by C. Greenwood
We boarded another of the vertically moving platforms I had ridden earlier. It elevated us to a higher level, and we disembarked into a vast cavern unlike any I had seen yet. The place buzzed with people. Their clothing was ragged and worn, their faces dirty. And they too lacked dragon-like wings, seemingly signaling their lowly status.
Kinhira seemed in a hurry to reach our destination, and he led the way so quickly I formed only hasty impressions of the people we passed. But I noted there didn’t seem to be any children or old people among them. These were fit, muscular men and women, all of them busily employed in various types of heavy labor. The air was heavy with the reek of so many sweaty bodies, and the noise of their hammers and rock-hewers and other tools echoed from wall to ceiling.
I was taken past all this commotion to where a pair of men worked at a forge. With long tongs, they pulled chunks of hot metal from the fire and pounded them with hammers, fashioning them into various shapes. These smiths treated Kinhira respectfully, maybe out of deference for his master, and put aside their work to give us their immediate attention. Although I could not understand their conversation with Kinhira, it didn’t take me long to realize the nature of our business.
One of the smiths motioned for me to place my foot atop a block, and when I complied, his partner quickly fastened a metal band around my ankle, hammering pins into the shackle to hold it tight and secure. This was no ordinary constraint. It was constructed of an unfamiliar material, black and glossy and lightweight. Although very thin, it was surprisingly sturdy and unbendable. The instant the metal was brought close enough to be clamped around my ankle, I felt a strange, muffled sensation. It took me a second to realize what it was. And then I knew.
I was cut off from my magic again. Once more, the wall was in place.
* * *
My confusion must have shown on my face because Kinhira explained. The shackle I wore was made of a material common in the mines called nathamite. A peculiarity of the largely worthless material was that nathamite had a strange effect on magickers, blocking their ability to access their powers while in its close proximity. My jailers must have remembered this little-known fact after my escape from my first cell and so moved me to the mines, where the nathamite deposits in the rock would block my abilities.
Kinhira seemed to have plenty of faith in the nathamite. No sooner was it secured around my ankle, than he dismissed the guards accompanying us. They seemed reluctant to go, eyeing me as if, even unarmed and magickless, I might be a threat. But in the end, they went. After their departure, Kinhira took me away from the smiths and from the noise and bustle of all the workers. We traveled to a neighboring cavern, where the din of the distant laborers became only a vague echo in the distance.
Here there were small homes huddled closely together, often sharing walls or even stacked atop one another. Constructed plainly of blocks of crushed rock and tar, they blended into the black stone around them and looked very gloomy. Kinhira’s home was little different than the others except that it was larger and had multiple rooms, possibly a sign that his position in his master’s service was less humble than the station of his neighbors.
There were few people around except for a handful of ragged children playing in front of the houses. These Drejian younglings stared at me with curious eyes as Kinhira led me up the steps into his house.
We were greeted by a slim female of perhaps thirty years of age, whom Kinhira introduced as his daughter Tadra. Tadra was apparently the only family member who shared this home, and she kept the house for her father. She spoke my tongue, although not as well as Kinhira did. All the while she showed me around the sparsely furnished home, including the kitchen where I would sleep, her expression was anxious. I suspected she would have preferred not to have this foreign, potentially dangerous stranger staying under her roof.
* * *
During the next few days that followed, I got to know both Kinhira and his daughter better and found them decent enough folk, for Drejians. Tadra must have sensed how it grated on me that, as a condition of this more lenient confinement, I was never permitted to set foot outside the home. Setting aside whatever doubts she might have, she did her best to occupy me with household tasks, taught me simple words of the Drejian language, and tried to make me feel at ease.
Relaxing was something I could not do, not while my future was uncertain and while I continued to be haunted by nightmares about a suffering Terrac. But I made no more ill-considered escape attempts. It wasn’t only the magic-blocking nathamite band around my ankle that held me here. I now realized how foolish I had been to think I could run away. My slaying of the queen’s dragon had given her more motive than ever to hate Swiftsfell. If I escaped now, I would provide her with yet another reason to punish the magicker village.
During the long nights when I slept on a cushion before the kitchen fire, I was haunted by indistinct visions of Terrac, feverish and slipping in and out of consciousness beneath the burning desert sun. I dreamed also of Myria, and in my dreams my grandmother was alive again. She admonished me to think not of my safety or my fears for Terrac but of the Swiftsfell inhabitants whose lives might depend on my actions here.
No, running away was no longer an option. I must bide my time and plot ways to get near the queen again. I did not have long to wait for my opportunity.
One afternoon, I was watching Tadra in the kitchen as she prepared the corn cakes that were a common part of the Drejian diet. She was just pulling the cakes from the fire when her father came home unexpectedly early. During my short time in their home, I had learned that Kinhira invariably departed early in the morning to attend his master at some place called the hall. Usually he did not return until dinner.
But today he was home early and seemed agitated. He would not say why but made us contain our curiosity until after the noon meal. Only then did he invite me to join him before the fire in a game of spar. Spar was a Drejian amusement, played on a multicolored wooden board with moveable carved figures shaped like dragons and chimeras. There did not seem to be much strategy to the game, but the rules were confusing and changeable.
Kinhira’s mind was not on the match, and I realized it when he allowed me to beat him at the first round.
“Something consumes your thoughts,” I said, watching him reset the board.
He frowned. “My master is hosting an event at the hall this evening. The queen and her nobles will attend, and there will be feasting and festivities in her honor.”
“And this troubles you?”
“It troubles me because it is no ordinary feast.” He glanced up from the board, his gaze unexpectedly sharp. “It is commonly known that there is little friendship and even smaller trust between Prince Radistha and his stepsister, the queen. Now he professes a wish to mend the relationship.”
“But this reaching out to the queen is only a ploy,” I guessed.
Kinhira rubbed his chin, reminding me briefly of Hadrian, who employed the same gesture when deep in thought. “Can I trust your discretion in this matter?” he asked.
“Who would I talk to?” I returned. “I see no one except you and Tadra and go nowhere.”
“Very well. The fact is there was a time when many people felt my master had a greater claim to the throne than his stepsister, Queen Viranathi. He has long been a thorn in her side, but she dares not rid herself of him because he holds the favor of many. Likewise, he dares not rebel against her until he is certain he has the support to guarantee an easy victory. His position has long been a precarious one. But I believe he saw the light of hope on the day you killed the dragon Micanthria and walked into that audience chamber to challenge the queen.”
“I have never understood why he took an interest in my fate and arranged my removal from prison into your custody,” I said.
“My master has been working quietly to keep you alive and in the memory of the nobles, when the queen would prefer you dead or rotting in her dungeons.”
“But why?”
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br /> Kinhira contemplated the spar board on the table between us. “You offer Prince Radistha an opportunity to subtly rid himself of his rival. And in a just manner none could protest, not even if they see his hand behind her downfall.”
I began to understand. “So I am a means to an end?”
“An end that could benefit you as much as my master,” Kinhira pointed out quickly. “For while he might gain the queen’s rule, you would attain your goal. I have been instructed to promise you life, freedom, and safety for your Swiftsfell friends. Radistha will consider their tribute paid and hostilities between our peoples resolved. You have only to play your part in his scheme.”
I leaned forward. “If I do this thing, it will be for my own reasons, not for your master’s.”
Kinhira shrugged. “Your motives matter nothing to Prince Radistha. Only your results.”
“And how can Radistha help me achieve those?”
“By providing you access to the queen. This is why he hosts the feast tonight, why Queen Viranathi is a guest, and why you will be among the servants waiting at her table.”
“What? Can it really be that simple?” I asked.
“You are a curiosity whose presence will amuse the guests. A wingless, pale-skinned foreigner, a slayer of dragons, and a brave challenger of queens. Prince Radistha needs no better excuse to have you there.”
I considered what he was suggesting. I had wanted an opportunity to get close to the Drejian queen, and this Prince Radistha, questionable ally though he may be, had the power to supply it.
“Tell your master,” I said, “that we have a deal.”
Chapter Eleven
The hall where Prince Radistha’s feast was held that night was of a similar size to the queen’s throne room, but its furnishings were less austere. Or maybe it was only the noisy crowd of revelers and the merry atmosphere that made this occasion seem so different from that other. The chamber was filled with tables and seats placed so close together that the celebrants were crowded elbow to elbow, and the busy servers had to navigate the room with care. I was one of those silver-tunicked servers, wearing borrowed Drejian-style clothing from Tadra and bustling among the crowds, refilling plates and cleaning spills and keeping tankards full.
I felt conspicuously foreign and out of place with my shorter stature and pale skin and hair, so different from the company around me. I refused to assume the deferential manner of the Drejian servants, and my surly countenance attracted still more attention. Kinhira had been right when he said I would be a curiosity to these folk. As I dodged between tables, bearing trays of food and pitchers of skeil, I heard the murmurs behind me, felt the stares on my back. I had picked up only a few words of their tongue from Tadra, but I knew enough to make out that the people I waited on were interested in me and speculating on the reason for my presence. My attendance here, even in the role of servant, danced dangerously close to offering offense against the queen I had so recently angered.
The queen. Since the start of the festivities, I had kept an eye on the big table at the head of the room where she was seated with Prince Radistha and a lot of other important persons. I tried not to lose my courage, but all the while I wondered, would my chance ever come? And if it did, was Radistha’s plan too bold?
I was about to find out. I had kept my distance up to now and had yet to draw Queen Viranathi’s notice. But there was Radistha catching my eye from across the room and casually lifting his tankard for a refill. I recognized this as my excuse to approach. Carrying a silver pitcher of skeil, I mounted the steps to the head table. The queen was at Radistha’s right hand, engaged in conversation with her companions, but she broke off speaking to them when her gaze fell on me.
“What is this?” she asked Radistha, her voice rising. “Why comes this wingless magicker into my sight?”
Radistha feigned surprise. “Apologies if I have erred, my queen. But I was short on servers and thought the presence of this strange-looking dragon slayer would amuse the guests.”
Queen Viranathi’s lips drew back in a scowl. “It is not enough she lives and walks free after insulting your queen and destroying the dragon Micanthria? Now you wish me to accept her presence at feasts?”
Radistha’s smile was ingratiating, as though he feared he had dared too much too quickly. “I had not realized my queen’s anger burned so hotly. But of course, if the sight of this foreign dog displeases Your Magnificence, she will be removed.”
My heart beat faster. My ally might be frightened into changing course at the first sign of conflict, but I would not. One way or another, I would resolve matters tonight. Ignoring Radistha’s flick of the wrist signaling me to withdraw, I slammed my pitcher down on the table and placed myself squarely in front of the queen.
Making my voice loud enough for the whole table to hear, I addressed my enemy boldly. “I cannot help but wonder why my presence so disturbs Your Magnificence. Can it be because she does not care to remember that my challenge still awaits a royal answer?”
The queen’s face twisted with distaste. She spoke not to me but to Radistha. “Are you behind the words of this puppet, Radistha? You persuade me to spare her life so that you may use her against me?”
Radistha’s expression was wounded. “You do me a great injury, Your Magnificence. What interest have I in this matter but to see justice done? If this wingless creature has wronged you, I am as eager as any here to see her destroyed in a judicial duel, as the law dictates.”
His tone was conciliatory, but I knew it was no accident he had left me an opening. I pounced on it.
“You see?” I said to the queen. “Your people have faith that you will meet the demands of custom and honor by accepting my challenge. But I? I have no such faith.” For the benefit of the onlookers, I switched to the Drejian speech Tadra and I had practiced. “My opinion is that you fear to meet me in combat for you know I would destroy you as easily as I did your pathetic dragon.”
A hush descended on the room, as every eye in the place fixed on our encounter.
Face contorting with rage, the queen leapt to her feet and stabbed a bony finger at me. “You do not deserve the benefit of our civilized laws, magicker! You are unworthy to stand against me. But if my people wish to see a trial by battle, they shall have it. I have no fear of a wingless stranger, and I welcome the chance to kill you with my own hands.”
She glared at the gathered nobles and spat at Radistha, “Fix this trial for dawn. Then we shall see whose side the gods are on!”
* * *
Immediately after my encounter with the queen, I was escorted away from the feast by a pair of winged guards. I fully expected them to be under instructions to toss me into another miserable prison cell. Instead I was only conducted back to Kinhira’s home, where it seemed I would be permitted to spend my last night before the judicial combat.
Nonetheless, the guards stationed themselves outside the home. Clearly no chances were to be taken that I might suddenly decide to toss everything aside and run for my life. I halfheartedly wondered if I stood any chances of besting the guards if I took them by surprise, but didn’t seriously entertain the idea. I had as much reason to stay as before. Every soul back in Swiftsfell was depending on me. They just didn’t know it.
Kinhira didn’t return with me, and it was hours before he finally stepped through the door. Finding his daughter and me on the cushions before the fire where I had just been relating to Tadra the events of the night, he dropped a canvas sack at my feet.
“What is this? I asked. “Where have you been all this time?”
He explained that Radistha had needed him to make many arrangements for tomorrow’s trial. He had also given instructions for my preparation.
“I don’t understand. What have I to prepare for?” I asked, opening the mouth of the sack and peering inside. In the bottom rested a black metal band, remarkably similar to the one already clasped around my ankle.
“Use that item well,” said Kinhira, “and it will
be the key to your victory.”
“How so?”
“Queen Viranathi has placed certain rules on tomorrow’s trial, one of them being that the ‘wingless magicker’ may not use any of her unnatural powers to achieve victory. If you do so, any win will be invalidated. To ensure that you respect the rule, you will be required to fight with your nathamite band in place.”
My heart sank as I felt any hope I’d had of victory slip away. “And because one nathamite shackle does not hamper me enough, she sends a second one?”
He shook his head. “This gift comes from Radistha, not the queen. Take a closer look.”
Obediently I upended the sack, letting its contents clatter on the floor. In the flickering firelight, I now noticed subtle differences between the new band and the one I currently wore. This one was thicker, heavier. And when I scratched it, my fingernail left behind a small streak of silver where the black coloring flaked away.
Kinhira said, “I’ve sent for someone to bring the necessary tools and remove the nathamite band to replace it with this false twin. I’ve also bribed the guards outside to let him pass. They have no love for Queen Viranathi, and their orders are to keep you indoors, not to bar the entrance of others. With any luck, our deception will go unnoticed tomorrow, and your only challenge during the trial will be to survive long enough to defeat the queen by means of some subtle magic. Remember that whatever tricks you use must be invisible to the spectators or you will forfeit your victory and do your Swiftsfell friends no good.”
I poked at the false shackle. “Radistha’s plan is a solid one, but I cannot go through with it.”
I was as surprised by my decision as Kinhira and Tadra were, but I knew the moment I said the words that they were right and I would stand by them. What I did not know was how to make the others see my reasoning. It wasn’t as if I had ever cared in the past whether I won a fight fairly, as long as I got the outcome I needed. But this time was different. Radistha had agreed on my behalf that I would not violate the accepted regulations, and I was bound by his word. I hated it but saw no choice.