"This is an enclave. Traditionally, they're built where three territories intersect, but not always. The kin-tribe leaders will meet in each of those enclaves that touch their territory once a year. " He pointed across the open center. "The large, two-story hut over there, by the ring, where Tala disappeared when we got here? That's where the tribunal meets."
Then he waved around at the booths being set up under colorful awnings around the perimeter of the center circle.
"Of course, the kin-tribe meetings are also a good time for the traveling merchants to try to sell their wares."
In the few hours they'd been there, the miniature city had filled as more tribe members and tradesmen appeared. Around and between every building a tent or an awning was being set up. Musicians were already moving through the crowd, and the impromptu bazaar was getting louder and more desperate with each new banner raised.
Phelan held her hand as they walked through the growing market. He pointed out beautiful weaving being done by a woman in one stall and an amazing wooden sculpture of a horse in another. He bought her an oval stone strung on a leather cord that had the image of a hound etched in perfect detail on its smooth surface. And while the artist tied it carefully around her neck, he performed a few magic tricks for a gaggle of children gathered shyly around his legs. As soon as the mother caught sight of Phelan though, she hurried them back into a nearby stall with harsh whispers.
He grimaced but buried the pain behind a considering look while he ran a thumb over her new necklace.
"Why do they react to you like that?" Selena wanted to bite her tongue when his eyes went flat and tight, but it was too late to take back the question.
"My brothers and I are anathemas here. Outcasts. The Tribes and Milesan were once the same people, but those that became the Tribe refused to take Attributes. Accepting the healing magic of the Cauldron to save our lives meant also accepting an Attribute. Which went against one of the Tribes founding principles."
Phelan shrugged, stoic and unconcerned on the surface. But underneath, she felt the hurt. One Selena understood all too well.
She wanted to offer him comfort, but she didn't know if he'd accept it here. Now. Showing any weakness to the Tribes wouldn't help their cause. Instead, Selena offered silent support in a warm wave along the bond. His smile eased into something more real, and he took her hand to guide her to the next stall.
Near sunset, a bonfire was built at the center of the enclave's ring, and a communal feast was laid out for everyone. Selena and Phelan settled on one of the benches near the tribunal building to enjoy their dinner.
It was well after dark when the chieftains emerged, Tala in the lead.
"Phelan of the Isles," she called. "We are ready to speak on your request."
Phelan stood up, face blank at the implied insult of naming him from the Isles only. Selena started to follow, but he waved her back down. She felt his seriousness and concern and sat without argument. But she let her hand rest on one of her concealed throwing daggers and watched him like a hawk.
"We are at an impasse," Tala announced as soon as Phelan had completed the weird customary greeting again. "We will rely on the traditional trial by combat in the ring to determine our course of action."
Selena stiffened, not liking the sound of that. Would they have to fight their way out of this?
"Who is the other champion?" Phelan asked. Both his voice and the bond remained calm, and Selena let herself relax. "I'm assuming I'm one of them."
"Yes. You will face a champion from my clan at dawn." Tala glanced over her shoulder where several members of her clan were gathered. "Xahir."
Selena blinked, surprised when the slim, young looking man with dark hair stepped forward. She had noticed the white beads in braids but hadn't given much thought to him. Considering the size of the other hunters and warriors at the enclave, it seemed to her like an odd choice.
Then she felt the shiver of trepidation from Phelan, though he remained outwardly nonchalant and unfazed. Something more was going on here than she understood. Unfortunately, she'd need to wait until they were alone to get answers.
"Then I better get some sleep, eh?" Phelan's voice was flippant, but Selena heard the wire-taut tension underneath.
He turned to bow respectfully in Xahir’s direction. Then he collected Selena and steered her toward a large hut where they staked out an unclaimed corner for their sleeping rolls.
Other gear was scattered around the room, but its owners remained outside at the festivities for the moment.
"What is this challenge? Is it dangerous?" Selena demanded in a quiet hiss.
"It could be. Xahir and I will fight until the elders determine there is a clear-cut winner. It could be to the death. Or first blood. Or one combatant yielding. Or one obviously dominating. If a pair of warriors is evenly matched, it could mean that they fight continuously until one simply drops of exhaustion."
"But the man you have to fight, he doesn't look like much of a match for you. It should be easy and quick, right?"
Phelan shook his head reluctantly.
"He's a shaman. More powerful than he looks on both the physical and spiritual planes. He had to have endured trials some would consider torture to become a shaman. Rumor is a shaman must die and be reborn to earn the tattoo."
Selena remembered the curl of ink along Xahir's wrist, and worry tightened the knot already lodged in her stomach.
"It's another reason my brothers and I are looked at askance. Some believe what we endured, nearly dying and being reborn through the power of the Cauldron, to be an offensive adulteration of the shaman's trials."
Phelan slid down on his bedroll and patted hers in invitation. He was trying to help her relax, but she doubted anything would work until this was over.
"He won't be easy to defeat. And I have no idea what his other form is."
"Other form?"
"Like the Hound. Shamans are always chosen from shapeshifters. My real father was a shaman, and we inherited our second form from him."
Another wave of his melancholy washed over her, and she decided to let her curiosity drop in favor of easing the ache he was trying to hide.
Rolling closer, Selena pressed her lips to his, and they spent the next few hours cuddling and kissing and sharing quiet words until sleep claimed them both.
-13-
PHELAN woke in the darkness of pre-dawn with Selena still wrapped in his arms. Her head rested perfectly against his shoulder, escaping hair tickling at his nose and the unrestrained affection bubbled deep inside him. Along with a twinge of regret that he hadn't had the chance to do this more. That he might not get a chance to ever do it again.
Despite what he'd implied to Selena, in most of the stories and lore he'd heard, the trials of the Tribes ended with death more often than any other way. And Phelan doubted the tribunal would risk someone as important and powerful as the shaman if they weren't supremely confident in Xahir's ability to defeat Phelan handily.
Of course, he'd also heard it rumored, in the aftermath of decimation caused by the war with Marnak, clan leaders rarely allowed disputes to make it to the ring. And if they did, they were quicker to call it before permanent damage was done. They'd lost too many people in battle to accept death so casually anymore.
So maybe today wouldn't be the last sunrise he saw.
Hoping to let Selena sleep a little longer, Phelan tried to shift away without waking her. He should have known better. The second he tensed his arm in anticipation of moving, she bolted upright, hand reaching out. Searching for a weapon, no doubt.
As soon as her eyes focused on him, though, Selena froze. She looked toward the still dark window. Then back at him. Then flopped down with a sigh and a forearm draped over her eyes.
"Time to go, then?"
"Yes," he said, then paused, not sure what to say. But honesty seemed to work better between them lately. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the words that need
ed to be said.
"I'm not sure how this is going to go, but you can't interfere. No matter what happens. Even if I don't..." Phelan stumbled over the word survive, not ready to give voice to that particular doubt. "If I don't win, you'll still be safe. They'll escort you back to the borderlands. But you have to accept whatever the outcome is."
Selena moved her arm and stared at him with open skepticism.
"I'm not promising anything," she said, then pushed herself up and started looking over her gear.
"Selena—"
"You just have to win," she said over the top of him. With precise movements, she slid her sword free, checking over the blade. Satisfied, she resheathed it and buckled the belt on before raising her gaze to meet Phelan's "There isn't any alternative."
Concern and worry clouded the stormy depths, but they also held determination and faith. In him. A faith he probably didn't deserve but wasn't going to disappoint.
"Right. Don't lose. No problem."
"Good. Glad you understand the plan," Selena said with a sharp, fierce smile then crossed the room in two strides to slide her arms around his neck.
The kiss was hard and fierce and full of promise that shook him down to his core. And made him want more.
Selena pulled away, holding his face carefully in her hands and said sternly, "Don't. Die."
Before he regained his equilibrium, Selena moved past him and headed out the door. Leaving him no choice but to follow.
At the ring, people were already gathering, jockeying for the best seats as the sun started to chase the shadows away. When dawn broke, one of the other chieftains, a wizened old man, began explaining the rules to Phelan in pedantic detail.
He stayed silent and polite, but after five full minutes, he could no longer grit his teeth or hold his tongue.
"I know how this works. Fight until the tribunal determines a winner, right?"
The chieftain huffed but nodded in confirmation.
Phelan looked over his shoulder at Selena and winked.
"Also, don't die."
She rolled her eyes at him, but the hum of uneasiness drifted across the bond, though he knew she was trying to contain her nerves.
With great show, Phelan took off his sword belt and passed it over to Selena. Then he pulled out all his hidden knives, one by one, and handed them over as well. Finally, weaponless, he stepped into the center of the ring.
Xahir met him there and bowed slightly. Phelan was a little surprised by the sign of respect but tried not to let it show. If the shaman didn't consider it below his dignity to face an exile in the ring, maybe Phelan would get a fair fight.
"Don't die. Seems like good life advice," Xahir said, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. Phelan resisted the urge to punch him before the fight officially started.
Tala gave the command to begin, her voice still echoing off the stone buildings when Phelan and Xahir crashed together, fingers scrabbling for purchase as they grappled.
As they wrestled, Phelan allowed himself a moment of optimism. He had several inches and a lot of pounds on the smaller shaman. The man was quick and flexible, but he couldn't match Phelan's strength or reach. When he locked up one of Xahir's arms and brought them both to the ground, he began to believe he could end things quickly.
But Xahir continued to smile. A superior quirk of his mouth that was annoying and, yet, a little intimidating.
With a blur of motion almost too fast for Phelan to follow, the shaman twisted, pushed, and flipped.
Phelan ended up sprawled on his back, breath lost for a precious second as he turned, looking for the next attack.
Xahir wasn't moving, though. He'd landed on one knee a few feet away, fingertips of one hand on the ground to steady him. He stood up, and a shimmer of white obscured the air around him, the familiar sound of a shifter changing forms resonating from the fog.
Phelan scrambled to his feet, hands up and ready for whatever came next.
The mist cleared revealing a huge grizzly reared up on hind legs where Xahir had stood.
"Damn it," Phelan muttered.
At the edge of his attention, he heard Selena's gasp of shock. And Lorcan's victory crow. But he kept his eyes locked on his ferocious opponent, rolled his shoulders, and called his other form.
Bear and Hound eyed each other, and the crowd fell silent in anticipation.
Then the grizzly dropped to all fours, and the Hound launched himself at the huge, fearsome animal.
*****
The strength and size advantage had definitely turned in Xahir's favor. Phelan circled around the Bear, watching. Searching for weakness.
The grizzly turned in a lazy circle, eyes always following him. And lips pulled back in a mocking parody of that constant, irritating grin.
The Hound darted forward in a feint, testing. And just barely sidled out of the way before a powerful paw swiped the air where he'd been with vicious claws.
Phelan was faster, but the grizzly had surprising agility for his lumbering size. His only hope was to keep Xahir moving, stay out of reach of those deadly jaws.
Phelan quickly figured out the hind quarters were Xahir's most vulnerable area. There were no teeth or claws to avoid, and Xahir was slow in turning to face him when Phelan got behind him
He continued darting in and out, constantly circling. Making feints at the shoulder only to turn and snap at the leg before bounding out of reach again.
At first, Xahir would give chase, unexpected speed belying the hulking body. But every effort, every move or forced change of direction took something from the Bear. Xahir lost steam with every attack until he would take only one or two steps before snarling and standing its ground.
Phelan had no idea no how long they'd been in the ring but all the while he danced with the grizzly, the sun rose steadily above them.
He continued to worry and harass Xahir. Refusing to stay and engage, drawing on his frustration and trying to make the Bear chase him. Watching the Bear grow slower, the fatigue seeping in and delaying its reactions.
When the shaggy brown head drooped, eyes dropping away from the Hound for the first time, Phelan saw his opening. Racing forward, he grabbed as much momentum as possible and sprang at the grizzly, teeth bared and ready to rend and tear.
Xahir pulled his head up, triumph bright in his eyes and he reared up, swinging the powerful front leg in a wide, deadly arc.
Too late to stop his charge, Phelan only managed to twist in midair. He avoided the full force of the attack but still took a glancing blow that raked five sharp claws down his side. He tumbled tail over head, pain and blood blossoming along his flank. Stunned, he lay still in the dirt, panting in huge gasping breaths while he tried to shake his head clear and scramble to his feet.
He heard the thundering sound of the charge before his eyes finally managed to focus on the grizzly rushing toward him. Phelan threw himself to the side, barely getting out of the way in time and yelping with pain from the stretch of the wounds along his side.
Xahir tried to dig in but couldn't stop his momentum or change direction. Leaving him vulnerable.
The Hound's instincts took over, and he lunged for the exposed leg, sinking his teeth into fur and muscle and sinew. His frantic, unplanned attack missed the arteries or tendons that might be enough to end the fight. But he held on tight, shaking his head and his new prize with it.
The Bear roared in pain, huge head twisting toward Phelan with snarling, savage teeth. The immense body shifted, off-balance in his attempts to get to the Hound.
This time, Phelan's opening was real.
Letting go, the Hound backed up just enough to put everything he could into the leap. Barreling into the grizzly's hindquarters sent them both toppling to the ground in a confused pile of paws and limbs.
The Bear tried to roll, but the Hound recovered first and pounced. Two paws landed on the massive chest and dug in. Sharp teeth sank into the soft flesh of the thr
oat, enough to get a taste of blood but not sunk deep yet. Xahir went still underneath him.
Around the ring, every spectator went still as well, the shouts and cries falling into pointed, satisfying silence.
A few quick, angry mutters punctuated the quiet and Tala stood up with hands on her hips.
"Enough," she said with firm command. "The trial is over. Phelan has won."
Carefully, Phelan released his hold on the Bear's throat and jumped back. He waited, however, for Xahir to lumber to his feet and begin to transform before he called his own human form back.
The crowd around them looked divided, some satisfied with the outcome, some looking pissed. Money and trinkets exchanged hands more than once while Phelan looked around.
Tala strode to the center of the ring, face still set in a perpetual frown.
"You have won, Milesan. A contingent of volunteers from each kin-tribe will follow you to the borderlands. They will not engage with Marnak, however, unless they are attacked, or the outpost protecting the spring is threatened."
Tala didn't wait for his acknowledgment before turning on her heel and striding out of the challenge ring. Most of the crowd dispersed and a healer headed for Xahir. On his way across the circle, he paused and handed Phelan a small bundle of bandages, salve, and clean water.
"Thanks," he said, blinking at the gift with surprise, but the healer had already moved on.
Selena rushed toward him but stopped just short of embracing him. It was a much smaller crowd now, but still too much audience.
Instead, she tilted her chin up and raised a mocking eyebrow at him.
"Good job. I was a little worried you'd forgotten the not dying part there, for a little while, but you pulled it out." The sarcasm didn't quite hide the tremor of relief in her voice. Or the way she raked her gaze over him, stopping when she saw the blood starting to seep through his shirt.
"Next time, maybe I'll remind you to try not to get hurt. See how you do with that one. Take off your shirt and let me see."
He considered making a flippant joke about getting her out of hers first, but the steel in her eyes warned him not to push her humor too far. He silently pulled off the fabric and let her have a look.
By Blood Betrayed (The Lost Shrines Book 3) Page 16
