Nightborn

by Anders, Lou

  “It’s so hot in here,” he said. “Someone, open a window at once!”

  “But, Your Eminence,” replied a servant. “You just ordered the windows closed.”

  The imperator batted the servant away.

  “Well, open the windows again,” he shouted, then he glared at Karn. “I suppose we had better just kill you all. Starting with the human boy.”

  Four men strode forward from a curtained antechamber. Karn stiffened at the sight of them. They were blond-haired, blue-eyed, and big-shouldered men, dressed in fashion he recognized.

  “You’re—you’re Norrønir?” Karn said.

  “What of it?” asked the imperator. “The Norrønir make marvelous palace guardsmen. I’ve never encountered fiercer fighters. They call themselves ‘the Sworn,’ which I suppose means they’ll swear their loyalty to you…as long as you pay them enough.”

  “Sorry, son,” said a man Karn assumed was the leader of the Sworn. He drew his ax. “Nothing personal.”

  “Wait,” Karn said. “I don’t even have my weapon. There’s no honor in this. Cutting down an unarmed opponent.”

  “Honor doesn’t apply to foreigners,” the guardsman replied.

  “I’m Norrønur too,” Karn protested, wishing he hadn’t traded in his clothing for the ones in the bathhouse.

  “So you’ve got blond hair—” the man said, readying his ax.

  “I’m Karn Korlundsson,” said Karn, putting as much authority into his voice as he had used outside the gates of Castlebriar. “My father is a hauld. Korlundr hauld Kolason. Of Korlundr’s Farm.”

  “Korlundr’s Farm?” the man said. “I know that farm.” He stared at the boy. The hardness in his eyes shifted. Then he slid his ax into his belt. He stepped from Karn and his three men stepped away as well.

  “What are you waiting for?” said the imperator angrily. “Kill him.”

  “Kill him yourself,” the man replied. Karn couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the lack of fear in the man’s voice. “He is a Norrønur. And deserving of an honorable death.”

  “I pay you very well,” the imperator insisted. “You’ve always killed on my command before.”

  “What you Sacred Gordion So-and-Sos want to do to each other is one thing,” the man replied. “But no gold is worth my honor. The Sworn will raise no weapon against him.”

  The imperator fumed. His guardsmen had clearly never hesitated to carry out his orders before. But then this was the first time they’d ever encountered a fellow Norrønur.

  “Please, sir,” Karn said again. “We aren’t a part of your war. If you’ll just let us go, we’ll leave without any more trouble.”

  “But you wrecked my festival,” he said. “That was as much to entertain the people as it was to honor Mensis. To give them something to focus on other than these blasted cannons.”

  As if to underscore the point, another explosion sounded.

  “Close the windows. Why aren’t the windows closed?”

  Confused servants rushed to obey. Or at least to try to.

  “I can tell this guy is a really fair and balanced employer,” said Thianna. This got the imperator’s attention. He looked at her again, standing so tall above everyone else in the room.

  “Hmmm,” the ruler said. “Here is the situation. I’m sure the walls will hold. But there is growing unrest in my city. At times like these, a ruler needs to remember that it is important to prevent panic among the citizens. Keeping them entertained is the thing. The festival hasn’t worked. We need another diversion.”

  He surveyed the prisoners.

  “Your foreign squabbles aren’t our concern,” he said. “But we will allow you to resolve them nonetheless.”

  “What do you mean?” Desstra said.

  “You four will race in the Hippodrome,” said the imperator. “Tomorrow, you can work out your differences on the track. The winners can go free, and the losers, well, the losers can pay for raining on my parade with their lives.”

  “No way those are the horses.”

  They stood in the stables of the Hippodrome, their boots crunching on the sand floor. The sun had only just risen. The four prisoners had been roused from their cells early in preparation for the day’s event.

  First order of business was to pick their chariots. The guards had laughed when Karn asked about the steeds. Neither he nor Thianna had understood what was so amusing until now.

  “I admit,” continued the giantess, “I don’t have much experience with horses, but I’m pretty sure they don’t look anything like those things.”

  “Watch who you are calling a thing!” the thing that wasn’t a horse growled. “I could always do with a second breakfast.”

  The creature before them had a body like a lion, but its tail was thick and plated like an insect’s carapace. It curved up over its back and ended in a wicked barb like the stinger of a giant scorpion. The animal’s head was framed by a thick mane, out of which curved horns protruded, but the face amid all this hair was humanlike. Or almost. It was oversize, and the wide mouth showed multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth.

  “You talk?” said Karn. He had never seen anything like this beast in his entire life.

  “When there’s someone worth talking to,” replied another.

  “Mind your manners,” said a well-dressed man walking up to join them. “These young people are your charioteers for today.”

  “You have got to be kidding,” the creature replied.

  “I never kid about such things,” the man said. “They race by order of the imperator himself.”

  “Do they know how to drive? Have they even been on a chariot before?”

  “I haven’t,” admitted Karn. “Though I, um, played a board game recently that was similar.”

  “That’s just perfect,” the first creature said with an edge of sarcasm. “We call numskulls like you meals on wheels.”

  All the creatures guffawed.

  “Don’t mind him,” said the man. “This is as pleasant as they get, I’m afraid. But let me introduce myself. I am Lymos, and I am the master of the games here at the Hippodrome.”

  “What are they?” Karn asked, pointing to the creatures.

  “They are called manticores,” Lymos replied. “As to what they are: they are rude, deadly, and, regrettably, fond of bad jokes. But they are quite fast. Also, they frequently devour our charioteers.”

  “Devour?” asked Tanthal.

  “Yes,” said Lymos. “They eat them whole. The risk adds an interesting dimension to the race.”

  “I bet,” said Thianna.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said one of the manticores.

  “Our name means ‘man-eater,’ ” another explained.

  “But we’ll eat girls too! We don’t discriminate!”

  The manticores all laughed uproariously.

  “How does the race work?” asked Karn. Recalling Charioteers, his gamer’s mind was eager to understand the rules of the real thing.

  Lymos nodded his approval at the question.

  “You race in teams of two,” he said. “You and your companion—”

  “Thianna,” the giantess answered.

  “Thianna,” the master of the games continued, “will race in one chariot. While your two pale friends—”

  “We aren’t their friends,” Tanthal interjected. “Quite the opposite.”

  “Merely a figure of speech,” said Lymos.

  “Our names are Desstra and Tanthal. We’re dark elves from the Svartálfaheim Mountains in Norrøngard,” Desstra explained.

  “Wonderful,” said Lymos. “Foreigners make for such interesting contestants. And are you proficient at working as a team?”

  Desstra looked sidelong at Tanthal.

  “Yes,” she said. “Regrettably.”

  “Good, good. Desstra and Tanthal will race in another. One member of each team will drive. The other will fight. You will race with two other teams. One of them is the imperator’s favore
d team. They rarely lose. The fourth team will be backed by one of the city’s many political factions.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Karn.

  “Chariot teams are sponsored by various elements inside the city. You will find that racing in Gordasha can be very political.”

  Lymos led the four of them to where a row of chariots were parked. The chariots were simple, two-wheeled vehicles. There wasn’t much to them apart from a floor and a semicircular, waist-high guard. Well, waist-high for anybody but Thianna, Karn observed. Each was painted a different bright color—red, green, black, and gold.

  “What’s with the weapons on the wheels?” asked Thianna. Sure enough, each of the chariots had thin scythe blades extending outward from the wheels’ axis on both sides.

  “Ah, those.” Lymos smiled. “For shredding your enemy’s chariot. Or lacerating a manticore’s legs.”

  “Let me guess,” said Karn. “It adds another ‘interesting dimension’ to the games?”

  “Exactly!” said Lymos. “My, you’re picking this up quickly.”

  “It’s obvious enough,” said Tanthal. “Which one is mine?”

  “The imperator’s team rides in the gold chariot,” Lymos explained. “The other team has already spoken for the green. That leaves the black and red chariots for you to choose from.”

  “I prefer the black chariot,” said Tanthal.

  “No surprise there,” Karn said. “But what makes you get the first pick?”

  “Because I claimed it,” the dark elf replied.

  “Black, it is,” said Lymos. “Karn and Thianna will command the red one. Now you must select a manticore to pull.”

  Lymos walked the four of them over to where a pride of manticores waited. The creatures were lounging around. One was rolled onto his back, paws batting at dust mites in the air like a giant cat. They smiled evilly as their new drivers approached, exposing three rows of razor-sharp teeth.

  Tanthal walked up to one.

  “Are you fast?” he asked.

  “Fast enough to swallow you whole when you wipe out, skinny boy,” answered the manticore.

  “I have no intention of wiping out,” said Tanthal. “Unless that’s your way of admitting that you’re a poor racer.”

  “What?” roared the beast, gnashing his teeth in Tanthal’s face. “How dare you?”

  “He’s brave, I’ll give him that,” said Thianna.

  “That or an idiot,” said Karn.

  “So you are fast?” Tanthal asked.

  “I’m the fastest there is,” the manticore boasted. “I’ll show you fast.”

  “Good,” said the elf. “Then I’ll let you pull my chariot.” He turned to Lymos. “I’ll take this one.”

  “Psst, kid,” another manticore said to Karn. “Come here.”

  Karn wasn’t sure he wanted to approach a man-eater, but he summoned his courage and stepped forward.

  “That’s not how you pick ’em, you know,” the manticore said.

  “Really? He seemed pretty fierce,” said Karn.

  “Fierce has nothing to do with it,” said the creature.

  “So how do you tell if a manticore is fast?” Karn asked.

  All the manticores snickered.

  “You look for the lightest.”

  “You all look about the same size,” Karn said.

  “Not the smallest,” the animal said, rolling its humanlike eyes. “The lightest. The one who isn’t carrying a load in his stomach, if you take my meaning.”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  “We eat people,” said the manticore. “Or whole cows and boars when we can’t get fresh humans. Do you know how much a cow weighs? That’s a lot to carry around in the stomach. You need to look for the manticore that’s most recently lightened his load.”

  “Oh troll dung,” Thianna swore. “I know what he’s talking about.”

  “Well, you got half of it right.” The manticore laughed. “But it’s got nothing to do with trolls. Unless we ate one.”

  “You mean—?” began Karn.

  “Yup,” said the creature. “You should pick the one of us who pooped the biggest and the most recently. How are you going to run five times around the track if you’re clenching your haunches because you have to go? We usually poop about half an hour before the race.”

  “That’s disgusting,” said Tanthal, catching wind of their conversation.

  “Think so?” The manticore grinned. “Wait until you hear the catch.”

  “There’s a catch?” asked Desstra. Karn was surprised to hear her speak up. So far, she’d kept silent in his presence.

  “Oh yeah.” The manticore laughed again. “If we’re too hungry, we might just decide to stop the race and eat our drivers.”

  “So you have to figure,” volunteered another, “have we pooped enough to be fast, but not so much as to be starving?”

  “I’ve got no interest in evaluating manticore wastes,” sneered Tanthal.

  “Told you that one was a fool,” said another. “All the smartest bettors and bookies are down here every morning. Some of them even bring their own scales.”

  “Bettors and bookies?” said Thianna.

  “Oh yeah,” a manticore said. “Wagering on the races is big business. They usually ask us what we’ve eaten, how we feel, did we make a bowel movement yet. Was it big? How big was it?”

  “Yuck.” Desstra couldn’t help herself. All the manticores laughed.

  “Of course, every now and then, one of them gets too close and we eat a bookie!” said one. “Which messes up the odds.”

  “I caught a little gnome yesterday who was poking through my poop with a stick,” replied another.

  “Hardly a mouthful, gnomes,” said another.

  “I did not need to know that,” said Desstra. “Seriously.”

  “Seriously you do,” said a manticore. “You’ve got a lot more riding on today’s race than money. You four are all betting your lives.”

  “Okay, we get it,” said Karn. “So, who wants to tell me what they had for breakfast?”

  —

  “That is one big stadium,” said Thianna. “It makes Orm’s coliseum in Sardeth look tiny.”

  “Better not let him hear you say that,” said Karn.

  “Aw.” The giantess grinned. “He’s a pussycat.”

  Karn noticed Desstra looking aghast at how casually they discussed the mightiest of linnorms. Good. She should realize who she had betrayed.

  The Gordashan Hippodrome was a race course laid out in an elongated horseshoe shape. Lymos told them the stands could hold a hundred thousand spectators. The course was divided by a low wall called a spina. It was crowded with statues, columns, and obelisks. These were treasures pillaged from all over Katernia in the days of the Gordion Empire.

  The chariots were hitched and driven into four starting gates. Two hard-looking men made up the imperator’s gold team, but Karn and Thianna were surprised to see that the green team, dactyl dwarves, represented the cult of the Marble King.

  The charioteers busily adjusted their light armor and checked their weapons. Karn’s and Thianna’s own swords were returned to them, as was the dark elves’ gear. “To add another interesting dimension to the race,” Lymos had explained. Tanthal was admiring the scythes on his chariot’s wheels. He obviously approved of the deadly accoutrements.

  “Obviously, I’ll drive and you’ll fight,” Karn told Thianna.

  “Why is that obvious?” she replied, making Karn feel good. But she stepped up into the chariot and drew her arming sword, making some experimental thrusts and lunges from the car.

  “Be healthy,” said a voice beside Karn. He turned and saw one of the four Norrønir from the imperator’s personal guard, a scruffy man in rough clothing.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked the man.

  “My name is Ynarr Ulfrsson,” the man replied.

  “Do I know you?” The name didn’t mean anything to Karn.

  “I was at
the Battle of Dragon’s Dance,” Ynarr said, eyes downcast. “In the employ of your uncle.”

  Karn drew back, alarmed. When Uncle Ori had seized control of Korlundr’s Farm, he had hired four thugs to help him enforce discipline.

  “It was a stain on my honor,” Ynarr continued, holding up a placating hand. “I should not have hired myself to such a man. I was hungry and he had coin. I did not realize the things he would ask of me. Then I was knocked unconscious and left for dead. When I awoke, I fled south.”

  Karn sized the man up. A thug and a coward too, running from Norrønir justice.

  “So why are you here?” he asked.

  “I thought to leave my shame behind in Norrøngard, but I come all the way to the other edge of the continent, and I see you again.”

  The man handed Karn his own shield. It was wooden, round, about thirty-two inches in diameter, and rimmed with leather, and had an iron boss in the center to protect the hand grip. The wood had been painted green.

  “Please take this,” Ynarr said. “Let it defend you as you race.”

  Karn was suspicious of gifts from former enemies.

  “Why would you give this to me?”

  “I know now I fought for the wrong side,” Ynarr replied. “Perhaps the gods will see me helping you, and they will help me to regain my honor.”

  Karn took the shield. It was heavy, but he had missed carrying one since losing the scutum.

  “It’s not magical,” Ynarr said, glancing at Karn’s sword Whitestorm.

  “That’s okay,” said Karn. “It’s a strong Norrønir shield. That’s good enough.”

  Ynarr seemed pleased with the compliment.

  “Live through this challenge, Karn Korlundsson,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Karn. “If you survive the siege, I hope you live to find your honor.”

  —

  The manticores were snapping at each other as they lined up at the start. A few brave bettors and bookies made final assessments of their “recent business” too. One got too close and almost got bitten by the manticore from the gold team.

  Karn and Thianna surveyed row upon row of seats filled to capacity.

  “I’m not sure there are this many people in the whole of Norrøngard,” Karn said.