The First Champion

by Sandell Wall

  “Come on, what are you waiting for?” Mariel said from within the carriage. She beckoned for him to climb inside. The servant stood holding the door, his face impassive.

  Saredon quieted his misgivings and entered the carriage. He sat on a richly padded seat of scarlet fabric next to his mother. The servant closed and secured the door behind him. That done, the man clambered up onto the back of the carriage. The entire contraption rocked as the servant climbed up to his perch.

  Seconds later, the driver cracked his reins and whistled at the horses. With a jolt, they pulled away from the cathedral.

  “You seem bothered,” Mariel said. “Aren’t you pleased to be going on a picnic with me?”

  “Oh, yes, and thank you for bringing me,” Saredon said. “We just never used to take servants with us… before.”

  Mariel frowned. “A lot has changed since our family was last together,” she said. “The countryside is no longer as safe as it once was. These men are bodyguards posing as servants. Without your father here to protect us, one of his rivals would leap at the chance to catch us alone.”

  “Do you have word of father and Tarathine?” Saredon asked, hopefully.

  “Have patience; we’ll discuss it in good time,” Mariel said. “For now, enjoy the ride.”

  Saredon turned his attention to the window on his left. Northmark passed by his face at the speed of a horse’s trot. People scrambled to get out of the way of the carriage. The driver did not slow down for anything or anyone.

  It had only been a few months since Saredon had called these streets his home, but it already seemed like a distant memory. In fact, it grew harder with each passing day to believe that part of his life had ever happened. Only the memory of Ursais felt real, but Saredon tried not to think about the old man. Even though he believed that Ursais had been crazy in the end, Saredon carried guilt he could not banish. He had betrayed the old man’s trust. The real Ursais would have been devastated to see Saredon taking the blood of Abimelech and training to be a reaver.

  The people and buildings outside the window passed by in a blur. Saredon did not need to focus on the details to know that Northmark shared the nature of the citizens that inhabited it: dreary, grimy, and filled with anger and resentment. He wondered if it had always been this way. Had his father protected them from the harsh reality of the city, keeping them sequestered away behind the walls of the tenth reaver’s keep?

  “It’s not a pretty sight, is it?” Mariel said, as if she could sense Saredon’s thoughts.

  “Has it always been like this?” Saredon said.

  “It’s worse right now because of the turmoil between the reavers. The city always suffers when the reavers are at odds with one another.”

  “Why doesn’t the regent do anything?”

  “He has done something. He gave us the reavers. Without them, we’d have complete lawlessness. No kingdom is immune to periods of disquiet.”

  Saredon stared out at the city while he contemplated this.

  “No matter what you think of them, these are the people you’ll be sworn to protect,” Mariel continued. “As a reaver, you’ll preside over them as both judge and executioner.”

  It was not lost on Saredon that she spoke as if him becoming a reaver was a certainty.

  “Your father did the same,” Mariel said. “Through his service, he brought glory to both Northmark and his family.”

  Saredon kept his face turned to the window so that his mother could not see his frown. He had never heard her say anything positive about his father’s service before. She had never been shy about telling her children that what their father did was a necessary evil. When did she have a change of heart?

  Mariel cleared her throat to indicate she had more to say. Saredon pulled away from the window to appear attentive. His mother would be annoyed if she thought he was ignoring her.

  “Your instructors tell me you excel in almost every facet of your training,” Mariel said. She paused.

  Saredon waited for the “but” he heard in her statement.

  “But they also tell me you show a concerning lack of fortitude when it comes to matters of judgment,” Mariel said. “For example, I’m told you express regret when you harm someone in mock combat.”

  “It’s just training,” Saredon said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “It’s just training until it isn’t,” Mariel snapped. “You must train your mind as well as your body. You have to learn to detach yourself from the consequences of your actions. You must be guided by justice alone. Your personal feelings cannot interfere whatsoever.”

  “Where’s the justice in being a bully?”

  “Justice is more than just the verdict of a judge. Justice is the force that governs our world. It can be found in every level of society, in the secret rhythms of nature, and in every possible circumstance, if you learn to look for it. When you step into the training ring with one of your classmates, justice demands that the strong overcome the weak. This is the only possible outcome. Anything else is a perversion. If you harm your opponent, the fault is his, not yours. He should’ve been stronger, or better prepared, or never challenged you at all. As a reaver, you’ll be the embodiment of this force of justice. You’ll not preside over your subjects in a court. There’s no need. Your words, your actions, the cutting edge of your blade, will be the only justice they ever require.”

  They passed through the city gates while Mariel talked. Their carriage bypassed the long line of wagons and travelers waiting to leave. The city guards forced the crowd aside so that they could pass through. Saredon ducked down into his seat to hide from the hateful glares this earned them.

  “I tell you these things because your father isn’t here to do it himself,” Mariel said. “He’d be disappointed by these reports from your instructors. A reaver’s mind is stronger than his body. If you neglect to train the former, the latter will be useless.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Saredon said.

  Saredon tried to not let his disappointment show. He wanted to stop talking about his training. His mother was getting more severe the longer she lectured. All he wanted to do was enjoy a pleasant picnic in the country. Now, his mother’s dire monologue hung over Saredon like a menacing thunderhead.

  Mariel must have sensed his mood, because she let the matter drop. She patted him comfortingly on the leg and lapsed into silence. This gave Saredon the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant fantasy that they were traveling through the countryside together without a care in the world. Gone was the oppressive lesson about justice. No longer did he have to worry about his upcoming trial. It was just him, his mother, and an endless sea of rolling green hills.

  By the time the carriage came to a stop, Saredon had mostly salvaged his attitude, and he was ready to enjoy the day again. They had followed a winding dirt road into the countryside, stopping several miles from the city on the top of a hill. It had taken the rest of the morning to reach their destination. At this elevation, Saredon could look out across all of Northmark. The great city stretched like a black stain across the coast. Beyond it, the emerald ocean glinted in the afternoon sunlight.

  They exited the carriage and waited while the servants set up the picnic. There was a single ancient tree at the top of the hill, and the men laid down a big blanket beneath the shadow of its branches. Next, they unloaded a trunk from the back of the carriage. From this chest, they produced a meal fit for a king.

  Saredon’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched delicacy after delicacy placed on the blanket. There was a smorgasbord of sweet and savory treats, and among them Saredon spied the fruit tarts he coveted.

  Soon, the chest was empty, and it was time to eat. Mariel sat and gestured for Saredon to join her. Together, they took their time working through dish after dish, only sampling some, and completely devouring others, until at last they both were stuffed. The servants cleared away what they did not finish, and with Mariel’s permission, the men ate what remained.


  With a contented sigh, Saredon leaned back to rest against the tree. He nibbled at a fruit tart, his second, and looked out towards the sea. His mother sat at his side with her hands in her lap. This was the most peaceful he had seen her since their reunion.

  “I didn’t bring you out here just to lecture you,” Mariel said. “I do have news about your father and sister.”

  Saredon sat up quickly, the tart in his hand forgotten.

  “Your father thinks it should be safe for them to return soon,” Mariel said. “He’s planning to arrive in time to witness your trial. If he decides it’s safe enough, Tarathine will follow soon after.”

  The sweet pastry in his mouth suddenly went tasteless. He wanted more than anything to see his father again, but Saredon had not anticipated the possibility of performing his trial beneath Kaiser’s stern gaze. Failure would be worse than humiliation.

  “Despite what I said earlier, you’re doing well,” Mariel said. “The training you’re under isn’t easy, and learning to control your mind is the hardest part. Some have an innate sense of justice; others must be taught. But the good thing is that it can be learned. I’m confident you’ll make your father proud.”

  “And if I don’t?” Saredon said. He hated asking the question, but he had to know. Everyone just assumed he would pass the trial and become a reaver. But what if he did not? Was that even a possibility?

  Mariel pursed her lips. She examined his face, her eyes searching for something in his demeanor. Saredon endured her scrutiny, dreading the answer to his question.

  “I’m going to tell you something that you’re going to think is cruel,” Mariel finally said. “You’ve no chance of passing the trial if you enter it thinking that failure is an option. You must be fully committed to doing whatever it takes, whatever it takes, to succeed, or you’ll not only fail, you’ll probably not survive. This is why everyone speaks and acts as if you’ve already passed. You must put failure out of your mind. More than anything else, that is the test.”

  The heaviness from earlier returned, and Saredon felt the weight of the upcoming trial pressing down on him. The picnic had been a delightful diversion, but it could not dispel the black clouds that darkened his horizon.

  “Is it… is it worth losing a son over?” Saredon said.

  He was already in a dour mood, and he could not stop himself from asking such a dangerous question.

  Mariel smiled at him and reached over to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. The comforting gesture was at extreme odds with what she said next.

  “If you fail, I won’t have lost a son. I never had one to begin with.”

  Chapter 18

  LACRAEL WATCHED TOMB KEEPER Elise from across the dirt floor of the combat ring. The other woman had removed her mask, revealing hair so blonde it was almost white. Elise’s long hair was braided tight around her head so that it fit into her helmet. She possessed a savage beauty that was accentuated by the ornate armor she wore. Elise met Lacrael’s gaze with undisguised anticipation.

  Elise drew an ugly, black blade and advanced into the ring. Lacrael stepped forward to initiate the combat. She still wore her mask, and the narrow wooden slits restricted her view. Despite the obvious disadvantage of having no peripheral vision, there was no circumstance that allowed a forsaken to uncover their face in public. Elise was not about to make an exception here.

  “Surely the tomb keepers don’t need to prove their superiority by beating an unarmed opponent,” Niad said from behind Lacrael. Her voice was dripping with condemnation.

  Niad and the rest of Lacrael’s party observed the fight from the edge of the ring. They were surrounded by Elise’s soldiers, almost as if the tomb keepers expected someone to try and intervene on Lacrael’s behalf.

  Elise paused to consider Niad’s words. She scowled, reached down to unsheathe the dagger on her hip, and tossed the tiny blade into the dirt at Lacrael’s feet. Lacrael darted forward and snatched the weapon up before Elise could move again.

  Lacrael dropped into a fighting stance with the dagger held low in her right hand. She knew without having to ask Niad that there was only one possible outcome here. Elise needed to win the fight, and Lacrael had to make it look convincing. If she lost too easily, Elise would be deprived of the promised glory. There was no telling what she might demand in its place.

  No one expected Lacrael to actually beat an armored tomb keeper armed with only a dagger, but the longer Lacrael lasted in the ring, the more it reflected poorly on Elise’s combat prowess. If Lacrael fought too well, Elise would probably kill her.

  In response to Lacrael’s combat stance, Elise flourished her blade and jumped forward. The tomb keeper covered the ground between them in a rush, her sword already moving before she reached Lacrael. She spun the blade, her hands a blur of motion around the hilt. Lacrael took a step back. It was impossible to predict where Elise would strike. The speed and unpredictability of her attack forced Lacrael to guess.

  Lacrael blocked right, and to her relief, she chose correctly. She caught Elise’s sword on her blade. The force of the impact jolted up the length of Lacrael’s arm—she almost dropped the dagger. Elise did not hesitate. The instant their weapons touched, she drew back her sword and struck at Lacrael’s opposite side.

  Elise’s blade ripped through the air. Lacrael barely had time to get her dagger across her body. She got the weapon up, but her parry was weak. Elise’s sword slammed into Lacrael’s side. Only the flat of Lacrael’s dagger kept the cutting edge away from her flesh.

  Someone gasped behind Lacrael. She shut out the sound. Any distractions could be fatal. Elise was holding nothing back; the tomb keeper seemed determined to draw blood.

  After Lacrael’s second, desperate parry, Elise took a step back. Her lips were upturned in a small smile, and she gave Lacrael a minute nod, as if to say, “So you’re not completely incompetent.”

  Lacrael needed to keep Elise guessing if she was going to draw this fight out any longer. She bent her knees and pushed off the ground with her toes, surging forward and inside Elise’s guard. One hand grabbed the collar of Elise’s breastplate—Lacrael’s dagger plunged towards Elise’s left armpit.

  Elise was not surprised by the attack. She twisted her body, wrenching Lacrael’s hand away from her neck. At the same time, Elise struck at Lacrael’s mask with an armored fist. The wooden mask smashed into Lacrael’s nose. Stars exploded in her vision. Her dagger scratched Elise’s armored chest and fell harmlessly away.

  Stunned, Lacrael staggered backwards. Angered by Lacrael’s impudent attack, Elise kicked an armored leg at Lacrael’s unsteady feet. The spiked solleret smashed into Lacrael’s calf. Lacrael dropped to the dirt. Elise was on her in an instant, her armored heel pinning Lacrael’s weapon hand to the earth. The point of Elise’s sword pressed against the soft skin of Lacrael’s throat. Lacrael stared up at Elise from behind her mask.

  “You’ve won the fight and claimed the glory,” Niad said from the edge of the ring. “If you damage my property without cause, you will pay for it.”

  Concentration broken, Elise looked up in annoyance. “You slavers know nothing of glory,” she said.

  But Niad’s threat must have carried weight, because Elise stepped away from Lacrael. She sheathed her sword and exited the fighting ring. The rest of her squad formed up around her. Before leaving to return to her post at the gate, Elise addressed Niad again.

  “That barely qualified as a contest,” Elise said. “As we discussed, you’ll return to me a portion of your proceeds once you reach Orcassus. Don’t think to cheat me. The House Riggor tomb keepers there will be looking for you.”

  “It will be done,” Niad said.

  “Keep the dagger. It’s tainted by her filth now.”

  Elise gave Lacrael one last glance and then walked away with her soldiers in tow. Lacrael did not sit up until Elise was out of sight. Once they were alone, Brant rushed to her side. He knelt next to her in the dirt.

  “Are you okay?” Bra
nt said. “I thought for sure she was going to cut you down.”

  “I’m fine,” Lacrael said, patting Brant’s hand. “But if we have to do this in every city we come to, I’m going to be dead long before we reach the capital.”

  Lacrael winced as Brant helped her to her feet. She was going to have a nasty bruise on her leg.

  “It shouldn’t happen again,” Niad said. “Elise took issue with me for some reason. Most of the time, the tomb keepers let slavers pass without a second glance.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Lacrael said. “Because I got lucky. If I have to fight another one of them with just a dagger and my wits, I don’t think I’ll walk away unblooded.”

  Chapter 19

  KAISER PACED BACK AND forth in the slave pen. Sorrell, Brant, and Gustavus all sat against the one solid wall, each of them lost in their own thoughts or trying to sleep. Tarathine lay in the shade with a shirt folded up as a pillow beneath her head. Kaiser stopped to look at her every time his pacing brought him near. Her condition remained unchanged. Kaiser administered Sadreed’s medicine as instructed, never deviating from the schedule. He could only hope that it was doing something.

  They were secured in a wooden enclosure built out of a fence of sturdy planks. It was set up against the perimeter wall of the city, so one of the sides of the pen was solid rock. Niad had called this the slave quarter of the city. The city proper was blocked from view by a high wall, but from his vantage point, Kaiser could see many other cages like the one that held them. Most of the pens were empty.

  Niad and Lacrael were elsewhere. As Niad’s personal servant, Lacrael did not have to be imprisoned with the merchandise. Kaiser kicked at the dirty stone floor. He detested acting like a slave. Slavery had been a foreign concept in Northmark, although Kaiser supposed the peasants were not much better off.

  Thoughts of Northmark brought with them a host of unwanted memories. Ever since his confrontation with Sorrell, Kaiser had been unable to banish Mariel and Saredon from his mind. Without Tarathine to distract him, and with nothing to do but travel and wait, Kaiser was forced to face the grief he had been running from for the last year.