Mattiew tossed yet another spear aside as he swept Adriana up in an embrace in Timat’s Gullet.
He set her down with a huff, “I know you told me not to take any stupid risks, but I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for that move at the end-”
Adriana kissed him on the cheek, “It doesn’t count. You had it handled.”
“One more trial, one more duel and we’re in the top sixteen.” Mattiew wrapped his arm around her waist as they made their way from the Gridiron. “How’re things on your end?”
Adriana grimaced, “I was doing well until a few days ago. There’s been a minor inconvenience in my way. You remember how father just kind of let us do whatever we want as long as we do well in the tournament?”
“That’s changed somehow?”
Adriana nodded, “My father’s mistress has started insisting on spending time with me to ‘get to know my brother’. I suspect she’s just there to babysit me.”
“You think they’re onto us?”
“I think they’ve predicted we might pull something, but know nothing particular.” Adriana said. “Aside from that, I’m steadily gaining more information on what my father is up to.”
He frowned. “Wait, I thought we-”
“Mattiew.”
He snapped his gaze up at Andar Callione, standing just outside the Gridiron, both hands stabilizing himself on his cane.
“I’m sorry, daughter. Do you mind if I have a word with your husband?” Andar’s voice was cool and steady like a viper tracking its prey.
“Not at all, father.” Adriana’s voice strained to play at being pleasant. “You can have a word with him right now.”
“In private, please.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“It’s fine,” Mattiew muttered. “We’ll talk later.”
Adriana sighed, but pulled away from him.
“Excellent.” Andar said, not smiling. “Mattiew. Come with me, please.”
Mattiew pulled up to Andar’s side as he began walking away from the Gridiron. He couldn’t help resting his hand on the pommel of his sickle sword.
“What do you want?” he asked, trying to keep the hostility out of his voice.
“I am not a fool, Mattiew.”
Mattiew’s breath froze in his throat. His mouth went as dry as the Saryngol steppe.
“I know a natural born nobleman when I see one.” Andar said.
Mattiew’s trepidation receded slightly. This was going in a different direction. Hopefully.
“What do you mean? I don’t have an ounce of noble blood in me.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Andar said. “You have a...special quality to your character. I thought about it and I think you should get something out of our little arrangement.”
“I look forward to seeing what kind of impossible task you give yourself. Because I’ll only accept repayment in kind.”
“And yet you excel at your impossible task. I will be doing no such tasks, however. I want you and Adriana to be the heirs to my kingdom after this is all said and done. I want you to be a prince.”
Mattiew barked a laugh. When Andar made no move to negate his statement, his brows drew together with concern. “Wait, seriously? I’m done with leadership. I just want to go back to my vineyard with Adriana after this is done. And don’t you already have a son?”
“But you belong in the noble class, Mattiew.” Andar insisted. “It’s become apparent to me that you will be a more fitting heir to my fortune than my son.”
Nothing about that sentence was right. Mattiew’s head roiled with each part of it, wanting to ask if Andar had gone mad.
“I hate nobles.” Mattiew settled on a more sound response. “I despise their corruption more than anything.”
“Which is exactly why you belong on top.” Andar said. “Your way of living as a bandit isn’t much different from the way us nobles live.”
“So you’re admitting nobles are thieves?”
“You, boy, ought to show those bastards how it’s done. When I was your age, I myself ran with a band of vagabonds not unlike yours.”
Mattiew raised an eyebrow, readying to call Andar out on a lie.
Andar adopted a pensive expression, which looked wrong on his typically sneering face. “I was born a commoner. The bastard son of a Nobleman and an unfaithful handmaid. I grew up in the slums of Acerno and I too believed that the system had failed me.”
“That’s a load of bull.” Mattiew muttered.
“Ask anyone you’d like. My wife, my daughter, the Acernic queen herself. You will find nothing contrary to my story.”
Mattiew prepared to fire back, but decided to let Andar tell his story.
“I ran with a small group of pickpockets and petty thieves. Many of us were the products of noble affairs with their staff. Many of us even had sorcery at our hands.” Andar said. “But we all held a grudge against the noble blood in us. For abandoning us. We had bonds thicker than any other. But there came a day when my true father came looking for me.”
Mattiew shifted his pace uncomfortably.
“My father asked me to be his heir.” Andar continued. “His sons were spoiled and demanding. Their ambitions were petty and they were lacking in one thing that I had: Hatred. They lacked the anger and the will to thrive in the noble world. But I was willing to do more in order to seek revenge on the weak, sniveling cowards they call the noble class.”
Mattiew narrowed his eyes. “You’re a noble. That system has allowed you to do nothing but propagate fear and misery. And to me it seems like your wife does all the work anyway.”
“Your point?” Andar asked.
“You do all that, and yet here to stand, warning me about how terrible the nobles are. Encouraging me to seek revenge rather than doing something that’ll actually be worth a damn.” Mattiew said. “If I were to take you up on your offer, what right would I have to judge other nobles for their crimes?”
Andar scoffed. “There’s no room for such wishful thinking in this world, boy. Participation in a system that offers only poverty as an alternative does not mean I must endorse it.”
Mattiew huffed. “Either way, I’m not a thief anymore. All I want is to live out my days simply, with Adriana.”
“What do you mean you’re not a thief anymore?” Andar chuckled. “In one of his writings, Guru Ramachandran claimed that freedom is only attainable through the acceptance of your circumstances. You are a thief. You have only ever been a thief. And currently, you are working for me as a thief. The sooner you get that through your head, the less miserable you’ll be.”
“I…” Mattiew scoffed. “Guru? Be your prince? Fuck off with that nonsense. I’m getting you the crown like we agreed. And then I’m leaving. I’ve had enough of this.”
Mattiew broke away from Andar.
“I’m giving you the chance to fulfill that wish of yours, Nikoliades.” Andar said. “You can rule as you like.”
“I don’t want it from you.” Mattiew snarled.
“What a waste of potential…” Andar sighed.
Mattiew stopped for a moment, but let Callione’s comment go. He wouldn’t turn back.
***
Setanta the Black-Tongue stood taller than every mercenary on his payroll, cackling over a mountain of gold, jewels, and other fine goods that had propped him up. Sunlight glinted off his horned bronze helmet as Mattiew stared at his captain’s wild gaze.
Setanta’s black tasseled skirts whipped in the ocean breeze along with his blood red cape as he leaned on his two-pronged spear.
“Four days!” Setanta wheezed. “That moron gave us all this after four days! I can’t believe...I can’t believe he actually thought we were merchants! Especially with Nevin’s acting!” The crew of the Nightfang roared with laughter.
Setanta had managed to convince a Gozark noble to let his fleet to ferry the goods from his caravan across the Central Sea after just four days of sucking up to him.
Mattiew couldn’t believe a man that incompetent was actually allowed to rule over other people.
“Sir! There’s a bounty hunter on us!” a scout called.
“Riding what, a lightning bolt?” Setanta asked. “That’s impossible!”
“Coming from the west, captain. Wind’s in their favor.”
Setanta huffed, more annoyed than anything else.
“Should we send Aram, Captain?” Dakkar Nevin asked.
Setanta shook his head. “Aram has more blood on his hands than a young man should. Let’s give this one to…” The Black Tongue skimmed the crew before landing on Mattiew. “Matty, my boy. Sorcerer blood will do some good for that patch of dirt you call a beard. Why don’t you take this one?”
Mattiew rubbed a thumb over his beginnings of a beard. “You want me to wait till he catches up or go to him?”
Setanta pursed his lips. “Let’s let ‘em come to us. We need to replace the Adana.”
Mattiew nodded.
He checked the sharpness of his spear and the security of his shield while waiting for the bounty hunter’s vessel, the Peacemaker, to catch up.
As it pulled up to the Nightfang’s starboard side, Mattiew’s crew tossed grappling hooks, ensuring that the boat couldn’t escape.
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“Setanta the Black Tongue!” A woman’s voice shouted from the helm of the boat. “By order of the Eight Empires, you have been charged with theft and perjury against the good Lord Proteus. Submit yourself for trial and sentencing or die by my blade!”
The bounty hunter wasn’t that much older than Mattiew, with tanned skin and golden hair. She wore a tight-fitting bronze breastplate, held together with two large bronze pauldrons by rope and padding.
Her shield was much larger than Mattiew’s, covered in cow skin and spanning the length of her whole body. She wielded a long sickle sword with a dark blade.
When combined with animal bones, iron took on sorcerous properties that made the usually more brittle metal stronger than bronze.
If Mattiew was getting anything out of this confrontation, he wanted that sword.
“If it were that easy to get my surrender, don’t you think I’d be less of a nuisance?” Setanta chided. “If you want me, girl, you’ll have to take me.”
“Then I challenge you or a champion to a duel, Black Tongue.” the girl pointed her sword at him. “If I claim victory, you and your crew of mongrels will surrender themselves to the authority of the Empires.”
“And what if I win?” Setanta asked.
“What would you have of mine?” the bounty hunter asked.
“Are you a virgin, girl?”
The bounty hunter recoiled.
Setanta barked a laugh, the rest of the crew following suit.
“I could have any of the most beautiful women this side of the Sea on my arm with a thought. I’ve no need for something as useless as your maidenhood.” Setanta said. “I want your ship. If I win, you get to row back to shore. Or join us. I don’t care. As long as your vessel sails with me.”
“Very well.” the hunter said. She leapt from her boat to the deck of the Nightfang and pounded her shield against it. “In accordance with the Eightfold Pact, who is to be my opponent?”
Mattiew approached the bounty hunter as other crew members backed up to create a ring around them. He grinned.
“I hope you learn to enjoy the taste of mana as you burn, scoundrel.” the hunter growled.
“Do you know why they call him the Black Tongue?” Mattiew asked.
“I don’t see what that has to do with-”
“Get that witch, boys!” Setanta cried.
Scourgers tackled the bounty hunter from behind.
Her hands spit fire, but four Scourgers managed to lock up her arms and force her to the ground.
Mattiew knelt down to look at her impotent rage. “People seem to forget that Black Tongue means ‘liar’.” He flicked her on the forehead as she gnashed her teeth.
“Have some honor for once in your life, pig! Fight me fairly!”
“Fairly? This is fair.” Mattiew frowned. “You can shoot fire out of your hands. I’m just a man. Besides, you’re the one who walked onto the deck of a boat full of your enemies by yourself.”
Nobles thought they were so much more powerful than commoners. But all it took was a little teamwork to reveal how pathetic they were.
“She’s yours, Matty.” Aram said, suppressing her struggle as they wrenched her up onto her knees.
Mattiew stood and drew his spear back.
“Does this make you feel superior, commoner? Does it satisfy your envy?” the girl snarled. “You’re still a filthy savage who has to lie, cheat, and steal to laze your way through life. Killing me will get you nothing!”
“It’ll get us a boat.” Mattiew said before running his lance through a chink in her armor, piercing her heart.
The girl froze as blood spilled from her lips.
Mattiew ripped his spear out and flicked the blood onto the deck.
“Hey Matty.” Setanta grinned. “How’d you like to become the new captain of the Peacemaker?”
Mattiew grinned. “I thought you’d-”
“Beware!”
Mattiew turned to the dead noblewoman with a start. Her body stood as if her limbs were being pulled by puppet strings.
“Beware the one who approaches, Child of the Survivor! Fear not the roaches of the Old Blood! Don the circlet! Destroy the betrayers! Become the new bloodline!”
***
Mattiew startled awake in a pool of his own sweat. He smelled repulsive.
He sat up to find Adriana reading a scroll under candlelight. She looked up at him, brow furrowed with concern.
“Had trouble sleeping?”
“Are you going to come to bed?” Mattiew grinned. “My dreams are rarely pleasant without you.”
“Hm. Maybe you picked up a thing or two from your language classes after all.” Adriana pursed her lips. “Sorry, precious. I need to translate this.”
“What is it?” Mattiew got out of bed and wrapped his arms around Adriana’s neck, kissing her on the head.
“The Tsengol Book of Gods. Kalai recommended it. I’ll be able to find out what my father’s up to with this. Or at least get closer.”
He frowned. “I thought he was up to making me fight in a tournament for the Ouroboros of Tiamat.”
“There’s something more here. Making you fight specifically...I think it has something to do with this Cult of the Scaled One.” Adriana said.
Mattiew grimaced as she looked up at him.
“You think I’m out of my mind, don’t you?” she asked.
“I never said that, dove.”
Gods, she was good at reading him.
“It’s fine.” Adriana sighed. “Lagopis feels similarly. I haven’t stopped pursuing our coup, but...I won’t sit here waiting for the guards to turn to my side.”
Mattiew kissed her head again. “Whatever it is, I trust that you’ll figure it out. If you’re looking to divine your father’s plans, you remember that private conversation he and I had?”
“What was that about?”
“Your father somehow thinks that I’m just like him.”
Adriana scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Well...I’m not sure.” Mattiew muttered. “He claims he used to live in the slums. Claims to hate the nobility just as much as I do. I know it’s stupid to take what he said as true, but some part of me feels...feels he might have a point.”
“My father told you that just to scare you.” Adriana turned and cupped his cheek with a soft hand. “Just to keep you on your toes, duckling.”
Mattiew leaned his head into her hand, but couldn’t hide his worry.
Adriana gave his cheek a few love taps. “You will never, ever be like him. But if you truly fear such a thing...if you feel yourself ever teetering on the edge of becoming him, I order you to do the right thing. Don’t worry about protecting me. Just do what’s right for you.”
Mattiew nodded. “I hope It’ll never come to that. But thank you.”
***
Mattiew was now only one of four contestants that used Tiamat’s Gullet to enter the arena. The dwindling numbers of those that used his tunnel made it clear how close he was to the final rounds of this tournament.
He walked across the sandpit over to Khemti, who happened to be alone.
“Well...this is depressing.” Mattiew muttered. “Am I the only one from your little group left?”
“Yes, but the situation could be far worse.” Khemti said. “I could be out. Or my friends could be dead. They all lived through their duels, which is a relief.”
“What’s on the menu today?”
“Trial of Ambition.” Khemti spat. “This is the last one before things get really serious. And it’ll be just as intense as the last four trials.”
“I take it you’re not a fan of this one.”
Khemti nodded, “It was created by my king and country. And it tests your ‘willingness to do what must be done’. It’s more of a torture method than anything else.”
Mattiew furrowed his brow. No one who has ever said the words ‘do what must be done’ has meant something good. Or even moderately bad. It has always invariably been very, very bad.
“Good morning, final thirty two!” The Keeper of Shai’tar announced from on high. “Welcome to a fan favorite trial, the Trial of Ambition!”
The crowd erupted in a roar of cheers that took a good while to quiet down.
“This trial will be the one to test your desire. A king must know when it is right to be an altruist and when it is right to be selfish. This trial will test your strength and ability to make those selfish, gut wrenching, guilt inducing decisions.” the Keeper explained.
The sandpit started to rumble, as parts of the floor opened up into stairwells that led beneath the arena.
“You, your Kingmaker, your Champion, your General, and eight of your soldiers will descend into the catacombs below the city of Veyshtar. In there, you will encounter a myriad of traps and challenges you must overcome. Along the way, you will be forced to make choices. Difficult choices. Your decisiveness is key here, so you will be timed. The first eight to emerge will receive a massive advantage in the next Trial. The last sixteen to emerge will be eliminated from the tournament. There is no bracket for this trial. Understand? Your time starts now!”
Mattiew followed the other contestants in sprinting out of the Gridiron.
He was joined by Alo’aharu, Kalai, and Dakkar as he practically barreled through the door of the Jeweled Lamassu, the inn housing the Sea Scourgers.
Those Scourgers who had decided to grab lunch stared at him.
“Alright, you sea dogs!” Mattiew announced. “We need eight of the toughest, roughest, and deadliest of you. You know who you are! We’re on the clock!”
If there was one thing the Scourgers excelled at, it was working together when shit hit the fan.
The Scourgers abandoned their lunches and fled into the rooms and barracks throughout the inn. Within two minutes, eight of the best warriors, experts, and tacticians had been put forward to join them. Obviously, Aram was among them.
“Alright. Let’s move, Scourgers!” Mattiew ordered, finding himself settling well into command over his men.
The Sea Scourgers sprinted across town, back to the Gridiron. They nearly trampled another contestant’s group as they made their way through Tiamat’s Gullet.
“Looks like the Vagabond Prince’s bandit crew is the fourth team to arrive!” the Keeper announced.
“Not a bad start, eh Matty?” Misha, a dexterous and willowy giant of a man, asked as they ran across the sandpit, towards one of the many stairwells down into the catacombs.
“We just gotta make sure to keep it that way.” Mattiew said. “Kalai, you’re last in. Make sure no one can surprise us from behind.”
“Understood.” Kalai nodded.
Mattiew led his Scourgers down the stairs and into a dark, stone tunnel.
Kalai followed the last man and pulled on whatever mechanism was holding the stairwell open so hard that it broke and covered the stairs once again.
“I meant that in a less concrete sense, but that works fine.” Mattiew shrugged. “Alo’aharu, can you get us some light?”
A soft azure glow lit up the tunnel as Alo’aharu generated a ball of energy in their palm.
“No time to waste! Move, move, move!” Mattiew ordered.
They made their way through a series of dizzyingly labyrinthian tunnels, keeping together by chanting as they jogged through the maze. The Black Tongue used to insist that organization made a group faster than a sprinting mob.
They continued until they spilled out into a large chamber where they didn’t have to worry about getting lost.
Alo’aharu extinguished their light in favor of the ambient bluish-green glow that lit up the chamber.
A pool of black ichor filled most of the room, separating the Scourgers from a hallway on the other side. Mattiew presumed this to be the first challenge.
“Do any of you know what this shit is?” Aram asked.
Jackal, an appropriately self-named Alazarite man with a hound’s sense of smell, approached the pool, sniffing at the substance.
“Whaddya have, Jackal?” Mattiew asked.
“Tar, mostly,” he replied. “There’s something else in there, which I can’t really figure out.”
“Look.” Misha pointed to the center of the pool. “There’s a crank. Maybe it’ll give up a way across.”
Indeed, there was a metal crank stick out of the middle of the pool.
“So there is...” Alo’aharu muttered.
“I can go after it.” Misha said. “I’m the tallest.”
“Hm, I wouldn’t be so set on doing that.” Leila, a disowned warrior-scholar from Syrytos, said. “Aram, gimme your spear.”
As Aram handed the weapon to her, she dipped it into the tar, attempting to measure the depth of the pool. The spear managed to be completely submerged, along with a bit of Leila’s forearm.
She dragged the weapon back out. “Yeah, anyone who goes in there isn’t coming back out. That’s over ten heads deep.”
“What? So then they expect us to sacrifice one of our own?” Jackal asked.
“This is the Trial of Ambition.” Dakkar said.
Dread crept up Mattiew’s throat as his body went cold. His ribs seemed to tighten around his torso as it dawned on him that he was expected to let his Scourgers die.
“Ok, we’re fine.” Mattiew insisted. “Rules are meant to be broken. Let’s find a workaround.”
“But...what about the advantage?” Alo’aharu asked.
Mattiew hesitated for a moment, “I...I can fight without it.”
He studied the chamber. The pool was long to avoid allowing someone to reach the crank from the edge. But it was thin, since it was surrounded by sheer walls on both sides.
He turned to Leila. “How far do you think that pool is across?”
Leila narrowed her eyes. “Um...maybe thirty, thirty-five paces?”
He kicked his boot against the wall. Nothing slick coated the stone. He grabbed his own spear and backed up. This was stupid, even by his own standard.
“I’m gonna try something.” Mattiew ran at the pool and jumped to the left. He ran on the wall for as long as gravity would allow him. As he began to fall, he shoved his spear into the crank’s mechanism, using it as a pole vault to throw himself to the other side.
He landed on the stones with a roll and popped up.
“I did it!” He shouted.
The Scourgers barked with celebration.
“Suck it, you masked freaks!” Mattiew yelled. “Now come on! You guys get across too!”
Each of the Sea Scourgers followed Mattiew, except Alo’aharu, who used a blast of arcane energy to throw themselves across..
Dakkar, despite his old age, made it across last and grabbed Mattiew’s spear for him.
Before they moved on, a small board next to the hallway drew Mattiew’s attention. It had all the current rankings for each team. They were third now.