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Nevelyn nodded. “I used to tell my sister the same.”
“But beautiful things can come from darkness. Can’t they?”
“Beautiful,” Nevelyn agreed. “And dangerous.”
There was nothing left to say. With a quiet nod, Ren Monroe departed. As soon as the door closed, Nevelyn slumped back into the chair. Her thoughts were for Dahvid, and Dahvid alone. Who was he fighting? Did any of her research help him? She fretted and fretted until sleep claimed her early in the morning. Her dreams were shapeless, colorless, barely dreams at all.
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.
