Lord of the White Hell Book One lotwh-1

by Ginn Hale

  Prince Sevanyo sighed. A page refilled the prince's wine glass. He offered a glass to Javier as well but Javier waved it aside.

  Another page arrived and offered Prince Sevanyo a silver tray stacked with small pieces of creamy paper. Each of them bore the seal of some noble house or a merchant's name. The prince chose several of them but told the page not to extend the invitations just yet.

  Kiram stole another glance down to the arena below, where pairs of first-year students dressed in thick leather cuirasses fought with blunted silver blades. Only the crests on their gauntlets designated which school they came from. Judges in white coats walked between the contestants, calling fouls and strikes. The fights were fast and most ended amiably. Javier watched them intently but the prince was obviously bored.

  Prince Sevanyo leaned forward a little to study Kiram. He didn't quite look at Kiram's face but instead seemed to be gazing at his hair.

  "It really is quite an amazing color," Prince Sevanyo commented. He reached past Javier and caught a curl of Kiram's hair. Kiram froze in place. The prince pulled the lock of hair straight and then released it to bounce back into a spiral.

  "You know, one of my ancestors had a cloak made entirely from Haldiim scalps," Prince Sevanyo said quietly. "I used to play with it when I was a boy. It really was the most beautiful thing. The leather was soft as silk and the hair looked just like long curling ribbons of gold. I loved it madly. When I turned ten I was told where the hides had come from."

  A cold sick feeling gripped Kiram. Javier scowled at the prince but said nothing.

  Prince Sevanyo took another sip of his wine. "I cannot tell you how horrified I was to discover how that cloak had been made. I could not bear to even look at it, much less touch it again. I burned it and then I cried all night. To this day I am not sure whether I was crying because I lost something I loved or because I had loved it in the first place."

  Kiram had no idea what to say in response. But the prince didn't seem to expect any answer.

  "I have not met many Haldiim in my life but whenever I do I am always struck by the thought that I am at last admiring those lovely curls as I ought to have in the first place. It's as though I am seeing the owners of those scalps reborn into better lives. That's what your priests would say, isn't it?"

  Kiram wasn't sure but the prince seemed intent on this so Kiram nodded and the prince smiled.

  "Even if you Haldiim are denied our holy heaven, I would like to believe that your souls can find some kind of peace." The prince sat forward again but to Kiram's relief he didn't reach for his hair. "I am told that your dead are reborn into other forms and if they have been wronged they can return as a curse."

  "Yfes." Kiram wished that Javier would say something but Javier just leaned back in the seat and looked tired.

  "How do you Haldiim lift these curses?" Prince Sevanyo's expression was intent and his tone very serious. "Without the solace of heaven how can you put an angry soul to rest?"

  Kiram glanced to Javier, but Javier only shrugged.

  "I don't know," Kiram admitted. "I'm not from a religious family, Your Highness. We never discuss these matters. I'm sorry."

  "Not religious?" The prince looked stunned for a moment then gave a short laugh. "Did you hear that, Javier?"

  "I did," Javier replied. He gave Kiram a quick apologetic look.

  "Tell me," the prince said to Kiram, "if you are not religious, then what do you make of Javier and the white hell, young Haldiim?"

  "I.I don't know," Kiram replied.

  Beside him, Javier sighed. "When he thinks of me at all, he thinks I'm an ass who keeps interrupting his work for the Crown Challenge with annoying, superstitious babble."

  Prince Sevanyo raised his brows.

  "Really?"

  "Really," Javier replied firmly and something unspoken seemed to pass between Prince Sevanyo and Javier. The prince sighed and took another sip of his wine.

  "The Crown Challenge. That will be quite an accomplishment." The intensity dropped from Prince Sevanyo's voice leaving only a polite interest. "I suppose it's good then that you are receiving a proper Cadeleonian education. My father loves to retain geniuses at his court. No doubt he will want you there. He is quite sure that we are moving into a new age of mechanist wonders, but I cannot help but find them eerie-mechanisms without life or souls, moving about like living things."

  Kiram had heard the same sentiments before, generally from older people. He considered his reply, but then Javier caught his arm and pulled him forward to the edge of the box.

  "Watch out for this one, Kiram." Javier pointed to a young man in one of the fencing circles. He looked tall for a first-year student and his face was oddly expressionless.

  "Ariz Plunado?" the prince asked.

  Javier nodded.

  "Bland thing, isn't he?" Prince Sevanyo commented.

  Kiram found himself in agreement with the prince. Not even the reddish tint of Ariz's hair lent any character to his appearance. He moved quickly, but without grace or emotion.

  He lunged forward. His opponent easily parried his strike, but then suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground. Ariz placed his blade to the fallen man's heart and was immediately declared the winner. Only then did Ariz allow himself a small, satisfied smile.

  "Well, there is something to him after all, isn't there?" Prince Sevanyo commented.

  "Did you see what he did?" Javier asked Kiram.

  "No," Kiram admitted.

  "All the time that they were fencing Ariz kept tripping his opponent until he finally brought him down. It's the second time he's won that way. Keep your feet in close when you're up against him. Make him overextend to get at you."

  "I'll try," Kiram replied, though he had no idea how he would manage any such thing.

  The three of them watched another pair of first-year students duel. Kiram's attention wandered and he found himself searching the stands for his uncle.

  "Tell me, Kiram, have you thought of conversion?" Prince Sevanyo asked.

  "What?" Kiram looked up quickly.

  "Have you considered converting to the Holy Cadeleonian Church?" Prince Sevanyo briefly glanced to another of his pages and accepted two more papers with noble seals embossed upon them. "If you are to attend the royal court you ought to do so. Otherwise you'll have half the courtiers spreading nasty rumors about your private habits before they've even laid eyes on you. Taking a Cadeleonian wife would help as well. Probably one of those charming merchant girls. You aren't already engaged, are you?"

  "No," Kiram said, though he immediately regretted it.

  "One of my bailiffs has a daughter who would be just about the right age." The prince nodded as he considered the prospect.

  Alarm shot through Kiram.

  "I.I really couldn't marry right now," Kiram managed.

  "Of course not now," the prince replied. "You must finish your schooling first. But it's always wise to have your plans in order, you know."

  Kiram wondered how it was possible that a Cadeleonian prince could fill him with the same cold, trapped fear that his mother often inspired. He thought that it had to be something about older people. So many of them seemed intent upon planning his future for him. Both the prince and his mother seemed so sure of what would be best for him that they were already working out the details.

  Conversion. Marriage. Living at court. Taking over his father's shop. Living at home for the rest of his life.

  He didn't want either of the lives they planned for him.

  "The first years are almost done," Javier announced. "We should get back down to the rest of the students. Kiram still needs to change into his cuirass and byrnie."

  "It's good to see you take a responsibility so seriously, Javier," Prince Sevanyo commented.

  "A man must serve his obligations. Though I won't deny that I have a sizable wager on Kiram to best Elezar Grunito's underclassman."

  Javier stood, as did the prince, and they embraced.

  "Thank you
for coming, Sevanyo," Javier said into Sevanyo's shoulder.

  "Of course. It's always a pleasure to see you. But do take care of yourself, Javier." Prince Sevanyo stepped back reluctantly. He looked at Kiram. "I look forward to seeing you again, Kiram Kir-Zaki. Look after Javier for me, won't you? Slip him some of those candies when you can."

  On the stairs outside, dozens of well-dressed men stood waiting to be admitted in to attend the prince. They bowed their heads respectfully as Javier passed but several of them glared at Kiram as if his presence among them was distasteful.

  "Ignore them," Javier whispered over his shoulder.

  When they reached the lower stands where the rest of the academy students were gathered, Kiram flopped onto a hard seat of the bench next to Nestor. Javier remained standing, leaning against a wooden support. The nearest pair of combatants on the arena floor were only a few feet away. Kiram could hear them gasping for air and smell the sweat pouring down their arms and legs.

  Javier studied them like a cat watching swallows. Other students glanced up from time to time but most were involved in their own preoccupations. The only change came when a winner was announced. Every Sagrada Academy student cheered for one of their own. Defeated students were greeted with disinterest. Master Ignacio hardly even glanced to them.

  Farther down the bench Elezar stood close to two other third-year students and Kiram was sure he glimpsed money pass between them. Elezar was collecting winnings from his wagers already.

  Kiram wondered if Javier had actually placed a wager on him. He hoped not.

  "So, how was it?" Nestor asked Kiram. "What did the prince say?"

  "He wants Kiram to convert, marry a nice Cadeleonian girl, and come live at court," Javier said.

  "Convert and marry and move to the court?" Nestor rolled his eyes. "Why doesn't he ask him to shave his head and buy a monkey while he's at it?"

  One of the judges on the arena floor signaled a win for the Sagrada Academy, waving a small blue banner over the head of a winded young man. Kiram had no idea who he was but he cheered along with the rest of the academy students.

  It had been the student's fifth duel and he would not be expected to fight again today. The exhausted first-year student staggered back to the stands and collapsed onto the bench.

  "Prince Sevanyo means well. He just doesn't know when he's asking too much of someone or even telling them too much." Javier glanced to Kiram. "He didn't offend you, did he?"

  "No, he surprised me. I guess I wasn't expecting.Well, I didn't know what to expect." Kiram looked up to where Javier stood. "I wish I could have answered his questions."

  "What questions?" Nestor asked.

  "He wanted to know about the Haldiim religion," Kiram replied. "I couldn't tell him too much because my family isn't religious."

  "Lucky." Nestor sighed. "My mother made us recite a verse of her choosing before she would let us sit down to dinner each night. I memorized the entire Book of Redemption just for the love of a hot meal." Nestor shook his head. "I still don't know what half of it is supposed to be about."

  "Redemption, I'd imagine," Javier said.

  "I guess, but every time I hear a verse all I can imagine is piping hot roast beef."

  "Chapel sermons must be oddly appetizing for you," Javier remarked.

  Nestor nodded. "I always leave hungry."

  "Maybe you should convert to my faith," Kiram said. "On the Highest Holy Days the Bahiim prepare huge feasts and anyone who comes to the Holy Gardens is fed and offered honey wine."

  "You all just eat in church?" Nestor stared to Kiram as if this were unbelievable.

  "Of course. The two Highest Holy Days are celebrations of compassion and generosity. Even my family puts gifts out for the poor on the Highest Holy Days."

  Nestor looked like he was going to ask something more but Javier leaned between them.

  "I'm not sure how wise it is for you to be seen and heard at this public gathering, converting Nestor to your faith."

  "I wasn't serious," Kiram objected.

  But Nestor, too, looked worried. "He's right, Kiram. It's just what Holy Father Habalan is always warning us about in chapel. If word were to get back to him it could be bad for both you and me. The holy father hasn't got much of a sense of humor."

  "I guess not." Kiram frowned out at the arena. The white salt circles of the fencing rings were spreading into the dirt, blurring and distorting the way smoke rings dissipated.

  Several grooms worked their way down the length of the stand distributing leather armor and fencing blades to the second-year students. Kiram imagined his own face reflected Nestor's queasy pallor. It would be them out in the arena soon. Everyone in the stands would be watching.

  The leather of Kiram's cuirass fit tightly across his back and chest though it hung loosely over his stomach. The byrnie he pulled over it draped down to his groin. The thick scales of leather overlapped like snake skin.

  He laced his blue gauntlets tightly over his forearms and then tested his grip on the blade he had been given. The armor felt hot and heavy. Kiram could already smell his own sweat soaking through his under shirt and into the cuirass. He had no idea how men managed to move, much less fight while wearing the much heavier armor required for the tournament's final duels.

  "Here." Javier handed him a black ribbon. "Tie your hair back."

  Kiram did as he was told. Next to him Nestor sat back on the bench, scowling at the dueling sword he'd been given.

  "I was out right away last year. It wasn't so bad really." Nestor sighed heavily and then glanced up at Javier. "You don't think Elezar's put any money on me, do you?"

  "Of course he has. We both know how much you've improved over the last four months. You're going to take the wind out of your opponents before they know what hit them."

  Nestor straightened slightly. "I have gotten a lot better. Though I wish I had my spectacles."

  "You never wear them while you're fighting," Kiram said.

  "I know. I just think it would settle my nerves if I could see how nervous the other boys look."

  Kiram nodded. In a way he thought Nestor might be the lucky one. None of the students left on the arena floor looked nervous. All of them had already fought and won several duels. They looked dirty and some wore bandages, but all of them wore hard, assured expressions.

  The last remaining pair of first-year duelists stepped into a nearby ring. They were both Yllar students and their armor was covered in nicks and dust from previous duels. A judge raised his hand and then swung it down indicating the beginning of their combat. Both students stood still with their blades drawn and then one of them simply knelt and the other touched his chest lightly with his blade.

  Kiram gaped at them. "What was that?"

  "Yillar etiquette, I guess," Nestor said. "When they're evenly matched one Yllar student will forfeit to another of higher rank instead of dragging out a real fight."

  "We're allowed to forfeit?" It made sense. Why should two students from the same school exhaust themselves fighting each other? And it offered Kiram some relief. Rather than take a brutal beating he could simply forfeit.

  "No," Javier said firmly. "They can forfeit. We at the Sagrada Academy do not."

  "Master Ignacio would kill you if you did," Nestor said. "A chain is only as strong as its weakest link or something like that."

  "Master Ignacio will not tolerate cowardice," Javier continued. "It's his philosophy that it is better to fight and be beaten than it is to simply surrender. No war was ever won through surrender."

  "None was ever won by being beaten into bloody submission either," Kiram replied.

  "True." Javier smiled at him. "So, I wouldn't advise that you do that either."

  Master Ignacio shouted out the names of the second- year students who were to take the floor of the arena. They were the worst combatants of the second year: the ones who would face first-year challengers and both Kiram and Nestor were among them.

  As Kiram started to go, J
avier caught his shoulder and leaned close to his ear.

  "Bring them to their knees," he whispered and his breath sent a thrill over Kiram's skin. Then Javier gently shoved Kiram out into the arena.

  Kiram's heart hammered in his chest as he took his place inside the salt circle of the dueling ring that Master Ignacio indicated.

  "Hold this ring," Master Ignacio told him. "Hold it five rounds. Do not fail me."

  "Yfes, sir," Kiram responded but the war master had already turned away. Moments later the first-year combatants took their places. Kiram's first opponent was a stocky young man from the Yllar Academy. He had a blunt little nose and a snorting, aggressive sword style. The first time his blade crashed against Kiram's it sent a jolt through Kiram's wrist.

  Fortunately months of training with Javier had honed his defenses. Even utterly flustered, Kiram reflexively sidestepped the Yllar student's second thrust and brought his own blade down across the Yllar student's exposed shoulder.

  "Haldiim bitch," the Yllar student snarled. An instant later Kiram deflected another thrust and the Yllar student's sword arm swung wide out. Kiram pounced forward, slamming his blade against the Yllar student's chest. Taken off guard and suddenly off balance, the Yllar student fell to the arena floor.

  The judge called the win in Kiram's favor and a cheer went up from the Sagrada Academy stands.

  Kiram's entire body trembled with a rush of exhilaration and shock. He hadn't expected to win. Now he would have to fight again. His heart was beating so fast and hard that he thought he could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears.

  He faced another Yllar student. This one was faster and he scored a bruising strike across Kiram's left forearm, but the blow cost him his balance. Kiram brought him down with a two fast thrusts into his stomach and chest. The judge held his banner over Kiram and another cheer went up. Kiram's muscles felt molten. The air of the pavilion seemed cool against his skin.

  Kiram's third opponent was a first-year student from the Sagrada Academy. Kiram exploited his clumsy footwork, pressing him hard to the right then suddenly shifting his thrusts to the left. The young man finally tripped over his own boots. Kiram dispatched him with a quick strike.