Warrior's Touch (Deadly Touch book 2)
Not My Son

Jonas’s limp form smacked into the post erected to chain him, his trajectory suddenly cut short. He hit the ground. Rag doll.

Braph nodded, raised his magic device slightly. He had all the Immortal’s attention now. And he had a vial of his son’s blood – voluntarily given. It wouldn’t allow him to kill Aris. But he didn’t need it to.

Aris was looking for a fight and Jonas couldn’t give it to him. Braph had suggested that he could. He wouldn’t. Only an idiot would go into a fair fight with an Immortal.

Aris looked to Orin. “Too old,” he murmured. Louder, he asked, “Where is the child?”

A voice from the crowd called out, “Get on with it!” and was followed up by murmurs of agreement evolving into curses and thrown fruit. Something wet and mushy hit Aris’s back.

Suddenly Aris was in the crowd, his hands clasping a head, twisting it. Bones popped, and the crowd hushed, the message well received. Braph let his admiration show on his lips as Aris clambered over seats and returned to the ring.

Ten paces away from Braph, he asked again, “Where is the child?”

Still on about Jonas’s damned son. From one generation to the next, all Aris wanted was the next Hero of Quaver under his control. But of what use was the child to the Immortal now?

“Jonas’s son resides in my home. With me, my future wife, and our son.” He placed his stunted arm across Orin’s shoulders for good measure and felt his son straighten under the show of camaraderie. A swell of pride bloomed in Braph’s chest. Not since his mother died had he truly felt a part of something like he did with his son.

He glanced to Jonas. His brother was a mess, with limbs at disturbing angles. The pale sun briefly glinted off the shifting orb of Jonas’s eye. “I will raise him as my own.”

Anger rippled across Aris’s features. “You were supposed to deliver him to me,” he growled.

Braph shrugged. “You told me Jonas would be there. He wasn’t.” He made a show of studying his fingernails. Orin flashed him a grin. Braph looked up at Aris with the same nonchalance he used to wind Jonas up. “You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain. I saw no reason to stick to mine.”

Aris’s eyes shifted between Braph and Orin. Then he grinned.

“You brought me a gift? How generous of you to sacrifice your own son...”

While Braph thought it little worth speaking, Aris clearly didn’t miss his derisive look.

“You think your Immortal boy can defeat me?” Aris asked. “The son of a Syaenuk and a mere Karan? A boy yet to come into his full powers?” Aris chuckled.

Braph let him chuckle.

“Not my son.” Braph blinked slowly and, slipping his arm from Orin’s shoulders, stepped back from his son. “Me. And his blood.”

Aris snorted on a laugh before allowing all mirth to drop from his face and bearing. He leveled Braph with a calculating glare, glanced to Braph’s magic device and back. Braph left him to make his own assumptions.

Aris broke and ran straight at Braph and Braph drew Orin’s blood essence into himself. The old Immortal moved fast, and a large knife flashed as he drew it. Braph shoved Orin aside and clear of the ensuing fight.

Infused with Immortal blood, Braph felt alive. Really alive. As fast as Aris may have been, it was nothing spectacular to Braph, who had time to prepare himself and draw Jonas’s Syakaran knife. Aris came in with his knife arcing high. Braph caught the sweep of the Immortal’s arm with his metal-encased stub and brought his own knife low, but Aris spun away before he could make it count.

The men shared a brief glare – Aris’s hatred-filled, while Braph intended to exude full confidence – and then Aris lunged again, feinted high, brought the knife low. Braph curved his body around the strike, swept his stump down to brush the blade aside and brought his own knife in to slice across Aris’s throat. Aris dodged and struck again. Braph parried and lunged.

The crowd roared around them.

They seemed evenly matched. In the throes of the fight, Braph could forget Aris was Immortal and he a mere Karan. To the outside viewers, they must have looked like a blur. Knives flared, both with blades that inflicted wounds no magic could heal. But so far, neither had drawn blood.

Seemed Aris was out of practice. He took a wild swing, which Braph side-stepped. Aris came at him again, but he lacked a certain grace, relied too much on his Immortal powers to compensate for years spent playing mentor. His powers were not so great. Braph spun past Aris, bringing his blade between them, and feeling it slice fabric and flesh. Not deep, but enough to give the old man pause. It also made him angry. He spun and slashed at Braph. Braph backed away, swiped aside good strikes when he had to. Aris kept coming on, and Braph began to slow, his supply of Immortal blood running out.

Fuck this.

Jumping back, Braph pulled his Gaards.

Boom! Boom!

Aris stumbled, looked down, saw no damage, and took another step.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Aris was thrown back a couple of steps but gathered himself. He put a hand to his chest, pulled it back soaked in blood. He shrugged it off. Moved forward again.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Braph took another step back, keeping the distance between him and Aris.

Aris faltered, kept on.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Aris fell to his knees. His eyes glazing, like he was caught in a dream. He looked down again. Fresh blood flowed freely from unhealing wounds. Confusion. Disbelief. He pulled one leg up, placed the foot on the ground, went to stand...

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Aris gained his feet, absorbed the blows, nearly fell one way, caught himself, toppled the other, lurched on.

Click. Click. Click.

Braph felt the blood leave his face. He took a step back.

Aris fell, face in the sand, a hand still reaching for Braph.

The crowd roared.

Braph rushed in. He threw the Gaards aside, pulled Jonas’s knife. He sunk the blade through Aris’s back and beckoned Orin closer. The boy crouched by his father, gripped the knife handle.

The flicker of blue light leaped from Aris, up the blade, and into Orin’s skin. Gasping, the boy nearly let go, but Braph gripped his hand, holding it firm.

The crowd muted, watching, learning. Few would understand the consequences of inaction in this moment.

His hand wrapped around his son’s while magic leaped from the dead Immortal to the living, Braph looked to Jonas and, on seeing life still present, smiled.