Ashborn 336: To Make Waves (Patreon)

“Did you see the look on his face?” Cirayus roared. “Devastated! Utterly devastated, I tell you!”

Aida, Vir, and Cirayus were currently back at home, having fought past the crowds and the cheers—though in reality, mostly booing—to make it back safely. Cirayus and Shan’s presences had almost been necessary to ward off would-be lynchers. 

After playing his guard role, Shan had disappeared as he tended to, leaving Vir and Cirayus alone until Aida had arrived.

The amount of hatred and disbelief that had come Vir’s way was a sight to behold. Individually, he could’ve taken any of them. But against a crowd of tens of thousands? Vir was beyond glad for Cirayus’ comforting presence.

Unfortunately, his godfather wouldn’t always be around to protect him. The next time he ventured out there, he’d have to deal with this problem himself.

“Serves that upstart right. Never once did he beat me. What an embarrassment, eh?”

Vir smiled, but it was an empty smile.

“What’s got you worried, lad? Don’t tell me you’re put out by not being able to join the others?”

The tournament fighters all tended to congregate at a particular tavern near the center of Camar Gadin after the day’s fights. It’d been a tradition for centuries. Tara was likely there right now, drinking it up.

“Not in the slightest.I’ve drawn too much attention as it is. And if I’m not mistaken, Tara’s probably the only one there who doesn’t hate my guts right now.”

“Well, that may be an exaggeration, but…” Even Cirayus must have concluded that this was indeed the case, because he quickly switched tacks. “The booing? Don’t worry about it. The mood of a crowd can be swayed in the course of a single fight. Keep winning and you’ll be a fan favorite.”

Cirayus was once again working the kitchen whipping up a feast, each of his four hands handling a different dish on the stove. This was to be a celebratory meal, commemorating Vir’s first win, and Vir couldn’t wait to taste it.

“That’s actually what I’m afraid of,” he replied. “I can’t help but think this matchup was rigged. Either by Thaman or some other party. It’d have been so much easier for my enemies to underestimate me like Zarak’Nor did. Sure, they’d have caught on by the third fight, but then I’d only have two left, and one would be against you.”

“Now, don’t be so sure of that, lad,” Cirayus said, prompting Vir to roll his eyes.

“Now, my next opponent will be on their guard against me. It’s going to make this a lot harder.”

Aida shrugged. “Cirayus tells me you’re trying to make a name for yourself. Wouldn’t you rather fight at the top of your game and put on a show? What use is it to take the low road?”

“That’s… fair,” Vir admitted. The more of a spectacle he put on now, the more his name would be remembered when he eventually revealed himself. “Just wish I had the confidence to win. That was not an easy fight.”

“Lad, you just bested the last tournament’s competition,” Cirayus said with a chuckle. “Of course, it wasn’t an easy fight.”

“You’re saying my fights should be easier from here?” Vir asked, suspicious.

“Not saying that at all,” Cirayus replied. “Roshan would’ve mopped the floor with Nor, as could several others competing this time. Nor won not because he was strong, but because his competition was lacking.”

Great, Vir thought. There was no way it would have been that easy. Besides, he had the uneasy feeling he’d be fighting Tara. She didn’t seem like the type to lose in the first round. Not one bit.

Oddly, fighting her left a sour taste in his mouth than even the prospect of fighting Cirayus. At least between them, there’d be no hard feelings no matter who won. With Tara? He was less certain. The demoness had a fierce combative streak, and if Vir did defeat her, he worried their relationship may suffer.

Tara was quickly becoming a friend and ally, and the thought of jeopardizing that saddened him.

“I swear,” Aida said, rising from her position across the room and coming to stand before Vir. “You look like you just lost your match, not won it! This isn’t how a victor should be. Now come on. Cheer up, and let’s enjoy this meal. It might just be the last one I get before I head out.”

Vir’s brows raised. “You’re ready to leave for the Ash?” he asked, feeling his pulse quicken.

The giantess grinned knowingly. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you have another thing coming if you think you can get rid of me that easily.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the competition, of course! I’m not going anywhere until I see the finals.”

Vir blinked, unsure how to take that.

“She’s not joking, lad,” Cirayus said, waving his ladle. “You’d best resign yourself to the fact that your troops won’t be getting a thaumaturge until after the tournament’s finished.”

Vir deflated, slumping back in his chair. “Balagra will kill me if he hears of this.”

Still, the tournament would last less than two weeks. Soon, he’d return to the Ash. He’d get to reunite with Malik and Balagra and check in on the troops.

Vir grinned. Regardless of how the tournament went, that made him happy.

— — 

Dinner went about as expected, which was to say—blissfully. Not only was Cirayus’ medley of curries, rice dishes, and cooked flatbread delicious, the desserts he’d made were otherworldly. It seemed the giant had started cooking the night before in preparation of Vir’s victory.

Once again, Vir appreciated just how blessed he was to have someone like Cirayus in his life.

“You know,” he said when they’d finished stuffing themselves. “If you’d told me you had a soft, caring side back when we’d first fought? I’d never have believed it. I’m guessing most of the Demon Realm doesn’t have a clue either.”

“Aye, lad. And they never will. Reputations are quite the precious commodity, after all.”

Aida snorted. “I’ll never be able to see him as anything other than a warm, cuddly bear. If you ask me, the whole Ravager thing is a facade.”

“Now, Aida,” Cirayus began, but his granddaughter cut him off.

“A carefully crafted facade, yes, but a facade nonetheless. You’ll never convince me otherwise, ajja,” she said, sticking a tongue out, before turning to address Vir.

“My grandfather used to shower me with gifts whenever we first met. He’d put me on his shoulders and run around our house. For the longest time, I actually thought the ‘Ravager’ everyone talks about was a different demon entirely.”

“Refused to believe it, too, when I told her,” Cirayus said with a warm, nostalgic smile.

“I know exactly how she felt, Cirayus. I can relate.”

“See? See!” Aida said, pointing at Vir. “It’s not just me!”

They traded banter like this for another hour before Aida hugged her much smaller grandfather and bid him a tear-filled farewell, and with Cirayus muttering ‘now, now’ while tenderly patting her back. Despite her size, in that moment, she truly did resemble a granddaughter being doted on by her family.

“Well, lad? Excited for Tara’s match tomorrow?” Cirayus asked. “I admit I’m curious to see a Panav fight.”

“So am I,” Vir admitted. “Wonder if she’s anything like Balagra. I have a feeling those two would get along.”

“Would certainly make for an interesting fight,” Cirayus admitted.

“Sure would, though with Yuma’s Embrace, there’s no way Tara could lose. She’d be quite an unstoppable force on an actual battlefield.”

“Aye, that she would. The Panav specialize in healing, and most of those who master Yuma’s Embrace have little desire to jump to the front lines of a battlefield. The few that do, however… ‘Tis one thing to fight knowing you are mortal, lad. Your tactics and strategies all revolve around keeping you safe. But if you can heal your wounds in an instant? ‘Tis another matter entirely.”

“I can see that,” Vir admitted. “Though they still feel pain, don’t they?”

Cirayus grinned wryly. “Pain can be trained, as you know well. Pain can be overcome. I knew of only one Panav Warrior who’d managed the feat. Long, long ago.”

“He was strong, I take it?”

“They called him a Samsara. An immortal being. He was terrifying, lad. You could stab him and skewer him and burn him, and he’d laugh it all off and come at you. There are few things more terrifying than fighting someone who feels no pain. At least with most, you know they’ll die before they can do very much. Not so with a Panav who’s mastered their bloodline ability.”

Vir could picture it. A being whose mere presence caused his enemies to flee in terror. He wondered if he’d ever be like that, one day.

He also wondered if Tara and Balagra would ever meet, though as long as Balagra remained in his service, Vir doubted they’d have a chance.

Which meant he’d have to watch her fight closely tomorrow, so he could tell his naga friend all about it.

Vir couldn’t wait.

— — 

In an empty hall of the Ravager’s Den, sometime well after the city of Camar Gadin had gone to sleep, two figures met. One, a kothi, and the other, ghael.

They were neither cloaked nor hidden, for it wasn’t at all unusual for two fighters in the tournament to meet. Some may have questioned the late hour, though precisely because of the hour, there was no one to overhear them.

“Well? What’s all this about? Why have you asked me here, and at this hour, no less?” Annas, the kothi, asked. 

Zarak’Nor, who had just appeared out of the ground, said nothing for a long moment.

“Take precautions against Vaak,” the ghael said at last, in a voice even scratchier than most ghaels’.

Annas snorted. “Just because you lost to an absolute nobody doesn’t mean I will. I watched your battle. A pathetic showing.”

Annas waited for Nor to reply, but the ghael simply stared at Annas, his face a blank mask.

“Do you know what everyone is saying?” Annas asked, bristling.

“Yes. They say my prior victory was a fluke. You forget our talent at scouting and espionage.”

“A lot of good that did you, Nor. You were blindsided in round one. If I were you, I’d be embarrassed even to show my face in public.”

“I called you here to give you a warning, Annas,” Nor said, his tone betraying no hint of anger. “To warn you about Vaak.”

The ghael moved in an instant. By the time Annas registered Nor had disappeared, the Iksana’s katar was at the kothi’s throat.

“You can’t hurt me here,” Annas said, maintaining a calm, even tone despite the unexpected attack. “You pull anything and you’ll be answering to Sagun’Ra himself. Is that what you want, Nor? To be a criminal as well as a failure?”

“Relax,” Nor muttered, stepping away. “I didn’t come here to fight. Only to make you listen. And to tell you something you will find interesting.”

“Oh?” Annas said, smirking at Nor as he massaged his throat. “And what might that be?”

“Oh, just that the Iksana have reason to believe that this Vaak character is the very same masked Gargan ‘hero’ who has been causing trouble for your clan at Samar Patag lately. Surely you’ve heard of him?”

Annas’ smirk disappeared in an instant. “It’s a common name. Are you sure?”

Nor replied with a raised brow.

“I suppose I should know better than to doubt Iksana intelligence,” Annas said. “I apologize for my earlier words. This is… indeed useful information. A Gargan, huh?”

The kothi nearly spit the word out.

“I suppose it makes sense. Though, if true, this makes him a formidable opponent. I’ve not been back to the city myself, but as much as I loathe to say it, I have heard his combat prowess is… substantial.”

Nor barked a laugh. “He drove back an entire Ash Beast horde. By himself! Substantial indeed. Though, I suppose that’s not quite right, is it? He did it with the help of his Ash Wolf.”

“Ash… Wolf?” 

Annas blanched. “Nor. You can’t mean… You’re saying it’s an Ash Wolf?”

“Saw its Ash prana myself when we fought. I doubt they were trying to hide that fact.”

“That’s… impossible. Not even the Aindri can tame Ash Wolves… Favored by the Ravager. The hero of the Garga. What is this nonsense?”

“I do not know, Annas. Raja Sagun’Ra has been tight-lipped about the whole affair. There are details about this Vaak to which even I am not privy. Luckily, it will not be an issue.”

Nor grabbed Annas’ palm and shoved a small, purple vial into his palm.

The kothi stared at the vial for a long moment.

“Poison? Against Vaak?” he said, aghast. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Nor shook his head. “Not against Vaak. Too dangerous. His wolf. Nobody will care if the wolf dies. And then you’ll have one less opponent.”

Annas played with the vial, eyeing it contemplatively. “It is still too risky. This could be traced back to me, and any foul play—even against his animal—would result in my disqualification.”

Nor cracked a grin, and Annas realized he’d been played.

“It won’t,” came the Iksana’s confident reply. “You do realize who he will fight next, yes? Assuming tomorrow’s matches resolve as expected?”

Annas frowned in confusion. “Tomorrow’s matches… Ah.” Understanding dawned upon the kothi, and his eyes widened. 

His grip firmed around the vial in his hands, and he slipped it into a pocket. “It was good meeting you today, Nor. Too bad about your loss. Allow me to avenge your honor.”

Zarak’Nor grunted. “I look forward to the results.”

And then he disappeared into a shadow, leaving Annas alone. Alone, and grinning.