40

Michael was woken by a harsh smell that forced his eyes open. He inhaled with a dreadful gasp of air as the scent made his eyes water and his nose burn. He heard a voice through a flurry of sudden and uncomfortable sensations.

“Heal yourself.”

He moved his hand onto his chest, a sudden burst of pain reminding him that his shoulder was dislocated. He felt heat in his hand, and the pain across his broken and battered body faded slowly, but even as it did so he could feel exhaustion building in his body and his limbs turning to lead.

Once he was mended, he felt himself get sat up and a cup pressed to his lips gently. He drank greedily, not even tasting what had been offered to him, and could feel a bit of his strength return. Everything around him started to come into focus. It was one of the medics that had awoken him and gotten him to sit up, but he didn’t remember her name.

“Thank you,” he managed.

She nodded at him. “You did most of the work yourself. I just had to wake you up with some blitz root.”

He tried to nod, but his head swam from the motion, so he stopped himself. He focused on some long, deep breaths. He felt eyes on him and looked to see Rein a short distance away being tended to by a different medic. His eyes were fading in and out of focus. He was likely concussed, but he still managed to look at him with disdain.

Michael pushed himself to his feet and started walking on wobbling legs toward him.

The medic put a hand on his chest. “Woah, sit back down.”

“Let me heal him first.”

“I don’t want your healing,” said Rein.

“Don’t you want to be able to see the rest of your team fight? Your brother still has to.”

Rein hesitated this time, and Michael took that opportunity to stumble forward and awkwardly land a glowing hand on his shoulder. The healing took only a second. Then he fell back, and the medic caught him, helping him to sit back down.

“Why?” asked Rein with a scowl on his now unblemished face.

“You’re just a kid to me. Around the same age as my son when he died.” Michael was saying more than he needed to, but his head was blurry, and his exhaustion was moving him toward delirium. He still hadn’t even fully recovered from his run the previous day. “Wouldn’t want to see him hurt. Wish I could’ve healed him too.”

His eyes shut for what he thought was a second, but when they opened, he was looking at the ceiling in the infirmary. He snapped up, panicking for a moment, and made sure that he didn’t have any fresh injections on him or strange tastes in his mouth. He couldn’t identify anything, but his paranoia after his confrontation with Crim kept him from lowering his guard. He pushed himself up and looked around. He was still wearing his uniform, though his armor had been stripped from him. It was late afternoon based on the light coming in from the window, so he hadn’t been out for long.

He heard several sets of footsteps approach his bed and pull back the curtain. Lance and the rest of the team were there. Jakub’s arm was in a sling, and they all had a number of cuts and bruises, but for the most part, they seemed all right.

“Did we win?” managed Michael.

Lance nodded. “Four of five fights were ours. One of our number decided to fight much harder than we expected him to and nearly died.”

“If I could’ve simply fought for everyone, things would’ve gone much more smoothly,” remarked Cohle.

Leana held a hand out to Michael.

He raised an eyebrow at her, certain it wasn’t a gesture of kindness.

“Heal me,” she said. “That’s the only reason you’re worth having on this team at all, and you nearly cost us the advantage you provide with your recklessness.”

Lance shook his head. “He came closer than anyone expected he would to beating Rein. If he had, that would’ve given us the victory far sooner. It was worth the risk overall.” He frowned. “Healing him and causing yourself exhaustion, on the other hand, was a step too far.”

Michael reached out and gently took Leana’s hand to heal her. She was more hurt than how she was holding herself indicated. He then healed the rest of them. It took a bit out of him, but the rest had buoyed him a bit. Still, he’d need a large meal and a long sleep to feel better.

“How did the other teams’ fights go?” he asked.

“Elias’s team won three to two,” said Jakub. “Those two were close matches, though.”

“So we’ll be up against Elias’s team tomorrow. Any particular strategy we’ll need against them?” asked Michael as he finished by healing Lance.

“No. Strategy isn’t necessary anymore. We’ve already won,” said Lance calmly as he flexed his recently healed fingers.

“Well, of course we have,” said Cohle with a bright smile. “But, just for curiosity’s sake, why do you say that?”

Lance smiled. “The Festival of Blades is a test of strength and skill, but also of endurance. The team games take up four full days. A melee, the games, and then the tourney. Each of the events increases everyone’s exhaustion and increases the likelihood of injury. The final day of fights is often the most pathetic, with hobbled and tired combatants weakly striking against one another until one of them falls.”

“This is why you were insistent on having me on the team,” said Michael, though he’d realized by the end of the games that this was likely his plan.

“Exactly. I eliminated the possibility of being hobbled by injury. We gained a greater advantage each round thanks to that, which made our victories easier as time went on. The fact that Michael was a decent fighter as well was a bonus. While we’re still going into the last round of fights tired, we’re not tired and hurt like Elias’s team is. We will win all five fights tomorrow.”

Michael ate a hardy dinner and went to sleep early. He had been pushing up against the limits of his ability to recover and knew he needed to rest while he could. The next day he went through his usual routine of dressing, breakfast, and trading barbs that bordered on cruel with his friends before making his way back to the arena. Standing with his allies and looking across at Elias’s team, he saw with certainty that Lance was right. All five of them looked battered and beaten. They were stretching and doing their best to stay fresh, but it was clear when comparing the state of each team how things were going down.

Elias’s team was the first to elect a fighter, and he elected himself. Lance did the same, and they moved to either side of the arena.

When the horn blew, they both charged at one another, but it was clear from the first trade how things were going to go. Elias, despite also possessing a number of Titles and Deeds, was just too worn down to fight at his best and was clearly injured from fighting another captain in the last round. It reminded Michael of watching a sad Superbowl game after a tremendously impressive series of playoffs. He’d predicted as much when he was talking to Davi during breakfast, though he’d adjusted the metaphor to be about the World Cup at the time.

Lance didn’t play around much and ended the fight relatively quickly and painlessly. Cohle fought next, and he was not nearly so merciful as Lance. He played with his opponent for a good long time before pushing him off of the arena platform with a well-placed boot to the back.

Michael was up next. His opponent was a large recruit with a bad sunburn and short blonde hair wielding a spear and shield.

As soon as the horn resounded, Michael rushed him, attempting to put him on the back foot while taking advantage of his Deed, but the recruit stayed calm and blocked Michael’s flurries while keeping him at a distance with his spear. It was a smart tactic. He knew he was tired, and so he’d fight defensively and hope for an opening.

Michael chose to give him one, pretending to overextend himself and leaving himself open for a shield bash.

His adversary took the bait, but Michael rolled around the momentum of the shield and spun himself around to the man’s back, copying a move Pyotr had used on him dozens of times. He smashed his sword into the other recruit’s helmet, and when he fell to his knees, he kicked him the rest of the way down and held his sword to his neck, gently tapping it with the flat of the blade.

The other recruit dropped his spear and shield and conceded. The crowd booed Michael as he walked off the stage, but his team gave him affirming nods as he walked down the steps. With those three victories, they’d already won. The remaining fights were just for spectacle.