Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) by Jonathan Michael (best ebook for manga txt) 📕

head. One of them bumps into me and turns to face me. When I don’t look up, he grabs me by the shoulder.

“Hey! It’s him. The student we’ve been looking for.” He nudges his counterpart.

“Who?” his partner responds irritably.

“It’s Elder, right?” the guard inquires, his hand placed firmly on my shoulder.

“Who’s Elder?” the other guard pipes in.

“Y-yes, sir,” I stutter. “What’s your purpose?” I ask, maybe a little too abrasively.

He glares at me. “I heard you bested Master Stormwood. Is that right?”

“Umm…wh…what?” I’m getting too much attention right now.

“Word is you landed Master Stormwood right on his ass with a solid blow to the chest. That’s unheard of. The Master doesn’t hold back with his students. He always stays one step ahead, even as their abilities improve. He’s never let a student handle him that way before. You might do well in the Crimson Guard, lad. Keep it up.” He pats my shoulder and gives a proud grin before turning and going about his business.

Astor stares at me. A frown and intense eyebrows forming on her face.

“I don’t know.” I shrug my shoulders in response to her silence.

“You knocked Master Stormwood to the ground, and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” She sounds irritated.

“That’s not how it happened. I landed a blow, but it was minor… It’s no big deal. He destroyed me, like he always does.”

“It is a big deal. That’s amazing, Elder! I’m proud of you.” Astor grabs my hand and starts moving through the crowd again. “Why were you so tense when they approached you?” she probes.

“No reason,” I lie. “It’s just…I’m still not…uh…comfortable around the Crimson Guard yet.” Truthfully, the bustling crowd in the center of the market and the men in white casually approaching—it resembled that day too closely. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. The white cloaks subdued us all so easily when they captured us. Elder, Jay, and me. Even Helios. With just a touch of the flesh. Would they take Astor too this time? Would Harris follow through with the execution promised me so many seasons ago? Would I ever see Jay again? If I admitted my fear, Astor would turn us right around and head back to the cottage. Her love and care for others is deep within her veins, but sometimes it can be overwhelming. Knowing the Taoiseach is aware of my presence, I have no reason to hide anymore. I must move on. At this point I’m just another one of his pawns waiting to be sacrificed. But…what if I make a move out of turn? What if I don’t play his game? “Let’s just get to the grandstand where there are less guard.”

“Certainly.” Astor places a hand on my mid-back. “Let’s get you a piece of your freedom back.”

My stomach flutters, and her smile causes me to forget all other worries.

All the benches at arena level are packed tight with the most boisterous of fans, already loud and unsettled well before the match is to begin. We find our seats high into the grandstand, away from the packed chaos. The view of the entire arena is marvelous, but the action to take place on the hardpacked, sandy field of combat may be a challenge to see from up here.

The stands gradually fill in around us. No sign of any combatants yet. Astor and I both seem content simply watching the crowd around us. The variety of personalities, the bits of intercepted conversations, the many different appearances. The two of us—a fugitive who’s been hiding in a tree and a beautiful, well-presented angel—fit right in. We’re no different than anyone else in this mob.

A chant starts up amongst them. Soft at first but rapidly unfolding to something energetic. It’s hard to make it out, but I believe they’re chanting Iron Valour, the star of the Iron Eagles.

Astor joins in. “I-urn Val-ur. I-urn Val-ur. I-urn Val-ur.” She looks to me and smiles with her fist pumping in the air, followed by a nudge prompting me to join in. At first, I’m irritated, but then I remind myself why we came.

“It’s ‘Val-or,’ not ‘Val-ur,’” I return the smile and join in. “I-urn Val-or. I-urn Val-or.”

Then, the soft chime of cowbells rings steadily, and the crowd calms in anticipation. A few moments pass of the resounding bells accompanied by a silent crowd, then a thriving voice bellows. “And the bass cannon booms!” BOOM! A loud blasting sounds off, and I tense up. I snap my neck around, looking at the crowd, and they all erupt into cheer. A small, brown ball flies high through the air, headed for the middle of the pit. The combatants come hustling into the arena, and the cheers intensify. It’s all part of the show, I remind myself. I look over to see Astor’s reaction and just as all the others are doing, she is yelling as loud as she can with her hands cupped around her mouth.  She isn’t screaming anything in particular, just screaming to make noise. Somehow, her elegant beauty remains in full force even with an unsteady rage.

Ten combatants are out on the field, five to each team. Two on either side hold back strategically while the other six rush for the ironwood ball in the center of the arena.

The Iron Eagles are bare chested with armored loin cloths of petrified grey leather. Its function cannot realistically be to protect anything. It’s more so to maintain a level of carnal tension amongst the mobbing crowd. Men and women, or any that fancy the physical perfection of flesh, will have a hard time taking their eyes off the combatants. And it keeps them coming back despite the brutality.

The Crimson Carnivores have a similar loin cloth infused with a blood-red color. And they’re a bit more vibrant with the use of red war paint. One of the