Roguemoore’s gray eyes met hers. “Hawkwood and I both agree. Val-Draekin was not the only one who followed us into the Filthy Horse Saloon. There are others, many in fact, who are watching us from every angle.”
With those parting words, Roguemoore turned and strode away along the battlements of Amadon Castle. Jondralyn looked toward Seita and Val-Draekin in the courtyard below, confused, uneasy, and afraid.
But something the dwarf said earlier had given her an idea.
Jovan senses you are smarter than them all, Jon. He fears you.
* * *
But worst of all creatures found in the Five Isles are the merfolk—beautiful and shocking to behold, dangerous beyond measure. They will rape you and they will eat you. For they are the most vile of all living things.
—THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON
* * *
CHAPTER TWELVE
TALA BRONACHELL
18TH DAY OF THE SHROUDED MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
AMADON, GUL KANA
Glade Chaparral’s eyes were dark and bold. Whenever he removed his helm, his golden-brown hair was a careless, but glorious, tangle. His armor glistened in the sun like shards of lightning that pierced Tala’s heart. And when he looked her way, she felt an invisible cloud of warm air, luxurious and heavenly. Yet today in Greengrass Courtyard, Glade only had eyes for the Vallè princess.
Glade and Lindholf gave Seita and Val-Draekin their full attention as the two demonstrated how to block and parry with wooden swords. To most in Gul Kana, the very notion that a woman would want to sword fight was heresy. But Tala secretly desired that someone would teach her such things, as Hawkwood taught Jondralyn. She wished to be acknowledged in just the way Glade acknowledged Seita. She longed to be treated with fondness or even respect. It was because the Vallè girl could fight as well as a man that she was treated so. But Tala lacked patience. That is, she lacked the patience to wait contentedly, or patience to practice her knitting, or memorize her Ember Gathering prayers, or patience to learn the craft of sword fighting—everyone knew Jondralyn practiced with Hawkwood against Jovan’s wishes. But Tala had nobody to champion her cause, to defend her honor. She’d like Glade to take that role. She felt her impatience with everything was always there, simmering beneath her graceful poise and polite veneer. Ah, yes, poise and grace . . . the quality and high breeding of a princess.
Tala had never before seen a couple of boys eye a woman as attentively as Glade and Lindholf eyed Seita. Vallè women had a way of turning men into slobbering, blathering fools, mostly because it was well known that a human male could have as much sex with a Vallè female as he wanted and never get her pregnant. And what human woman in her right mind wanted to contend with that?
As Seita leaned into Glade and helped him with the grip on his wooden sword, Tala imagined bitterly that the two were not talking of weapons but pledging eternal affection or sharing little lovers’ jokes. It made her stomach churn to see Glade so near such an exquisite beauty. It further sickened her that she felt such jealousy over a boy who until just recently had paid her scant romantic attention. They had been friends since childhood. But things were slowly changing between them since Jovan had hinted of their betrothal. There was a strained awkwardness now.
Tala stood with Lawri near the inner wall. Atop the battlements were a dozen Silver Guards, keeping watch over the courtyard and the safety of the king’s sister and cousins. Normally Tala would be thrilled to be spending time with Glade and her twin cousins, but today was different. It had been almost an entire week and still she’d done nothing about the assassin’s note, Retrieve the red helm of the dead demon and read what is inscribed therein. She refused to believe the Bloodwood’s intent to poison Lawri was real. After all, her cousin did not appear the slightest bit ill. She still radiated beauty.
“M’lady, Tala, would you care to join us?” Seita bowed toward her. “It would do me great honor. I wish to show you and Lawri something.”
As Tala made her way toward Seita, she crinkled her nose. The smell of Glade and Lindholf in their battle gear was that of damp leather and old, mildewed stockings.
“You seem troubled today, m’lady,” Seita said. The statement came out pleasant, yet in a way, there lurked a cold indifference in Seita’s congenial concern.
“It’s nothing,” Tala responded.
The Vallè princess wore formfitting leather breeches laced up the sides, a black belt, and a tan tunic. Her lithe legs fit perfectly in the pants. And her silvery hair was the color of fine-spun silk—sleek and clean and hanging a little loosely over the sides of her face and ears. She might be eighteen years old, Tala figured, or perhaps twenty. Over the years, all in Amadon had been charmed by Seita and her sister, Breita. However, Breita had not returned to court with Seita, which, Tala supposed, was a good thing—she had a hard enough time competing with just one Vallè princess.
Tala considered her own yellow dress and frilly shawl, wishing she’d worn something more befitting the courtyard. Every time Glade and her cousins visited Amadon, the visits would start as dress-wearing, formal affairs, with all the pageantry of royals of the opposite sex getting together. But after a few days, the formality would wear off. They would soon relax and begin conversing as real people, as real friends.
Seita pulled forth a thin dagger from her belt and held it hilt-first toward Tala. “I would teach you something Breita and I learned when we were your age.” She motioned for Tala to grab the dagger. She took it by the hilt. Seita continued, “Hold it firmly, threateningly. And look me in the eyes as if you truly mean to slay me.”
Tala did as instructed. Seita clapped and the blade went flying from Tala’s hand, landing in the grass at Lawri’s feet. Lawri picked it up. The back of Tala’s hand stung, as did her inner wrist. She rubbed the tender flesh. Seita took the dagger from Lawri and handed it back to Tala, saying, “Hold it out again. Grip it as tight as you can this time.”
Tala clenched the dagger’s hilt and glared at the Vallè. This close, she could see that Seita’s face was indeed narrow and sharp, with the flawless beauty of porcelain, and green frosty eyes, but gorgeously exquisite. Oh yes, if I could slay her now.
Seita clapped. The dagger spun from Tala’s hand. Skin blossomed red along the underside of her wrist. She looked at Seita, quickly realizing that the Vallè princess standing before her was not only a beautiful creature but a dangerous one as well. She found herself shrinking back from Seita’s quiet gaze. She was also worried that this princess was purposely making her look a fool in front of Glade.
“Part of the trick is speed.” Seita retrieved the dagger from the grass herself this time and handed it to Lindholf. “It’s a simple trick, really. Most who attack with a knife are not usually looking at their own hands, but into the eyes of the one they are attacking. So look me in the eyes and attack me with the blade, Lindholf.”
Tala’s cousin removed his helm with one hand and held the dagger out before him in the other. Lindholf’s hair was a matted, corncob-colored mess. His every attempt to look manly took on a certain magnitude of foolishness, and his misplaced attempt to grow facial hair did little to help his cause. A mere wisp of a goatee clung to his burn-scarred face.
Lindholf crouched, planting his boots in the turf and bracing his legs. He clenched the blade so tightly his face strained with the effort and his protruding brow furrowed, making his freckled forehead bulge unnaturally like a deformed potato.
He lunged. Seita clapped. “Holy Mother Mia!” Lindholf exclaimed as the dagger spun away. He waggled his hand as if injured. “May the Blessed Mother show mercy on me.” He made the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over his breast.
Seita picked up the dagger and handed it back to Tala. “I’ll show you where to strike and why it works.” Tala held the dagger out, and Seita touched the inner part of her wrist. “If you strike hard on the inside of the wrist here, just below the palm, at the same time striking the back of the hand . . .” Seita put pressu
re on both spots against Tala’s hand and pushed. Involuntarily, Tala’s fingers slowly folded open and the dagger slid free, dropping to the ground. “The hand has no choice but to release the blade.”
Tala picked up the dagger and held it out again with a bit more enthusiasm. Seita clapped, not as hard as before, but still the blade was forced from Tala’s grip. She looked at Seita with new admiration. The fact that someone, anyone, was taking the time to teach her something—especially of weaponry—meant a great deal.
“Your turn.” Seita held the dagger out tightly in her own hand. With a well-placed clap, Tala disarmed the Vallè princess.
“You’re good at it, Tala,” Lindholf added with a pleasant smile. “We should all thank her for teaching us her elfin tricks.”
“What did you say, boy?” Seita’s eyes darkened. A gravelly, strained tone was now set in her normally silken voice. Her posture was tense, limbs seeming on the verge of uncoiling in fury. The sheer coarseness of her question evoked an awkward silence.
Lindholf appeared stunned at the stark look in Seita’s eyes. “I merely wished to express to you my thanks for teaching us your elf trick.”
“Elf trick,” Seita snapped. “Have you learned nothing from your history studies? Do you think Val-Draekin and I are naught but fairies, tossing magical trickery about as if we’ve nothing better to do than prance about in some sort of fairy tale?”
“I merely meant—”
“Fairies are stupid,” Seita said forcefully. “To call a Vallè an elf or a fairy is an insult. It only reveals your own ignorance. Just because we have ears unlike your own, and clearer skin, does not mean we are mere elves. We are just like humans. Well, I suppose we can run faster, and perhaps jump higher. After all, can a fairy do this?” Seita whirled, throwing a dagger across the courtyard, where it stuck point first into the stone wall. Lindholf took two steps back from her, averting his eyes, clearly frightened.
“For centuries, the very word fairy denoted weakness to you humans,” Seita continued. “It recalls the ancient tales of fey devil worshippers, who talk to animals and breed with dragons and other such nonsense. Let me tell you something. There are no such things as talking animals. It’s a stupid notion. So mind your tongue, boy. We are no dragon breeders. We leave that filthy practice to the oghuls.”
A fearsome silence fell upon the group. Seita had just dared speak the forbidden word—dragon—the most damning of all curse words. That she had uttered such foulness in front of royalty belied the seriousness of Lindholf’s insult.
Val-Draekin held a dagger under Lindholf’s chin, forcing his head upward, so the boy had to look him directly in the eyes. Tala was instantly gripped with light-headedness. She looked toward the battlements. The complacent guardsmen seemed oblivious to the goings-on below. Beyond the guardsmen, dark clouds roiled, cresting the battlements, blocking out the sun, setting a chill into the air that cut straight through the thin fabric of her dress. Tala shivered as Val-Draekin, jade eyes smoldering, made a shallow nod before lifting a knowing eyebrow and saying, “She’s only joking, you know.”
Realization dawned in Lindholf’s eyes first, and he backed away from the knife, caressing his throat—and clapped. The dagger spun from Val-Draekin’s hand.
“Nicely done.” Seita smiled. “But I must say the look in your eyes was precious.”
“Bloody rotted Mother,” Glade said, as if expelling a lifetime’s worth of pent-up air from his lungs. “I seriously thought I was goin’ to have to take up my wooden sword and wade in between you three.”
“Well, I should’ve kept up the ruse a while longer.” Seita sounded dryly amused.
“You doubt my skills, m’lady?” Glade puffed his chest out, his tone quite jovial. “I daresay you and your one-armed Vallè friend would be hardly a match for me.”
“Perhaps,” Seita said, then addressed Lindholf. “If you can pull your dagger from the stone wall, I’ll personally give you three hundred gold Vallè medallions.”
All eyes turned to the dagger Seita had thrown, the dagger that was now protruding from the solid stone wall of Greengrass Courtyard.
“My dagger?” Lindholf, confused, reached behind his own waist. “My dagger’s right here at my belt . . . wait . . . how?”
Glade laughed. “She lifted it right off you, man.”
“Aye.” Val-Draekin handed Glade the dagger that he had previously held up to Lindholf’s throat. “And here’s your knife back too.” Glade took the dagger, brow furrowing, one hand feeling for his own sheath behind his back, and when he found it empty, a smile spread over Val-Draekin’s face. “Even one-armed, a Vallè is dangerous.”
“Elf tricks indeed.” Glade bent his knee before Seita, smiling. “However, my good friend Lindholf Le Graven offended the daughter of the ambassador, inferring she was naught but a fairy.” He brandished his wooden sword. “Must I defend her honor?”
“Defend my honor.” Seita tossed back her head and laughed. “Don’t bother.”
Tala found Seita’s lighthearted laugh quite pleasing. Overall, she was enjoying her time spent under the tutelage of the two Vallè.
“My honor will never need defending,” Seita said, a distant tone in her voice. “But I fear the arena changes every man in Amadon. The whole city has gone gladiator mad; every man wants to defend honor. Every man wants to prove the rightness of his cause by throwing a challenge. They have more regard for a bit of honor than any hundred lives. To place personal honor or the defense against insult above the safety of those around you is the behavior of an oghul raider—or worse yet, the behavior of kings, princes, councillors, and archbishops. As if Laijon truly cares who wins.”
Glade countered, “The Way and Truth of Laijon deems dueling to be sanctioned by Laijon. The gladiator pit is full of glory, a way to prove one’s innocence before Laijon, and a way for the guilty to suffer pain. It’s the most honorable event in all Gul Kana.”
“You’re being a bit hypocritical, Seita,” a familiar voice interjected. “Wasn’t it your own father, Val-Korin, who first suggested that Hawkwood duel the Four Dayknights?” Jondralyn looked both wild and beautiful as she approached. She wore a long coat of silver chain mail, an old Amadon Silver Guard shortsword strapped to her back, silver shield and helm in hand. When Seita did not answer, Jondralyn carried on, “Even the knights of Sør Sevier follow their own Rule of Blood Penance—a fight to the death to defend one’s honor. We all must learn to fight, even me. Even you.” Jondralyn met Tala’s gaze and then both Glade’s and Lindholf’s too. The boys looked at her like they couldn’t believe she was dressed like a man, in actual armor.
Jondralyn’s eyes turned back to Seita. “Unlike our vigilant guards, I was watching Seita teach you those tricks with the dagger. Impressive, for one so set against dueling.”
“Though I am trained with a blade,” Seita said, “I see no honor in dueling.”
“Our histories are rife with the glory of dueling,” Glade interjected, eyes still trained on Jondralyn’s garb. “Some of the most worthy combatants who’ve risen gloriously from the arena matches have gone on to become some of Gul Kana’s most worshipped men. The gladiator matches are a religious occasion to celebrate Laijon’s great sacrifice. The arena is a way in which criminals can atone for their own sins in combat. And when the guilty die, their spilt blood mixes with the soil of the arena floor and is considered sufficient sacrifice.”
“As you’ve said.” Seita nodded.
“If I may speak, Ser Glade?” Val-Draekin stepped forward. “There are plenty of unbelievers who have won duels. How is this reconciled in Laijon’s plan?”
Glade nodded in acknowledgment. “In such cases, The Way and Truth of Laijon says that we must pray for the wisdom to know what holy lesson can be learned by the victory of an unbeliever. Perhaps the supposed righteous loser of the duel was not true in his faith, or perhaps he was an unrepentant sinner. Or more simply, perhaps Laijon’s divine plan was for him to lose. Laijon’s ways are not our ways
.” Glade looked skyward as the first few sprinkles of rain pinged off his armor.
Jondralyn again took up the debate. “Even nobility has joined in the arena matches for sport—and won, mind you. King Laban Bronachell, in the year 324, renounced the kingship and fought in the arena, claiming he would take up the crown again only if he could prove his mettle. He slaughtered every foe and became one of Gul Kana’s most revered kings. There were even women gladiators for a time. One became queen who ruled.”
“You seem to have been thinking on these matters quite carefully.” Val-Draekin bowed before Jondralyn. “Does your interest in the history of the arena have something to do with the pirates’ duel?”
Jondralyn shot the Vallè an angry look. “That matter seemed to resolve itself just fine.”
“My pardon.” Val-Draekin bowed one final time, truly seeming contrite. “I only bring the subject to your attention again in the hopes that perhaps you might allow me to teach you how to fight such a duel . . . and never lose.”
Tala had no idea what a pirates’ duel was, but her older sister’s countenance softened for a moment, only a moment, and then her brow sharpened darkly.
The sudden rumble of heavy steel-toed boots and the clamor of armor sounded above. Silver Guards were running across the battlements, taking positions surrounding the courtyard, crossbows drawn and cocked. The ponderous bronze doors under the battlements creaked open and Jovan stepped from the inner bailey into the courtyard.
The king, dressed in the silver surcoat and black-lacquered armor of the Dayknights, walked toward them; Sterling Prentiss was by his side, carrying a black shield with the silver-painted Laijon tree centerpiece and a long Dayknight sword with black opal–inlaid pommel. It looked freshly sharpened. Everyone bent their knee as Tala’s brother strode into their midst.
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