by Rowe, Andrew
He stood up and nodded. “Naturally.” He turned his head toward Veruden. “Have you made the preparations I asked for? I don’t feel like walking in here just to get arrested again.”
She glanced back and forth between the two men, and then back toward Veruden.
“Don’t worry, I’ve cleared the halls up to the armory. We’ll get you geared up, and then watch you from the stands.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Didn’t bring the sword?”
Taelien quirked a brow. “I thought you still had my sword?”
Not bad, Taelien. Not bad.
Veruden frowned. “I’m not sure on that, honestly. Maybe one of the older sorcerers has it.”
Lydia shrugged. “I’m sure you can ask after the match is concluded.”
“Yes,” Taelien replied. “Of course.”
Veruden led the way into the back entrance, and true to his word, the halls were empty of guards. They passed several rooms before stopping at an unlabeled door on the right side of a long hall, which Veruden unlocked with a key. The door was directly across from another hallway. Lydia glanced down the hall, noting an open doorway at the end of it – the entrance to the arena itself.
“There should be everything you could need in here,” he said, opening the door.
“Any idea on who he’s fighting yet?” Lydia asked, hoping for any last-minute insight.
“What, and spoil the fun?” Veruden said, chuckling. “No, I haven’t heard anything. You can bet on the Queensguard, though.”
Lydia stepped in the room, holding the door open as she quickly scanned it enemies. There were no other people inside – no visible ones, at least.
“I need to go tell Edon that he’s here,” Veruden said. “Uh, Lydia, can you watch him for me?”
“Of course, I won’t let him escape,” Lydia replied with a grin.
“The match is set to start in half an hour. Someone will come get you when it’s time. Good luck.”
Veruden raised a hand to his right shoulder, giving Taelien some kind of unfamiliar salute, and then turned to leave.
So far, so good.
Lydia closed the door to the armory as Taelien stepped inside. “Dominion of Knowledge, illuminate the hidden!”
She scanned the room a second time, but nothing had changed. She breathed a sigh of relief, reaching into the pouch at her left side and retrieving a small glass mirror, which she placed on the left side of the room behind a rack of spears.
Retrieving a piece of parchment and a quill, she hastily scribbled a note and pressed it against the surface of the mirror.
At the armory. Clear so far.
She ran a finger across the mirror, following Jonan’s instructions to send the message, and then removed the piece of parchment.
“Okay,” she said, turning to Taelien, who was busy testing the weight of a sword on the opposite side of the room. “The guards should be here in just under thirty minutes. We have a brief window to plan.”
“I think our plan is fairly well-established at this point,” Taelien said. “I just need to find a good blade.”
“Everything I’ve heard has indicated you’re going up against someone from the Queensguard, which means they will likely be using a sword, a shield, and plate. You’re probably best off with either a mace and a shield or a reach weapon, like a spear or a glaive,” Lydia advised. She glanced back over at the mirror, seeing a different note showing in the surface now.
Acknowledged. I am in position in the stands, it read.
That was quick. She ran a finger across the mirror in the opposite direction, which would remove the frozen image of her note from Jonan’s mirror and switch to showing the room. If they were lucky, Taelien’s opponent would come into this armory next – and then Jonan would be able to see the opponent preparing and warn Lydia in advance.
Not that she could do much if Taelien had already left the armory at that point, but if Jonan observed something suspicious – like poison – Lydia knew she might have to take drastic action to save Taelien’s life.
“I’m no good with a mace and shield,” Taelien confessed. “Your logic is sound, but I think my odds are best with a weapon I am familiar with.”
“You should have brought the Sae’kes, then,” Lydia pointed out.
Taelien shook his head vehemently. “I thought you were the one who didn’t want to risk losing it.”
“Sure, but losing your life could be almost as bad,” Lydia said with a wry grin.
“I’m flattered that you think I’m worth almost as much as a sword,” Taelien said, hefting a different – much longer – sword. It was unadorned, and looked inordinately heavy.
“I think you’re worth at least twice as much as that sword,” Lydia said, pointing at the one he was carrying. “Just perhaps not quite as much as one that was forged through the collaborative effort of seven gods. I think that’s fair.”
Taelien shrugged. “I think you underestimate both me and ‘ol rusty here.” He lowered the sword’s tip to the ground, a smirk crossing his face.
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “You can’t seriously intend to use that thing. It’s huge, unwieldy, and it looks like it’s probably not even made of steel.”
“Iron,” Taelien said, tapping a finger against the pommel. “Good, reliable iron. Heavily used, but unbroken. Someone made good use of this sword once. Seems a shame to let it die on a shelf.”
“Now who’s getting overly sentimental about swords?” Lydia smirked.
But how does he know all that? Is he speaking figuratively, or is his metal dominion bond really potent enough that he can tell all that information just by touching it?
“From a practical standpoint, a lighter sword isn’t going to be able to bust plate. Sure, steel would be superior, but they do not have any heavy steel swords here. I could merge two of them together, but it would be a considerable expenditure of sorcery, and I would be playing my hand early. I would rather my opponents – both in the ring and in the crowd – not have a good idea of my capabilities until after the match begins,” Taelien explained.
Lydia nodded. “That’s a better explanation than I considered, but do you really think you can incapacitate someone in plate with a sword like that?”
“Easily,” Taelien said. “This isn’t my first bout in an arena, you know.”
“You mentioned you had sword experience, and I saw how you handled yourself with Istavan – but you never mentioned anything about fighting in a ring.”
Taelien grinned. “I’m just full of surprises.”
“You should at least put on some armor,” Lydia pointed out, gesturing at stand where well-maintained leather, chain, and plate armor were stocked.
Taelien shook his head. “No, it’ll just slow me down. If I’m fighting against an opponent who is wearing plate and using a shorter weapon than I am, I want to be mobile. I can try to out-distance him.”
“How? You’re still missing about half a leg.” She pointed at his injured leg, and then moved her hands up to her hips to glower at him.
He shook his leg in the air. “Aww, it barely stings at this point. Sure, it’d be bad if someone hit me there, but I don’t intend to get hit.”
“You’re going to be murdered if someone in plate manages to get on top of you, though,” Lydia pointed out. “That’s quite a risk.”
“I know,” Taelien grinned. “Keeps things interesting.”
Lydia sighed. “It’s been nice knowing you. Really.”
“Don’t look so grim,” Taelien put a hand on her shoulder. He’s awfully affectionate, she realized. Maybe it’s a Rethri thing. “I have this completely under control.”
Nothing to do but to try to believe him at this point.
And possibly try to cheat on his behalf, if necessary.
“We’ve got some time before the match. Do you want to spar a little?” Lydia offered.
“That sounds like fun,” Taelien said, “But I think it’s a little too late for that. I do have another
idea, though.”
He walked back to the weapon rack, picking up the next sword down the line in his left hand, lifting it up and down to test the weight.
“Checking the weight of all the weapons so you can know how much effort you have to put into your parries?” Lydia guessed, intrigued.
“Something like that,” Taelien replied. “You’ll see soon enough.”
“You’re going to tease me before you potentially fight to the death?”
“Is there any better time?” Taelien grinned, setting the sword down and picking up the next one.
The Court of the Spear was a colossal coliseum, made in the times of Xixis for teams of slaves to battle to the death. The floor was unforgiving stone, gray tainted with the faded red of blood from days long gone. While the court was still used for trials by combat, such events were rare and sparsely attended.
This crowd packed the stands nearly to overflowing. The rumors of a battle involving a ‘demigod’ had spread to the far reaches of the city, igniting the local imagination in a way that no simple court battle could.
And, of course, it was a rare opportunity to gaze up on Edon himself – the God of Ascension. Edon stood on a flat, raised platform, overlooking the stands and arena. Even high above, he cast an air of majesty that even Lydia could not refute. His bright blue robes were trimmed with silver, and his brown hair pulled back into an elegant pony tail. On his right hand, he wore a ring inlaid with a transparent crystal that glittered in the dawnfire’s light. Only his eyes showed any hint of his age – no gray touched his hair, and only the faintest smile lines marked his face.
King of Orlyn’s ‘gods’, what are you playing at?
Lydia took her seat next to Veruden. The two of them had a box to themselves – one of the benefits of being among the highest ranking officials in the city.
Nearby, Lydia could see several other private boxes. The Queen Regent herself was absent, but her son, the Crown Prince Byron, stood in his own private box, flanked by a half-dozen armed members of the Queensguard. At sixteen, he was easily old enough to rule as king now, but his face still glowed with the exuberance of youth. His flowing purple cloak, trimmed with silver, only added to that image, enshrouding the majority of his slender form like a blanket.
What game are you playing here, young prince?
She had only met the prince twice, and on each occasion, he had asked her intelligent – if uneducated – questions. “Why is it that some people are born with magic, and others are not?” he had inquired in one instance, but Sethridge had cut her off before she had a chance to reply. Sethridge’s response – that it was the “same reason some people were born as princes” – had been hardly adequate, but she had not been of sufficient ranking to argue with him at the time.
Byron’s position in the kingdom was an awkward one, and Lydia felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Orlyn was steadily developing into a theocracy, and his own mother was revered as a goddess – but he was not considered a god. Lydia suspected that was why he had not yet been crowned as king – it would represent a shift in power that would be disadvantageous to the local gods.
The mysterious figures that had been discovered near the prince’s room in the palace just prior to his scheduled coronation could have easily been hired by Edon or even the queen regent. An assassination attempt was an excellent excuse for delaying the prince’s ascension, and the fact that Myros had been the one to catch the “assassins” made it even more likely that the local gods had arranged the situation for political reasons.
Other nearby boxes were occupied by the high nobility, another group that saw their power waning in the face of the rising power of the Edonate religion. Lydia noted many of their eyes were on Edon, rather than the arena below.
“So, what’d he pick?” Veruden asked.
“Greatsword,” Lydia replied, a twinge of distaste in her voice.
Veruden chuckled. “Seems like his type. Wonder how long he’ll last down there.”
“I wouldn’t count him out just yet,” Lydia said, surprising herself.
“Really?” Veruden quirked a brow. “I thought we were setting him up to fail.”
“Sometimes it’s not possible to set up the circumstances of a fight to guarantee one outcome or another,” Lydia pointed out.
Veruden nodded. “I hear that. Still, I wouldn’t give him very good odds. Oh, look, here he comes.”
Taelien strode out into the arena to the sound of ten thousand cheers, his huge, unadorned greatsword leaning against his right shoulder. He still wore simple, unadorned brown clothing without a hint of armor.
He was limping, but just a bit. It might not have been noticeable if Lydia didn’t know what to look for. She winced at the sight.
Veruden clapped along with the crowd, laughing at the same time, but Lydia felt her heart tighten in her chest. Don’t get dead, Taelien.
He seemed to hear her thoughts, looking up from the arena floor in her general direction. She doubted he could see her from the floor below, but he waved – both to her, and to the rest of the crowd, which only caused another surge of cheers.
Lydia adjusted her pouch, slipping it onto her lap, ready to remove the second of the mirrors that Jonan had given her if necessary. She didn’t want to use it if she could avoid it – Veruden would undoubtedly notice she was practicing some sort of sorcery, and she wasn’t sure she could explain this one away.
She had discussed a number of different contingency plans with Jonan, but she hoped that they wouldn’t have to attempt any of them. Every plan had its own risks. The most likely involved Jonan attempting to make Taelien invisible so that he could escape, but Lydia suspected that Edon would have ways of countering invisibility. If he was actually Donovan Tailor, he had been practicing knowledge sorcery before Lydia was born.
The door opened on the other side of the arena, and a figure in heavy plate armor stepped out, carrying a shield and blade, just as she had predicted. The crowd cheered as the knight raised his sword to Edon in salute, and the crowd continued to cheer as another figure followed the first into the arena.
Another armored figure, this one in chain mail, carrying a shield and a mace.
And a third, with armored in plate, and carrying a shield and a hand axe.
And a fourth, helmless, carrying a pair of short steel swords, already drawn. He was young, but his unkempt brown hair and untrimmed stubble gave him a rugged look, and the crowd gave another surge of cheers as they recognized him at the same time that Lydia did.
Landen of the Twin Edges, champion duelist. And, Lydia understood as the three other figures fanned out to surround Taelien, three other members of the Queensguard.
Gods, Lydia stood up in her chair. They’re going to make him fight four-to-one.
The doors to the opposite end of the arena remained open, however, and a fifth figure stepped in to face Taelien directly. With silvery armor etched with golden runes and carrying a spear formed from an unmarred piece of steel metal, there was no mistaking Taelien’s final challenger.
Myros, the god of battle, had entered the ring.
The crowd went silent.
He’s not supposed to be here yet, Lydia considered, but there he is. Sytira, forgive me for my arrogance. I should never have let Taelien stay in the city.
“Challenger,” Edon’s voice resounded across the area, sounding as clear to Lydia as if he stood directly at her side.
Sound sorcery, Lydia processed absently, her mind too focused on the oncoming battle to worry about Edon’s method of projecting his voice.
“You have proven your bravery to answer my call to the arena. You no doubt seek to prove the legitimacy of your gods. We will now test if your might matches your will. You now face several of the greatest warriors of this kingdom. Myros, the god of battle himself, will be the judge of your prowess. If you can survive to the satisfaction of Myros and myself, I will grant you freedom, the rights of an ambassador, and any boon within my power!”
; Gods, he’s not even trying to make this look fair. He’s trying to sell the idea that the reward is worth the risk.
The crowd shouted encouragements, and Taelien made a slashing gesture with his hand. The crowd seemed to understand, going quiet after a moment of murmuring.
Taelien turned to Edon to shout a reply. “And if I defeat them all?”
Lydia looked down at Taelien, eyes widening. Don’t. That’s...suicidal.
The crowd’s reaction to this was a mixture of clapping and laughter, and after a moment, Edon waved and silenced them again.
“If you can defeat all of your opponents,” Edon said, “I will offer you the chance at a place in my own court.”
Taelien gave Edon a formal bow at the waist, and then turned toward Myros. “Well, then. What are we waiting for?”
“The rules are simple,” a voice came from Myros’ armor, strangely distorted, and seeming to echo from the walls of the arena.
More sound sorcery, Lydia thought. That could pose a problem – they could make Taelien hear phantom sounds, throwing off his combat reflexes.
“Dominion of Knowledge, illuminate your sources,” Lydia mumbled, scanning the crowd. Veruden glowed brightly to her right, and Taelien and Myros shimmered like stars in daylight. As she scanned the arena, she quickly found Sethridge and Morella glowing in another private box nearby.
And, and as she gazed up to the dais where Edon stood, she realized that he was not glowing at all.
No aura of sorcery? Lydia pondered. Is he shielded somehow? That’s going to make it harder to notice if he tries to interfere with the match. She shook her head, looking back down toward Myros.
“You may begin by engaging whoever you choose. Every two minutes, a new opponent will join the fight. If you can defeat an opponent in less than two minutes, that gives you a chance to rest. If you can survive for ten minutes, you will be deemed successful and given your boon,” Myros concluded, planting the Heartlance in the arena floor.
One opponent immediately, one more every two minutes – that means up to five opponents. Even if he survives fighting the others, he’s going to have to fight Myros. Maybe if he keeps his distance, he can shave down the amount of time Myros can engage him before the match ends. Assuming they even let the match end.
