Silvinio’s ghostly gaze flips between me and the invisible Tithe. “My master wants to know if you’ll allow him to hunt Myla Lewis.”
“That answer remains no.”
A prickle of awareness creep over my skin. Whatever is happening, it’s not about whether I’ll allow the Tithe to hunt Myla Lewis. There’s some larger plan at play, only I can’t see it. Questions tumble through my mind.
Why doesn’t the Tithe appear or fight?
How come he’s focuses on my minsters?
What’s the connection to Myla?
Silvinio rubs his palms together. “Since you say no, my master demands that I fight you.”
Interesting. The Tithe keeps asking for what amounts to exhibition battles. I know what those are; I do them almost every day. When I’m assessing a warrior, I’ll often watch him fight another opponent. The Tithe wants to know how I battle his effigies. Whatever his end game is, it definitely includes some kind of fight.
Gritting his teeth, Silvinio hunches over in pain. “I accept the change, my master,” whispers the ghostly minister.
As with Devak, there’s a flash of the Tithe appearing. The warlock strikes Silvinio in the chest with his mallet and chisel. White mist surrounds Silvinio. When the maze clears, the ghostly minister stands on the clearing. White particles rise up from the ground, filling his spectral form. Pale tendrils swirl through the minster’s transparent body. With every passing second, Silvinio becomes less a ghost and more an effigy. I’ve seen this show before.
Time to get ready for battle.
I pull out my baculum from their holster at the base of my spine. My dagger remains holstered at my thigh. Can I use that blade to defeat Silvinio the way I did Devak?
I’ll find out soon enough.
Silvinio’s body fills out. Soon he’s a solid figure that seems carved from white granite. The minister still wears his tunic. Only now, he carries a wooden stick with a barbed metal ball at the end of a chain. A flail. So far, everything has happened as did with Devak.
“My master demands that I fight you,” intones Silvinio.
“I thought as much.”
Silvinio raises the flail high. “My master gave me this, but I’ve made extra preparations.”
I casually toss my baculum between my hands. Clearly, Silvinio is the sort who talks before fighting. Baculum-tossing kills some time. “Get what you need,” I say. “I won’t fight until you attack.”
Silvinio stares at me, dumbfounded. “You won’t?”
“Thrax battle code.”
“Thank you, my Prince.” Silvinio nods quickly.
I shake my head. How can he not know thrax code? Like so many of the nobility, Silvinio believes that battle prowess is all about weaponry and armor … rather than practice and codes of conduct. Just another sign of how the great houses are desperately in need of more training.
Kneeling, Silvinio scrapes at the ground. When his hands are visible again, two silver bands gleam on his palm. The first ring is hefty and holds the insignia of a dragon. That’s for armor. The second is thin and covered in tiny markings. The band could expand into any number of weapons. Without seeing the runes, I can’t be certain.
Even so, it’s clear why Silvinio has first ring. With armor, I can’t chip away at key body points as I did with Devak. Narrowing my eyes, I think things through. Methods of attack spin through my mind. I scan the clearing. The oak trees here have solid lower branches. More than strong enough to carry Silvinio’s weight, even as an effigy.
A battle plan takes shape. I nod once to myself. Yes, that will work.
Silvinio slips the bands on his stone fingers, and there isn’t time for further contemplation. A puff of purple smoke rises from Silvinio’s hand. The ring’s spell is now activated. A second later, the effigy version of Silvinio becomes encased in silver armor. He turns to me, his all white eyes visible through the slits in his helm.
“See this?” asks Silvinio. “Devak warned me about your tricks.”
“And why isn’t Devak here himself to fight me?”
“This is my master’s plan. I merely do his bidding.”
“That, I believe.” I ignite my baculum. In my left hand there appears a small round shield made of angel fire. In my right, I grip a short sword made of white flame.
Silvinio rushes toward me, swiping at my head with the flail. I block his strikes with my shield, and make defensive moves with my short sword. All the while, I take care to slowly back toward the best and lowest-hanging tree branch. Silvinio follows my movements like a dog toward a bone.
It really is sad, the state of battle training with my nobility. Silvinio doesn’t have a clue here.
Once I’m under the ideal branch, I re-ignite my baculum into a massive net. Once the fiery cords crisscross under Silvinio’s feet, I toss the silver baculum over the branch. The entire sequence only takes a few seconds to complete. Silvinio looks from left to right, wondering what’s happening.
He’s about to find out.
Silvinio makes another swipe at my head with his flail. Dodging the strike, I race over to the other side of the branch. The fiery net still sits beneath Silvinio’s feet. Meanwhile, there’s also the cord I created; it will loop up the webbing into a sack. A fiery rope is the key to it all. That cord now dangles from the other side of the tree branch. I grab the line of fire and heave. My net loops up, hoisting Silvinio off the ground. The effigy tries to break loose, but only manages to entangle himself more deeply in the fiery net.
As Silvinio struggles, I step around him. The Tithe may still be nearby; it’s best to stay on alert. Even so, Silvinio is one of my people. He deserves a fighting chance to understand what’s about to happen here.
“Did you know that I oversee the Stone Mason’s Guild?” I ask.
“Let me down from here!”
Now, I could go into a long explanation of how fire interacts with stone. And since Silvinio chose to wear metal armor? He’s basically created the perfect oven to heat up his rock body. Angel fire doesn’t hurt me, but it will interact with metal. Sure enough, Silvinio’s armor starts to light up pink. This doesn’t cause the effigy any pain, but it does mean that his stone-body is getting in bad shape.
“I’ll make this easy for you,” I say. “Stay there. Talk to me. I’ll let you down. All will be well.”
“I serve the Tithe now.”
“Then answer my question. What’s the Tithe’s interest in Myla Lewis?”
“That’s I cannot tell.” Silvinio fidgets in the net. He’s up to something.
“Stay still. This is dangerous for you.” Based on the bright red shade of his armor, the makeshift oven is working perfectly. “Let’s try another question. Why does the Tithe need two more souls?”
“To end all the angels and perfect the after-realms … and to enact his revenge.”
Another puff of purple smoke rises from Silvinio’s hand. The magic of his second ring comes to life. A second later, Silvinio holds a diamond dagger in his fist. Those are powerful enough to slick through almost anything, including angel fire. A jolt of alarm moves through me.
“No, Silvinio!” I cry. “Don’t!”
He does.
Silvinio slices through the fiery net that holds him. His bulky form tumbles to the ground. With it hits the earth, the super-heated stone instantly smashes like chalk. Bits of rock tumble out of the armor to sizzle in the mud.
“Tithe?” I scan the clearing. “Tithe! Stop hiding and face me!”
The little bits of Silvinio seep into the ground. Like Devak, he’s not dead. And although I know a little more about the Tithe’s plans—the revenge part is new—there are still far too many questions.
“TITHE!”
The clearing remains quiet. Unlike before, the silence does not come with the charged sense of hidden watchers in the forest. The Tithe is gone. And I’ve still so many questions.
Even so, I won’t give up. In the end, my own actions are all I truly control.
This mystery of the Tithe involves Myla, and it will be solved.
* * *
“What do you want?” I call. “If it’s to kill me, send an army of effigies. I know you have them.”
A hoarse voice. “I want everything.”
17
The next afternoon, I march up the front stairs to the Ryder mansion. My goal? Convince Myla Lewis to attend the Autumn Tournament. I’ve no illusions this will be easy. If anything, convincing Myla to watch the tourney will be more of a siege warfare than anything. Some women require time and patience.
When it comes to Myla, I have plenty of both.
The mansion’s door opens before I even reach the top step. A tall woman with pale skin and a monkey tail stands on the threshold. Her appearance is remarkable in being perfectly average: not too tall or short, fat or thin, and pretty or plain.
“Madeline Ryder,” I say. “So good to see you again.”
“Please, call me Maddy.” She smiles, and the grin transforms her appearance from average to astounding. Maddy is a perfect fit for a diplomat. Her enthusiasm makes you want to do anything for her.
We shake hands, and I step into he reception area. Maddy and I have been in almost constant contact since yesterday’s meeting with at the mead hall.
“Thank you for helping with this business,” I say.”
And by ‘business,’ I mean plotting to corner Myla so I can invite her to the Autumn Tournament.
And by ‘invite,’ I mean coerce.
It’s been a very chatty time for me and Maddy.
“My husband and I are just glad to help,” says Maddy. “Please let the Ghoul Minister know that we didn’t mean to misdirect his message.” She twists her hands in a nervous rhythm. “GSBG-9002 is still rather peeved, I’m afraid.”
“Have you sent him a thank-you gift for his patience?”
“No. Should I have?”
“I always send him gift baskets of worms. In fact, I met with him this morning and he mentioned a particularly ugly incident that was far worse than misdelivering a message. More worms and it’s all smoothed over.” Specifically, the incident involved the Ghoul Minister’s wife and Aldred. What a scumbag that earl is.
Maddy flashes her smile once more. “Perfect! I’ll do that right away.” She starts to leave, then pauses. “Oh, you’ll find what you’re looking for in the library. You know the way?”
“I do. Thank you.”
“And remember, feel free to borrow any books.”
“I won’t forget.”
After Maddy goes off to ship the Ghoul Minister some worms, I trek to the Ryder library. While I step along, I think through my most recent interactions with Myla. A certain kind of rhythm has developed between us. It’s a lot like fighting, but also a little like flirting. My pulse speeds. I can’t avoid the truth; I’m rather excited to verbally spar with her again.
I can’t spend my life with Myla. Therefore—for as long as this lasts—I’ll enjoy our fights.
No one said that the heart was a logical organ.
Soon I reach the familiar labyrinth of bookcases that make up the library. My hunter’s hearing tells me someone’s flipping pages on the other side of the room.
That’s my girl.
I cross the space to find her perched on a window seat, her tail slowly moving in arcs behind her. A heavy leather tome sits on her lap. Instantly, I’m sad to see she’s back to wearing grey sweats. That dragonscale fighting suit is my absolute favorite.
Myla looks up as I approach. Like always, she radiates energy and excitement. A lively sense of malice shines in her large brown eyes. She knows why I’m here and she’s ready.
Time to play my role. And if I enjoy it just a little? That’s something I’ll keep to my grave.
I slap on my most stony demeanor. “Hello, Miss Lewis.”
“Hello, Mister The Prince.”
Inside, that line cracks me up. I’ve never been called Mister The Prince before. On the outside, I maintain my air of quiet menace, of course. “I had an official audience with the Ghoul Minister today. It seems he didn’t approve your delivering his message.”
The look on her lovely face says, this is me, not caring. “And?”
“So, you admit you raided the thrax compound without authorization?”
She taps her cheek in mock-contemplation. “So, you admit that a lowly quasi girl successfully raided your super-awesome demon-hunter compound?”
“Your actions were rude and startling. The lords were not prepared.” And you have delicious-looking lips.
I cough into my hand and try to regain some composure. Careful with the internal monologue, Lincoln. You could slip up and say that out loud, and then where would you be?
Myla rolls her eyes. “They were wearing chain mail, carrying weapons, and in the middle of battle training. I call that a fair fight.”
No question about it. Myla is correct. The battle was completely fair. I should know, I watched it with interest and rooted for Myla every step of the way. Even so, I can’t reveal that to Myla. It’s imperative I continue playing the part of an absolute butthead.
When I speak again, I keep my voice carefully calm. “My men don’t expect strange girls in unitards to appear out of nowhere.”
I’m rather proud of the use of the word unitard. She’ll hate that one.
Sure enough, Myla’s eyes flash with fresh anger. “One, it’s a dragonscale fighting suit, not a unitard.”
In my heart, I can’t help but enjoy that just a little bit. Unitard line? Winner.
“Two,” continues Myla. “What exactly do they expect girls to do when they’re attacked? Half the best Arena fighters are women.”
Now this is something I also know quite well. After all, I’ve already snuck into Myla’s arena matches. But again, the truth isn’t helpful here. And yes, I’m still enjoying this.
“That’s not how it is in Antrum,” I counter.
“What’s an Antrum?”
“Where I live, where all thrax live. Back on Earth, deep underground.”
“That makes sense. Not knowing girls fight; it figures you all live under a rock.”
If I slammed Myla with my unitard line, the living under a rock comment hits me with a wallop. Mostly because it’s hilarious. A belly laugh threatens to break free from my mouth, so I close my eyes and take a deep breath instead.
Get organized, Lincoln. Think. What would a regal dickhead say?
In a flash, my reply appears to me.
“No one speaks to me like that.” I’m glad that came out sounding serious, because it’s still rather tempting to laugh my royal ass off.
Myla narrows her eyes. “Welcome to Purgatory.”
In my head, I’m cheering my lungs out. Well said, Myla! Yet as much as I enjoy this, we can’t banter forever. I’m here for a purpose.
“The earls demand you attend a tournament of demon fighting prowess to celebrate the autumnal equinox. As senior members of the thrax nobility, they will battle on the field of honor.”
“Humph.” As grunts go, Myla makes that single sound pack in a ton of commentary, all of it unflattering to the thrax. And in this case, I once again agree one hundred percent. That said, it wasn’t easy to get my court to agree to this plan. For her own safety, Myla must attend.
“Sounds like a ‘we’ll show her’ kind of thing,” she adds.
“The Lords have a right to display their skills under traditional circumstances.”
“Well, there’s one thing they need to do first.”
I fold my arms over my chest, thinking, this will be epic. “And what’s that, in your experience?”
“Say. Please.”
I look down to hide the grin that’s now spreading across my face. To make the movement seem more natural, I rake my hand through my hair. All of which beings me back to the question of the day.
What would a dickhead do?
I snap out one word. “Disrespectful.”
“Funny, I was abo
ut to say the same thing to you.”
Myla’s verbal sparring reminds me of her work on the battlefield. She’s sublime. Every muscle in my body thrums with energy. I want to toss this ruse aside, and take her in my arms. Without realizing it, I’ve been clenching and loosening my fists. That’s a surprise. I rarely lose mastery of anything, especially my own body.
If I’m not careful, I’ll soon spoil my act, and that won’t help Myla. And there’s still time before the Autumn Tournament. This is a siege I will win. Myla must be there.
Sometimes, the best move is a tactful retreat, so that’s exactly what I do—head for the exit. With every step away from Myla, my thinking clears. In fact, by the time I reach the door, I have the sense to scan the bookshelf for new arrivals. Sure enough, there’s a fresh title waiting for me. Even better, it’s one I’ve never seen before, Secrets of The Tithe.
Scooping up the book, I head out the exit. The Ryders watch me stomp out the front door. Unfortunately, I can’t stop to chat. If I do, the Ryders could tell in seconds the truth of my situation.
When it comes to Myla, I’m more fanboy than upset prince.
18
In the days that follow, I juggle my moving my anti-Acca treaty forward, continuing my battle training, and finishing the inter-realm map for the Tower of Wonders. Mother has taken the lead on the tournaments. Clearly, she’s still scheming. I’ve been too busy to focus on it. Plus I’ve been tinkering with the Tithe book from the Ryder library. No matter what I do, the pages appear blank. As a result, I’ve given the book to Lucas. If anyone can figure out how to make the volume reveal its secrets, it’s the Earl of Striga.
Being exceptionally busy helps distract me from thoughts of my girl. One bright spot: I’ve gotten word from the Ryders—who in turn were told by Myla’s friend Cissy—that indeed, Myla is attending the Autumn Tournament.
I can’t wait.
The days move slowly until at last, the Autumn Tournament is ready to begin. The wooden pavilions now surround a neat battle ground. In turn, that fighting space is surrounded by a waist-high wooden face. Horus did well when designing this space.
Lincoln Page 18