by Pemry Janes
He considered what to do if he were denied. It would actually be an advantage as much as anything. Less chance of drawing both the wrong and the right attention.
The great sheets that had been fastened between the Outer and Inner Ring rippled in the wind. Eurik stood almost right above a gap and could see people below in the Inner Circle. They were standing on a platform and wore strange outfits combined with outsized helmets fashioned into the likeness of animals. A crowd squatted before them. A few stray notes made it up, combined with a voice too indistinct to be understood.
Ah, they’re acting out a story.
One had feathers on his arms and flapped them about as he walked. With that head, Eurik guessed he was a crow. Or a raven. The crow hopped over to someone clearly meant to be a wolf. Wolf took a swipe and Crow made gestures, slowly approaching before pointing at two others off to the side of the platform. One was a rabbit, the other . . . looked like the turtles that sometimes swam around San. Except the “shell” this person wore was high domed.
Both waved their hands about as the wolf began to stalk toward them. Crow hopped up and down behind Wolf, then turned toward a chest.
“I apologize for not thinking of it before,” Silver Fang said, startling Eurik. “I hadn’t considered that you might be thought of as a soulless. I should have, since none of the stories of the Great Spirits ever mention the san.”
“It’s fine. I hadn’t guessed myself, not after seeing Slyvair.” He glanced down. Crow had something in one arm and was being chased around the stage by Wolf and Hare. “Either I’ll be allowed to compete, or I have more time on my hands to ask around about my father. Everything went well with you?”
Silver Fang nodded and they began to walk back the way they came. “Yes.” She looked down at where he’d looked. “Oh, I’ve always liked that one. Watch— No, I shouldn’t spoil the story. We could go down there, it would be better when you can actually hear what the actors say. But this story is coming to its end.”
True to her words, the chase ended as Crow crashed into Turtle. Something shiny and round dropped to the floor, scooped up by Hare as Wolf snapped and chased Crow off the stage. The cheering and clapping easily reached them up on the Ring.
“We could watch one story. I don’t want to leave Misthell alone too long.”
“Yes, that would probably be best. But there should be some plays out beyond the rings, though they won’t be as good. We can take Misthell there.”
Eurik gave her a look. “Do you think Misthell will sit quietly through a story told badly?”
She considered it, then smiled. “No. But neither would I.”
Chapter 11
Confrontation
Leraine and Rock slowly made their way back out of Chappenuioc and along the outside of the Inza structure to Snake’s territory. Slow, because the crowds had only grown and many stood still to watch this or that performance.
Rock himself stopped when he caught sight of a warrior whirling a doubleblade around. The size of a quarterstaff, its polished steel reflected the sun as it spun around and around.
“She is impressive,” Leraine said. The warrior was part of the Wolf tribe, judging by her draen and the cut of her vest. Her leggings were so tight they had to hinder her movements. “But this is for show. There’s a reason Two Fang is so renowned. She was one of the Nine Saviors and one of the few to truly master the use of the doubleblade. It is not a weapon fit for war.”
On the platform, the woman leaned back so far that her toes no longer could reach the floor. She used the doubleblade for support, point digging into a seam in the platform as the blade itself bent. Then she twisted her wrist and the blade sprang back to true, launching the warrior into a whirling leap.
“So then she learned it to show off?”
“There’s always a few who dream of being the next Two Fang. And not just members of my own nation, either.” Leraine didn’t add that she’d had such dreams herself. But she’d had no talent for the doubleblade and Irelith had been right, too. Better to find your own path than to try and walk down someone else’s. She chuckled. “Or they want to show off.”
Three assistants began throwing small objects at the Wolf warrior. She didn’t stop for a moment, cutting through each and every one of them. Explosions of color covered both the stage and the nearest onlookers as they burst. Those covered in the bright powders cheered the loudest.
Leraine herself didn’t stint on showing her own approval as the warrior wrapped up her act by throwing the doubleblade high into the air. One of the assistants threw a wicker target her way and she caught it. It had been turned into a shield and she brought it up above her head, right in time to have her weapon land in the center.
“That was well done,” Leraine said as they walked away.
“It was impressive. Dangerous, too. That last part could have killed her as she was practicing it.”
“There are a lot of things that can kill you. To show fear . . .” Leraine grasped for the words, as she’d never had to explain this to someone before. Even horse people, even soulless understood! She knew Rock was brave, reckless even. He’d intended to face a greater demon all by himself. But he also had no shame when he showed his fear to her.
It was such little things that reminded her Rock had grown up among a people that were truly strange.
Rock opened his mouth, though he remained silent for a moment longer and gave a quick, small shake of his head. He switched to Linesan. “What is the difference between being afraid and cautious? I know there is one, but do you . . . worry that others might mistake one for the other?”
“It happens. But while some may be quick to accuse others of cowardice, people will dismiss them if your past deeds show that you are not.”
“And we’ve taken some really stupid risks,” Rock said with a nod.
“Not that stupid. We survived. Won, even!”
He looked at the ground. “Not everything.”
Ah, right, our failed rescue of those taken by the elves. “Even the best don’t win every battle.” Irelith had told her that, and she had not believed. I didn’t think Irelith could lose. But lost she had.
“And that doesn’t worry you? That there is going to be another fight, another battle. And that we won’t win that one?”
“I will give it my all. What more can I do? And what of you? Are you worried about the competition? That you will not stand a chance without the full use of your magic?”
He sighed at her choice of words, but what else to call that power of his? “It won’t be easy. If they’re as good as you, I’m in real trouble. But you’re awfully sure that they’ll let me in.”
She shrugged. “They will, or they will not. No use worrying about something that is out of your control.” And Mother is sure to work her own brand of magic underneath the surface.
They finally reached the area assigned to Snake, but a large crowd had gathered on its edge. On its own it wasn’t strange, since there were people gathered to watch one performance or another every ten paces. But this one was unusually large and they could see a small creature fly off into the air. It looked like a goblin, except with wings and red skin. A glowing arrow smaller than one of Leraine’s throwing spikes pierced it and both burst into a shower of sparks.
Both of them came to the same conclusion. “Misthell.”
They gave each other a wordless look and made their way through the crowd. Leraine could hear the living sword before she saw him. “Alladan yelled his defiance, his bow singing the death of every demon that dared to show itself.”
Ah, he’s telling the Cyclus of the Nine. He won’t be running out of material any time soon, then. The Nine’s final adventure that had closed the rift at Ebon alone could fill an afternoon and evening. Judging by the lines she heard, this wasn’t that saga. This was one of the tales of Alladan Ironbow, though not one she’d heard before.
“The last of the villagers had fled, but still A
lladan stood in their way. The demons flowed around him, thirsty for his blood, hungering for his soul! They died yearning, but the noose closed around Alladan ever tighter.”
Two spears had been stuck in the ground, their shafts crossing to form a brace for Misthell. He’d been pulled from his scabbard, but a folded piece of fabric had been placed between him and the ground. Before him, ground had been sectioned off by using more spears and a rope to tie them together. And hovering above the living sword, the small figure of Alladan was surrounded by crawling and scuttling demons—his metal bow glinting in the light of the afternoon sun.
“But even as hope gave way to defiance, a cry rose up. For the great hero had heard of Alladan’s valiant stand from the villagers, and he rode into the army of demons, Flect flashing, Punct stabbing.”
And indeed, a miniature Sharlaten rode in, his two swords slashing and stabbing. Together, the two broke the demon army and sent them fleeing back to the broken land of Evenau. The images faded away.
“Thank you, thank you,” Misthell said as the crowd clapped and shouted. “Please, give me a coin if you can. Sword polish isn’t cheap!”
And indeed, a woman was going around holding up a shallow basket and Leraine could see coins landing in it. She could hear them clink against money already in it. Wait, that draen. That’s Still Pool!
Leraine held her peace until the woman reached her part of the crowd. “What are you doing?”
“Collecting on Misthell’s behalf. He lacks the hands to do it and I’m getting a tenth of the take. Not all of us are rich, Silver Fang. I’d like to bring back a nice scarf. This is an easy way to get that money.”
Rock finally joined her as the crowd thinned. “Well, if you don’t mind,” he said to Still Pool before turning his attention to the living sword. “You could have told me you were going to do this.”
“Wasn’t planning to. Wait, hold on.” The sword raised his voice. “Folk, I’m taking a break. But come back in an hour or so and I’ll tell you the tale of Alladan and the champion of Volsom. A tale of romance, betrayal, and sacrifice! Tell your friends!”
More coins landed in the basket. Much of it was copper, but Leraine could see the glint of silver in the growing pile. Eurik ducked under the rope and squatted in front of Misthell so he could look the sword in the eye.
“Then what brought this notion on?”
“Eh, I heard somebody tell the story of—not important—and really, he tried to tell. It was so bad, E—Rock. I just had to put a stop to it. So I called out, got ignored. Then Still Pool came along and she was kind enough to carry me out. I got into this argument. He had the nerve to think I didn’t know how to tell it properly. Just because I’m lacking hands! And a face! Well, I showed him!”
“And how did that end up with you here, entertaining a crowd and asking for money?”
“If you can do something well, you don’t do it for free. Resting Python told me that.”
“Did she now?” Rock glanced at Still Pool as she came back with the basket. It clinked and sagged with each step. It must hold enough coin to cover Misthell’s gambling habit for quite a while. Or buy him a lot of sword polish.
“She did.” Still Pool put the basket down and started sorting the coins. “You and me, we have to worry about survival. And relying on the wrong person is a good way to end up in a bad way,” she said, giving Leraine a look.
Leraine, in turn, refused to look away and bit down on a hot reply. Here and now was the wrong moment to have that argument. “And so you only consented to assist Misthell in exchange for a reward.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Misthell obviously did enjoy this,” Rock said. He looked over his shoulder at the people who lingered, then back to Misthell. “So I take it you want to stay here, then?”
“Are you going somewhere?”
“I want to try and find someone who knew my father. My best bet is visiting where the members of the Puma tribe are staying. Ask if anybody there knew One Claw.”
“Right, sure. If one of the ladies will stay here to help me with the donations?”
Leraine carefully didn’t look at Still Pool as she quickly answered. “I can stay.” She gave Rock a shrug. “They’ll be more likely to answer your questions without me there anyway. Just remember to be polite, and if they bar your way, don’t press the issue.”
“I know, I know. Your lessons were quite clear. All right, I’m off. Still Pool, thanks for helping Misthell.”
“Oh, it wasn’t a problem. In fact, Silver Fang here can go and have some fun. Like I said, I can use the money.”
“I see.”
“Just go, Rock,” Leraine said, staring at Still Pool, who met her gaze with her usual placid calm. “Still Pool and I will hash it out with Misthell.”
Proving once more that he’d missed half the conversation, he just nodded and left with a casual goodbye. Perhaps she was too harsh on him. He had been looking forward to finding out more about his parents and now that goal was within his grasp. Hard to have eyes for something else when you could see the long longed-for end.
“Hash something out?” Still Pool pocketed her share and straightened out. “Don’t know if that’s needed.”
“Enough.” The word cracked like a whip. Leraine took a deep breath and eased her voice. “Enough, Still Pool. I don’t know what you think you are doing. Or what my sister is thinking. But leave Rock out of it.”
“Uh, what’s going on?” Misthell’s eye shot back and forth.
“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Leraine said.
“Indeed, there is nothing going on.” Still Pool nodded along.
Leraine returned it, not trusting her voice right now.
“Yes, so how about it, Misthell? We’re partners, or do you think Silver Fang here will do a better job of it?”
“I’ve already visited the markets. You haven’t.”
“But Still Pool needs the money to buy something,” Misthell said. “Unless you have enough?”
“Sadly, not yet.”
“Oh, well, uh, then maybe I’ll keep working with Still Pool. If that’s okay?” The living sword gave Leraine a furtive look. In some respects, the blade was more perceptive than Rock. In some very limited respects.
Leraine let out a long breath. “Very well. I’ll . . . do some training for the event. Good luck, Misthell. Still Pool.”
***
Eurik made his way along the outside of Chappenuioc, undaunted by the multitude of people now that he had access to his full senses. His worry lay behind him. Eurik wasn’t sure he should have left. The way both had stood, it felt more like they’d been ready to draw swords, except they hadn’t been carrying anything more than daggers.
He would have liked to pry, but Silver Fang had made it clear that he had to be careful about that. Eurik would still have done it if it was just her, but there’d been people watching and he barely knew Still Pool.
She’d accompanied Golden Tongue on the journey here, but if they’d exchanged more than a hello or goodnight, Eurik could not recall. And Golden Tongue had been speaking to Misthell without him around.
He shook his head. Silver Fang would be fine. So would Misthell. So he turned his thoughts to what lay ahead. Rehearsed the words he would say. He had to get it right.
Up ahead, he could already see his destination. Large wooden pillars with climbing pumas carved into them denoted the area reserved for that tribe. Getting closer, Eurik saw that wooden panels had been placed in between most of the pillars as barriers. These weren’t only carved, they were painted in vivid colors and showed large felines and armed warriors bringing down armored knights riding their horses.
Approaching the entrance, he caught the attention of two men standing guard. One of them set down a jug before gripping his quarterstaff more securely. “Ho there. What you business ’ere?”
It took Eurik a moment to parse the words. Their pronunciation was differen
t from what Silver Fang or that shaman had used, emphasizing different letters than what he’d heard back in Chappenuioc. So that’s what Leraine had meant about being marked as Snake.
He bowed, a little more than necessary if he had it right. “Greetings. I am looking for someone who knew my father.”
“Your father?” The speaker looked at his fellow guard. That one rolled his broad shoulders in a shrug. Their draen were on the back of their heads, so low they draped over their back between their shoulder blades. “You don’t look like one of us, boy. You sound like you got a forked tongue.”
“I learned Thelauk from a warrior of Snake and I grew up among people who were not People. My parents died when I was very young.”
“Then how do you know your da?” The other guard slurred his words. Concentrating, Eurik could feel an unsteadiness to the man’s footing through the subtle shifts in the earth chiri.
“The sword he made with my mother has design features of the Puma tribe.”
They looked him over, obviously looking for this sword.
“I don’t have him with me. He wanted to stay and earn some money.”
The slurring guard, the one who had been holding a jug, come to think of it, guffawed. The other man shook his head and hefted his quarterstaff. “Right. Get lost, you drunk.”
He lightly jabbed it at Eurik, but he’d drawn earth chiri into himself on reflex. It bounced off Eurik without moving him a hair’s breadth. Frowning, the man tried again to move him.
“I’m not drunk,” Eurik said.
“You’re drunker than me,” the slurring man said. “Here, you’re not doing it right. Got to put your weight into it.” He placed his staff against Eurik’s chest and leaned into it, only to stumble when that failed to move Eurik as well. Then the drunken guard proceeded to stare at the end of this quarterstaff like the reason for his failure was written there.
