by Mark Bowsher
‘Where are they?’ said Balthrir impatiently. Krish had never seen his friend look so emotionally fragile as she waited to hear more about her parents.
‘Still in the palace,’ said Nboosa. ‘The King’s not removed anyone. Only added them. But don’t think I didn’t realise who it was you’d run off with!’ She indicated Krish, who looked at his feet sheepishly. ‘Some time after you’d left the King went mad. A description of a young boy very much fitting your young accomplice from the Broken Scythe here was circulated. Any information on him or anyone who was associated with him would be rewarded with three weeks’ rations. Days later all went quiet. Story was, Madam Eshter had cast some spell to sort it all out and I was worried sick about you.’
‘You ain’t my Mum, miss!’ said Balthrir. Although she’d spat the words out, Krish could see that Balthrir had a lot of respect for Nboosa. He’d always imagined her being in a lot of trouble with Nboosa if she ever returned, but it seemed that Nboosa was more concerned than anything else. ‘And I ain’t never seen that staff before!’
Nboosa smiled. ‘I took my exams in secret long ago. But Madam Eshter was never keen on wizards in Al Kara unless they were lowly street performers. I had to keep my interest in magic a secret.’
‘You’re a wizard?!’ said Krish.
Nboosa turned to Krish. ‘Was it the staff that gave it away, by any chance?’
‘I’ve never seen it before…’ said Balthrir, in awe of Nboosa’s staff, which was slim, curled round and round from top to bottom, and pearl white.
‘You’re not the only person from a magical family who struggled to make a living, Balthrir,’ said Nboosa. Then her ears appeared to prick up. She’d heard something. All kindness disappeared from her voice and she adopted her strict teacher act once more. She spoke quickly, under her breath. ‘Now whatever stupid scheme you’re involved with, give it up! Go and sign up to Quaali’s Freak Show and keep your head down until the festival’s over! And if I—’
‘WHERE ARE THEY?’
Krish, Balthrir and Nboosa turned to see a furious Madam Eshter striding in their direction, incandescent with rage. Her face as pale as porcelain, her eyes wild with fury. Her orange and blue hair flew behind her. The misty jewel twisted into the roots atop her staff glowed brightly.
‘Somebody has committed magic here!’ said Eshter, advancing on Nboosa. ‘You! Amateur! Please don’t tell me you’ve failed at the position we gave you.’ Eshter seemed far more energetic than before. Krish was certain that her hair was falling out, and she kept running her hands through it, grabbing at clumps like she might just tear some of it out there and then.
Nboosa was trying her best to mask her contempt for Eshter. ‘Just some stupid kids trying to show off!’ Nboosa kicked Krish in the back so hard that he fell over. Before he could stand up and swear at her he realised why she’d done it. Nboosa had worked out who Krish was and that Eshter was on the lookout for him and his associates. Eshter didn’t know what Balthrir looked like but she did know what he looked like. Everyone in Al Kara seemed to know about his confrontation with the King in the Black Palace months ago by the sound of it. Nboosa had kicked him onto his front, facing away from Eshter. ‘This one has some promise though.’ Nboosa was now pointing at Balthrir.
Eshter waved her staff in front of Balthrir. The crystal glowed red for a moment. ‘But not a magic licence, I see. How did she get in?’
‘She used a distraction to sneak through the perimeter,’ said Nboosa. ‘An impressive fire-cast.’
‘And you of course would know what constitutes “good”, wouldn’t you, amateur?’ Eshter’s goading of Nboosa was not received well but again Balthrir’s former teacher stifled her scorn. ‘She should be imprisoned in the Black Tower or perhaps even executed!’
Krish almost looked up in shock but then managed to keep his face turned away from Eshter, viewing the confrontation out of the corner of his eye.
‘And I thought you, Madam Eshter, would know better than to waste such talent propping up the walls of His Most Magnanimous Majesty’s bloated palace,’ said Nboosa.
‘I don’t have time for this, amateur!’ said Eshter. ‘The King is laughing heartily, and you know what that means?’
Krish was a little mystified. Was this really a bad thing if the King was happy?
‘It means,’ stated Eshter, ‘that he will exhaust himself with laughter and grow weary of any entertainment thrown in front of him fairly soon. Then he will probably start executing any subjects, high-born or low, who displease him. Most likely whoever is nearest. And I do not desire some amateur such as you taking my place and enchanting my bones to dance a jig for him! So am I going to stand here and watch as you imprison them or—’ Eshter raised her staff ‘—shall I despatch them here and now…?’
‘They would do better as part of Quaali’s Freak Show,’ Nboosa ventured. If she was hiding her desperation in her face, from where Krish was crouching he could hear it in her voice.
‘As would you.’ Eshter relished the cruelness of her own words.
Nboosa considered. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. Krish swore there was a hint of humour in her voice. ‘But if you want to keep your King amused, I think you may be missing an opportunity with this one…’
Krish turned a little more. Eshter was looking away from him, eyeing Balthrir up and down as if she was a mysterious brown lump that had just been served to her for dinner.
‘Show her…’ said Nboosa to Balthrir. Then she turned back to Madam Eshter. ‘Her mask spells are incredible.’
Balthrir sprang into action. She stood a little way back from Eshter and Nboosa, giving herself plenty of space. She waved her staff and a giant green rabbit ran in one direction, then a pink elephant in the other and finally a purple horse with yellow spots in yet another direction. They all circled back. Eshter readied her staff for attack but was too intrigued to act. She was distracted enough for Krish to crane his head all the way round to watch. The giant green rabbit, pink elephant and purple horse with yellow spots sped past Balthrir, obscuring her from view for a moment and when they had passed, the figure standing there in her place was none other than King Obsendei.
‘Don’t gawp at me like that, Eshter!’ said the vision of the King. ‘Or we’ll see just how good your ribcage is as a toast rack!’
Eshter closed her open mouth and waved her staff in front of the vision of the King and all the animals vanished, leaving Balthrir standing there, still pulling her best stern expression to impersonate Obsendei. Eshter was not willing to show how impressed she had or hadn’t been.
‘Very good illusionary and mask spells indeed,’ said Eshter softly, narrowing her eyes and stroking the side of her face in deep thought. A sly smile was spreading across her lips. ‘Perhaps… yes, perhaps this child’s skills will be an effective distraction… allow me to correct myself: a temporary relief from the ongoing fights in the arena which could persuade him to consider less bloody amusements in the days to come. Yes… Well, he’ll either love her or hate her. It’ll keep him occupied for a while. I would advise against an impression of His Majesty himself though, young lady. I’ll take her to the holding area for the performers. As for him…’ Krish quickly looked away again so Eshter wouldn’t see his face. ‘I want him imprisoned. See to it, amateur!’
Krish heard Eshter march off with Balthrir. He braved turning to look. They were still just about visible. Eshter glanced over her shoulder and for a moment she stared directly at Krish. A stab of fear coursed through his body. Had she seen him? Was he far enough away for her not to recognise him? There was quiet. Eshter and Balthrir had stopped. Moments later the footsteps started again.
‘Come on!’ said Nboosa, stepping forward to help him up.
‘No, please!’ begged Krish. ‘There’s a tree. Just over there at the edge of the arena. Can you get me to it?’
‘Listen, boy, if I’m caught—’
‘If I’m caught a lot people will die,’ said Krish with all the persuasion he could muster. ‘A
lot of people!’ Was that true? It could be. The Sands of Tyraah had been so unclear. All he knew was that he wanted to show the King just what he had in his bag. And then he wouldn’t care what happened to the wicked old monarch. He only cared that Balthrir and her parents would be okay. ‘If you’ve had it up to here with Obsendei, I strongly suggest you point me in the direction of that tree and let me go.’ He looked straight at Nboosa and hoped he looked suitably commanding.
Nboosa stared back for a time and then nodded. She pointed through the shadows under the tiered seating, in the direction of the royal box. ‘Be quick,’ she said. ‘And if you fancy knocking Madam Eshter down a peg or two in the process…’ She didn’t say ‘good luck’ in as many words but it was there in the nod she gave.
Krish darted towards the far end of the stalls, carrying the twine with him. He crouched as the tiered seating reached its lowest points. He could see people’s feet through the slats. He could hear cheers and chants and smell sweat in the air. And there was the tree. Small, white and dead-looking. A few ropes had been tied around the tree to help support the stalls but as he ran his hand over the dry wood, he came to an invisible barrier. It was still there. He undid the twine. He’d waited for this moment for a very, very long time. There was still a fair bit of excess twine in the ball they’d been unfurling. He found the end and prepared to tie the two together…
No. He’d wait. Krish decided that there was a better way. Obsendei had to be watching. And pretty soon he should have a way to seize the King’s attention.
CHAPTER 30
THE ARENA
The light of dawn was spreading over the bloodstained floor of the arena. Krish crouched behind the tree and looked out on the chaos taking place on the cordoned-off area of the Great Plain. The space between the two opposing rows of the audience went on for miles. It was strewn with blood, swords, spears, daggers and the corpses of men, women and horses, which were attracting far more attention from the flies than from the spectators. The audience were busy cheering a group of knights, three on each side of the invisible barrier, which Krish knew full well was the twine.
The crowd were laughing and cheering at the goings-on down in the arena and guards were posted at many points within the stalls, just making certain that everyone was enjoying themselves. Krish saw one old lady, who clearly preferred being asleep, being dragged away by the guards.
A great cry from the crowd, half sounding disappointed and the other half triumphant. One knight had relieved an opponent of his head. Another retaliated by launching her horse over the barrier and sticking her sword clean through the perpetrator. The perpetrator, knowing his days were numbered, pulled the sword even deeper into his torso with such speed that the sword’s owner was pulled close to him. Krish watched the grisly scene as the two fell from their horses and rolled about on the ground, the skewered knight resorting to using the twine (the end was almost yanked out of Krish’s hand) to strangle his opponent before collapsing and moving no more. The crowd went wild. Only three knights remained, two on one side and a lone knight on the other.
Krish realised that he needed to do something to stop himself dropping the two ends of the twine. He wouldn’t be able to reveal the pearl and feather in his bag to the King unless he had his hands free. He placed one end of the twine carefully under his foot and tied the other around his right-hand wrist. Then he took the end under his foot and tied it to his left-hand wrist. He just hoped that a horse didn’t run straight across the path of the twine and pull one or both of his hands off. He crept a little closer to the royal box. Nobody was looking down as everything was going on in the distance. He inched closer. He could hear voices now. Familiar voices. He took a few more steps into the arena.
‘Caution, sire! Caution!’ said Eshter. She hadn’t wasted any time in heading to the royal box. Her haste concerned Krish.
‘Oh, be silent, Eshter!’ That cruel, mocking voice. So arrogant, so lazy, so self-important. He hadn’t heard the King’s voice in months and still it made him boil with rage. ‘Look! LOOK! This one’s going to take the other out!’
Krish looked up at the confrontation taking place on the arena floor. One knight went to strike the other with his sword, missed and hit the invisible twine instead. The crowd were uproariously disappointed and Krish was yanked in two different directions as the twine buckled under the impact of the knight’s blade. Krish quickly regained his balance and saw an opportunity while the crowd were distracted. There was a simple wooden chariot on its side next to the corpses of a knight and a horse. He ran towards them and ducked down by the chariot. He waited for some reaction to his dash. None came. He peered out into the royal box.
There he was. Those grey, chilling, indifferent eyes, sharp nose and his beard of grey and white. He slouched in his wooden throne, his bejewelled wooden crown upon his head, shouting and jeering encouragement at the crowd. Every time he became enthusiastic Eshter pointed her staff towards his throat and the King’s voice was amplified for the whole stadium to hear. The audience took their cues from the monarch, cautious to cheer anyone until the King had done so first. Krish hated how the King sat back lazily in his throne, as the arena did their best to appease this selfish man. In that moment Krish just wished for the whole royal box to collapse on top of him.
Also in attendance were the King’s closest advisors: R’ghir, Lord of the East, richly dressed, as tall and slim as a pole, his beard trimmed short. Elwynt, Lord of the West, plump, pale and nervous. Hesh, Lord of the South, short, slouched, cautious-looking but calm and self-assured. And then there was Vira, Lady of the North, fearsome yet beautiful. Her smile could bring any admirer to their knees, and her hands, free of rings or jewellery, her nails blood-red in colour, looked ready. For what, Krish did not want to imagine. Surrounding them were various other nobles, servants and advisors, plus a few of Obsendei’s bored-looking wives and husbands, helping themselves to platters of fruit, meat and cheese.
‘Sire, please!’ said Eshter through gritted teeth. ‘I saw someone!’ Krish was panicking. She had recognised him! Did she remember from where? She was pacing up and down, rubbing her head, pulling at her hair distractedly.
‘And I am seeing many people right now!’ The King laughed. ‘Relax, Eshter! I’ll remove your head if it’s bothering you…’
Eshter stopped pacing and yanking at her hair. ‘A good joke, sire,’ she said. ‘But I’m serious. I saw someone and I knew their face! I cannot remember where I’ve seen it before but I tell you something’s wrong!’
Krish, hidden by the chariot, was somewhat relieved that Eshter hadn’t worked out where she recognised him from yet. He didn’t have long. Should he reveal himself now or wait? He really needed everyone’s attention or the King might be able to brush him aside. Where was Balthrir? When was this half-time show Nboosa had mentioned? Would she be allowed to perform on her own? What she see him and be able to draw everyone’s attention to him?
‘Will you just relax and – OOOOHHH!’ The King stood up and clapped heartily. Eshter held up her staff to his throat so his voice was amplified. ‘Fantastic! Fantastic!’ He waved the staff away so his voice returned to normal volume. ‘Did you see that?! Her own team-mate! Just pulled out a dagger and cut his throat! What style!’ He flapped his hands about excitedly, signalling that Eshter should hold her staff up to his throat again. Eshter sighed and did as she was bidden. ‘We have our finalists!’ the King called out.
The crowd went mad.
‘And now they will embark on their final challenge! The first over my magic wall will be rewarded with riches beyond their wildest dreams!’
More uproarious cheering and then the two knights stood side by side, shook hands and mounted their steeds.
‘THREE! TWO!’ The crowd joined in the King’s cries. ‘ONE!’
The knights accelerated from one side of the arena to the other. Faster and faster they went. Krish’s brain raced. He had to do something or his arms would be pulled clean out of their sockets
as the knights collided with the twine. The knights were getting closer and closer. Krish didn’t have time to untie the twine from his wrists. He hastily wrapped the excess twine around the shaft of the chariot and braced for the impact. He hoped it would just splinter the shaft rather than pull his arms off with it. With an almighty crash both horses tripped over the wire, sending their riders hurtling through the air. The shaft burst into splinters and Krish was pulled to the ground as the twine tightened but then a moment later the twine returned to its normal level of slackness. The crowd’s full attention remained on the two knights’ collision. They laughed and cheered in equal measure and the King was enjoying every second of the bizarre festivities.
‘My magic wall has claimed two more victims!’ the King cried. ‘But who was victorious…? Good Lady Knight Palseferous…?’
One rather dizzy-looking knight bowed, almost falling over in the process.
‘Or good Sir Knight Althrain?’
The second knight did fall over as he bowed.
The King turned to an advisor. The advisor stared blankly back. Realising she should probably respond, she shrugged and then quickly bowed apologetically, apparently quite relieved to find that her head was still attached to her body as she brought it up to meet the King’s gaze. He was clearly having too good a time to litter the royal box with the blood of fools.
‘Our verdict is—’ the King addressed the crowd ‘—too close to call! Maybe they will decide for themselves who the victor is!’ The King pulled a gold plate from under the lump of cheese one of his larger husbands was munching on, and tossed it at the two knights, who then fought around in the dirt to claim it. The crowd found this all hilarious.
‘And you wanted war, Vira, Lady of the North!’ said the King, which Vira greeted with one of her coy smiles. ‘Would we have made this much with the sale of arms?’
‘Surely not, Your Most Gracious Majesty,’ said Vira, her smile both sly and beautiful. ‘And there was I thinking, so foolishly I see now, that guaranteed financial gain would benefit the kingdom so much more than a mad gamble on a brand-new festival, O Fortunate King. How wise, how fortuitous Your Most Majestic Highness and his trusted wizard Eshter are. The wisdom of your many combined years – I apologise – centuries certainly does not make fools of you both.’ There it was again, Krish thought as he stared over at the royal box, that fire in her eyes. Vira’s calm exterior hid some unparalleled ferocity beneath.
