Diamantine (Weapons and Wielders Book 2)

by Andrew Rowe

  We were greeted by both people and signs at the top. Reika translated that the signs said, “Welcome to Arena Island, please do not stand too close to the edges.”

  Good advice.

  Feeling pleased that we’d made it through the line, we made our way toward…the next line.

  Ticket sales were, unfortunately, in a building within the coliseum grounds itself. We didn’t actually want to buy tickets, since we were planning to compete, but we didn’t know where else to go.

  We waited in the next line, chatting a bit, and eventually made it to the ticket counter.

  Reika walked up ahead of me. “We’d like to participate in the tournament.”

  After a brief exchange indicating that the person at the ticket counter didn’t speak Valian, Reika switched to Edrian, then turned toward me with a dejected sigh.

  “We waited in the wrong line. It’s this way.”

  Reika led us half-way around the building, to a (thankfully) much shorter line. She told me the sign nearby said “Tournament Preliminary Assessments”.

  We were about half-way through that line when I heard a voice coming from my side. “You, there. Valian. Tell me, that sword at your side is the Dawnbringer, is it not?”

  I turned to see a wealthy-looking gentleman with a large entourage. He was wearing a powdered wig and a black tailcoat with bright red threading and coppery buttons.

  I also heard a murmur from other people in the line around us as dozens of eyes fell on the golden hilt on my hip.

  I was mildly impressed that he was calling me out — I’d seen at least five or six other people with “Dawnbringers” already. Apparently, replicas were extremely popular. Maybe he knew my sword was real, maybe he didn’t.

 

  Not yet, Dawn. I need to read the situation a bit first.

 

  I nodded to the man. “Indeed, she is. I’m Keras Selyrian. To whom do I owe the pleasure of addressing?”

  I didn’t usually tailor my language like that, but I didn’t want to offend someone this early in my visit to Edria if it was avoidable.

  “A gentleman! I’ll forgive your failure to recognize me, since you’re clearly a foreigner. I’m Duke — soon to be Archduke — Kenway Wynam.”

  I bowed. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Duke Wynam.”

  Duke Wynam smiled magnanimously, but didn’t return my bow. “Excellent, excellent. Tell me, sir… Selysian, was it?”

  “Selyrian, sir.”

  “Close enough. Now, what was I saying… Ah, yes. Have you secured a sponsor for the tournament yet?”

  I quirked a brow. “I have not. I wasn’t aware there were sponsorships.”

  “Not…aware… Oh, dear. You’re one of those swordsmen, aren’t you?” He clasped his hands together. “Only interested in the battle, that sort of thing?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “Something like that.”

 

  Let’s try not to judge too hastily…but yeah, I’m not feeling great about this, either.

  The line moved, and I walked forward a step to stay with the crowd.

  “I have a keen eye for talent, sir, and I can see that you’re quite likely to place in the final rounds. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have someone take care of all your arrangements, so you can retain your focus?”

  I frowned. “Arrangements?”

  He gestured at the line. “There’s no need for a swordsman of your caliber to wait in lines with the chaff.”

  A few people bristled around us, and with good reason, but no one said anything. The duke’s guards were close by, after all.

  “Beyond that, I can offer the best of accommodations throughout your stay in Edria. You would sleep and dine at my palace estate, rather than in whatever dreary tavern…”

  He rambled on for a time with similar claims of superiority before concluding. “…For all that, you’d merely need to wear my colors in the arena, and talk to a few people here and there.”

  Yeah, your first impressions were right, Dawn.

 

  I waited for him to stop talking, then bowed again. “I’m afraid I can’t accept your kind offer, Duke Wynam. Please forgive my rudeness.”

  His expression hardened. “Are you quite certain about that, Sir Selysian?”

  I gave him the kindest smile I could manage to offer someone who seemed to be deliberately disinterested in learning my name. “Quite certain, thank you. I am certain whoever you choose to select will be an excellent competitor.”

  “Whoever? You think I’m only sponsoring one person? Oh, grandson, you have much to learn about these things.” He shook his head. “Perhaps this is for the best. It’s clearly your first time at one of these things. If you learn some humility in the passage of time before the next tournament, perhaps I’ll consider making you another offer then. Provided you survive that long, of course. Good day.”

  The duke didn’t bother to bow or nod, he simply walked forward — with his entourage pushing their way straight through the line to make way for him — and continued toward wherever he’d been heading before seeing me.

  “Well,” Reika offered, wrinkling her nose, “That was unpleasant.”

 

  I patted Dawnbringer on the hilt, then turned to Reika. “Yeah. If wealthy nobles are sponsoring competitors, we’re sure to run into a few more people like that. Both in terms of other prospective sponsors and other competitors who accepted that sort of deal.”

  The advantages of taking that kind of deal were significant, but I didn’t like the idea of wearing the colors of a man I’d just met in exchange for advantages in the ring. I’d have proudly accepted an offer from someone I respected, but he was clearly disinterested in me as a person, and simply playing the odds that someone with a sacred sword was going to be a formidable fighter.

  That wasn’t a bad guess, of course, but I didn’t like the idea of choosing someone like that to work with. It reminded me uncomfortably of people like Aayara, who were always scheming and using others. And Aayara had far more finesse about it. At least I could respect how much research she put into her work.

  We continued to wait in the line, with more obvious attention focused on us now that my sword had been recognized. A couple people even asked me about her. I was polite, but evasive. I didn’t want to give any secrets away that could lead toward people discovering my true identity or weaknesses.

  When we reached the front of the line, Reika went up to the counter and spoke for us again. After a minute of discussion, the person she was talking to switched out with someone else who was fluent in Valian, and I was able to approach and listen to the conversation.

  The woman at the counter had pulled out a pair of forms, and she was writing down information.

  “Name?”

  “Reika Dawn.”

  “Occupation?”

  “Adventurer!”

  That one got Reika a bit of a look.

  “Location of birth?”

  “The Unclaimed Lands!”

  That got an even harder look, but the clerk wrote it down regardless. Or she wrote something, anyway. She was speaking to us in Valian, but writing on the form in Edrian.

  “Sword style?”

  “Um…” Reika winced. “Put down ‘self-taught’?”

  The look in response to that was positively withering.

  “Do you agree to the terms of this tournament, as specified on the rules listed on the sign?”

  “I do.”

  The clerk slid over a disc with a glowing blue rune in the center.

  “Press your thumb on the rune here, then against this square on the form.”

  Reika followed the instructions. The rune glowed for a moment when she touched it, then left a symbol imprint on th
e form when Rieka pressed her thumb against it.

  “The sign-up fee is twelve gold imperials.”

  Reika and I both blanched. We’d known it would be expensive, but that was absurd.

  No wonder so many other people in the line had been looking at that duke with interest, rather than my disgust.

  I pulled out my pouch, and Reika and I counted out the coins.

 

  Dawn, cut it out.

 

  Reika paid her entry fee, and in return, the clerk handed her a bracelet. “This is an identification sigil. You’ll want to wear it at all times during the tournament. Do not lose it. This is used to keep track of your identity so that someone else can’t claim to be you during later rounds.”

  “Is that...common?” Reika asked.

  “Shapeshifters and con artists regularly make efforts to take the positions of high-ranking candidates, either to slip into later rounds of the tournament or to claim prizes. These sigils help to avoid that. If you lose it, you’ll need to come see us immediately. Please don’t lose it. The process of trying to issue a new one is difficult and time consuming for everyone involved.”

  Reika nodded. “Got it. Thank you.”

  I was up next.

  The woman at the counter only got as far as taking down my name before she noticed the sword.

  “Is that…” She pointed at the sword with a single finger, then withdrew her hand quickly, as if it could bite her if she came too close.

  If I’m being honest, that was probably the right way to think of Dawn.

  “Dawnbringer, yes.” I wasn’t sure how people were picking Dawn apart from the replicas. Maybe they could see the potency of Dawn’s aura, or maybe the replicas had imperfections I hadn’t noticed.

  “Oh, my!” Her eyes widened. “Are you sure you should be…here, sir? By yourself?”

  I blinked. “I’m not by myself. I’m with her.” I pointed a thumb at Reika, who was still standing near me.

  “No, I mean…shouldn’t you have a sponsor? And be going through the sponsored combatant line?”

  I grunted. “I’d rather go through the same process as everyone else, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “That’s…um, fine, I suppose. But I’m going to have to speak to my…uh, manager.”

 

  I let out a groan. “…Can we just finish the form?”

  “Oh! Yes, of course, sir. Forgive me.”

  She didn’t give me the same looks she gave Reika when I gave her equally unusual information. She did ask about what “Selyrian Cutting Style” was, since it was obviously famous and she simply hadn’t heard of it yet, but I just smiled and told her that she’d see what I could do soon enough.

  I recognized the glimmer in her eyes, and I might have appreciated it if there weren’t an increasingly irate group of other prospective competitors behind me.

  After I finished the form, she gave me a card indicating that I was an entrant. Belatedly, she gave one to Reika as well. Next, she gave me her name — Lia Shay — and insisted that we wait nearby while she found her manager. Fortunately, someone else replaced her at the counter while she went to search, so we managed to avoid too many deathly glares.

  Her “manager” turned out to be an older Edrian woman with salt-and-pepper hair. She had a long scar across one eye, and upon closer examination, that eye was clearly a glass replacement. She walked with a cane that I sensed a concealed metal core inside, indicating it was an old-fashioned sword cane. I smiled at that, sensing a hint of a kindred spirit already.

  “So…” The manager said, walking closer and folding her arms. “You’re the wielder of Dawnbringer, eh?” She frowned.

  I nodded. “Indeed. I’m Keras Selyrian, miss…”

  “Miss.” She snorted. “You’re too kind. I’m far too old to be called ‘Miss’. I go by Grandmother Iron, or simply Grandmother to my friends and students. You can just call me that, if you’d like.”

  “Grandmother it is.”

  Grandmother Iron gave me a curt nod, then turned. “This way, wielder. We have some things to talk about.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that, but Reika and I followed her as she headed deeper into the arena grounds.

  ***

  Grandmother Iron led us down a path beside the building where we’d been waiting in line, then through a weaving series of corridors. We passed a half-dozen other coliseum staff along the way, as well as a few other people that looked to be lost. Iron ignored them.

  We were about half-way there when Reika frowned. “You’re not Lia’s manager, are you?”

  “Goodneess, no. Is that what she told you?” Grandmother Iron chuckled. “I suppose I do have to ‘manage’ her sometimes, though. Children these days.” She snorted. “I’m her master.”

  “Master?” Reika frowned.

  “Indeed.” Iron waved at a large building as we approached it. “And this is what I’ve spent my whole life attempting to master.”

  I couldn’t read the sign out front, but Reika whispered, “It says ‘Study of Iron,” and I whispered a thanks in response.

  Study of Iron… A blacksmithing shop, perhaps? Or a martial arts school?

  Once inside, it was immediately evident that we’d found the latter. The entry hall was lined with weapons. Iron led us down that hall, through a room where robed students were practicing, and then down another hall to stop at a small office.

  The office contained a low table with a tea set atop it and about a dozen weapons on the walls of various types. There were no chairs, only pillows.

  I liked Iron more already.

  “Sit.”

  Reika and I sat down across from where she’d walked.

  Iron poured us both cups of tea without asking, then one for herself.

  Then Iron flopped down on a pillow, in stark contrast to the formal posture I’d expected her to sit in. “So, you’re here for Diamantine, is it?”

  I blinked. “…Isn’t that what we’re all here for?”

  Iron sighed, sitting up just enough to take a sip from her tea, then setting it down and lying back. “I can already tell you’re going to be a headache. No, that’s not why most of the people are here.”

  “You’re referring to the fact that most people are just fighting to get to the finals, then lose to the emperor on purpose?” Reika asked.

  I was more than a little surprised by her bluntness, but Iron just laughed.

  “Hah! I like this one. Straight to the point.” Iron turned toward her. “What’s your name, granddaughter?”

  “I’m Reika, Grandma Iron.”

  Iron took a breath. “You’re right, of course. We’re looking at five thousand applicants this year, close to a record. Some are hoping to impress a wealthy sponsor enough to hire them as a full-time retainer. Others might be aiming for one of the early prizes, the ones earned with points. Only the foolish, skilled, or ambitious — or those with a healthy mix of all of them — hope to make it to the finals.”

  “And I’m—,” I began, but she cut me off.

  “You can be none or all of those, but it doesn’t matter. It’s more important that you’re something else.” Her good eye seemed to glimmer for a moment. “Those who come into this tournament with a sacred sword already in hand, without exception, are here to collect another sacred sword.”

  “And that’s of interest to you?” Reika asked.

  “Please, drink.” Iron waved at the cups.

  I sniffed at the tea, and it didn’t smell like poison, so I took a polite sip. It was more flavorful than I expected, tasting more like a warm cider than herbs.

  Reika didn’t bother with anything like that. She chugged it like it was a cup of water, then made a satisfied “ah” noise after downing it.

&nb
sp; I thought Iron might be scandalized by that, but she just smiled at Reika. “The wielders are always of interest to me, and to many others. You’ll find no shortage of options for sponsors. Most of them will simply be looking for a way to earn easy coin or clout in their gambling against other nobles. Reaching the final two rounds of the tournament is noteworthy; everyone who reaches that stage earns an honorary title, and the people who employ such talented sword fighters gain prestige.”

  “You say most,” I noted. “And the others?”

  “A few sponsors are present to support their nation, or perhaps a family member. For example, Lady Hartigan is likely competing simply as a show of power for Valia. A few of those Caelish folks might be sponsoring people simply as a way to demonstrate the power of their artificial attunements. They might be the most interesting to you, since I suspect they’d offer you an attunement mark to fight for them.”

  Yeah, I saw your faces when I said “Lady Hartigan”. Don’t worry, we’ll get to her later.

  At the time, the name caught my attention, too. I also knew a Hartigan, but not the same one you did, obviously. There were Hartigans in my homeland...and maybe this one could help me get a message back to people at home, if they were as powerful as the one I knew.

  And there was something else she’d mentioned that caught my interest, too.

  Artificial attunements?

  That sounded like the Anabelle Farren we were looking for. I was just about to ask for more when Reika leaned in. “You don’t want us to accept any of those offers, though, do you?”

  Iron smiled. “No, granddaughter. I’d like to sponsor you myself, for quite a different reason.”

  I tilted my head at her, taking another sip of the tea. “Why is that?”

  Iron clasped her hands in front of her. “Because, my dears, I have a personal reason for wanting someone to win the tournament. Not just place highly — to succeed, in a way that history has long avoided. And I believe that a wielder of one of the sacred swords poses one of the highest chances of success.”

  There was nothing particularly unusual about that, at least on the surface. Anyone sponsoring a contestant would reap benefits if whoever they were sponsoring was successful. Something about Iron’s tone gave me the strong impression that when she said “personal”, she meant that on a level beyond simple glory seeking, however.