David Baldacci - The Finisher

“You think Ladon-Tosh can beat me?”

He looked at me as if I had a chimney growing out of my head. “Beat you, female? Beat you? He’ll knock you into the Quag. They’ll be not a bitta you left to put in the Hallowed Ground, which is where poor Newton Tilt is headed. You can’t fight him, Vega. He’ll kill you just like he done that strapping lad.”

“But I’m a combatant. I have to fight unless I’m injured like Racksport.”

“Then I’ll shoot you in the foot this night with one of me mortas and Ladon-Tosh can win the damn Duelum!”

“I can’t do that, Roman.”

“Why in the name-a Steeples? Why, female? Not for the bloody coin. You got by all this time without it.”

“You’re right, it’s not about the coin.”

If I didn’t fight, I would be right back in Valhall. And now without Morrigone’s support, I would probably end up beheaded. And if I tried to escape through the Quag, they would go after Delph, who was now staying behind. I was trapped, and I knew it. My only way through this was to fight. Then I could worry about escape. And the thing was, I wanted to fight. I wanted to win. And if I had to beat Ladon-Tosh to do it, so be it. I had never considered myself a warrior female, but right now, that’s exactly how I felt. Like Morrigone’s ancestor, the courageous female on the battlefield from so long ago. She had given her life fighting against something, something that I could sense was evil and wrong and, well, terrible. I wondered if I had the courage to die for such a cause.

Roman gripped my shoulders tighter, tearing me from these thoughts. “Vega, for the love of your mum and dad’s memory, please don’t do this.”

“I am touched by your concern, Roman. I really am.” And I really was. “But I have to fight; I have to finish this.” I paused. “I am a Finisher after all.”

He slowly let me go, but his gaze held me until he abruptly looked away and then walked off, his head hanging, his arms swinging aimlessly at his sides. I felt tears in my eyes and had to put up a hand to whisk them away.

As I walked off the pitch, I noted that the combatant board had just been updated. In three more lights, there would be one more bout and then a champion decided, crowned and coined. And perhaps the loser laid to rest in the Hallowed Ground with an eternity to think about the quality of her choices.

Vega Jane, age fifteen sessions (just), versus Ladon-Tosh, exact age unknown but definitely older than twenty-four sessions. And who had just killed a Wug twice my size with one unimaginably powerful blow that had been struck with such speed that I had never even seen it delivered.

My throat started to dry up a bit as I walked back toward my digs. I passed the High Street to get there and thus had to traverse pocket after pocket of Wugs talking about one thing only. Well, maybe two. Newton Tilt dying. And me being next.

Darla Gunn stood at the door of her shop. Her sad, heavy face told me that she knew what had happened. And her deep look of fear aimed at me also told me she was well aware I was next up for Ladon-Tosh, the killer, now.

I reached my digs, took off my cloak and lay down on my cot. Harry Two jumped up next to me and put his head on my chest, as though he could sense something was not quite right. I stroked his fur and thought about what was to come. I would have three lights to think about this. That, in itself, was a horror. I wished I could fight right now and be done with it.

I didn’t think Ladon-Tosh had ever fought in a Duelum before. The rumors of the dead gonk at Stacks who’d tried to get to the second floor came rushing back to me. I had spoken very bravely in front of Roman, but I was hardly feeling such courage right now. I had seen the look in Ladon-Tosh’s eyes. He knew that he’d killed poor Tilt as soon as he struck. And the thing was he didn’t care. He just didn’t care. Where had a bloke like that come from?

I sat up and repeated this question again. But it wasn’t just a question. It was a possible solution too. And I knew just the Wug to ask.

I had three lights left to find a path to victory and probably save my life. And I meant to take it.

I WAS TWENTYslivers early to work at Stacks the next light. This was something unusual for me, but these were unusual times. And I had an excellent reason for my superior punctuality.

“Good light, Domitar,” I said somberly as I stood in the doorway of his office.

I thought the Wug was going to fall over dead in his boots.

As it was, he overturned the Quick and Stevenson ink bottle on his tilt-top table.

He clutched his chest and stared at me. “Hel’s bells, female, are you trying to plant me in the Hallowed Ground before my time?”

“No, Domitar. I just had a question.”

“What is it?” he said suspiciously.

“Where does Ladon-Tosh hail from?”

He was clearly surprised by this query. He came around the corner of his desk to face me. “Would this be because you’re facing him in the final bout of the Duelum?”

“It would. And because he killed poor Newton Tilt with one blow.”

Domitar bowed his head. “I know,” he said, his voice shaking. “’Tis a terrible, terrible thing. The Tilts are fine Wugs. Fine Wugs. For this to happen, well …”

I ventured farther into Domitar’s office.

“You look different, Vega,” he noted as he glanced up.

“I’ve lost weight. Now, about Ladon-Tosh?”

Domitar moved closer to me. “’Tis complicated.”

“Why?” I said reasonably enough. “Isn’t it easy to tell where Wugs come from?”

“In most cases, yes. In Ladon-Tosh’s case, no.”

“So why is that?”

“I inherited him, as i’twere.”

“You mean he was here before you were at Stacks?”

“That is precisely what I mean.”

I snapped, “So how can he compete in a Duelum restricted to Wugs no older than twenty-four sessions?”

“A reasonable question you must take up with Council, I’m afraid.”

“Many Wugs have come up to me and told me not to fight Ladon-Tosh.”

Domitar dropped into his desk chair and looked at me. “And Racksport shot himself in the foot with one of his mortas? Curious. Curious indeed.”

I perked up at this change in subject. “Why? He runs a morta business. Accidents happen.”

“He has been running that business for nearly five sessions and had yet to shoot himself.”

I took this in and said slowly, “Meaning it might have been done so I would face Ladon-Tosh in the last bout?”

“The truth is, Vega, you’ve made enemies. And now the price for that is coming due.” He hesitated, glancing away and then seeming to make up his mind. “Though not on Council, I have learned a little of your situation.”

“Then you know why I must fight?”

He nodded. “And perhaps your ally is now your enemy?”

I nodded in return. “Morrigone, like Ladon-Tosh, has quite the mysterious past.”

“I cannot deny that.”

“Words and events have passed between us, many of them unpleasant.”

“She is a formidable Wug, Vega. Perhaps the most formidable of us all.”

“How do I beat Ladon-Tosh, Domitar? For that is why I am here. I believe you know how it can be done. And I need you to tell me or else I will surely perish in the quad.”

Domitar looked away for a sliver. When he turned to face me, his expression was truly strange. “You already know how to defeat him, Vega.”

I gaped. “I do? How can that be?”

“Because you’ve done it before.”

AT MID-LIGHT MEALI didn’t go into the common room with the others. Quite frankly, we were all mourning the loss of Newton Tilt and I did not want to sit with the other Stackers and talk about his death. Soon I would be facing the Wug that had killed him.