City of Wind (Steel and Fire Book 4)

by Jordan Rivet

  “Do you think I could come with you to watch a pen match? If Wyla says it’s okay, of course.”

  Siln shrugged, focusing on his tea preparations. “I don’t see why not. I’m going to a Dance this Turnday. A league match. There are some strong teams this year.”

  “Is it common for Waterworkers to take an interest in pen fighters?” Dara asked.

  “You are wondering about your friend The Slugger and Khrillin the Waterlord?”

  Siln handed Dara a heavy earthenware mug. She wrapped her hands around it, savoring the warmth and considering how to respond. Siv believed this Khrillin would pay for the fighting men he needed to retake his castle. They’d mostly communicated through Rid lately, but she could tell he’d already pinned his hopes on the prospect.

  “That’s right,” she said at last. “What can you tell me about him?”

  “He has always been full of surprises,” Siln said. “That is one of the reasons I’m going to this match.”

  “To spy on Khrillin?”

  “To get a sense of his plans,” Siln said. “Wyla believes he may be using your friend to get to you.”

  Dara blinked. “Me?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Siln sipped his tea, his lean muscles flexing. “You walked right into Khrillin’s house.”

  “But he didn’t know who I was or that I’m connected to Wyla.” Dara didn’t add that Khrillin had more than enough reason to be interested in Siv alone. Rumy nuzzled her hand, and she hugged him a little tighter.

  “Khrillin is crafty,” Siln said. “He may be playing a long game. He could court your friend for a year before he ever asks him about you.”

  “We won’t be here in a year,” Dara said.

  Siln smiled. “If you say so. It’s not easy to walk away from Wyla—and what she can teach you. In any case, I’m curious what Khrillin will do if you appear right under his nose at your friend’s match. I’ll speak to Wyla about giving you a Turnday off. Perhaps I can spot something that was hidden to you at the party.”

  “Mmm.”

  Dara and Siln sipped their tea for a few minutes. She wasn’t sure if she’d call the silence companionable. She mulled over Siln’s story. He must have a highly compelling reason to stay in Wyla’s service if he was as powerful in his own right as he claimed. Dara wondered what Wyla had over him.

  Siln was the first to break the silence. “Kres March’s team has been causing a stir this season. Your friend is quite popular—and nice to look at, I hear. He was also a duelist in Vertigon, correct?”

  “Yes, he was.” Dara kept her eyes on her tea. Siln would have to try harder than that if he wanted information about Siv. Wyla still hadn’t pressed her for details about him, but Khrillin wasn’t the only one capable of playing the long game. She considered Siln’s words: It’s not easy to walk away from Wyla—and what she can teach you. She didn’t like the implication.

  In truth, Dara wasn’t in a hurry to leave. The more she learned about the Watermight, the more she felt she should be able to use the two powers together. Her father wouldn’t be daunted by the kind of basic tricks she knew so far. She needed to be able to use both if she had any hope of defeating him. And there was still the problem of actually getting the Watermight to Vertigon.

  Wyla’s power was intriguing, thrilling even, but unless she could figure out a way to transport it over long distances, it wouldn’t help against her father’s Fire. She had seen him in combat, and if Zage Lorrid hadn’t been able to defeat him, she wasn’t sure how she could either. She still had so much to learn. For now, Wyla was the only one who could teach her, even though her help came with strings and barbs.

  She would worry about that later. Right now, she wanted to finish her tea, curl up under some blankets, and sleep for a month.

  19.

  The Steel Pentagon

  DARA met Siln in the manor house entryway on Turnday. She wore trousers and a black blouse instead of Wyla’s poison-green colors today. She had buckled her Savven blade around her waist and tucked a few Firebulbs into her belt pouch. After some consideration, she filled a wineskin with Watermight from Wyla’s supply and hung it from the other side of her belt. Watermight didn’t travel well, but it ought to last through the day. She hoped she wouldn’t need it. They were supposed to be observing Khrillin, nothing more. And enjoying the fighting, of course.

  Siln proved to be a pleasant companion as they walked to the Steel Pentagon. It took almost an hour to get to the venue, which was located near the Royal District. Along the way, Siln regaled her with tales of his Watermight battles. Dara listened carefully, hoping to pick up something she could use. Siln had probably cleared it with Wyla before bringing up the topic. He was utterly loyal, as far as Dara could tell, and he wouldn’t teach her anything without Wyla’s permission.

  After spending so much time Working in Wyla’s basement, Dara was surprised to find that spring was in full bloom in the city. The creeping vines and ground moss that were brown and withered when they’d arrived had turned brilliant green. Water lilies bloomed on the slow-moving estuaries, and tiny frogs hopped from leaf to leaf. It had rained recently, and the damp ground felt ripe, ready to break open at a touch. Even the salt wind off the sea smelled fresher than it had when they first arrived. Many people had abandoned shoes and stockings in favor of leather sandals. The feral children that always seemed to pop up in crowded areas ran barefoot through the mud and chased furtive creatures through the shallows.

  Dara felt as if she could finally thaw out after her weeks in the dungeon-like Watermight chamber. Actually, months. Dara stopped short at the thought. She had been in Pendark for nearly two months. She didn’t have too much longer until Wyla removed the bond on her arm. And Wyla still hadn’t told Dara what she owed her for helping save Siv’s life during the fight in the Smokery District.

  “What is it?” Siln asked.

  “Huh? Oh, nothing.” Dara caught up to him, and they continued through the city. “I thought I saw a salt adder.”

  “If you spot it again, let me know,” Siln said. “They’re delicious.”

  “Aren’t they deadly?”

  “Only to touch. Their skin secretes a poisonous slime. But Watermight has its uses. I can catch and filet a salt adder in three seconds flat. My friends and I used to race when we were first learning the Might.”

  Siln picked up the pace as they approached the crowd surrounding the extra-large Steel Pentagon. Stands as high as two-story buildings rose around the arena. The rocky foundations supporting the stands sank slightly under the weight of all the spectators. The crowds gathering outside were rougher and rowdier than typical dueling spectators. Vertigonians could be rabid fans, but they didn’t start fistfights in the audience or shout vicious profanities at each other.

  Dara and Siln pushed their way through the tumult and climbed the stands on the western side of the pen. They had a good view of the Royal District from here, including the King’s Tower, a single column spiking into the sky with a balcony encircling the top like a crown. So that was where Vex Rollendar had taken refuge—at least according to Vine’s most recent intelligence.

  Vine herself had decided not to attend the Dance. She’d located an Air Sensors manor in Pendark, a somewhat forlorn operation compared to the one they’d visited in Rallion City. She planned to spend the day meditating in hopes that she might communicate with her friends in Trure. It took a long time to accomplish anything with the trace amounts of Air in Pendark, but they needed to know what was happening in the rest of the world.

  Dara and Siln found seats a few rows from the barrier. The arena’s obstacles were more elaborate than Dara had expected. Siv had described barrels, logs, and assorted broken-down conveyances. This Steel Pentagon featured a wood-frame castle, complete with a moat dug deep around it. The castle was built in three tiers and was taller than a house. The wooden frame had no walls, leaving the interior exposed. The spectators would have a full view of the action within the skeletal structu
re.

  As Dara examined the island and moat in the center of the pentagon, an unsettling sensation wormed through her stomach. She quickly scanned the crowds for any sign of Vex Rollendar. She wouldn’t be surprised to find he enjoyed the blood sport. But Vex was nowhere to be found amongst the spectators, many of whom were getting steadily drunk as they waited for the fights to begin.

  Dara rolled her shoulders uneasily, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. The wood-frame castle kept drawing her attention.

  “It’s new,” Siln said when she asked about the structure. “The league will do anything to keep their ticket sales up.”

  “You don’t approve?” Dara asked.

  Siln examined his well-cut fingernails. “I like the Dances now and again, but they lack a certain elegance.”

  Dara quickly saw what he meant when the first fighters were called into the ring. The two heavyset men wielded battle-axes in a brief contest of intense, gory action. Both took wounds, and they christened the new wooden castle with their blood.

  Siln sighed in disapproval. “They always start with brawlers.”

  Despite his words, Dara noticed the way Siln leaned forward to follow the trail of blood as the two competitors limped out of the arena. He may enjoy the elegance of Vertigonian dueling, but he liked the brutality of the Pendarkan sport more than he let on.

  “Aren’t there supposed to be ten fighters?” Dara asked.

  “They always hold a few solo rounds before the melees,” Siln said. “The audience needs time to get drunk and place their bets for the Dances.”

  A rapier bout came next. The fighting style reminded Dara of Berg Doban’s training as he prepared the New Guard to defend the king with real steel. She missed her coach’s steady presence. He berated his students all the time, but she had been close to him for many years. Compared to Wyla, he was positively cuddly.

  The duelists made better use of the castle obstacle than the battle-axe fighters had. They crossed the deep trench that passed for a moat on a plank bridge and darted around the wooden frame to avoid each other. It did make the fight more dynamic. The fighters knew better than to actually climb into the castle, though. It would be difficult to wield a sword within the constricted space.

  One of the swordsmen was lighter on his feet than the other, and he leapt back and forth across the moat, taunting his opponent. The crowds jeered and laughed as he danced out of the other man’s reach. At last, the larger man took up a position on the island and bellowed a challenge at the smaller fighter.

  The spry swordsman leapt off the island again and strutted around the edge of the pentagon. He raised his arms to the audience, calling on them for more cheers, more applause. The stands shuddered as the audience obliged, drumming their feet on the rickety wood and filling the spring air with their voices. The other fighter remained on the island, glowering at his showy opponent.

  After whipping the crowd into a frenzy, the smaller swordsman gave a dramatic bow and darted back to the center of the arena. He jumped back across the moat to resume the fight on the island.

  The cheers turned to gasps in an instant.

  While the spry little fellow had been strutting for the crowd, the other swordsman had stayed alert. He advanced as his opponent jumped across the moat, timing the movement carefully. His blade came up at precisely the right moment, and he skewered the jumping man through the heart.

  The spry swordsman froze, teetering on the edge of the trench with steel protruding from his back. Then his opponent put a boot in his belly and shoved. The smaller man fell backward into the ditch. The body disappeared from view completely, the moat deeper than it first seemed.

  Siln tutted beside her. “See what I mean? No elegance.”

  All around them, people rose to their feet, hollering, banging on their thighs, stamping. Dara remained seated, gaze fixed on the thin line of blood tinting the victorious fighter’s rapier. She had been in a deadly battle before. She would never shake the memory of the fight beneath the blue house on stilts where Siv had been attacked. She had killed that day. It had been necessary, and she hadn’t hesitated. But this? Why couldn’t these fighters use blunted weapons as they did in Vertigon? They could still use obstacles and fight in the round to keep it interesting. Why did it have to be this way?

  But as the crowds roared, she understood that they weren’t here for a sportsmanly contest of skills. They were here for the blood.

  Two women fought the next bout. One was the saber-wielding Gull Mornington. She was skilled and efficient, and she made quick work of her opponent, finishing the fight with her blade at the other woman’s throat without even going near the central obstacle. The crowds cheered for her, but their response to Gull’s fight wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as it had been to the previous deadly bout.

  “She has talent,” Siln said, watching Gull salute all five sides of the pentagon and stride out of sight. “But she should have dragged it out for longer.”

  Dara didn’t answer. She had just spotted Siv waiting at the edge of the arena. He was up next.

  The announcer finished singing Gull’s praises and called the assembly to order.

  “Friends!” he shouted, voice carrying over the din. “Our next fight features a newcomer to Pendark who has already stolen the hearts of many. He slices with zeal, but it’s when he slugs it out in the mud that he really shines. I give you Siv ‘the Slugger’ Amen!”

  The crowds rose to their feet, cheering wildly. Women tossed handkerchiefs and wildflowers toward the arena. Dara looked around in surprise. She hadn’t realized how popular Siv had become over the past weeks. He may have actually been modest when he’d described his successes. How unlike him.

  As Siv strutted into the pen, Dara was reminded of the arrogant young prince she had first met last summer. His coat hung open, and he moved with an easy grace suggesting he wasn’t remotely worried about the deadly contest. Dara couldn’t help smiling. He’d had to become so serious after his father’s murder. But there once more was the lad who’d shrugged off warnings about the plots against him and spent his time drinking, dueling, and sneaking out to watch her matches. He had grown up a lot lately, but he was still the same Siv.

  He punched the air a few times before removing his coat and striking a casually elegant pose. With the rough shadow of his beard, his strong cheekbones, and the confident charm of his movements, Dara could see why he had become so popular. It made her stomach flutter to know that she was the one he wanted to be with, the one who actually got to kiss him.

  The crowds were still cheering so loudly, the announcer had trouble being heard as he introduced Siv’s opponent.

  “Sounds like your friend has a few fans,” Siln said.

  “Is this normal?” Dara asked.

  “Pentagon spectators love anything new and shiny. They will calm down soon enough. He’ll lose a few matches, and they’ll see he’s a man same as any other. Eventually, another up-and-comer will take their fancy.”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t lose,” Dara said.

  “Everyone does eventually,” Siln said. “Knife fighters tend to outlast most pen combatants, though, so long as they keep their heads in the Dance.”

  “Do knife fighters often face broadswords and battle-axes directly in the melees?”

  “Depends on the strategy,” Siln said. “The heavier weapons are unwieldy. A nimble knifeman can hold his own with proper planning.”

  Dara didn’t like the idea of Siv facing off against larger weapons with nothing but a knife. It struck her as more risky than it was worth. He had claimed (through messages dutifully carried by Rid) that he wanted to keep earning money in case Khrillin proved untrustworthy, but Dara wondered if he liked the attention a bit too much. He was certainly getting plenty of it. He strutted around the arena, waving to the crowds, as his opponent made his entrance.

  “No need to look so worried,” Siln said, nudging her with his elbow. She realized she had squeezed her hands into
tight fists. She tried to relax. “Kres the Master is a well-known strategist. He doesn’t lose members of his team very often.”

  “What else do you know about Kres?” Dara asked. She wanted to keep talking to take her mind off the coming fight. She couldn’t think of anything worse than watching Siv fall in the arena after all they had been through. She flexed her fingers to get the blood flowing to them again.

  “He’s a strategist outside the pen as well as in,” Siln said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Kres has powerful friends,” Siln said. “He’s discreet, but he has ties to some important people.”

  “Important people? Like Waterworkers?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Khrillin?”

  “I’ve seen hints,” Siln said. “But I don’t know for sure.”

  Siv hadn’t mentioned a connection between Khrillin and Kres March, but it had been a long time since she’d spoken with him directly. Sending messages back and forth with Rid just wasn’t the same.

  Dara and Siln fell silent as Siv and his opponent, who was called the Terrerack Terror, assumed their guard stances below. It felt so strange to be the one sitting in the stands while he competed. She didn’t like it. She dug her fingernails into her palms. Siv had better not get himself killed.

  “All ready?” The announcer’s voice rose above the crowd. Dara’s stomach plummeted like a stone falling from a bridge. The Terrerack Terror crouched low, knife glinting in his large fist. He was a beefy man, and he looked like a bit of a slugger himself. The announcer stepped out of the way. “Let us dance!”

  The Terror rushed at Siv, still in a crouch. Siv slipped aside, allowing the Terror to barrel past him. The man spun and charged again. Siv stepped out of his reach. Again.