A Girl From Nowhere

by James Maxwell

  “It’s probably best we don’t know,” Taimin said. “It might change the way we act around them.” He tried not to look toward the gate. “Don’t worry about the prison guards. They’re not soldiers. They give us food and call us up to fight, but that’s all.”

  “We can trust her,” Vance spoke up. “I don’t know her well, but I’ve spoken with her a few times. Not that she’d remember me.” Taimin raised an eyebrow and Vance explained. “She runs a guild for the city’s traders. They give her a tenth of their earnings and she makes sure they’re looked after . . . helps if they’re swindled, lose cargo, that sort of thing. She means what she says.”

  “We all have to keep to the plan,” Taimin said. He met his companions’ eyes, one at a time. He could understand their fear, for he could feel it himself: a gnawing sensation inside his chest that made him want to do anything except eat. Vance had given him food far better than the usual fare but it tasted like ash. He decided to change the subject and turned to Vance. “What are you going to do once you’re free?”

  Vance looked into the distance. “Find out what happened to Cora.”

  “Who?” Lars asked.

  “The woman I loved,” Vance said. “She was the Protector’s mistress. I—”

  “That’s enough.” Lars held up a hand. “I can piece the rest together.”

  Vance’s face darkened. “What about you, rover?”

  “When I’m free?”

  “The city might become something else with new leadership,” Taimin said, meeting Lars’s gaze. “Perhaps you’ll find a place here, after all.”

  “Perhaps,” Lars said.

  “Rathis?” Taimin asked the old skalen.

  “I agree with Elsa. We need to prevent further conflict between Zorn and the Rift Valley. I do not want my clan to sacrifice their lives and I must do what I can to end this foolish war. Then . . . then I will go home.”

  Taimin nodded. He realized that all eyes were now on him.

  “And you, my friend?” Rathis asked gently.

  “The only reason I’m still alive is because of Selena.”

  “If you want to help her, you have to beat Galen,” Vance said, “or this rebellion will be over before it’s begun.”

  “And Taimin,” said Lars, “be prepared for anything. Galen wants you dead, but he also wants to prove his skill in front of the city. I doubt he’ll deploy something as blunt as poison, but it’s almost certain he’ll have some way to make sure he’s the only man standing at the end.”

  Ruth’s hands were shaking. She had carried her tray and its load of ceramic cups to the observation room too many times to remember, but this occasion was different. Steam rose from every cup. Liquid sloshed. The tea’s floral aroma drifted into her nostrils. She would never hide the fact that she had made a completely different brew from usual.

  As she crested the stone steps, she saw three familiar figures in the tower’s highest room. The Protector and his two mystic aides faced in the direction of the arena. Ruth overheard their conversation as she approached with her tray held in both hands.

  “. . . commander will be putting his armor on right now,” the Protector was saying. He moved some strands of carefully combed hair. “I suppose we should leave. The sooner this duel is over, the better.”

  “He shouldn’t be risking himself,” Merin said. “If he falls, who will lead the city’s defense?”

  “Did he tell you how he will ensure victory?” asked thin-faced Arren.

  “No,” the Protector said, still gazing at the arena. “He was evasive when I asked, but you know Galen: he is a resourceful man. He knows what he is doing.” The Protector broke off when he saw Ruth. “Ruth?” He frowned. “I didn’t ask for tea.”

  Ruth had her response prepared. When she spoke, she couldn’t hide the fact that her voice was shaking. “Protector . . .” She hesitated. “The mystic, Selena. She has been . . . giving me strange looks.”

  “Strange looks?” The Protector raised an eyebrow. He turned to focus his intense blue eyes on her.

  Rather than disguise her fear, Ruth used it. “It’s like she’s afraid for me,” she said. The cups trembled on the tray. She knew the Protector would notice. “If Taimin dies . . .”

  “Ah.” Realization dawned in the Protector’s eyes. “You think I would use you to make Selena do what I want? Ruth, listen to me. Your fate here is secure. You have proved your value.” He gave her a thin-lipped smile. “There is no need to bring tea in order to remind me.”

  He looked down at the tea and reached out, but then he noticed the color. Bringing his head down, he inhaled just above the cup he had been about to take.

  Ruth’s heart began to hammer in her chest. “It’s a new tea,” she said quickly. “I’ve made it sweeter, with different herbs.”

  Watching the exchange, Arren’s lip curled. “None for me,” he said. “In my view, tea should never be sweet.”

  Even as sweat broke out on her forehead, Ruth’s heart sank. The Protector spoke in a voice that wasn’t unkind. “I am afraid that, like Arren, I am in no mood for tea.”

  Ruth’s gaze shot to Merin. The stocky mystic gave a shrug and came over. “I’ll try it,” he said.

  She watched as he snatched a cup and brought it to his face. He inhaled, and Ruth’s entire body tensed, but rather than set the cup back down, he made a sound of appreciation. She saw him take a tentative sip. Another followed.

  Ruth glanced in the Protector’s direction. He was staring at the arena once more, and had already forgotten about her.

  “Enough,” he said sharply. “Arren, Merin, it is time to go.” He indicated the steps with his chin. “Ruth, leave us.”

  Merin hurriedly set the cup back down on the tray. Ruth turned away, but as she departed, she threw one last look toward the only tea that had been touched.

  Round-faced Merin had drunk her concoction, but he had only finished half of it. He might become sleepy; he might become ill.

  Or nothing might happen at all.

  The steady thud reverberated throughout the prisoners’ quarters. There was no way to escape the regular, pounding rhythm. The roar of the crowd filled the spaces in between, louder than ever before. Humans and bax alike looked up at the ceiling as if worried it would cave in.

  Two guards came to the gate that connected the prisoners’ quarters to the fighting pit. Resting as much as possible before the fight, Taimin recognized Lewin’s lanky figure. He wondered if the heavyset guard beside Lewin was also part of Elsa’s conspiracy.

  “It’s time!” Lewin called. He nearly had to shout to be heard above the din.

  Taimin stood, stretched, and loosened his shoulders, rolling his head from side to side.

  He was surprised to realize that the fear that had been gnawing at his stomach had vanished. What he now felt was determination. The anticipation had been the worst part. Now the wait was over. He would soon face his enemy.

  All of the other prisoners had assembled near the gate. More than twenty humans and a smaller number of bax stood together. Rathis and Lars were at the front of the group.

  Vance spoke from Taimin’s side. “Rathis and I will walk with you. Lars too—”

  “No,” Taimin said, low enough that he wouldn’t be overheard. His attention was on the two guards on the other side of the gate. “Everyone’s on edge. The guards can probably sense it. It’s better I walk alone.”

  Vance let out a breath and then nodded. “Fair enough. Just be careful out there.”

  “I will.”

  Taimin squeezed Vance’s shoulder before he reached the other prisoners. He swept his gaze over them all. For the guards’ benefit, he kept his face expressionless. He would do nothing to give away that those surrounding him might soon be fighting as well.

  “Good luck,” Lars said. His face was deadly serious. “Survive.”

  “Let fortune guide your blade,” said Rathis.

  “Strength to your sword arm,” said one of the bax.

&nbs
p; Taimin walked toward the gate, nodding to everyone he passed. The guards hauled the gate open and he strode through. He heard a loud clang behind him.

  The din in the arena grew even louder as he followed the corridor. The sloped floor climbed upward, heading to the archway and the portcullis, which was already raised. Golden light poured down and made him squint. His boots crunched on the first grains of sand as he neared the archway. The crowd was so loud that he couldn’t distinguish the voices. High-pitched and low-pitched cries mingled with the boots pounding on the tiers that formed the arena’s seating.

  As Taimin took the last few steps toward the archway, one of the last pair of guards handed out a sword. Taimin’s fingers closed tightly on the hilt. He sliced at the air. It was early afternoon and the combined ferocity of the two suns seared his vision. As ready as he would ever be, he walked through the archway and stepped out into the open air.

  The crowd saw him. He held his sword high. The roar was deafening.

  Taimin blinked in the bright sunlight but soon his vision cleared. Countless faces surrounded him, watching his every move, but he banished the crowd from his awareness. He came to a halt on the sand of the fighting pit. Gradually the faces of the people faded away. The shouts became muted.

  He forced himself to remember his parents’ deaths.

  An arrow had plunged into his mother’s cheek. She had once pressed her cheek against his when he was a child. Galen’s sword had entered Taimin’s father’s chest. Gareth had been a gentle man.

  Taimin returned his attention to the fighting pit.

  He fixed his gaze on the single, solitary man in the center of the sandy floor. Galen wore leather armor and held his shining steel sword in front of him. The sharp blade reflected the bright sunlight. Galen’s angular face was like stone as he returned Taimin’s stare.

  Taimin wondered what trick Galen would employ to win. Or could Galen’s honor, the reason he had accepted Taimin’s challenge, lead him to make it a fair fight?

  Whatever happened today would decide the fate of the city. Taimin glanced around the arena and took in the tall wooden fence that separated the fighting pit from the crowd. The prison guards who usually manned the fence were gone. Instead, Taimin saw Galen’s uniformed soldiers on the fence’s other side, watching carefully. They were all armed with bows.

  He looked higher. Scanning past the wide exits located on both sides of the oval-shaped arena, his eyes roved over the crowd and then he saw them: the rest of Galen’s men. As expected, every soldier was present to see his commander fight. They sat together, not far from one of the stairways. A wide gap separated the soldiers from the common folk nearby. In their crimson uniforms they were easily picked out from the people around them.

  Taimin continued to scan the tiers of benches.

  His heart thudded in his chest.

  Selena was in the same place she had been last time. Her face was pale, framed by her black hair. She looked afraid.

  Galen called out. “Ready to die, cripple?”

  Taimin didn’t reply. Instead, he inspected the terrain. His gaze traveled over the sand as he looked for small depressions and crests, taking note of where he might trip or gain an advantage.

  “I can read the thoughts on your face,” Galen said, speaking for him alone. “You are wondering if the fight is going to be fair.” As Taimin focused on his enemy once more, Galen smiled. “As you can see, I have the protection of armor.” He brandished his sword. “I have my steel and you have hardwood. There is some advantage, but that was always to be expected.”

  Galen took a step toward Taimin, who held his ground. Taimin’s palms felt sweaty. He gripped the hilt of his sword, holding it warily in front of him.

  Galen’s lip curled. “The people don’t want to see me defeat a man who has been poisoned or had his fingers broken. But I will kill you,” he said. “Look at your woman, the mystic. Do you see her?”

  Taimin glanced again at Selena. She was on one of the highest tiers, between two men, one with a pinched face, the other stocky. The Protector himself, a well-dressed older man with neatly combed hair, sat beside the stocky man and leaned forward as he watched. The Protector’s group was located above Galen’s soldiers, also separate from the rest of the crowd.

  Galen continued, “What not even the Protector knows is that one of my men is seated behind the girl. Do you see him? The one with the scar on his face.” Taimin spied him immediately. The tall soldier with the pale line on his cheek was on the tier behind Selena. He was a few feet from her, but it would be simple for him to move closer.

  “I am sure you want to know what orders I have given him,” Galen said. When Taimin didn’t reply, Galen’s eyes narrowed. “If my blood is drawn, he is to kill the girl with a knife in the back. He plans to retire with family, settlers far from here. If he has to do it, my men will help him escape.” Galen spoke with ferocity. “You are going to let me win. Do you understand me? Fight badly. If you draw my blood, she dies.”

  Taimin tried not to show any emotion as thoughts whirled through his mind. He heard a trumpet blare as the herald entered the fighting pit to address the crowd.

  “Today, my people, I, the Protector of Zorn, gazed out from the Great Tower. As I searched the lands around our fair city . . .”

  The herald followed the same pattern he always did, but then, at the point where the Protector stood and waved at the citizens, Taimin looked up sharply.

  Angry murmurs swelled up from the seating gallery. The Protector looked surprised before he sat back down. The soldiers on the tiers below him turned their heads to search for where the raised voices were coming from. The crowd became still once more.

  Taimin returned to his predicament.

  Tension filled every part of his body. Galen had set a neat trap. Taimin had thought that, whatever the commander did, it would be done to him. He hadn’t expected Selena to be threatened. She was obviously important to the Protector. One thing he knew, though, was that Galen meant what he had said.

  He considered the plan he had made with Elsa. If she lived up to her word, in the crowd were rebels who were willing and able to fight. Every member of the city guard was here, without their wyverns, and Elsa had promised that any isolated soldiers in the city would be dealt with.

  This opportunity would never come again. When the bout between Taimin and Galen was at its peak, the guard Lewin would free the prisoners, and Vance, Rathis, and Lars would lead them into the fighting pit. When they saw their commander about to be overwhelmed, the soldiers of the city guard would come running to his aid. Then Elsa’s supporters in the crowd would rise up. It was a good plan.

  But what would happen to Selena? Taimin couldn’t fight while she was in danger. He would barely be able to defend himself, fearful that he would draw Galen’s blood and she would die.

  He had to find a way to neutralize the threat.

  The trumpet blared. The crowd roared. Taimin readied himself.

  The fight had begun.

  Galen came in, sword held out in front of him, and Taimin retreated. Galen hacked down with his blade but Taimin stepped to the side. The two men circled each other. People in the crowd shouted Taimin’s name, calling encouragement, but he knew he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.

  What could he do to help Selena?

  A bow. He needed a bow. Abi had always said he was a fine shot.

  He watched Galen and continued to move to the edge of the fighting pit; his goal was to bring himself closer to where Selena sat with the Protector’s group. Casting a swift glance up, he gauged the distance to the tall man with the scar on his face. The scar-faced soldier looked impossibly far away.

  Focus on one problem at a time, Abi had always said.

  He needed a bow.

  38

  Selena never heard what Taimin and Galen said to each other, but she saw him look her way more than once. It was Galen who did the talking, despite the fact that Taimin had his own reasons for wanting to se
e his enemy fall at his feet.

  For the first time in her life, Selena wanted a man to die. The sensation came from deep in her chest. She had seen Galen and his men ride out on their wyverns and slaughter anything that moved. If she hadn’t broken her lifeline, the city guard would have slaughtered a human family, for nothing more than trading with the bax in the Rift Valley.

  Now Galen was facing Taimin in a fight that would see only one of them leave the arena alive.

  As the two men circled each other, Galen’s movements were fluid, despite the fact that he was more than a decade older than Taimin. In comparison, Taimin’s limp was pronounced.

  Galen attacked and Taimin weaved. Quick as a snake, Galen thrust again and Taimin dodged to the side. The crowd bellowed at the two combatants. Selena heard Taimin’s name from all quarters. It was clear that he had the support of the people. Taimin continued to retreat and evade his enemy. Why wasn’t he fighting back?

  Selena leaned forward in her seat. She pressed her fingernails into her palms. Her mouth was dry. She turned her head to glance first at Arren, and then Merin. If either of them had drunk Ruth’s drugged tea, it wasn’t evident in their faces.

  The last time Selena had broken free of the wall that kept her power confined, she had been able to take the two mystics by surprise. They would be prepared if she tried to repeat the same feat. As a test, she tried to reach her symbol, but as soon as she took hold of it, the wall closed in, like a fist closing over a candle flame.

  The crowd roared as Taimin kicked sand into Galen’s eyes. It was skillfully done, stunning Galen for a short time, yet Taimin didn’t follow it up with an attack.

  Selena tried to access her power again. She gritted her teeth and poured her frustration into the radiance inside her mind. The symbol swelled. Arren glanced at her. His narrow face broke out in a dark smile.