The royal box, better known as the Arbiter’s Spire, swarmed with activity as I entered. Just my luck.
House Forger elites stood guard at the stair, and they admitted me without hassle. Emma had to wait outside, and she made a good show of scowling about it before slinking off to wait for me. The sullen youth, sent off while her master attended more interesting business.
Or so we wanted anyone watching to believe. After Emil, I did not know who to trust even among the royal household.
The stair cut directly into the column itself, winding up in a spiral until it brought me into what could best be described as an open mouth or eye within the structure. I took in the high ceiling on entering, the walls decorated with curtains and tapestries, the unwalled section overlooking the arena island.
The Twinbolt Knight, apparently told to expect my arrival, quietly ushered me off to the side and indicated I should wait. He did it all without speaking a word, but I understood what he wanted easily enough just by observing the room.
The Emperor was in attendance with guests. When I saw who one of those guests were, it took every ounce of my self control not to react.
“I understand your father’s concerns, princess.” Markham spoke in a voice calm as spring rain. “And I am not blind to the misgivings shared by many of the factions once at odds with we who founded this Accord. I can tell you that I am interested in peace and stability, not reprisal.”
“Well spoken, Your Majesty, but I must confess some small measure of doubt on behalf of my family and those it represents. After all, you have been keeping him close to you. Well met, Ser Headsman.”
My entry had not gone unnoticed as I’d hoped. All eyes in the room went to me, and I regretted not waiting outside longer. Not that I could’ve known there would be a viper waiting for me.
The spacious room contained some seats, all arranged so they could look out over the rocky island below. Two of those were ornate cushioned thrones for the comfort of the Imperial Presences, and both were presently occupied by the Emperor and the Empress. Markham sat dour and dark on the right seat, his golden gauntlet and circlet the only color against his militant garb. Rosanna had opted for dark garments as well, perhaps conscientious of the martial atmosphere. She caught my eye without turning her head, and I saw the cautious set of her mouth.
There were others, mostly courtiers and important guests. The Royal Steward was not in attendance, perhaps busying himself with the palace’s care in its masters absence, but the Royal Clericon stood at a podium with all her scribing tools. The old advisor who’d been with Snoë Farram stood on the wall opposite me. The Graillman looked to be in hushed conversation with Oswald Pardoner, High Judge and Lord-Protector of the Bairn Cities.
Most of the courtiers stood, with only a few of the more honored ones given humbler chairs spread around the twin thrones like unfolded wings. Desmond Wake stood at the Emperor’s side, just to the right and behind his throne. He seemed quiet, old, and calm. He also looked at me, though I could not read the emotion behind his thoughtful eyes.
My attention remained firmly on the young woman seated on a cushioned stool at the Emperor’s right hand, the most honored spot in the box. She flashed white teeth at me in a beatific smile.
Taking a deep breath to steady the sudden uncertain patter of my heart, I moved at a small gesture of Markham’s left hand to stand with the group at the room’s front. Warm air smelling of rain brushed my face as I drew near the window overlooking the Coloss. It cut out nearly the entire wall on that section of the room, with only a waist-high ledge to keep me from falling.
The only place to stand and not be right next to the witch was at Rosanna’s left. This put me on the opposite side of the two leaders of the realms from my enemy. I did not miss the symbolism in that, however circumstantial it might have been.
“I understand you have not been formally introduced to the princess, Ser Alken?” Markham said conversationally, reaching for a tall cup of wine set on a small table between the two thrones. An old tradition, for two married monarchs to share from one cup in settings like this.
“We have passed one another by a few times, Your Grace.” I kept my voice casual as his, doing my best to look at the field below while keeping the Vyke in the corner of my vision.
“I have been so curious!” Hyperia Vyke tittered girlishly. “You have made such a name for yourself these past months. I’ve wanted to talk face to face, but you’re always rushing about.”
“Ser Alken has been given a very trying and complicated set of duties,” the Empress said. She impressed me with how calm and courteous she made the statement, no double meaning or aggression slipping through. “It makes it very difficult for him to engage more personally with the court.”
“A shame,” the Princess of Talsyn sighed. “It can be all too easy to become alienated from those you serve with distance. Why, my own people feel very isolated from the realms at large, in the embrace of our mountains. I must say, it is very impressive how much change has touched this great city since the war. The way the knights back in Talsyn say it, it practically burned to its roots!”
Only by clamping my jaw shut hard enough to make my teeth ache did I manage not to reply. Her father had been the general behind this city’s siege. His men had burned the fields, destroyed the sacred forests, foolishly broken open ancient crypts across the countryside. They had butchered the bridge trolls who’d collected their tolls since our realms were young like cattle, and smashed this city with weapons the God-Queen Herself had forbidden.
The Emperor’s own father had died in that battle. How could he sit there and let this girl mock him? But he remained calm as the stone around us, sipping at his goblet before passing it to Rosanna, who also tasted its contents. They both seemed relaxed.
This is going to drive me mad, I thought.
“To address your concern regarding my court’s latest addition,” Markham said after he’d settled back into his throne. “As you were there that day, I am certain you understand the circumstances.”
“You mean how he is a murderous vigilante, Your Grace, and we’ve all accepted him because two beings who profess to be angels told us he serves them?”
The hush in the viewing box took on a sharper quality. Rosanna’s fingers tightened against the left arm of her chair, something only I noticed.
Hyperia let that silence linger, then let out a breathy laugh. “Ah! Apologies. I forget how pious the majority can be. In Talsyn, we still follow the old ways. The Onsolain are often honored, but we do not see them as our liege lords. More like… volatile forces of nature to be appeased.”
“They are the stewards of God,” the Royal Clericon said from behind her stand. She was not as good at hiding her unease as the Empress. “We tend to this land under their guidance.”
Hyperia cast a disdainful look at the old cleric. “So when they redirect rivers on idle whims, when rakish elves steal our people and alter our children, when they lay curses on us for being human and enact punishment when we stray, that is just guidance?”
She glanced at me as she said this, the twinkle of amusement in her eyes never fading.
“I am well aware of the discontent that led to our divisions,” Markham interjected. “But your father’s higher ideals about mortal autonomy did not create the Fall, princess. That war was generations in the making, and brewed from old grudges among the Houses. It was a war between mortal men, not gods and devils, even if we did end up involving them in our quarrels.”
Laertes doesn’t think so, I thought. But then, could that old vampire really be trusted? Any truth he offered might have contained a drip of poison. He could also be mad.
I wanted him to be mad. That was a less frightening prospect than the things he’d implied.
Again Markham took up the lacquered cup set between him and his wife. A beautiful piece encased in spiraling vines of gold and silver, House Forger and House Silvering interlinked over a strong body. Aspirational, that cup.
“I will not dispute that,” Hyperia offered. She seemed genuine, which I did not trust. “But you must understand, Your Grace, that it is difficult for my country to expect good faith from you, when institutions such as the Inquisition are reformed and given the power to root out heresy. The Church sees my entire people as apostate. Will we be forced to reconvert? To give up our old traditions, to bow before the edicts of enigmatic immortal masters and their priests? Even when many of those priests seem disfavored by the divine?”
The Royal Clericon, rattled but seeming calmer, pushed back into the conversation. By the stubborn glint in her eyes, I got the sense the two had locked horns about this before. “The Priory acted on its own, flaunting its power over the people. It does not represent the Church as a whole, but it does represent a key problem with our clergy being so factionalized. Besides, the clergy still maintains a presence in your homeland, princess.”
Hyperia smirked. “The Oracastia, you mean? I am afraid it has little in common with the modern Church. They are scribes, astrologers, and keepers of knowledge, not preachers who maintain doctrine with an iron fist.”
The cleric’s voice took on an insistent quality. “But you accept that the God-Queen of Urn is also the one True God, rightful heir to the Throne of Heaven? That all belongs to Her, by divine right, and that Her laws are sacrosanct?”
I could see the sneer in Hyperia’s eyes, even if it did not form on her lips. She loathed that old priestess, but she also sat next to the man called the First Sword of the Aureate Faith, whose position relied on the clergy’s good will. She just smiled sweetly.
I wondered if the old priestess was acting. Emil had been her man. Did she conspire with the Vykes? Did they have some blackmail on her? I couldn’t be certain, and hadn’t dared questioned her about it.
“Her laws, perhaps.” Hyperia waved an airy hand at the old woman. “But my people also remember well the old annals, which say many of those spirits we call Onsolain were once the pagan godlings who ruled this world through fear as much as love. God is absent now, waging war to reclaim Her divine kingdom. It has been most of a millennium, good clericon. Who is to say those old powers who bent the knee to our God-Queen do not now chafe under Her laws? That they do not seek to once again rule us as dread lords, as they did over our ancient ancestors?”
“A most disturbing suggestion, princess.” Rosanna gave the younger woman an indulgent smile. “And all your people feel this may be the case?”
Hyperia shrugged. “There is plenty of evidence. Just take our friend in the red cloak here. When lords and priests anger the gods, they send him with his fell axe. And where is your weapon, Headsman? Did the guards have to take it from you before allowing you near the imperial family?”
Inhaling slowly, I turned my head to meet the princess’s eyes. In my calmest, most assured voice I said, “I am always prepared to protect my homeland, princess.”
Hyperia Vyke’s eyes, darkly green and small in a pleasant if unmemorable face, flashed. She had hoped to get more of a rise out of me, I think.
She looked so young. Twenty? Hardly older than Emma. She wore a red dress sewn with patterns of burgundy and green, a high collar framing a thin neck. Her brown hair rose into two spirals above her head, tightly shaped with wire, very much like horns. She had a small mouth, a scattering of freckles, and seemed an ordinary young woman.
My powers did not warn me of anything malignant or profane, standing so close to her. She seemed human. She was human, in body at least.
She and her brother were both raised to hate us. Part of me understood why. Yet, she threatened people I cared about.
If I did not kill her within the next two days, Catrin would suffer a fate worse than death.
Putting all of that from my face, I turned to the Emperor and bowed my head. “I have done my rounds of the Coloss, Your Grace. All seems in order, but I am vigilant.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
At Hyperia’s curiously raised eyebrow, Markham explained. “After those attacks last week, we have escalated security. I have Ser Alken himself, along with some of his subordinates and my own guard keeping a close eye on the tournament. I promise you, princess, that you are safe in my care.”
So smooth. Hyperia blinked, seeming at a loss, then once again adopted her spring-sweet smile. “That is good! I admit, the atmosphere in this city has been most tense since our arrival.”
The sound of trumpets drew our attention down to the island. The six gates spread along the twin arcs of wall encircling that slab of gravel and slate opened. I could feel stone shudder beneath my feet as the one directly beneath the royal box lifted. Tourney contestants poured out onto the field, all of them mounted on war chimera festooned with decorative tack and barding. The disparate cries and barks of those beasts filled the air, not quite drowned out by the low rumble of the watching crowds.
The tourney herald stepped onto his balcony beneath the royal box and lifted his scepter into the air. I could see him just ten feet or so beneath me if I leaned over the ledge. A robust man with bright clothing, he swept the stands with his instrument like a maestro commanding his orchestra to cease.
And all went quiet. Over the sea, thunder crackled. The herald drew in a deep breath.
“Welcome, good people! Welcome to this celebration of our nation’s strength! Welcome to this festival of WAR!”
A bead of damp cold impacted against my temple. Another raindrop touched my hand where it rested on the ledge. Behind me, someone coughed lightly. The banners hung to either side of the royal gallery rustled in a stirring of wind.
Again, I heard the herald inhale. He was a large man with powerful lungs trained for this, and the circling winds trapped inside the Coloss took his voice and elevated it. Each word rumbled and barked and echoed, almost imprinting itself into the ancient structures built for these cruel games. It seemed as though the towering statues and sagging faces carved into the arena’s spires spoke as much as that scepter-wielding man.
“You have all seen some combat this day. Duels and skirmishes for honor and truth have been fought on this ground, under the watchful eyes of your emperor!”
The herald pointed up to the royal box with his scepter, drawing all eyes to the window where I stood alongside those mighty persons. Markham stared out at his people without speaking or so much as lifting a hand, fully in character as the dour judge upon his high tower.
The scepter lingered like that a while, upraised while the herald glared out over his audience. Sweeping his bejeweled instrument down, he pointed at the six bands of knights poised at the mouths of their bridges.
“But those were grim contests, my friends, fought for disagreements which divide us. We are gathered here to witness a more unifying rancor. Those who fight upon this sacred ground do so for glory, for the joy of battle! Now the Grand Tournament of Garihelm, first of its kind under the banner of our Ardent Accord, shall commence! See now your champions.”
Drums began to beat with a steady rhythm. On cue, each of the six groups of knights urged their mounts forward until they formed a loose constellation on the field, a circle with six points and each point with twenty fighters. Those one hundred and twenty represented the most prestigious and important names among all the participates, the ones from good families and powerful factions across the disparate realms of the Accord. They only represented a fraction of the tourney’s true showing, an opening act.
Siriks Sontae was among them on his manticore, and Ser Jocelyn of Ekarleon on his pegadrake. I searched, but did not recognize Calerus Vyke among those helmed contestants.
The Coloss island was large, and even as they cleared the bridges they left a wide open space between them, their dyed lances glittering as rain dew collected on them.
“Each of these brave contenders has journeyed far from across those realms sworn to our compact. From lands near and from far flung corners of Urn have they come, to do battle before you! My lords and ladies, my good people, be you gentle born or come fresh from tilled fields. Be you raised in these lands blessed by our Golden Queen, or invited here from further shores, you shall bear witness to most glorious struggles!”
Damn, I thought. I’d seen a few tourneys, even participated in my share, but none of them had this much gravitas. It stirred something in me which I wasn’t even certain I wanted to quell, hungry and dark as it might have been.
I wanted to be down there. As much as I’d denied it to myself, tried to avoid it, part of me longed for this.
I would get my chance soon enough.
The pace of the drums rose in tempo. The herald’s basso voice rose in volume to match.
“But this is just the first day of our exultations! By the third, the greatest of these warriors shall be known to the eyes of mortal men and gods alike. Among these brave souls is an honored guest who has won great renown in her homeland.”
He gestured with his scepter, and one of the knights opposite the Arbiter’s Tower moved forward to stand alone on the field. Her steel was bright enough to be nearly white, and white too was her cape and surcoat, both trimmed with patterns of pale gold. She wore a peaked helm with a spiraling golden arc atop it, curving from the back of the helm and up to form an incomplete circle above, almost like a halo. In her right hand she held a lance tall as a young tree, in her left a shield shaped like a sunburst. The steed beneath her sported ram’s horns shelled in iron, and stood tall and powerful, built to dominate the open plains of its rider’s country.
“Our city honors Evangeline Ark of the Bannerlands, Lady of the Dawntowers, for exemplary valor in service of the realms. The Emperor grants the lady first choice in combatant.”
Lady Evangeline thrust her lance high, saluting the tower, then turned her horned monster and began to pace it back and forth in front of the three groups of knights who’d emerged from the wall opposite her. The other three bands remained back, their mounts stirring restlessly while they watched from beneath the shadow of their helms.
Finally, halting, she used her weapon to point one of the knights out. The herald sucked in a deep breath before his voice boomed out over the island.
“The Lady Evangeline has selected Ser Lochlan Braggar!”
The stands voiced their approval, though I had no idea who that second rider was. In her role as rememberer, the Royal Clericon quickly elaborated to the room.
“One of King Roland’s. A renowned lance in Venturmoor.”
The Bannerlands and Venturmoor had often been at odds, as neighbors. No doubt Evangeline intended to make a statement with this. Even if that message was I will beat your best.
The two warriors took up their positions while the rest remained at a distance to witness. The drums once again altered their rhythm, no longer setting the beat but matching that of the two knights. Ser Lochlan rode a creature very much like a bear, broader at the shoulder than his opponent’s mount with coarse brown fur beneath its tack. Even from so high up, I could hear its brassy growls. Evangeline’s war beast remained silent, almost serene, only giving an eager shake of its curling horns.
More thunder rumbled. The drums beat. Light rain pattered down from the gray sky.
BUM. BUM. BA-BA-BUM.
BUM. BUM.
Both knights charged at once. They couched their tall lances, their steeds quickly beating a rumbling pace over the brittle gravel of the Coloss island. Lochlan’s bear moved with a loping gait, almost seeming to drag itself forward with an eager momentum. Evangeline’s horned destrier held a more elegant motion. Both chimera formed plumes of dust behind them.
BUM-BUM-BUM-BUM-BUM-BUM-
The knights struck at almost the perfect center of the field. Lochlan missed his target by the width of fingers, as Evangeline caught his lance on the edge of her shield and lifted it above her head. The grinding of wood against the shield’s steel frame echoed off the Coloss walls, but not loud enough to mute the piercing crack! of her own lance breaking off her opponent’s defense. Wooden splinters and dust showered around the two as they passed, and Lochlan almost lost his seat.
Evangeline rode almost to the opposing group of knights before turning, the motion haughty in its elegance. Her steed pranced along their line, mocking them while they watched in grim silence.
The bear snorted and shook, jostling its rider on his seat. He jerked the reins savagely, emitting another brassy growl from his chimera but forcing it to settle and turn. He lowered his weapon again. A squire rushed through the ranks of competitors to give the Lady Ark another lance, which she took calmly.
The herald’s voice boomed out over the shouting crowds. “BEAUTIFULLY STRUCK! The first pass to the Lady Ark!”
Hyperia laughed and clapped her hands. “Oh, I like her! Do you see how that man trembles with indignation? Will he boil inside his armor, do you think?”
Rosanna spoke with far more calm. “She has much to prove, princess. Evangeline seeks a throne, and the Bannerlands have not seen strong leadership in many years.”
Conversation trailed off as the knights once more took up position, this time starting from opposite ends from where they’d begun.
And the drums thundered. BUM. BUM. BA-BA-BUM.
Again, the two jousters charged. This time, Lochlan’s bear swiped at the destrier with a steel-weighted paw. Its claws scraped the ram’s barding, sending out a shower of sparks. The ram danced aside, letting out a snort as it turned off course.
With a perfunctory, almost indifferent motion, Evangeline tossed her unbroken lance to the ground and drew her sword.
“Uh oh,” Hyperia giggled. “Now it’s personal!”
The herald seemed near breathlessness. “Lady Evangeline wishes to continue the match with small arms!”
Lochlan also threw his lance down before loosening a short warhammer from its saddle holster. He twirled it, and the air seemed to shiver around the weapon’s head. Magicked.
“Won’t the bear tear that prancing creature apart?” Hyperia asked doubtfully. “Why throw away her advantage with the lance?”
“I believe that’s rather the point, princess.” Lord Desmond spoke from behind her, the first time the old man had broken his silence since I’d entered the room. “She wishes to make a point, I think.”
Hyperia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming.
The two combatants began to circle one another while the drums altered rhythm to match this more intimate leg of the battle. The swirling dust their passes had already kicked up began to form a curling spiral around them. They circled twice before Lochlan let out a vicious shout, kicking his bear forward. The bear was all too eager to comply, lunging forward with a roar.
Evangeline’s chimera dipped, almost like it were bowing, then whipped its steel-shod horns up and to the side in a sharp motion. It smacked the bear’s skull, and would have broken it if the other beast hadn’t been helmed. It still stunned the other creature, causing it to stumble and fouling Lochlan’s swing. His shivering hammer blurred through the air.
Evangeline parried, turning her opponent’s weapon, then delivered a precise thrust into his shoulder. Her blade caught him, but didn’t find a sufficient gap to do any real damage. She pulled back, seemed to judge the distance, then leaned away to dodge a furious riposte from Lochlan’s hammer.
Beneath them, their mounts fought in a savage flurry of slashing, stomping limbs. The bear surged forward into a tackle, trying to bowl the other beast over with its shoulder. The ram had clearly been trained to fight less conventional mounts like this, because rather than trying to avoid the other animal it pressed close to it and turned, forcing the bear to match its motion or risk getting those deadly horns punched into its side.
All the while, the two knights cut at one another. Lochlan swept his hammer about his head like a brand, and the tremorous energy around its head seemed to intensify with each swing. I could hear the hum of aura even from a distance.
The weapon’s power, or the wielder’s? Relatively few warriors ever learn how to wield their soul, and fewer still ever refine that ability into a proper technique. To compensate, most knights tend to acquire sorcerously potent weapons and other tools to make the difference.
Yet, whatever difference it made, Evangeline fought like a steel wind. She used no magic I could detect, just fiendish clever sword play. She and her chimera fought like one creature, moving with a coordination that tricked the eye. Lochlan was good — very good — and his beast possessed a fierce strength that would have done it well in the fury of a battlefield.
But he was outmatched. I saw it, and I’m certain he saw it, but he was a proper knight and his pride spurred him on.
Until Evangeline’s sword traced a bright a line sharply from right to left, cleaving through the layers of steel and chain between Lochlan’s forearm and hand. His hammer went spinning through the air to land on the sand a distance away even as an arc of blood whipped through the air.
The Venturmoorian clutched at his wrist. I winced, having judged the cut with my eyes. Only his gauntlet kept his hand from dangling off the arm by little more than skin.
“A beautiful disarm!” The herald bellowed, the last syllable of his pronouncement drowned out in the clamor of the spectators. Hyperia clapped cheerfully, while Rosanna clapped more for proprieties sake, in her role as Lady of the Realm and expected to show support for every fighter. Markham stroked his chin with his gauntleted hand, his narrowed eyes thoughtful.
The end of that duel sparked the next phase of the bout. Evangeline bowed from the saddle to her opponent and asked after his hand, and Lochlan gallantly told her it was merely a flesh wound. It was very clearly not, but he retired from the field in good grace without accepting help from any of his squires or pages. Then, at another round of trumpets and horns, all six mounted bands advanced at once to clash in a great charge. The ensuing uproar from the stands near deafened me.
And through it all, rain continued to fall.
“I think the next three days will be very fun!” Hyperia laughed when the noise had died enough for us to hear one another.
I’d grown very tired of her cheerful quips. Against my better judgement, I replied to her. “Fun from up here, perhaps. But people have already died down on that field today, princess.”
I caught Rosanna’s warning glance, but the anger I felt toward the Vykes had reached a boil well before I’d entered that room.
Hyperia flashed her small teeth. “I find it commendable to see so many brave souls willing to shed their own blood to show their measure. It puts this Accord in good standing in my eyes, Ser Headsman.”
I turned my eyes back down to the fighting, not wanting to give away my anger. “I am glad we are able to impress you.”
“Oh, it’s been entertaining enough.” Hyperia also returned her attention to the island, some of her mirth fading as her lips formed a thoughtful line. “But you have not yet seen my brother fight.”
For some reason, that idle statement put a chill in me. And I could no longer stand breathing the same air as the woman who’d overseen the slaughter of Cael Village, and whose creature held Catrin hostage.
“I must return to my duties, Your Graces.” I bowed to Rosanna and Markham. “If I have your leave?”
The Emperor nodded without taking his eyes off the field. “You have it. Be vigilant, Ser Alken.”
I traded one last look with Rosanna, and I could see much of my own discontent reflected in her green eyes. She didn’t like this any more than I did. There was more in that gaze too, a significance that seemed to say be ready.
I was as prepared for what came next as it was possible to be. I’d made a show of patrolling the Coloss, put anxiety into whatever agents might answer to the Vykes, playacted the nervous circling bird in front of Hyperia. Sometimes, it is best to fool an enemy by making them believe they know where you are and what you do. Glamour often works that way, by taking what is expected and what one believes, then twisting it to fool the eye.
She would know I was about, and would believe I chased shadows and watched from the sidelines, an inept bystander to where her faction’s own efforts concentrated.
When I next acted, she would not know it. She would not know me.
My turn to play war.
image [https://i.imgur.com/9RgPgRD.jpeg]