Several more people voiced agreement.
“We’re cursed!”
“Damned to this hell we are,” an old sailor muttered.
Ann lifted a hand and the room settled. “The fire might have seemed like it came from hell, Marco, but it has shown us a light.” She took a few steps toward the old man. “The only way to escape Tidewater is through the system the nobles set out for us. That or death. Connor gave us hope that a champion of the people might one day beat their system.” She nodded toward the big sailor. “He gave us hope that he could become the Knight Warden of the West, and finally we would have someone to speak for us. To speak for the people.”
Several curses were audible from the crowd. “He ain’t never had a real chance,” someone shouted. “It’s all rigged.”
Noisy agreement erupted from nearly every table, and Ann had a difficult time regaining their attention. Finally the tavern’s owner slammed a club on the bar several times, and the chatter died down.
Ann lifted a foot onto one of the open chairs and rested her elbow on her knee. “A few months ago, a stranger arrived to stay at the Twisted Tentacle. She was beat down and knocked around, and she wasn’t one of us. When Janet told me that she had taken in yet another lost soul and given them a second chance, I wondered if this might be the time her reckless generosity finally caught up with us.”
Several eyes fell on Valerie.
“Turns out I was right.”
Valerie shifted uneasily, wondering where Ann was going with this.
“Since Janet made that decision . . .” Ann set her foot back down, “we’ve seen nothing but trouble. I’ve seen my dreams literally turn to ash.” She flipped open the box on the table and lifted the sword.
The crowd murmured. More eyes found their way to Valerie.
“Yesterday Connor Kane lost at their twisted game, and our best hope for justice went with him. But not our only hope.” Ann walked toward Valerie, the sword in her hand. “So the question is, what will you do with our last hope, Valerie Terravecchia? Will you stand up for us the way Janet did for you?”
Valerie’s fists were clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms. She relaxed and let them fall to her sides. “I can’t. I can’t fight anymore. My car is locked up. My armor. My weapons. I’ve got nothing left.”
“You don’t have nothing,” Ann said. “You have a sword.” She turned the handle around and offered the grip to Valerie.
The eyes of everyone in the room were on her now.
“I don’t deserve to be your champion,” Valerie said. “Not after all the trouble I’ve brought down on you.”
“Pay it back,” Ann said. “Back to the ones who deserve it. Show them that trouble cuts both ways.”
The room rippled with unspoken tension. Whispers. Glances. Valerie knew that her face must be flushed. Her skin was burning up. She slowly extended her hand and took the handle of the sword.
“For Janet,” she said.
“For all of us,” Ann replied. She released the sword.
Valerie raised the blade until it caught the light, shimmering with blues and purples.
A chair scraped the floor, and Connor Kane strode forward, stopping in front of her.
He pulled a wicked-looking falchion from his hip and stared her down. Valerie held his gaze. Finally Kane reached for his sword belt and unbuckled it. He stripped off the belt and dropped it on the table. “You’ll need a way to carry that thing.”
He turned around and walked back to his place.
A woman seated on a barstool next to them stood up. “No way I’m letting Connor get all the credit.” She pulled a dagger from her hip and tossed it onto the table, then unbuckled the armor-reinforced leather corset she was wearing. She gave Valerie a nod and added that to the items on the table.
When the woman sat down, three more people were already making their way forward. The table began to fill with donated items. Gloves, gauntlets, hauberks, spaulders, and tassets. Before long there was far more in the pile than any one person could possibly wear.
“You won’t get far with no pants on.”
Valerie turned to find Rico standing at the door. He was holding the clothes she had left at his place before the ball. He held up a sandwich. “Carlyn says hello too. Egg and goat cheese. She said she burnt it how you like it.” He strode forward, and Valerie went to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Every fighter needs a second,” Rico said. “I guess I’m yours.”
“I don’t think we’re allowed seconds in this fight,” Valerie replied. “It’s every man or woman for themselves.”
“Oh, thank God,” Rico said, his eyes lifting skyward. “It was more of a gesture, you know? Like I love you, but I’m not so good with actual fighting.”
Valerie smiled. “I’m happy to have you on my team, even from a distance.”
“Not to interrupt,” Kane said, “but if you plan to fight, you may already be late. Every fighter is supposed to be on the island by ten bells.”
“I need to get changed then,” Valerie said. She snatched the pants from Rico and began putting them on. “Does anyone here have a car?”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ve got a boat.” A man stepped forward from the crowd, and Valerie immediately recognized the old fisherman.
“Gaspar.”
“A young feller on a bicycle told me someone up here might be needing a lift this morning. I’m happy to oblige.”
Valerie turned to Ann. “Thank you for believing in me. I wish I could promise I won’t let you down, but I don’t know how this will end.”
Ann rested her hand on Valerie’s shoulder. “Just tell Jasper Sterling that Tidewater sent you. We’ll be watching his face when you do.”
Several people began scooping up the armor and weapons on the table to carry along. Gaspar gestured toward the door. Valerie buckled the donated sword belt to her waist and slid the blade into its place. She paused and looked at Ann.
“I never had a chance to ask you what name you chose for this sword. Did you ever come up with one before the judging?”
“I didn’t. But it has one now,” Ann replied. “I’m naming it Fire Bird.”
“The phoenix from the ashes,” Valerie said.
Ann rested a hand on her shoulder. “Now go show them what it can do.”
34
Dreadrock
According to legend, Dreadrock Castle guarded the bay since the days of the first settlers. The rocky island was built into a fortress of black stone. It was rimmed with towers and battlements that stretched high enough to clear the oppressive sea fog and ensure that the lords and ladies who lived there always saw the sun.
Valerie imagined that the stories of the castle’s glory might have been exaggerated, but no one was alive to remember it either way. The earthquake of ’05 that damaged most of the buildings in the bay area did a particularly devastating job on the fortress. It was said that the towers sent fountains of water hundreds of feet into the air when they toppled. The castle that had once been an invincible bastion of strength at the heart of the bay was now a mostly submerged, cautionary tale that spoke only of the strength of nature.
Valerie thought it an ignominious place for an arena. The bridges that had once led to the heart of the castle had been reconnected to allow passage across the bay, but the fortress itself was abandoned. Its ruined walls were now a labyrinth of twisting passageways that most often ended in tide pools or the ever-hungry waves.
Today the bridges that crisscrossed the sky above the ruined castle flew a hundred colorful banners. Traffic on the bridges had been stopped, and stands had been erected in the lanes to give the audience a view of the action below. Additional bridges and walkways had been built to allow access to elements of the arena not visible from the bridges. The king’s full orchestra was in attendance as well, providing a musical accompaniment to the action. The sound of the horns and drums carried for
miles.
This aerial gallery would be the prime location for watching the final battle of the tournament.
From Valerie’s perspective—motoring across the water in Gaspar’s fishing trawler—the bridges seemed as far above her as the sun. Somewhere overhead, the king would be watching, but he couldn’t help her now.
She concentrated on fastening the final few pieces of her armor and finishing the last mouthful of sandwich from Carlyn. When she was finished, she leaned over the bow and splashed several handfuls of seawater to her face, wiping away the remnants of last night’s tear-stained makeup.
The cold water was invigorating.
She knew she wasn’t a striking figure. The odd pairings of cast-off armor were bound to elicit more than a few sniggers from the crowd. But those who had been paying attention to the tournament would recognize the bits of armament as the best the defeated fighters from the rim villages had to offer. Despite the unusual combination, she now had far more of herself covered than in previous fights. Her dueling jacket was heavily reinforced, and the fighting corset beneath gave her an added layer of chest protection. While competitors in thick plate armor would be able to withstand heavier blows, she would have an advantage of speed, and the armor she did have would keep her safe from the worst cuts.
Her helmet and faceplate were that of a stranger, as was the knife she had selected as a secondary weapon, but carrying the pieces of dozens of separate fighters felt right. It was as though the varied colors and shapes of her armor only highlighted the body inside it. The muscles she had spent weeks honing made the ensemble cohesive. As she flexed her arms and freed her sword in its scabbard, she didn’t even need to brandish it to feel as though she was armed. The sword was no longer the weapon. She was the weapon, and she was ready to cut someone.
Dozens of boats bobbed in the waves surrounding the island.
The rest of the contenders were already ashore. Several officials were convening in a circle near the remains of one of the old towers and turned to observe her arrival.
Gaspar motored his skiff past the nearest Watch patrol boat and shouted across the bow. “Got one more for you. Don’t be starting without her!”
The officials ashore watched in consternation as Gaspar glided onto the rocky shore.
Valerie clasped his hand. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”
“Can’t stick around long. These waves are liable to sink me,” he said. “But get up there and do us proud!”
Valerie leapt ashore and waited as Gaspar glided away. Once he was clear of the rocks, she marched up the beach.
One of the officials consulted a watch as she approached. “You’ve certainly taken your time in presenting yourself, but it seems you are still eligible to compete.” He looked up to the announcers seated on the bridge overhead and keyed a handheld radio. “We have our final contender. Valerie of—” he glanced back for confirmation.
“Tidewater,” Valerie said.
“Tidewater,” the official echoed, this time into the radio.
As Gaspar’s trawler motored out to the bay, Valerie took a deep breath.
The announcers up in the booth broadcasted her arrival over the loudspeaker.
“Valerie of Tidewater!”
The crowd gave a round of modest applause.
There was no turning back now.
“Follow me,” the chief official said. He led her uphill to the heart of the old castle and the courtyard outside the great hall.
She had known what to expect, but the sight of the other warriors assembled in the center of the courtyard made her gut clench. Especially him.
Damon had his crimson-streaked mask on, but she could still feel his stare.
Betrayer.
For the first time in weeks, she had someone other than Jasper to focus her anger on. The fire inside her felt hot enough to scorch the very rocks they stood on. There would be enough rage for both of them to share.
Jasper was there, too, in shining, brand-new armor that looked like something from the pages of a magazine. It was made of thin, custom-fit plates without a single visible opening. His joints were augmented with piston actuators to relieve the weight of the armor and presumably aid in its motion. While the rest of them would fatigue at a natural pace, it appeared as though his armor would pick up the slack. She could only imagine what other secrets it might contain. To top off the ostentatious look, Jasper had added a ridiculous and inconvenient-looking silver cape that flapped in the morning breeze. Valerie wondered if she could strangle him with it.
She scanned the ring of other competitors. They all looked mean and ready for a fight. Several of them were sizing her up as well.
The music from the orchestra overhead died down, and the head referee stepped forward with a megaphone.
“The rules of the competition are as follows.” The official was speaking to them but loudly enough that the entire arena could hear.
“Each competitor shall fight with longsword and one secondary weapon such as a dagger or hand axe. They shall fight in armor only. No shields, spears, or projectile weapons. Melee rules are in effect. Every woman or man for themselves. Contenders shall fight until too injured to continue, at which time, should they be conscious, they may raise a white flag in the form of a handkerchief. They shall then be removed from the arena.” The official held up a white handkerchief and waved it around to demonstrate.
“Once a contender has waved the white flag, they may not reenter the competition. The winner of the melee will be the last fighter standing, and they must be able to remain standing inside the grand hall in view of the king and queen to prove their victory.” He pointed to the ruins of the building behind them. “We shall signal with trumpets when a contender is claiming victory. Should no other contenders remain to challenge them during that time, they shall be named the victor. If you all understand and agree to these rules, say ‘aye’.”
The assembled fighters responded with a collective and enthusiastic, “Aye.”
“His Majesty King Logan Pendragon, first of his name, will now say a few words.”
All eyes looked skyward to the central grandstand where the flag of the House of Pendragon was flying. Valerie squinted in the sunlight and placed a hand over her brow.
The king stepped to the edge of his box.
He was shorter than Valerie had expected. He wore a royal-blue cape over his shoulders today, and no mustache, but she recognized him as the man whose beer she had spilled at the car exhibition.
“Are you kidding me?” she blurted out.
A few of the other fighters gave her curious looks.
“Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Port Hyacinth,” the king began. “You do me great honor by committing yourselves to this tournament in my name. It is a tradition which goes back centuries. While many might say in this modern age that skill with the sword no longer holds the importance it once did in keeping the peace of this kingdom, I would argue that it is among the most noble of arts and steeped with meaning.
“A position at the Round Table is one that requires the most cunning mind and the truest heart. No one should undertake the position without consideration of the duties and responsibilities it requires. This tournament has already been a test of your will, your stamina, and your honor. Now is your finest hour. Do yourselves proud. I wish each house represented here good fortune, and may God be with you.”
The crowd applauded enthusiastically, cheering and shouting their approval.
Valerie could only stare at the man she could have easily spoken to two nights ago. Now a dozen fighters stood between her and accomplishing that feat again.
The aggravation only fueled the anger she already felt. She flipped her visor down and drew her sword.
“You have heard the king,” the official said. “You are now granted two minutes in which to remove yourselves to a position of your choosing on the island. At the sound of the trumpet blasts, the fight shall begin.”
The drum section of the o
rchestra began an intense, rhythmic pounding, and a cheer went up from the stands.
Fighters rushed for positions, spurred on by the intensity of the music.
All except The Red Reaper.
He remained still, focused on Valerie. She had half a mind to stay as well, make him her first target, but she would only be doing every other fighter in the arena a favor.
Despite her anger, she needed Damon to face others first. This would be a game of attrition. It wouldn’t be won in a single fight, though it could certainly be lost that way. She needed to be smarter than that.
Valerie turned on her heel and headed into the maze of ruins, searching for higher ground.
Castle Dreadrock had once been made of magnificent, black stone. Now lichen and barnacles decorated its lower surfaces, and a persistent smell of brine lingered in every crevice. Valerie climbed the ruins to what once was a watchtower, now reduced to rubble. It still offered an elevated view of the arena.
Three other fighters were in view. She recognized the young woman climbing the ruins of the old keep as Yuna Gozan. She was carrying the Head Collector, the legendary sword made by her ancestor Tomoe Gozan.
Yuna was one of three other women in the melee. Nikki Patel, also known as Night Frost, had made the cut and was carrying a legendary sword called Chandrahas. Valerie could count on her to be working with Jasper as her name had appeared on the document she had stolen from Blaise. The other two women, Freyja Eiríksdóttir, and Tara Sloane, were unknown to Valerie beyond their presence on tournament posters. Sloane, in true Celtic fashion, had entered the arena with the least amount of armor and the most war paint. The handle of her longsword, Winter’s Bite, was said to be wrapped in the hair of warriors she had defeated.
Of the other men she was facing, Mervyn Doyle and Running Crow were worrisome. Doyle because he was allied with Jasper, and Running Crow because he was a formidable Native Avalonian warrior with a reputation for unstoppable endurance. Legend said that he once ran twenty miles in pursuit of a wounded deer, then carried the carcass home the same distance.
Sword Fight Page 32