Because if I already made my intent to kill him clear, he can hardly be offended by my tone.
“A god’s time is not dictated by mortals,” he says. “I was foolish not to watch you die the last time we met. I will not make that mistake today. I will break your body in every way possible before I end you.”
He leaps down from his “floating” position and rises to his full height, well over six feet, but he does not pull his ax from off his back.
Instead he flicks his wrist.
I dodge the move and hear a chink as his power hits the rocks where I once stood, but as I look at the space, I see something familiar sticking up out of the ground.
It’s small, easily missed if I hadn’t already seen one before. I reach for it, and pull the metal triangle from the ground carefully, so as not to cut myself against the edges.
And then I remember the night I saw the previous village leader of Restin fall. Peruxolo flicked his wrist, and he fell over dead with blood pooling around him.
And a thought strikes me.
Iric had to build us spears in order for us to kill the hyggja. My village and all the other villages—we have built our weapons to survive in the wild, to kill our most common enemy, the ziken. That is why we use battle-axes, because they are the only things strong enough to pierce their hides.
The villages all keep to themselves—we’ve not had battles against one another. Our enemies have never been human. But if one’s enemy were human? Well, he would need a weapon that cut through human skin. No need for a battle-ax. Anything sharp and projected quickly enough would draw blood. All someone would have to do is aim for the large vein in the neck and tear right through it.
A sharp pain slices into the side of my leg, right in the small gap where my greaves break to meet the armor on my thighs. I let my new realization distract me, and Peruxolo took the opening I gave him.
I reach down for the triangle and pull it from my skin, wincing at the wave of pain it brings.
I will not let him cut away at me piece by piece like this. He knows where the gaps in my armor are, and he’s aiming right for them.
A cruel smile waves across the god’s face. He’s enjoying this, enjoying the crowd poised to watch, enjoying watching me suffer.
No more.
I advance three steps before Peruxolo lashes out with his wrist again, this time aiming for my collarbone, right where my breastplate doesn’t quite reach.
Instead of trying to dodge it, I raise my battle-ax, placing it between the god’s weapon and my vulnerable skin.
Tink.
Light gasps sound around us, and Peruxolo and I stare at the spot where the triangle struck. The tip is wedged into one of the blades. With the hand not holding my ax, I grab the triangle—carefully and without cutting myself—and flick it toward the rocks at my feet. Whatever metal this new weapon is made of, it doesn’t appear to react with anything, so it must be neutral—made with the intent to pierce skin and nothing more.
And I keep walking toward my village’s oppressive deity.
Peruxolo’s eyes grow wide for a moment, but he quickly recovers himself and thrusts his whole arm toward me, putting more dramatics into the motion that will release the metal in my direction. I wonder what sort of contraption he has hidden up his sleeves.
I have only a split second to see the metal dive toward my hips, at the gap in my armor that allows me to bend in half there.
I thrust out my arm, catch the triangle on my ax blade once more, and keep going, this time at a jog.
For a moment, I think I might be irritating him, but I realize—
I’ve bored him.
I can see it under his hood, the way his eyes look down, as though it’s sad, really, that I’m trying so hard.
His right leg slides back on the ground, finding a better position to brace himself, preparing for the moment when my armor will react against his and I’ll be thrown backward.
Not this time.
I can’t help it, I grin at him as I advance, running now, my ax raised.
Bored. He’s so bored. So ready to be done with me and done with all these people. Ready to go home and continue to live on as our greatest fear.
I know exactly when I’ve come too close.
There’s a moment when I cross an invisible line, and those thick blond brows shoot up in astonishment. He knew exactly how far out I should be before I was thrown back. His body jolted slightly, as though he would put some of his own force into the impact.
But no.
He’s so close now, closer than he’s ever been before. My heart hammers from the proximity, my breath rushes out for the excitement of it. Every muscle I possess flexes, ready to fight, ready to win, ready to go home.
And I take a swing with my new ax made of lodestone.
Peruxolo barely gets his own ax up in time, and despite not making contact with skin, that resistance, the force of metal on metal is glorious.
Because it means I can hurt him. I made him bleed once, and it will happen again today.
I don’t know how many years of training Peruxolo has on me exactly, but I intend to use every piece of training I know against him. Besides, he’s been alone in the wild with no one to fight.
I just completed my training three months ago.
I have never been more ready for this fight.
The shafts of our axes are wedged together, each of us trying to force the other back. I use our closeness to hook my foot behind one of his ankles and tug at the same time my arms heave forward with all my weight.
And Peruxolo, the most feared being in all the world, falls to the ground, flat on his back.
He stares up at me, disbelief and incredulity pouring off him, but before I can get my ax head any closer, he somersaults backward and flicks his cape over his head, coming up first on his knees and then his feet.
“You’re not the only one who’s learned the wild’s secrets,” I say, and I bring my ax down on his right arm.
He folds the limb into his body, but I still connect. My ax swipes down the front of his arm, one of the blades pointed toward the ground. It rips into his leather shirt, slices through—wood?—and embeds into the soil.
Shards rain down onto the rocks.
Whatever the contraption was that Peruxolo had strapped under his cloak, I’ve broken it. No more metal triangles being flung toward me now.
But my ax has caught between two rocks on the ground, and before I can right it, Peruxolo clips me in the chin with the pommel of his weapon.
I go crashing onto rocks and sharp twigs, and one of the muscles in my arm pulls as I land on it awkwardly.
“Recover!” A shout goes up from the sidelines, and I roll, roll, roll, as Peruxolo swings his ax down at me with two hands again and again and again.
When I finally get a chance to come up on my feet, Peruxolo is looking at the crowd.
At Master Burkin.
“I’ll deal with you after I finish with her.”
My weapon is still in the ground several feet away. All I have are my limbs as weapons.
I fly at Peruxolo while he’s distracted with Burkin and knee him in the groin. The god uses a latrine, so I’m fairly certain he has that part.
He goes down like a bag of rocks, just like any human man would, and I race over to my ax.
Murmurs rise from the crowd.
“She’s struck him twice now—the god!”
“He feels pain.”
“He’s not invincible.”
Peruxolo forces himself to his feet as I turn around with my weapon in hand, and as he does so, his hood falls from his face.
More chittering as the crowd goes on about his human face.
Peruxolo quickly rights it, grimacing as he does so. He’s still in pain.
I adjust my position slightly, putting Aros’s rope trap between me and Peruxolo.
The god advances, and I duck just a couple of feet into the tree line, keeping my eyes on the god instead of the loop of rope hidden on the ground beneath leaves and twigs.
Peruxolo steps right through it, cracking the stick holding the trap in place. The bent tree beside me swings upward, hoisting Peruxolo up with it by a single foot.