Ethen stepped forward, flourishing an extravagant bow. “Why, of course, my lord! What better way to be proven in battle than fighting in the Pit? And, might I add, what a better warrior than this fine man here!”
Lyell wheezed a cold laugh. “A fine man like this, eh?”
Astrid stood, rigid as a statue. Ethen recoiled a bit, not knowing what to do.
“Alright then, let’s see how a fine a man this is. Go on, drop your trousers. Let’s see what you’ve got to be bragging about.”
The crowd roared, jeering and taunting the two to “Show ‘em the goods!”
Astrid and Ethen exchanged looks. Both broke into a run, eagerly melding back into the crowd, as Lyell’s ragged laughter biting at their heels.
***
Anya sat perched on her mother’s throne, cold as the stone beneath her feet. She ran her pale fingers through her midnight hair, listening to the whines of the aristocracy.
“My Grace, we the nobles of Alainia feel that the city was not meant to be used in such a way. When we lose this war—”
“—If we lose this war,” she said, her voice pouring over them like deep ocean water, sending the blood rushing from their faces. “We will not let failure be a possibility. Do you have such little faith in my decisions as queen?”
Lord Belios snapped his mouth shut, his eyes drifting from Anya’s icy gaze.
“May I remind you, all of you,” she said, her black eyes gazing into each of the cowering Lord and Lady’s faces, “that I am your ruler by birthright. You may think you are entitled to these blasphemous opinions, but let me assure you that such words uttered in my presence again will result in your death.”
The Phookan guards stirred at her side, itching for a chance to spill blood. They breathed heavy from within their white lacquered armor.
Anya stood, spilling the red silk of her dress onto the white stone floor. “Now is the time for conquest. We have cowered from the world for far too long.” Her face softened into a frosty smile. “Trust in your queen.”
The crowd of nobility parted, bowing frantically, as she passed through to slip into the royal chambers. The heavy door slammed behind her, leaving her to breathe easy in the peaceful darkness.
“You’re getting quite good at that,” said Luthen, embracing her in the shadows, letting them melt together like the pooling of wax beneath a blazing candle.
“I have a good teacher,” she said, searching for his teasing lips. “Please tell me we can kill these fussy nobles soon!”
Luthen pulled back, torturing her with his closeness. “Ah, no, first you must do something for me,” he said. She could feel him smiling in the darkness. “And those fussy nobles are keeping your ancestors from crashing to the earth.”
“Fine,” she said, huffing like a child, “I’ll accept that, but must I always bargain for a kiss?”
Luthen took her hand and led her to the corridor. She knew where they were going before he reached the secret door hidden behind the fading tapestry of a forgotten autumn forest.
She followed him down the familiar spiraling stone steps into the belly of the palace. The blue warmth of the Anvalin peeked into the stairwell as they reached the bottom. They emerged into the large chamber. In its center was the Anvalin, a massive blue crystal suspended a short distance from the black iron floor. Tall windows lined the walls, exposing the darkened world that lay beneath Alainia.
“What is it you wish me to do?” Anya pulled up her red skirts away from the dusty floor. The old iron had a way of ruining the best of her silks.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, brushing her hair from her face. “I just need us to change our course. I have something in mind for the southern part of our realm.”
“Is that all?” She laughed a cold and hollow sound. It echoed in the Anvalin’s iron cage. She stepped forward to the crystal, feeling the vibrations of its power in her chest. She closed her eyes and reached out her hand. Touching the Anvalin was like dipping her hand into hot water, though it was not quite to the point of being unbearable.
Immediately, the crystal came alive in her mind. She fought back its urging to communicate, dominating it to do her will. The Anvalin cowered and obeyed, shifting the city beneath their feet.
“Much better,” said Luthen, gazing out the window, admiring his own work.
“Where exactly are we headed?” Anya pulled herself away from the crystal, shaking off its unnatural warmth.
Luthen laughed, gathering her into his arms. “We’re off to better and grander places, my love,” he said, his breath tickling her neck. “Now come, we have much to do.”
***
Astrid sank to the ground inside a dark corner of a run down market stall. She tore her mask from her face and spat in the dirt.
“Well, that could have gone better,” said Ethen, kicking the litter on the splintering floor with his boot.
Astrid glared up at him, her smoky eyes as cold as the bottom of a well.
“Really? That’s the best thing you can come up with to say? It could have gone better? Maybe I should have stayed and pulled your trousers down instead!” She crushed her mask in her fist and turned her face away. If she looked at him any longer she was afraid she would to have to hit him right in the face, very, very hard.
Astrid could hear the jeering of the crowd. The trials were minutes away from starting, and here she sat, on her rump, cursing the clever eye of that pig-faced Lyell.
“Come on, Astrid, you’re never going to get in there. And even if you did, is it even worth it?”
Of course it’s worth it, she thought, glaring a hole into the market stall’s floor, too angry to speak. How else am I supposed to prove myself a Warrior?
Suddenly, in the midst of her fuming, an idea wafted into the midst of the storm clouds gathering in her mind. What if, she thought, what if…
“Ethen!”
Ethen dropped the clay pot he had been juggling between his hands. It shattered into a pile of red, flaky shards at his feet. “What did I do now?”
“I may know a way to get in the Pit,” she said, jumping to her feet and ruffling his hair inside the floppy hood.
“You’re mad! The only way into the Pit is through that horrid High Goblin. And even if you somehow manage to sneak through him, there’s a whole crowd of nasty folk there to squash you like a beetle.” He tugged his hood back down over his eyes, his thin-lipped frown still glowering at Astrid.
“You’re not seeing the big picture my brother,” she said, taking him by the arm and dragging him back into the street. She stopped at the mouth of the long, winding alley and pointed up at the jagged tiers of spectators.
“If I can’t get through them, I’m just going to have to drop in on them instead.”
The dusty hallway inside the building was littered with broken baskets and slumping men reeking of ale. It twisted like a jagged snake and wound back upon itself, up ladders and over slanted stairs, eventually leading Astrid and Ethen to the first doorway to the balconies. The ledges were packed with peasants smelling of piss and sweat, each screaming and jeering and cursing in anticipation of the spectacle about to take place below. Astrid squeezed into the crowd first, her eyes lowered and her mask fastened tight to her head. Ethen followed after. He kept drawing attention to himself, bumping into a snarling human, apologizing profusely and bowing as much as the cramped space would allow. This was perfect, though. He provided enough distraction for her to slip to the edge of the balcony unnoticed.
Beneath the lookout she could see the flamboyant dwarve, Fryx, rise from his cushioned throne. He raised his powdered white hands above his head as the crowd erupted into ferocious cheers. A layer of sweat was glazed over his face from the smoldering desert air. The alley that housed the arena hung heavy with the noonday heat. This was the only time of day when the sun peaked through the narrow gap between the rooftops.
“My friends,” he said, pausing to wait for the clamor of voices to die to a murmur. “We liv
e in a place of death. Today, our crops may wither and die. Tomorrow, our families may do the same. The Pit was made to speed things up a little.” No matter how many times the grim faced humans heard this speech they still laughed at each appropriate moment and hung onto each word as if it were the last drop of ale in the world. “With each new moon, there is a new tournament, a new set of trials, and a new hero that will rise from the ashes of his competitors. We all know the rules. Those who fight must fight well. Those who fight well must conquer or die. After all, we are a people with literally nothing left to lose. Yet there is so much for us to gain.”
Three hunched over goblins, all waiting for Fryx’s cue, scrambled from their places and hauled large black sacks to the base of the podium. They opened the sacks and let the gold pieces skitter from the openings like blood spraying from a slit throat. Astrid tightened her grip on the balcony’s railing at the sight of so much gold in one place. No matter how many times she had snuck a peak at the fights in the Pit, the vast winnings always took her breath away.
“The prize is great for those who prove themselves worthy,” Fryx said, briefly twirling a strand of curly blond beard between his fingers. “My friends, are you ready to witness history written before our eyes?” He raised his arms once again to the tiers of blood thirsty peasants. Their voices cried out in one loud savage rumble in reply. “Are you ready to see blood?” The thunder of their screams shook the very dust of the earth. “Then let us begin!”
Down below the contestants were being led one at a time into the Pit. The first to go in was a warrior covered from head to toe in dented metal armor. He carried a long knotted spear which he raised above his head in response to the cheers of the crowd. It took a moment for Astrid to realize that he what he was wearing wasn’t real armor at all. His was covered from head to toe in pots and pans of various size, all lashed together with black leather ties. On his head was a lopsided cauldron with two uneven eye holes cut into its coal black belly. A bright red beard stuck out the bottom like a limp hanging flag of his dwarven heritage.
“Oh gods,” leered a nearby man missing the entire top row of his teeth. “Look what stumbled out of the kitchen!” The surrounding audience roared with laughter.
Astrid leaned over the twisted railing, trying to catch a glimpse at the other competitor. A squat shirtless man with leathered skin hobbled down into the rocky dirt arena. He had the slanted eyes of a sea dweller but it was obvious from the scars along his back that he had seen too much battle to be a mere merchant. Astrid guessed him to be a pirate, probably competing in the trials on a whim, or worse, because of a lost bet.
The pirate held duel cutlasses. Each had a jagged spike at the end of the handle, perfect for stabbing with one hand and slicing with the other. He paid little attention to the crowd, which caused them to quickly erupt into a chorus of boos and to shower down the spoiled bits of their lunches. A blackened hunk of cabbage hit him in the back of the head. He let it roll off his skull like a summer rain. Astrid couldn’t help but smile at his indifference.
The two competitors stood far apart, studying each other for any signs of weakness. The pirate spat into the dirt and began to pick at his blackened teeth with his long yellow fingernails. The dwarve roared and clanged at the cauldron on his head with his gnarled spear, trying to intimidate the sea dweller like a rabid dog chained in its master’s yard. With a grunt, the pirate spat again, only this time the yellow glob landed inches from the dwarve’s thick stubby boot. Astrid expected the dwarve to forfeit the trial by running the pirate through before the fight officially started. Instead, he stood clutching his spear in his rocky fist. The sounds of murmuring could be heard echoing from inside the cauldron.
A pale blue goblin with a nervous tick stood in attendance on the podium cowering next to Fryx’s cushioned seat. The sea dwarve waved his pudgy hand at the goblin, beckoning him to step forward. The goblin stumbled forward and raised a twisted black horn to his lips. He blew a sharp sour note until his lungs wheezed their last bits of air, making the wretched sound fizzle out like a damp match. Fryx took a small golden hour glass from his breast pocket and delicately sat the device sand side up onto a small wooden table cluttered with bowls of cheese and grapes and half empty wine goblets.
The dwarve charged at the pirate with his spear extended, ready to ram it through the little man’s abdomen. The pirate ducked and tumbled out of the way. He landed back on his feet as graceful as a cat. He glared at the dwarve over his crossed cutlasses, waiting patiently for the next charge.
It took some time for the dwarve to realize he had missed his mark. He finally turned and charged again at the pirate. This time the little man used his cutlasses to redirect the spear deep into the ground. The force of driving the spear into the dirt made the dwarve stumble forward onto his face. Yowling like an alley cat, the pirate sprang onto the dwarve’s back and slashed at the dented armor with his cutlasses. He moved so fast, the blades were a blur of glinting metal from where Astrid stood leaning over the edge of a faraway balcony. She debated jumping down and helping the pirate finish off the obnoxious dwarve. No, she thought as the crowd booed and hollered at the conquering sea dweller, there has to be a better moment. If I can gain the favor of the crowd, I’ve already won half the battle.
Suddenly the dwarve’s back bucked and flung the pirate off as like untamed stallion throwing its rider. The peasants exploded into cheers and vicious laughter. The man with the missing top row of teeth snorted and elbowed his companions in the ribs. “Well look at that,” he said. “Apparently our boy isn’t finished cooking up trouble after all!”
Astrid expected to see the dwarve’s back to be shredded and bloody. However when he rolled onto his feet the baking sheet armor fell from their cut tethers and crashed into the dust, revealing an unscathed canvas shirt underneath. Somehow the dwarve’s armor had been thick enough to spare him from the pirate’s savage blades. Not a single pinprick of blood could be seen on the milky cloth.
The pirate scrunched his brow in a deadly squint, clutching the cutlasses hard in his fists until veins bulged and snaked across his arms. This time he was the one to charge.
He drove the unsuspecting dwarve back into the dirt wall of the Pit, pinning him against the rocky bits of earth with his savage cutlasses like the horns of an angry beast. The dwarve, seeing that he was quickly running out of options, did the only thing left to do in his position. The dented cauldron crashed forward into the pirate’s face, loosening the sea dweller’s grip on the hilts long enough to stumble away from the dwarve. Blood spurted out of the little man’s nose. The crowd lost themselves in hysterics.
“Compliments of the chef,” said the half-toothless man, throwing a wink to a withered hag he had been eyeing between blows. Astrid felt her stomach sour at the thought of the two blowing kisses at one another while blood was being split below.
The dwarve stumbled forward, brandishing his spear and growling. Though the pirate was injured and weaponless he still had agility and speed on his side. The sea dweller dove between the dwarve’s stumpy legs and sprinted to where his cutlasses were left sticking out of the dirt like the buck teeth of a giant.
Right as the pirate plucked the blades out of the Pit’s wall the goblin attendant sounded the sour horn signaling the end of their trial. The two combatants froze in their steps, each desperately awaiting their judgment.
Fryx rose from the purple cushions and spread his arms, welcoming the hoots and yelps of the crowd. “My friends,” he said, a warm smile teasing his painted lips, “how have these two warriors faired? Who deserves to continue to glory? Is it our friend, the sea dweller?”
To Astrid’s surprise a good portion of the peasants yelled in favor of the pirate. Humans were always so unpredictable.
“Impressive,” said Fryx. “But what about this brave dwarve here?”
Again the crowd roared, equally as loud as before.
“Oh my. It appears we have a tie.”
“TIE BREAKER!
BRING US A TIE BREAKER!” The half-toothless man screamed again and again until the crowd screamed along with him. The hag had scooted closer and was now whispering something scandalous into his sagging ear.
“Tie breaker is it? Bring out the tie breaker!” Fryx clapped his hand, snapping his attendants into action. Smooth blue faced goblins scattered from their posts. Murmurings from the crowd buzzed in Astrid’s ears, each person voicing their own opinions on what Fryx will have brought out this time. Bets were being placed and replaced. Astrid shook her head at the humans scrapping the bottoms of their pockets for spare change while their starving children tugged on their cloaks for a scrap of food.
Ethen poked his head over Astrid’s shoulder, his face split open in an enormous grin. If she hadn’t seen his cloak bobbing up in the crowd of the balcony a few seconds earlier he might have actually been able to sneak up on her.
“It’s about time you showed up,” said Astrid, trying her best to make space next to her along the cluttered ledge.
“It’s complete insanity up here, in case you haven’t noticed. I thought you would have made your debut by now,” he said, squeezing through to the splintered railing. “Have you changed your mind? I wouldn’t blame you if you had—”
“—No, I haven’t changed my mind.” She jabbed him hard in the side to make her point. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”
“And just when will that be?”
Astrid’s answer was cut short by the sour noted horn. The Pit was divided into the actual arena and the entrance ledge where Fryx’s attendants stood flanking his towering podium. Behind them stands a fence made out of tall wooden spikes bleached to the color of old bones. In the middle is a curtain of thick black velvet, similar to a stage’s curtain. It was this curtain that everyone was staring so intensely at. A large bulge had formed against it, pushing through the black cloth, like a beast emerging from its evil womb. The giant head of a snarling troll slipped through and howled long and low, sending shivers down Astrid’s spine. Ethen gasped from beneath his hood. The curtains parted and a heavy collar could be seen encircling the troll’s thick neck. Nearly a thousand gasps followed from the crowd. Lyell appeared through the cloth, a rattling chain clutched in one hand and a roaring torch in the other. A group of goblins followed, edging the troll along with their own torches. Astrid could see Lyell smile as he watched the troll wince away from the flames.
Shadow Queen Page 2