by T. A. White
Shea thought about it. “I don’t think so. They’re mostly focused on training. Once an apprentice passes the last test, they’re assigned to a village or their next posting. It can be years before they circle back to the keep again.” She tilted her head. “Some of the towns have festivals where there are occasional competitions, like who can toss a rock the farthest.”
Shea had never been very interested in attending those, not understanding the interest in comparing whose throw had the longest reach.
“There are events like that, but most test a skill. My favorites have always been hand-to-hand combat or tests of horsemanship.”
Shea would have liked to see him compete in one of those. “And how many of these have you won?”
He gave her a wicked smile. “Every single one.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Every one? Even your first?”
“I’m a legend. Haven’t you heard?”
She snorted. “You’re something all right.”
He had a crafty expression on his face when he asked, “Shall I prove it?”
She tapped her glass with one finger as she considered him.
He leaned forward, setting his wine aside. “Let’s make things even more interesting with a bet. I win, and you owe me a boon.”
“Fine, but turnabout is fair play. If you lose, you owe me one.”
“Deal.” He held his glass out for her to toast.
“Alright, deal.”
They drank to seal the deal.
Fallon finished his with a long gulp. “It’s too bad you’ll be considered an organizer and ineligible to compete. I would have liked to have seen you victorious.”
Shea’s drink went down the wrong pipe kicking off a storm of coughing. “In what event? There’s nothing I could beat the Trateri at.”
“I don’t know. You have shown a surprising resourcefulness over these past few months. I’m sure you could have brought my men to their knees.”
His statement struck her as funny, Shea snorted and threw her head back to laugh. “In what world are you living? Have you not seen me these last few months practicing with Trenton? Last week I nearly fell off my mount. I make toddlers seem skilled.”
He pointed at her with his glass. “You forget these tournaments test more than just skill with a weapon. They’re designed to test your mind and body and mental fortitude. There will be endurance courses, even navigation courses. Also, Trenton is considered elite. You can’t judge your skills by his. Most of my soldiers would have similar difficulties. You are better than you believe.”
“Hm.” Shea wasn’t quite convinced.
“I have faith in you. I will be here to push you until you have the same belief in yourself,” he told her.
She gave him a sideways look before dropping her eyes and taking a sip of her drink. He lifted an arm. She shifted over, turning her back and leaning against him.
Fallon pressed a kiss on the side of her forehead. “My world is grey and cold when you’re not in it.”
“Mine too.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I STILL think we should be spending this time going over last-minute preparations,” Charles complained.
“Shush your worrying. We’ve already gone through things ten times,” Clark said. “The Warlord is riding. He hasn’t competed in years. This might be our last time seeing him.”
Shea ignored the exchange, watching the contenders on the field. Evidently, Fallon’s inclusion in the race was a bigger deal than she had previously thought. Since news of his entry, the audience for the event had swelled to four times the size of other events.
Even the Airabel villagers had turned out, lining the branches and rope bridges above the audience. Shea had offered to take Clark and Charles up there where the view was undoubtedly better but had been refused. Emphatically. Both men had looked at her like she was crazy, so she’d dropped it. She kind of regretted that now, with the press of Trateri on all sides.
Fallon, like the rest of the competitors, was bare chested, his hair knotted back from his face, with a streak of black darkening his eyes and temples. He looked over at Shea and smiled, the expression causing some of the women around her to titter in a way she hadn’t heard since she lived in Birdon Leaf. She knew that sound. It was the sound of women admiring a good-looking man that they would like to have. A man that was Shea’s.
This feeling of possessiveness was new to her. She didn’t know if she liked it or the accompanying jealousy.
“What are they doing?” Shea asked as two riders lined up on either side of the field.
The riders began a slow trot toward one another. In the next moment, the horses opened up to a full-on gallop, thundering headlong towards each other. The riders leaned over, one managing to get his hand around the other’s foot and yanked, unseating his opponent. The man crashed to the ground and rolled, arms up to protect his head.
A thunderous roar of approval came from the crowd as the victor rode past, his arms held high above his head as he whooped.
Shea’s mouth was open as she stared wide-eyed as the next pair squared off. “Please tell me I didn’t just see that.”
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about. This is pretty tame so far. Once they get past the qualifying rounds, it gets a lot more violent,” Charles said, his face bored.
She turned to look at the other two with wide eyes. “How do you not consider this violent? If he’d fallen under the horse, he would have been trampled.”
Clark nodded. “That is a danger. There are rules to keep the competitors from targeting each other like that, but it happens by accident every once and a while.”
“And you still do this?” Shea couldn’t help the way her voice rose at the end.
The two looked at each other, their expressions saying they didn’t understand why she was so aghast. They looked back at her and nodded.
“Why?” she asked with wide eyes. “That is the action of a crazy person.”
She looked back at Fallon. What kind of madman would do this? What kind of madman would do this after making a bet? Why had she agreed to the bet?
Her palms started sweating and her stomach roiled. If he died, it would be because of that stupid bet. She leaned her head against the wooden fence the Trateri had erected to keep the audience from swarming the field.
“Shea, what’s wrong?” Clark asked.
“She just realized exactly what Fallon volunteered himself for.” Eamon’s voice came from overhead.
“There’s nothing to be worried about, Shea,” Clark assured her. “He’s competed in this event many times and always walked away with only minor injuries.”
That did not make her feel more comfortable.
“Give it up, boy. You’re not going to talk sense into her. This is something you only understand with time and when you have a stake in the outcome,” Eamon told him. He clapped Shea on the back. “Steady on, lass. You wouldn’t want any of these layabouts seeing you flinch, would you?”
Shea raised her head. No one was looking at her now, but if she kept it up long enough, she would soon draw attention. Daere would have her head if gossip spread that the Warlord’s Telroi cowered during these tournaments.
As soon as she looked, she wished she could duck and hide again. Fallon was up. He waited until she looked his way before raising a fist in salute. She dawned a cool expression and gave him a regal nod.
His opponent said something that had Fallon’s face darkening. They split apart and took their spots on either side of the field. Fallon picked the side that faced Shea.
He sat still as the call was given. His opponent exploded into movement, his horse racing furiously down the field as Fallon waited, arms crossed over his chest and a stony expression on his face.
“What’s he doing?” Clark asked. “He needs to build up momentum or his opponent will barrel right into him.”
A pair of forearms landed on the fence next to Shea. Trenton watched the action with an intent expres
sion. “Watch carefully.”
Shea did.
Fallon waited until his opponent reached a third of the way down the field. He dropped his arms. Between one second and the next his mount lunged into a full-fledged gallop, its hooves churning up the dirt as it strained for every ounce of speed. In an almost lazy movement, Fallon leaned over, hooked his opponent’s foot, and yanked—sending the other man crashing to the ground.
The crowd roared, their sound drowning out the small prayer that Shea offered up.
Fallon’s reined his horse to a stop next to his opponent who had gain his feet and stood looking around with disbelief. Blood ran from a cut on his forehead. Fallon leaned over, touching the wound with two fingers as he said something to his opponent. He didn’t wait for a response as he touched his heels to the horse’s sides and sent it trotting toward Shea and her companions. Clark bounced up and down, nearly giddy with delight.
Fallon’s eyes were somber, though they held a small piece of wickedness as he rode up to Shea. She tilted her head to look up at him. The crowd had fallen silent, just the two of them staring at each other.
Fallon leaned forward and smeared his hand down her cheek and neck. His teeth flashed white and he let out a war holler as he gave his horse a signal that had it rearing onto its hind legs before it hit the ground running.
The crowd roared, the sound deafening under the forest’s canopy. It took a moment before Shea realized they were chanting “Hawkvale” over and over again, the words almost indistinguishable in the din.
She touched her cheek. Her fingers came away with red.
“Is that blood?”
Eamon understood her despite the noise. He nodded.
“It’s considered an honor to be anointed with the blood of his enemy.”
“This is just a competition, right?”
Eamon shrugged. “To a Trateri, every opponent is an enemy.”
Shea gaped up at him. She had blood on her. There was actual blood on her skin that her Warlord had put there, and Eamon was talking to her about enemies and honor.
“You people are a little crazy,” she said. “I mean, gone ‘round the bend-not coming back-crazy.”
He shrugged. Then he nodded. “You’re the one who picked us.”
She scoffed. “We remember things very differently. I seem to remember a certain someone grabbing me by the arm and telling me I was late.”
Eamon’s smile flashed before he gave a whoop as one of the contestants accomplished a daring feat.
“You could have left at any time. In fact, I seem to remember at one point you did leave.”
Shea shoulders rounded until they almost touched her ears. “Yeah, but someone had to go and get themselves almost eaten by a shadow beetle, didn’t they?”
Buck’s hands landed on Shea’s shoulders. “And I for one am very glad you came back to distract that beetle.”
“When’d you get back?” Eamon asked him.
Shea looked back at him in question. She hadn’t realized his team were one of the few who’d picked up patrols again.
“Last night. There are some freaky, scary things out there right now.” Both men’s faces turned a little grim.
“Did you turn your report in already?”
“Hm.” Buck made a sound of affirmation. “Your annoying assistant is already going over it and making copies to be distributed among the command teams.”
“Good, I’ll want to review it with you tonight.”
“Perhaps after I’ve enjoyed myself a little.” Buck gave Eamon a roguish grin as his eye caught that of a Trateri woman with a heart-shaped face next to them.
Eamon waved his hand, letting Buck go. He wasted no time in pursuing the other woman, whose smile at the sight of him heading her way put the rest of them in no doubt how Buck’s night was going to end.
The contestants on the field had narrowed to half their original size. Several Trateri walked onto the field dragging large items.
“What are they doing?” Shea asked.
“They’re setting up obstacles. The second round is a little different than the first. They still have to unseat their opponent, but now they have to do it while dodging the items in their path.”
Yes, because it just wasn’t dangerous enough before. Crazy barbarians.
Charles pushed away from the fence. “We have to leave to get setup for our event.”
Clark protested. “Just a few more rounds.”
Charles looked hesitant, the pull of watching the Hawkvale compete just as much of a temptation as it was for his friend. His jaw firmed. “We need to make our final arrangements. The Wind Division commander showed his trust in our abilities. We can’t let him down now.”
Charles gave Eamon a nod of acknowledgement. Eamon pressed his lips together as if he was fighting to hide a grin.
Charles pulled Clark away, giving Shea and Eamon a determined look.
“I’ll catch up in a few minutes,” Shea told him as he left.
“If you must,” he told her, leaving before she could say anything in response.
“Grumpy,” Eamon said, looking after Charles and Clark. “He’s probably just stressed about things going well today.”
“It was nice of you to give them that opportunity,” Shea told Eamon.
He shrugged off her words. “It wasn’t me. I did offer their names as an option, but it was the elders who picked. What you all are doing is resonating with a lot of people.”
Shea was glad he hadn’t given them the opportunity just because of their previous relationship.
“You should watch this event until the end,” Eamon said. “You want to see who wins the bet, right?”
Shea’s jaw dropped and she hissed, “How do you know about that?”
Trenton straightened from his position next to them. “Everyone knows about that. It’s the talk of camp.”
Eamon chuckled as Shea’s face turned beet red. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll go easy on you when he wins.”
“You’re so sure he’ll win?” Shea asked with an arched eyebrow.
He shrugged. “Of course. He’s the Warlord.”
“And about ten years older than the rest of the competitors,” Shea said with a challenging expression. She should have known better. It was what had led to the ill-placed bet with Fallon.
“Not everything is about age,” Trenton said, waggling his eyebrows. “Sometimes experience wins the field.”
The crowd roared as Fallon unseated his opponent in a graceful movement at odds in such a big man.
Trenton leaned close. “I think he’s a little more motivated than usual.”
Shea blushed. Her color deepened when Fallon threw her a darkly significant look. Next time she would have to be more careful with her challenges. They always seemed to get her in trouble with this group.
*
Shea moved through the crowds as quickly as the press of bodies would allow. She vibrated with impatience, as she waited for an elderly woman accompanied by a child to move out of her way. She’d stayed later than she should have, watching Fallon compete. He’d won, to the surprise of no one but Shea.
The bet was lost. She owed him a boon. Shea could only imagine what he would request, the tricky warlord. To top it off, she was now late for the event she’d helped plan. The slow-moving crowd didn’t help matters.
A pair of grubby hands tugged at her pant legs. Shea looked down into a pair of bright blue eyes and a gap-toothed smile belonging to a sweet looking girl. One that was wearing a thin, threadbare shirt, and holding a bright yellow flower up to Shea.
“Is that for me, sweetheart?” Shea asked with a smile. It was hard not to be charmed by the little girl.
The urchin child nodded and offered it again.
Shea felt in her pockets, hoping for something to give the child, who looked no more than four or five. Shea hadn’t seen overt signs of poverty among the Trateri. The clans, for all the feuding and infighting they brought, looked after their own. If a
child was orphaned, they were absorbed into the clan and provided for. Same when someone lost a partner. She knew of no instances where someone had been turned out, not to say that there weren’t any. This child looked like she hadn’t bathed in weeks, and her clothes looked like they were one strong wind from disintegrating.
“I have nothing to give you,” Shea admitted.
The girl’s face drooped in disappointment, the expression tugging at Shea’s heart. She looked at Trenton for help. Her guard avoided her eyes and scratched his neck. Shea frowned at him. Useless man. Always around when he wasn’t needed, and absolutely worthless when he was.
She looked back at the little girl and held up her wrist. “Do you like my bracelet?”
The girl looked at it and nodded.
“How ‘bout we trade then? My bracelet for the flower.”
The girl gave Shea a gap-toothed grin full of innocence and nodded.
“Shea, that bracelet is valuable,” Trenton said, his expression uneasy.
“All the more reason she should have it. Maybe it’ll bring her good fortune.” Shea pulled the bracelet off and handed it to the little girl. She thanked her when the little girl handed her the flower.
The little girl took the bracelet and petted it. She oohed and awed over it and ran her fingers along the graceful lines, before looking back up at Shea.
“Goodbye, thank you for my flower,” Shea said. She began walking away even as the little girl’s eyes tugged at her heart. She didn’t make it far before a small hand slid into hers and Shea looked down to find the little girl hurrying to keep pace with her little legs.
“No, no, sweetheart. You need to stay here where your mother and father can find you.”
The little girl looked up at Shea and cocked her head, not seeming to understand. Shea looked at Trenton again for help. He looked back at her and shrugged. No help there.
“Mist is alone in this world.” Gala shuffled toward Shea and Trenton, her arms clasped behind her back. “From what I understand, she has been mute since her parents died. There is no one for her to wait for.”
“Elder Gala.” Shea inclined her head to the other woman.