Page 54 of Hellbound

“Release the ravens,” Karsan said, his voice soft.

An attendant nodded, signaling a guard on a high turret wall.

A few ravens swooped down from behind them, their glossy black wings a flash as they flew through the gazebo, forcing several people to duck and yelp. Only Karsan stayed frontward facing, his beady eyes alight with glee.

The birds circled overhead before spotting the remaining champions, then settled to perch on the statues nearest to each.

The weapons that were scattered to level the playing field were of little help to the three that remained.

Ksenia could not look away as she watched Bohdan and his retinue tear through them with brutal efficiency. Every move calculated, energy expenditure minimized, one step ahead of their opponent.

A heavily muscled champion flourished his polearm, circling Bohdan. The polearm fighter was deliberate, his footsteps crushing the grass beneath him. He thrust the weapon forward with brutish force, piercing the air where Bohdan had just slipped from.

Bohdan’s skills were a work of art: never a wasted step as he closed the distance on the brutish man, driving his sword between the man’s arm and torso, rendering the limb useless.

The man screamed as crimson blossomed through his leather jerkin, the polearm clattering to the floor. Another swift thrust sent the man to his knees as Bohdan’s sword exited his torso, spilling his entrails onto the grass.

The ravens finished alerting the Envorsen to the locations of the final competitors and flew back. One landed directly on Karsan’s shoulder, whom he stroked tenderly.

16

The dead man would not leave her alone in the three days that passed since the first trial.

Ksenia roused upright in bed at Beranek manor, and scrubbed the heel of her palms into her eyes. But the image of his skull caved inward like a cracked egg, blood pooling in the hollow, remained burned behind her lids. When she opened them, shadows at the edge of her vision took his shape, lurching toward her with his gaping wound.

The visions were worsening. Bile rose in her throat.

You know what you need to do… Vornaya clicked her tongue.

It appeared that only blood spilled by Caromir would be recognized as a sacrifice to the God of Crossroads. Unlike her murder of the headhunter, she wasn’t met with a rush of heady power zipping through her veins. She remained at the same strength, speed, and health.

In a few more days, her next trial would begin. And if it was anything like Catch and Kill, Ksenia needed more leverage if she was to survive. Luck and desperation wouldn’t be enough.

She needed to hunt. And she knew exactly where to find prey.

Ducking out of the manor under the cover of darkness, Ksenia made her way underground into the Vein beneath Rothaven. Affluent as it was, she knew that no one would miss another body down there.

The ruined brick walls of the Vein near Rothaven were whitewashed in some places. They could afford the upkeep.

A maker’s mark here and there bled through, half-covered.

‘Old Hollow, Light my Forge.’ Carved so deeply, no amount of paint could fill it.

Papered over it were more bounty posters.

And beneath everything, almost invisible, a single name gouged into the stone: Aleksander. Someone had tried to chisel it out, only for someone else to recarve it.

She picked her way around the market stalls. The occasional weapons dealer caught her eye.

A wiry man with crooked fingers slowly turned a blade near an oil lamp for a prospective buyer. “Genuine Voronov make. See the pattern? Seven folds—you won’t find a better blade.”

The patterning was surface deep. Ksenia could tell from several paces away. No resonance, no hum, nothing. Just a common steel dagger, dressed up with a dead bondsmith’s maker’s mark.

Her mouth opened before she stopped herself.

The Crooked Lantern was her destination, her preferred tavern that sat at a junction of three passages, making it a natural gathering point of information and criminal traffic. Its sign hung from a rusted chain, and Ksenia was always wary of passing beneath it, as if it might break and send the leaded glass through her neck.

Inside was better. Barely.