Lord of the White Hell Book One

by Ginn Hale

  He lunged forward. His opponent easily parried his strike, but then suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground. Ariz placed his blade to the fallen man’s heart and was immediately declared the winner. Only then did Ariz allow himself a small, satisfied smile.

  “Well, there is something to him after all, isn’t there?” Prince Sevanyo commented.

  “Did you see what he did?” Javier asked Kiram.

  “No,” Kiram admitted.

  “All the time that they were fencing Ariz kept tripping his opponent until he finally brought him down. It’s the second time he’s won that way. Keep your feet in close when you’re up against him. Make him overextend to get at you.”

  “I’ll try,” Kiram replied, though he had no idea how he would manage any such thing.

  The three of them watched another pair of first-year students duel. Kiram’s attention wandered and he found himself searching the stands for his uncle.

  “Tell me, Kiram, have you thought of conversion?” Prince Sevanyo asked.

  “What?” Kiram looked up quickly.

  “Have you considered converting to the Holy Cadeleonian Church?” Prince Sevanyo briefly glanced to another of his pages and accepted two more papers with noble seals embossed upon them. “If you are to attend the royal court you ought to do so. Otherwise you’ll have half the courtiers spreading nasty rumors about your private habits before they’ve even laid eyes on you. Taking a Cadeleonian wife would help as well. Probably one of those charming merchant girls. You aren’t already engaged, are you?”

  “No,” Kiram said, though he immediately regretted it.

  “One of my bailiffs has a daughter who would be just about the right age…” The prince nodded as he considered the prospect.

  Alarm shot through Kiram.

  “I…I really couldn’t marry right now,” Kiram managed.

  “Of course not now,” the prince replied. “You must finish your schooling first. But it’s always wise to have your plans in order, you know.”

  Kiram wondered how it was possible that a Cadeleonian prince could fill him with the same cold, trapped fear that his mother often inspired. He thought that it had to be something about older people. So many of them seemed intent upon planning his future for him. Both the prince and his mother seemed so sure of what would be best for him that they were already working out the details.

  Conversion. Marriage. Living at court. Taking over his father’s shop. Living at home for the rest of his life.

  He didn’t want either of the lives they planned for him.

  “The first years are almost done,” Javier announced. “We should get back down to the rest of the students. Kiram still needs to change into his cuirass and byrnie.”

  “It’s good to see you take a responsibility so seriously, Javier,” Prince Sevanyo commented.

  “A man must serve his obligations. Though I won’t deny that I have a sizable wager on Kiram to best Elezar Grunito’s underclassman.”

  Javier stood, as did the prince, and they embraced.

  “Thank you for coming, Sevanyo,” Javier said into Sevanyo’s shoulder.

  “Of course. It’s always a pleasure to see you. But do take care of yourself, Javier.” Prince Sevanyo stepped back reluctantly. He looked at Kiram. “I look forward to seeing you again, Kiram Kir-Zaki. Look after Javier for me, won’t you? Slip him some of those candies when you can.”

  On the stairs outside, dozens of well-dressed men stood waiting to be admitted in to attend the prince. They bowed their heads respectfully as Javier passed but several of them glared at Kiram as if his presence among them was distasteful.

  “Ignore them,” Javier whispered over his shoulder.

  When they reached the lower stands where the rest of the academy students were gathered, Kiram flopped onto a hard seat of the bench next to Nestor. Javier remained standing, leaning against a wooden support. The nearest pair of combatants on the arena floor were only a few feet away. Kiram could hear them gasping for air and smell the sweat pouring down their arms and legs.

  Javier studied them like a cat watching swallows. Other students glanced up from time to time but most were involved in their own preoccupations. The only change came when a winner was announced. Every Sagrada Academy student cheered for one of their own. Defeated students were greeted with disinterest. Master Ignacio hardly even glanced to them.

  Farther down the bench Elezar stood close to two other third-year students and Kiram was sure he glimpsed money pass between them. Elezar was collecting winnings from his wagers already.

  Kiram wondered if Javier had actually placed a wager on him. He hoped not.

  “So, how was it?” Nestor asked Kiram. “What did the prince say?”

  “He wants Kiram to convert, marry a nice Cadeleonian girl, and come live at court,” Javier said.

  “Convert and marry and move to the court?” Nestor rolled his eyes. “Why doesn’t he ask him to shave his head and buy a monkey while he’s at it?”

  One of the judges on the arena floor signaled a win for the Sagrada Academy, waving a small blue banner over the head of a winded young man. Kiram had no idea who he was but he cheered along with the rest of the academy students.

  It had been the student’s fifth duel and he would not be expected to fight again today. The exhausted first-year student staggered back to the stands and collapsed onto the bench.

  “Prince Sevanyo means well. He just doesn’t know when he’s asking too much of someone or even telling them too much.” Javier glanced to Kiram. “He didn’t offend you, did he?”

  “No, he surprised me. I guess I wasn’t expecting…Well, I didn’t know what to expect.” Kiram looked up to where Javier stood. “I wish I could have answered his questions.”

  “What questions?” Nestor asked.

  “He wanted to know about the Haldiim religion,” Kiram replied. “I couldn’t tell him too much because my family isn’t religious.”

  “Lucky.” Nestor sighed. “My mother made us recite a verse of her choosing before she would let us sit down to dinner each night. I memorized the entire Book of Redemption just for the love of a hot meal.” Nestor shook his head. “I still don’t know what half of it is supposed to be about.”

  “Redemption, I’d imagine,” Javier said.

  “I guess, but every time I hear a verse all I can imagine is piping hot roast beef.”

  “Chapel sermons must be oddly appetizing for you,” Javier remarked.

  Nestor nodded. “I always leave hungry.”

  “Maybe you should convert to my faith,” Kiram said. “On the Highest Holy Days the Bahiim prepare huge feasts and anyone who comes to the Holy Gardens is fed and offered honey wine.”

  “You all just eat in church?” Nestor stared to Kiram as if this were unbelievable.

  “Of course. The two Highest Holy Days are celebrations of compassion and generosity. Even my family puts gifts out for the poor on the Highest Holy Days.”

  Nestor looked like he was going to ask something more but Javier leaned between them.

  “I’m not sure how wise it is for you to be seen and heard at this public gathering, converting Nestor to your faith.”

  “I wasn’t serious,” Kiram objected.

  But Nestor, too, looked worried. “He’s right, Kiram. It’s just what Holy Father Habalan is always warning us about in chapel. If word were to get back to him it could be bad for both you and me. The holy father hasn’t got much of a sense of humor.”

  “I guess not.” Kiram frowned out at the arena. The white salt circles of the fencing rings were spreading into the dirt, blurring and distorting the way smoke rings dissipated.

  Several grooms worked their way down the length of the stand distributing leather armor and fencing blades to the second-year students. Kiram imagined his own face reflected Nestor’s queasy pallor. It would be them out in the arena soon. Everyone in the stands would be watching.

  The leather of Kiram’s cuirass fit tightly across his back an
d chest though it hung loosely over his stomach. The byrnie he pulled over it draped down to his groin. The thick scales of leather overlapped like snake skin.

  He laced his blue gauntlets tightly over his forearms and then tested his grip on the blade he had been given. The armor felt hot and heavy. Kiram could already smell his own sweat soaking through his under shirt and into the cuirass. He had no idea how men managed to move, much less fight while wearing the much heavier armor required for the tournament’s final duels.

  “Here.” Javier handed him a black ribbon. “Tie your hair back.”

  Kiram did as he was told. Next to him Nestor sat back on the bench, scowling at the dueling sword he’d been given.

  “I was out right away last year. It wasn’t so bad really.” Nestor sighed heavily and then glanced up at Javier. “You don’t think Elezar’s put any money on me, do you?”

  “Of course he has. We both know how much you’ve improved over the last four months. You’re going to take the wind out of your opponents before they know what hit them.”

  Nestor straightened slightly. “I have gotten a lot better. Though I wish I had my spectacles.”

  “You never wear them while you’re fighting,” Kiram said.

  “I know. I just think it would settle my nerves if I could see how nervous the other boys look.”

  Kiram nodded. In a way he thought Nestor might be the lucky one. None of the students left on the arena floor looked nervous. All of them had already fought and won several duels. They looked dirty and some wore bandages, but all of them wore hard, assured expressions.

  The last remaining pair of first-year duelists stepped into a nearby ring. They were both Yillar students and their armor was covered in nicks and dust from previous duels. A judge raised his hand and then swung it down indicating the beginning of their combat. Both students stood still with their blades drawn and then one of them simply knelt and the other touched his chest lightly with his blade.

  Kiram gaped at them. “What was that?”

  “Yillar etiquette, I guess,” Nestor said. “When they’re evenly matched one Yillar student will forfeit to another of higher rank instead of dragging out a real fight.”

  “We’re allowed to forfeit?” It made sense. Why should two students from the same school exhaust themselves fighting each other? And it offered Kiram some relief. Rather than take a brutal beating he could simply forfeit.

  “No,” Javier said firmly. “They can forfeit. We at the Sagrada Academy do not.”

  “Master Ignacio would kill you if you did,” Nestor said. “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link or something like that.”

  “Master Ignacio will not tolerate cowardice,” Javier continued. “It’s his philosophy that it is better to fight and be beaten than it is to simply surrender. No war was ever won through surrender.”

  “None was ever won by being beaten into bloody submission either,” Kiram replied.

  “True.” Javier smiled at him. “So, I wouldn’t advise that you do that either.”

  Master Ignacio shouted out the names of the second-year students who were to take the floor of the arena. They were the worst combatants of the second year: the ones who would face first-year challengers and both Kiram and Nestor were among them.

  As Kiram started to go, Javier caught his shoulder and leaned close to his ear.

  “Bring them to their knees,” he whispered and his breath sent a thrill over Kiram’s skin. Then Javier gently shoved Kiram out into the arena.

  Kiram’s heart hammered in his chest as he took his place inside the salt circle of the dueling ring that Master Ignacio indicated.

  “Hold this ring,” Master Ignacio told him. “Hold it five rounds. Do not fail me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kiram responded but the war master had already turned away. Moments later the first-year combatants took their places. Kiram’s first opponent was a stocky young man from the Yillar Academy. He had a blunt little nose and a snorting, aggressive sword style. The first time his blade crashed against Kiram’s it sent a jolt through Kiram’s wrist.

  Fortunately months of training with Javier had honed his defenses. Even utterly flustered, Kiram reflexively sidestepped the Yillar student’s second thrust and brought his own blade down across the Yillar student’s exposed shoulder.

  “Haldiim bitch,” the Yillar student snarled. An instant later Kiram deflected another thrust and the Yillar student’s sword arm swung wide out. Kiram pounced forward, slamming his blade against the Yillar student’s chest. Taken off guard and suddenly off balance, the Yillar student fell to the arena floor.

  The judge called the win in Kiram’s favor and a cheer went up from the Sagrada Academy stands.

  Kiram’s entire body trembled with a rush of exhilaration and shock. He hadn’t expected to win. Now he would have to fight again. His heart was beating so fast and hard that he thought he could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears.

  He faced another Yillar student. This one was faster and he scored a bruising strike across Kiram’s left forearm, but the blow cost him his balance. Kiram brought him down with a two fast thrusts into his stomach and chest. The judge held his banner over Kiram and another cheer went up. Kiram’s muscles felt molten. The air of the pavilion seemed cool against his skin.

  Kiram’s third opponent was a first-year student from the Sagrada Academy. Kiram exploited his clumsy footwork, pressing him hard to the right then suddenly shifting his thrusts to the left. The young man finally tripped over his own boots. Kiram dispatched him with a quick strike.

  Excitement and fear rolled through Kiram’s entire body. His breath came in deep animal gasps. He held the ring. He brought his opponents to their knees. But with each triumph came the realization that he had to do it all again and his next opponent would be better.

  By his fifth and final duel, Kiram’s body was slick with sweat. His nerves felt tremulous as spider silk; his muscles were soft lead.

  A tall Yillar student stepped into the ring. Locks of chestnut colored hair were plastered to his face by sweat. He gazed at Kiram with a blank, almost dead expression. Kiram wondered how long he’d been fighting. He looked like he might collapse any moment.

  The judge signaled for them to begin. Kiram tested his opponent’s reflexes with quick thrusts. The Yillar student blocked, but just barely. Kiram moved in closer, pressing the attack. He thrust for the Yillar student’s stomach, but suddenly something caught his foot. Kiram stumbled backwards. Instantly, the Yillar student struck for Kiram’s heart. Kiram blocked the blow with his left forearm. The blade tore into his gauntlet with shattering force.

  Kiram fell and rolled just as the Yillar student slammed his blade down again. The sword slashed across Kiram’s left shoulder, ripping through the leather scales of his byrnie.

  Kiram bounded back up to his feet, gasping for air and shaking. The Yillar student regarded him with that same dull, dead gaze.

  Through the din of the roaring crowds in the stands, Kiram suddenly picked out a single voice shouting at him. It was Javier. Kiram couldn’t make any of his words out clearly, but he didn’t have to. Javier had already warned him, already told him what to do. He had just been too exhausted to remember the one Yillar student Javier had specifically pointed out to him. Ariz Plunado. Kiram felt like an idiot for not recognizing that bland face immediately, but Ariz was simply so forgettable.

  Now he circled Kiram slowly, testing Kiram’s defenses with quick jabs. All the while his feet darted in, kicking at Kiram’s steps. Pain shot through Kiram’s left arm as he pulled it in close to his side. Dark red rivulets of blood trickled from under his gauntlet and dribbled down his hand.

  “If it hurts you can forfeit.” Ariz’s voice was as colorless as his expression. His lips hardly moved.

  “I—”Before Kiram could make his response, Ariz kicked his ankle hard and lunged for Kiram’s chest. Kiram leapt to the side.

  Ariz spun on him. “You look like you should see a physician. You’re bl
eeding a lot.”

  Kiram was expecting the attack this time but it was still brutal. Ariz lunged to strike Kiram’s left arm and when Kiram shifted back Ariz landed a hard kick on Kiram’s knee. Kiram’s leg buckled. He caught himself but hardly had time to block Ariz’s thrust for his stomach.

  “You look pale, Haldiim.” Ariz drove him back toward the blurred white edge of the fencing ring. If he stepped back across it this could all be over. He would be disqualified. His arm hurt so badly he could hardly think. One misstep and it would be over. Javier would be so disappointed. Every bigoted Cadeleonian in the stands would be pleased, though.

  Kiram forced himself to attack Ariz again, jabbing hard and fast. His muscles screamed from the effort and when his strength failed him, Ariz sprang after him, lashing out with his blade. Kiram didn’t attempt to block the blow. Instead, he spun to the side as if he were dancing. Momentum carried Ariz a step past him. Kiram planted his shoulder in Ariz’s back, shoving forward as hard as he could. Ariz skidded forward then spun back. But it was too late. He had crossed through the salt ring.

  The judge swung his blue banner up over Kiram. Screams and cheers erupted from the Sagrada Academy stands, but he could barely hear. His own pulse hammered through his ears. His left arm hung like a limp rag and muscle cramps bit into his legs. Slowly, Kiram sank to his knees on the ground. He felt numb, utterly thoughtless. Then he was lying on his back staring up at the blue sky above the pavilion. Three back silhouettes passed over him. Crows, he thought.

  A few moments later two of the judges dragged him from the arena back to the Sagrada Academy stands.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You’re going to have a great scar,” Nestor proclaimed. From deep inside a haze of duera, Kiram gave him a slow, distracted nod. He had never had cause to drink the painkiller before; how completely it altered his perception surprised him.

  Rambling corridors of vending wagons and open tents spread out in every direction around Kiram. Many of the tents served as small theatres. Several brightly-costumed musicians accompanied masked actors, and others played for acrobats as they flipped and twisted. Now and then the odd dancing bear or trained monkey was brought on stage. Once Kiram glimpsed a scantily clad woman holding a large snake around her waist. Then a man in a velvet coat pulled the tent flaps closed.