's neck. It should have taken his head clean from his shoulders. Instead, the weapon rebounded with so much force that Dahvid nearly cut himself. He was too late. Dark laughter filled the air.

The berserking rage had begun. An anger burned inside the man with such force that it enveloped his skin entirely. He was immune to blades—immune to almost all damage. Ware had told him about this, long before Ava had read it in a book. Darling had inquired about it too, during their first meeting. He'd asked if Dahvid possessed this skill, but he'd never wanted to learn it. He did not like the idea of losing control of himself.

The rumor was that Tusk warriors entered so fully into their fury that they could not tell enemy from friend. The combat style offered unthinkable power as long as the rage lasted—but was always followed by impotence. A weakness so debilitating that berserkers had to partner with other warriors who could drag them off the battlefield when the fury faded.

He remembered his reply to Ava, all those years ago.

What does the book say? How do you kill them?

She had smiled at him and pumped her arms dramatically.

It says to run away.

The other image-bearer straightened. His eyes were shot through with a terrifying red color. He was the bear on his chest. He was a thousand furies, ready to be unleashed. Dahvid saw how he'd grown taller. Each of his muscles had doubled in size. He was no match for a creature like this.

"Clever trick," he said. "Let me show you mine."

Dahvid drove his sword into the sand. It looked like a potential countermove, but really, he just couldn't bother with the weight. He followed Ava's advice, and he ran. He knew he would be lucky to survive the next few minutes, but he also knew that if he did survive, he'd be facing an opponent that could barely lift their own sword. An easy victory. He just had to stay alive.

He ran down into the waiting labyrinth. There was a great roar from behind him, something guttural. The crowd groaned in response, but he didn't care at all. There were great crashing sounds as his hunter reached the labyrinth. The walls started shaking. Dahvid moved swiftly through the passages until he came darting out the opposite side. There was another hill waiting for him. He sprinted up in time to glance back over one shoulder. His pursuer was gaining ground. It must have been the extra muscle in his legs. He wasn't just stronger—he was faster. Dahvid considered his options.

There were spikes on his right. The interlocking field on his left. The spikes, he knew, could only hurt him, not his opponent. A split second passed, and he darted left. He ran past where he'd left his sword and plucked up the blade in one smooth motion. He considered activating the twins but wasn't ready to lose that power. Not this early in the gauntlet.

Dahvid darted through the interlocking field, making sure his feet touched down on as many of the stones as possible. Quick moments of contact that he hoped would activate whatever mechanisms existed beneath.

His opponent barreled up the hill he'd just left behind and began stalking across the sand. Dahvid had reached the back corner of the puzzle. There was a subtle rumble from somewhere below. He was raising his sword in defense when the earth beneath his feet gave way.

He leapt to his right just in time. The larger square he'd been standing on plummeted. His arms pinwheeled slightly as he looked down into what seemed like an endless, black pit. He looked back up in time to catch a lowered shoulder to the chest.

The blow sent him into the back wall. Almost cracked his skull. Spikes of pain ran down his spine. He barely rolled away in time, dodging a second strike. Dahvid rolled once more and then leapt over a second missing square. It put a little distance between him and his opponent. The other image-bearer just smiled at him.

"Tricks will not save you, little one."

But luck might. Dahvid heard it a second before it happened. The square under the giant's feet gave way. He saw shock in those red-laced eyes. Then that massive body was swallowed by gravity. Into the darkness. Dahvid thought he'd won, but a single hand lashed upward.

The tips of the man's fingers caught the edge of the stone. He was hanging there—mere inches from falling to his death. Dahvid attacked. He swung with his sword first but forgot the blade wouldn't pierce the skin. Next, he went with his boots. Stomping as hard as he could.

His enemy roared back in defiance, feeling none of the pain. Dahvid was helpless as he watched the man patiently swing his other arm up. Those fingertips caught the edge as well. He began to pull himself out of the shadows.

There were more rumbles all around him—and Dahvid knew more squares were threatening to fall. He fled back to the safety of the arena center. His opponent was already halfway out of the hole. The power of his berserking spell was still pulsing.

Just one more minute. Survive one more minute.

His opponent was back on his feet, much to the delight of the audience. Dahvid could not spare glances at their reactions, but he did not doubt that a battle between two image-bearers would be talked about for years to come. It had likely never happened in Ravinia's history.

He considered another flight into the labyrinth but worried about what might happen if he was caught in the tighter spaces there. Better to make his final stand here in the open. He squared up—and dodged the first bull rush. He swept through trained stances, all with perfect footwork, but he was no match. The power of the berserking spell had reached its peak. He'd never seen someone move with such speed or strike with such strength.

When the other image-bearer finally landed a blow, it punched all the air from Dahvid's lungs. A second shot hit his shoulder with so much force that it nearly popped out of the socket. Dahvid tried to run, but the man seized him by the neck of his armor. He was pulled back with force, his legs taken out from beneath him. And as he fell backward, the man brought an absolutely crushing fist down on his nose.

Everything shattered.

Dahvid was on the ground. Blood was everywhere. He'd been hoping to save his other tattoos for the next fights, but Cath had already told him the truth about hope, hadn't she?

It's the brightest bird in the sky, and thus the easiest to kill.

Before the image-bearer could strike again, Dahvid swiped desperately at his shoulder. His fingertips grazed the golden rings there. A golden circle inside a golden circle inside a golden circle. And Dahvid inside all of them. The protective spell shoved his opponent back, strong enough to have him skidding over the sand. A translucent, gold-tinged sphere formed around Dahvid. There was a slight pop as all the sound muted. He could not hear the crowd. The grunts of his opponent went silent. For a time, he was completely alone.

Dahvid sat. His chest was heaving. He did his best to dab at the blood running from his nose. It was still too painful to touch. Definitely broken, but that was fine. For the next thirty seconds, no harm would come to him. He sat there, counting each breath, and knew it would be just enough time.

His opponent's face contorted with rage. He battered into the sides of the sphere with great, furious blows. The magic shivered slightly, but it would not give way, and that made the man even angrier. As his fury grew, he burned even faster through the berserking magic. It was only a matter of time.

Dahvid had a spare moment to look over. Cath was seated there, still half a ghost. She looked like she wanted to leap over the barrier and run to him. Explain everything. He nodded once before turning back. The other image-bearer was still trying to break through the barrier. Dahvid took his feet. He adjusted his grip on the handle of his sword.

It was subtle, but he saw the power waning. A tiring in his enemy's arms. That bloodshot red in his eyes slowly retreating. Dahvid took a deep breath, settled into his stance, and when the golden light vanished, he drove his sword upward with perfect precision.

The strike was true.

It cut through the other image-bearer's chest. Right through his heart. Dahvid slid the blade back out, ducked a final swing, and shoved the helpless creature to the ground. His enemy collapsed in the sand. Dahvid very deliberately retreated to his usual spot. He sat down in the dust.

When he looked up, Darling was staring hungrily down at him. Dahvid knew how he must look. Bruised and beaten and weak. After a few seconds of holding the stare, he reached for his elixir tattoo. With great concentration, he channeled the magic into the places that felt the worst. The nearly broken rib. The bloodied nose. The gouge in his back. It was not a fix-all healing spell, but it could treat minor wounds easily. When the magic had run its course, he blinked at the adrenaline it offered him. He felt brand-new.

Dahvid looked back up at Darling—nearly as fresh as he'd been for his first fight.

"Bring your fourth!" he called.

And the crowd roared.