The Phoenix and the Crow

Matthias Helvar

"No," Nina said as she watched the wolves circle Matthias. She grabbed Kaz's arm, "You have to stop this."

"Let go of me, Nina." His gravel-rough voice was low, but Y/N sensed real menace in it.

The heartrender dropped her hand, "Please, you don't understand."

"If he survives, I'll take Matthias Helvar out of this place tonight, but this part is up to him."

Nina gave a frustrated shake of her head. "You don't get it."

Y/N drove her attention back to the arena below them. The three wolves lined up together and tumbled over one another to get to him.

At the last second, Matthias dropped into a crouch, knocking the first Wolf into the dirt, then rolling right to pick up the bloodied knife the previous combatant had left in the sand. He sprang to his feet, blade held out before him, but his reluctance was painted on his face. His head was cocked to one side, and the look in his blue eyes was pleading as if he was trying to engage the two wolves circling him in some silent negotiation. Whatever the plea might have been, it went unheard. The wolf on the right lunged. Matthias crouched low and spun, lodging his knife in the wolf's belly. It gave a miserable yelp, and Matthias seemed to shudder at the sound. It cost him precious seconds. The third wolf was on him, knocking him to the sand. Its teeth sank into his shoulder. He rolled, taking the wolf with him. The wolf's jaw snapped, and Matthias caught them. He wrenched them apart, the muscles of his arms flexing, his face grim.

Y/N turned her head subconsciously leaning closer to Kaz, and squeezed her eyes shut. There was a sickening crack. The crowd roared.

Matthias knelt over the wolf. Its jaw was broken, and it lay on the ground twitching in pain. He reached for a rock and slammed it hard into the poor animal's skull. It went still and Matthias' shoulders slumped. The people howled, stomping their feet. Only Y/N and Nina knew what this was costing him, that he'd been a druskelle. Wolves were sacred to his kind, bred for battle like their enormous horses. They were friends and companions, fighting side by side with their duskelle masters.

The first wolf had recovered and was circling Matthias once again. He got to his feet, but his movements were slow, weary. His heart wasn't in this fight. His opponents were gray wolves, rangy and wild, but cousins to the white wolves of the Fjerdan north. Matthias had no knife, only the bloody rock in his hand, and the remaining wolf prowled the arena between him and the pile of weapons. The wolf lowered its head and bared its teeth.

Matthias dove to the left. The wolf lunged, sinking its teeth into his side. He grunted and hit the ground hard. For a moment, it looked like he might simply give in and let the wolf take his life. Then he reached out, hand scrabbling through the sand, searching for something. His fingers closed over the shackles that had bound his wrists.

He seized them, looped the chain across the wolf's throat, and pulled the veins in his neck cording from the strain. His bloody face was pressed against the wolf's ruff, his eyes tightly shut, his lips moving. What was he saying? A druskelle prayer? A farewell?

The wolf's hind legs scrabbled at the sand. Its eyes rolled, frightened whites showing bright against its matted fur. A high whine rose from its chest. And then it was over. The creature's body stiled. Both fighters lay unmoving in the sand. Matthias kept his eyes closed, his face still buried in the creature's fur.

The crowd's thundering roar of approval shook Y/N's core. The ladder was lowered, and the announcer sprang down, hauling Matthias to his feet and grabbing his wrist to raise his hand in victory. The announcer gave him a little nudge, and Matthias lifted his head.

Y/N squinted her eyes to get a better view of the Fjerdan's face and her heart ached at the sight. Tears streaked the dirt on Matthias' face. The rage was gone, and it was like some flame had gone out with it. His north sea eyes were cold, empty of feeling, stripped of anything human. It was a look that Y/N had only ever seen on the traumatized soldiers that had been left under her care after any battle. This is what Hellgate had done to him.