Auguries of Dawn

by Peyton Reynolds

Since round three of the Challenge required only two days, and he’d not been called upon for the first, Baiel knew without question that he would be fighting today. The four duels set to play out would finish the round and send eight men moving on to the next, which would further consist of four fights all occurring tomorrow. Knowing he would be featured in one of them, the warlord heaved a resigned sigh and started down the stairs of The Dancing Damsel.

  A brief glance took in his handiwork of the day before as he passed by the shattered bannister. He’d actually intercepted the other man’s momentum and used it to fling him over his shoulder, throwing him into the railing, which failed to halt him, and down to the floor below. Baiel knew only that this occurrence had in some way been Thieves business, and while he’d taken no issue with the many housed here in this very inn, it wasn’t a matter he wished to become involved in. He’d actually permitted himself to share a drink with Flynn Fajen, the commander of Dhanen’Mar’s Thieves network, the night before, but had made it clear he didn’t desire any further involvement in whatever matter he’d unintentionally stepped into. Fajen had complied and kept the conversation light. He’d appeared to be looking for a distraction to whatever thoughts were plaguing him, and had been fairly drunk by the time Baiel bid him a good evening and retired to his upper floor quarters.

  Now coming to the bottom of the stairs, Baiel noted his two fellow warlords, Yuri Filbon and Geves Corth, as well as Qyn, awaiting him near to the inn’s main doors. He was disappointed but not surprised to see Reagan was not with them. He’d not spoken to or even laid eyes on his sister since their confrontation several days ago. He had twice gone to her inn, leaving messages when not finding her present, but she’d so far chosen to ignore them. It pained him greatly to know that she placed her desire for revenge above him, but he was still hoping they could come to some sort of reconciliation before the week ended. He did not want to leave Aralexia while matters between them remained so ugly.

  Baiel joined his party and they set off together for the arena. Qyn chattered on incessantly for much of the way, naming the eight men who would fight today and prattling off every detail he knew about each of them.

  Baiel listened with only half an ear, his mind still upon Reagan. She hadn’t appeared for his second round duel, when he’d ousted the prince of Navosa, but he was hoping she’d had a change of heart and would show to wish him luck today. If she did not, he would make another round to her inn later this afternoon. He figured that so long as he kept trying, he was bound to catch her in sooner or later, although with only four days remaining until the end of the week he might want to begin doubling his efforts.

  Belatedly, he took note of the fact that Qyn was speaking to him.

  “Hmm?” he said, attempting to push away his thoughts of Reagan.

  “I asked if there was anyone in particular you were hoping to face today,” the boy said, evidently for the second time.

  Baiel shrugged; he truly hadn’t given the matter much thought. “No,” he answered. “I am content to leave the matter in Fate’s hands.”

  Qyn was silent a moment, then shot him a quick glance as they rounded into the seething mass of the marketplace. “Will Reagan be meeting up with us today?” he asked, hesitantly.

  Baiel bit back a snappish reply. He’d explained his sister’s recent absences by stating she was being kept busy with official Challenge business, but clearly this excuse was beginning to wear thin even to Qyn’s ears. But none of this was the boy’s fault, and he had no call to take his mood out on him.

  “I’m hoping so, but we’ll just have to see,” he finally replied blandly.

  Qyn glanced at him again, then simply nodded.

  Yuri and Geves were now leading the way through the crowd pouring into the forum, what must have been a difficult and exhausting task for most of the folk involved. The warlords, however, passed more or less smoothly, gliding through the openings most citizens willingly provided them. Baiel wasn’t certain if this was a result of him being a participant or just because of their station, but either way he was grateful as they made their way inside and took up a position at the field’s sideline.

  If possible, the arena seemed to be packed even more densely than usual, and, as he looked about him, Baiel realized the cause wasn’t simply the progression of the rounds. One of the eight names to be drawn from that giant goblet this morning was going to belong to the prince, and apparently every soul in Aralexia wanted to bear witness to the result. For the first time, he found himself wondering what was to happen should Prince Luken actually be killed upon the field today.

  The royal jester, Devlin Alvik, was now emerging from his seat amongst the rest of the royal council and making his way toward the goblet two knights had just deposited at center field. Baiel wasn’t quite close enough to make out the man’s expression, but he didn’t appear to be in any hurry to see to his morning duties. No doubt he was also wondering what was to happen should he draw a pairing that would now see the prince come to harm.

  Baiel shifted his weight and continued watching the jester carefully. He wasn’t completely accepting of the fact that even these public drawings weren’t in some way being manipulated, but there was no denying Alvik was dreading the action he was about to take. In fact, his anxiety almost had him looking physically ill, his face pale and pasty when he finally drew up to the goblet and paused before it.

  The crowd appeared not to be sharing any of the jester’s trepidation, now wildly cheering him on to begin the draw. Baiel frowned at the behavior but kept his attention fixed.

  It had been explained to all the day before that each days’ scraps of parchment, including the eight now sitting within the goblet, had been placed there by the king himself—an act all were free to witness but one Baiel had not arrived in time to see, as it was done prior to the goblet being moved onto the field. Essentially, however, this method had been calculated to assure all that none but the king himself had any contact with the names before they were drawn. Baiel wasn’t certain if this implied the man was as crazy as rumored, or if perhaps he simply hated his own son for some reason. In any case, he was obviously willing to gamble completely with Prince Luken’s life. Baiel looked toward the royal seating now, interested to see how the prince himself was handling this new manner of drawings, but he couldn’t make him out from his position.

  The jester was now making his initial reach into the goblet, causing the crowd to fall into an expectant hush. Alvik withdrew his arm, holding a single scrap of parchment tightly in his hand. He certainly made no haste to view its contents, and once he did, it was with obvious dread that he shouted out the information.

  “Prince Luken DeSiva!” he bellowed.

  Baiel heard Geves give a snort beside him. “If the next name belongs to one of the foreigners, Aralexia will be concluding the summer season with a royal funeral,” he said, his words almost drowned out by the sound of the bloodthirsty crowd.

  Baiel couldn’t disagree with the logic. It was pretty much a surety that any foreigner given the opportunity to kill a personage of Dhanen’Mar royalty—with complete impunity, no less—would take it. And if that happened, chances were the warlords would soon be going into battle.

  Alvik had by now drawn the second piece of parchment from the goblet, but was hesitating to actually look at it. When he finally did so a moment later, any doubts Baiel had about this competition still being kept to a fix evaporated at the look of relief now flooding the jester’s face. Born to the Arts or not, no one was that good of an actor.

  “Baiel Maves!” the jester hollered.

  The surrounding crowd had varying opinions of this. While many appeared relieved they would not have to watch their prince be slaughtered today, others seemed disappointed by this same fact.

  Baiel himself gave no visible reaction to the information. Obviously, he had no plans to kill the prince, but it remained questionable as to how the matter would best be handled. Rel
ations between the warlords and the royal family weren’t exactly smooth, and Baiel knew he had an opportunity here to either repair the damage he’d already done this week by humiliating the knight of the royal guard, or to make it considerably worse by doing much the same to Luken DeSiva. Generally, the warlords took any action they could to send a clear message to the royal council, with that message being, You do not want trouble with us. But on the other hand, King Redgar DeSiva was rumored to be half-mad, and if so, there was no telling how he might react to such a public mockery made of his son.

  If this was not all complicated enough, there remained one more factor Baiel was forced to consider. It was more or less assured that one day, be it soon or late, Luken DeSiva would become the next king of Dhanen’Mar. Also just as certain was the fact that Baiel would become the captain of the warlords once Gaiden Rojek decided to retire from the position. That said, should Dhanen’Mar ever come under future threat, it was Luken and Baiel who would be coordinating its defenses, meaning this might not be the only time in their lives they would be drawn together—and those future encounters could very well be influenced by what was about to happen upon this field today.

  Geves and Yuri both appeared to be considering all this as well, for each was now turned to regard Baiel seriously.

  “Tread carefully here, Baiel,” Yuri cautioned him in a low tone, catching his eye. “No matter how you decide to play it.”

  Baiel nodded in response but made no other reply. He had almost an hour to think on this, and he would use the time wisely.

  The crowd surrounding them was now intent upon the jester’s next offerings, which named the second duel’s participants to be a knight and a Dhan’Marian man whom Qyn relayed to be a rumored rapist and murderer. The third fight would be between a War-born man named Taleb Okin, who Baiel had been keeping his eye on as he’d so far found his skills impressive, and a Justice officer. The fourth and final match of the day would then see the Jennite Rydin Kale face off against a knight.

  Baiel was glad his fight would be the first, even though he was still debating the question of how best to handle it. He would stay to observe the others, but then make another attempt to locate Reagan, although he was still hoping she would be the one to seek him out sometime today. Despite his intentions to further consider the situation regarding Prince Luken, soon to be at hand, it was these thoughts of Reagan that kept him distracted for most of the following hour.

  As the time of his duel neared, he left Yuri, Geves, and Qyn behind in the seats they’d found for themselves and started down to the field. He reached it just as the first gong sounded to call the opening combatants forward, and carried on to center field to pause before the bell-ringer. He turned to watch his opponent’s approach.

  Prince Luken was stepping forward with a measured step, his eyes likewise on Baiel. His expression was an odd mixture of relief—no doubt he realized full well that only chance had saved him from death this day—and wariness. Baiel guessed he was simply anxious to get this over with, but expected to be toyed with and humiliated before all the gathered populace.

  The prince drew to a stop, his eyes still searching Baiel’s face.

  “You are even younger than I presumed, warlord,” he said. “Certainly yours is a talent rare even amongst your kind.”

  Baiel paused, and then glanced to the bell-ringer who was standing well within hearing range. Prince Luken appeared to understand.

  “Step away a moment,” he commanded the man.

  “It is said,” Baiel then responded quietly, for the prince’s ears only, “that I will one day assume the post of captain.”

  While Prince Luken had proven himself incredibly naive these past few days when it came to matters of combat, he was clearly no fool in regard to the intrigues of court. Understanding the implication perfectly, he nodded slowly and said, “I see no reason why you and I cannot part amicably from this. The old ways are not necessarily the right ones, and I do not intend to carry on the outdated traditions of my predecessors. When the peace of the realm is the common aim, there is no reason to hold on to such petty animosities.”

  Upon waking this morning, Baiel would never have suspected he’d soon be having such a discussion with the next king of Dhanen’Mar. He was also forced to wonder if this very confrontation wasn’t a part of the reason Stahl had sent him here to Aralexia. Although the diviner had spoken nothing of this, perhaps her sight had been limited from seeing the entirety of the matter. In any case, Baiel saw the chance to do much good here, and it was not an opportunity he would be foolish enough to waste.

  “It appears we hold to a common way of thinking, your highness,” he replied graciously, deliberately adding the honorific to lend further weight to his words. “With the safety of Dhanen’Mar our collective and primary interest, I believe all within its borders to be in good keeping.”

  Prince Luken took this in and nodded. “I pray to never have reason to call on you, but should that day come, I will do so without hesitation. I wish you a peaceful reign, Sir Maves.”

  “And I the same for you, my prince.”

  Luken stepped back and gestured for the bell-ringer to return. He then raised his sword, taking the starting position.

  Baiel did likewise, crossing his blade with the prince’s.

  The gong sounded and the fight began.

  In light of the preceding conversation, Baiel did his best to leave Prince Luken as much dignity as possible without turning the duel into a complete and utter mockery. Allowing the prince a few passes, which he parried thoughtlessly, he delivered no hits of his own and instead just disarmed the other man with a quick flick of his wrist, sending the blade flying.

  The crowd appeared to have conflicting opinions of this, with some still likely suspecting a fix, but most cheering with at least a fair degree of enthusiasm. Baiel paid the noise little mind, instead watching as the prince gave him a parting nod and brief smile before retreating. He returned the gesture and then waited for the jester to come forth and officially declare him, anxious to be gone from the field.

  Alvik approached wearing a curious look.

  “A gracious victory, Sir Maves,” he said. “Allow me to speak for the entire council in relaying our gratitude.”

  Baiel narrowed his eyes at him in return. “This had nothing to do with the wants and desires of your council. Unlike the rest of you, the prince seems to be possessed of a favorable character as well as sound intentions. I look forward to the day he takes the throne.”

  The jester had an extremely strange reaction to these words, which perhaps shouldn’t have been surprising; Baiel’s final statement had, after all, bordered upon treason against the reigning king. Rather than point this out, however, Alvik simply stared at him for an interminably long moment, saying nothing. The look in his eyes was revealing nothing but that he appeared to be in very deep calculation over something.

  Impatient, and unconcerned with whatever this was about, Baiel sighed.

  “Can we finish with this?” he snapped.

  The jester blinked quickly, seeming to pull his thoughts together. He closed the distance between them and took hold of Baiel’s arm, lifting it while shouting him the victor.

  Baiel suffered through the process silently and then pulled himself away. “Until tomorrow then, jester,” he said, starting off.

  He was almost to the sidelines before taking note of the presence awaiting him there. With her head and shoulders again wrapped in a shawl of purple silk, the diviner stood by, patiently regarding his approach. Standing next to her was a man Baiel recognized as being one of his fellow combatants, and the meaning of his position instantly became clear. Taleb Okin was the man Stahl had sent him to collect and bring back to the keep. Fighting to recall Qyn’s chatter of earlier, he managed to grasp the details that Okin had been a slave somewhere in Tyrell, and just recently gained his freedom after his decade-long term of service.

  Baiel drew to a
pause, reminding himself that he didn’t even know the name of the woman before him. Her face was well-remembered, however, beautiful despite the cover of the shawl that shadowed much of it and kept most of her long, ebony locks concealed.

  “Diviner,” he greeted, smiling faintly.

  She returned the look, tilting her head up to take him in. “Good day, Baiel. I was hoping you had a free moment and would allow me the opportunity to introduce a friend of mine. He is most interested in the ways of your order, and aims to join you.”

  Baiel immediately noted her aversion to any mention of her divinations, implying she did not want her insights shared with the one in question. He moved to follow her lead, shifting his gaze onto Taleb Okin before speaking.

  “Of course, we are always welcoming to any bearing a medallion of War,” he began, seeing the proof of this in the form of the other man’s Birth medallion. Okin’s Secondary, however, while turned outward, had fallen behind the other, obscuring its chosen Patron. “So long as you do not also wear Chaos or Revenge,” he then added.

  Okin reached up and pulled forth his Secondary, displaying his choice of Destiny. “It has been my desire to make my way to your keep for many years,” he said, “but it is not until now that I’ve possessed the freedom to do so. I hope my age will not disqualify me from any opportunities offered within.”

  Baiel shook his head. “Certainly not. We will train any who wish to learn, and receive several each year who are newly-freed slaves, such as yourself.” He paused and regarded the other man seriously, knowing his next words might prove offensive. “I have watched you fight in these duels. And while you display a skill more impressive than one would expect from someone of your background, we at Lutarre Keep will find much to improve upon.”

  While this was true, he was more or less using the statement to test the man’s conceit. After watching his display with the Justice officer in the second round, it had been an easy thing to assume Taleb Okin was possessed of a great arrogance. Although, Baiel had to admit, the performance had not differed much from his own win over the knight he’d humiliated in the opening round.

  Okin, however, didn’t seem bothered by the remark. “That would be my hope,” he said. “I have lost many years, and while I cannot altogether regret them, I do intend to make up the time.”

  Baiel nodded at his evident determination. From what he’d so far witnessed, he didn’t think it would be so long before Okin received training enough to see him passing the trials to become a warlord, but this was a calculation he kept to himself. Not all were cut out for the sort of life found within Lutarre Keep, and only time would tell if Okin proved to be one of them.

  “My party is just there,” Baiel said now, gesturing up into the stands where he could see Yuri, Geves, and Qyn watching him. “You are welcome to join us and put forth any more questions you have as to our lifestyle. We would be pleased to answer them.”

  Okin nodded. “I would like that very much.”

  Baiel turned away and looked back to the diviner. “Might I entice you to join us as well? Or perhaps, at the very least, to tell me your name?”

  She looked surprised, but quickly smiled. “My name is Madilaine Savannon, and I would be pleased to join you.”

  The name stirred a memory, and caused him to recall her words stating that their paths had been meant to cross five weeks earlier in Tyrell. Madilaine Savannon was the name of the diviner he’d attempted to see for a reading, in hopes she could provide to him some insight about Reagan’s survival and whereabouts. He’d been turned away, however, told by a young man claiming to be her cousin that she had no more openings for the week.

  Her name was familiar for another reason as well. While Lutarre Keep largely existed apart from the rest of Dhanen’Mar, the Savannon name was far-reaching and one of the most powerful in the country. She was highborn, and most certainly expected to be treated as such.

  Seeing Okin wasn’t making a move to do so, and for the first time wondering about the exact nature of their acquaintance, he moved to offer her his arm, which she took, and began leading her into the stands and up the steps. His fellow warlords saw them approaching and moved to make room for the extra bodies, sliding down the bench.

  “Yuri, Geves,” he started, “this is Taleb Okin, whom you will recognize from the competition. He is interested in journeying back to the keep with us at weeks’ end.”

  Both Yuri and Geves greeted Okin with great enthusiasm, an expected reaction as warlords were always happy to welcome new citizens to their city. While Geves immediately began questioning him in regard to his training background, Yuri turned to watch Baiel and the diviner take seats between him and Qyn.

  “And this is?” the warlord asked, grinning slyly.

  Baiel pointedly ignored the look. He still hadn’t been able to go a single night without one of his fellow warlords camped outside his door, needed there to turn away the female attention that continued to all but stalk him about the city. Baiel had paid very little attention to any of it, so it was of no wonder Yuri was now amused by the female presence on his arm.

  He introduced her to Yuri and Geves, and then to Qyn, but gave only her first name, leaving off her title and status as a diviner. He figured that was information she could decide for herself whether or not she wanted to share. Seeming to understand this, she smiled at him slightly.

  Apparently finding Madilaine an acceptable replacement for Reagan, Qyn immediately began asking her all manner of questions. Since she didn’t appear to mind, and because he was personally interested in her responses, Baiel didn’t admonish him.

  He soon learned she was a part of a troupe that traveled all about Dhanen’Mar, but had grown up in Kohtala, the home city of Destiny. He also learned her connection to Okin was through her closest friend, a woman named Oliveah Oslund who was a musician in her troupe.

  While taking all of this in to his one side, Baiel was also paying close attention to the conversation going on to his other. Okin was now asking Yuri and Geves a seemingly endless string of questions about Lutarre Keep, which the warlords were giving detailed answers to. Their latest recruit, Baiel decided, appeared very enthusiastic as well as determined, and the inquiries he was making were good ones, taking every effort to learn all he could about his future home.

  But there was still the matter of his very existence to consider. Stahl himself had sent Baiel to ensure Taleb Okin made it to the keep, and that was a truth he found incredibly perplexing. Okin was skilled, certainly, but Baiel could see no reason why a man such as he had so stood out to Stahl. Thoughtful, he slanted a look over to Madilaine.

  “I think there is much you have not told me, diviner,” he issued to her in a quiet tone.

  She looked back, drawing her attention from Qyn, and regarded him seriously with her smoky eyes. “I hope that it something you can accept,” she responded in a firm tone.

  He paused for a brief moment, and then laughed quietly. “It is,” he told her, continuing to smile. “I won’t lie by claiming I’m not curious, but I will question you no more.”

  She seemed to relax, and he pondered on how, at times, her gifts must be terribly burdensome to live with. He sent a subtle glance to her throat, hoping her Secondary would give him a further insight of her, but its information was hidden, turned inward to guard its secret.

  Reaching the top of Eighth-hour, the next combatants were called to the field. The knight and Dhan’Marian criminal assembled quickly, crossing their blades to await the gong that would allow them to begin.

  The duel began with a blood-letting slash and only escalated from there, quickly proving itself one of the most savage yet seen in the competition. But while it was clear early on that death would be the only result, the combatants were extremely well-matched and equally determined. Within minutes both were dripping blood from numerous wounds, the most serious being a deep slash across the knight’s thigh and a gash at the side of the crimin
al’s neck.

  The audience appeared to be enjoying the deadly excitement, clearly anticipating the fatal conclusion. Glancing to his either side, Baiel saw his fellow warlords and Taleb Okin following the action closely, exchanging only short, clipped observations, while the diviner was constantly turning her eyes from the field, obviously not enjoying the scene playing out before them. While pleased she wasn’t as morbid as the majority of the crowd, he was forced to wonder why she was even in attendance at all, given her evident disgust for this sort of action.

  Several more injuries were exchanged on the field before the duel’s conclusion, which saw the criminal managing to gain the upper hand and shoving his blade through the knight’s throat. The shower of blood pouring forth from the wound was enough to make many gag, or at the very least turn away. Baiel looked over and noted the diviner doing both, and he quickly inquired if there was anything he could do for her.

  She asked for something cool to drink, and he started down to the marketplace, bringing Qyn along to help him carry back lunch for all. With so many leaving the forum with the same intentions, nearly half the hour was gone before they returned to the stands, bearing flagons of juice and pork sandwiches. Okin remained in deep discussion with Geves and Yuri, while Madilaine still appeared slightly unsettled. She was obviously not a woman accustomed to being around violence.

  She thanked him for the juice, declined the sandwich, and then asked how he’d come to be at Lutarre Keep. He told her of the Jennite raiders who had killed his parents and taken both him and his sister, only to then sell them into the slave markets. He explained his escape, his journey south to the keep, and the great feeling of home it had provided to him.

  When she asked if he’d ever found his sister, he chose his response carefully. Leaving out his and Reagan’s argument, as well as the reason for it, he simply stated that they’d stumbled upon each other at the beginning of the week.

  Madilaine narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at this, and then her expression drifted away to inner thoughts for a moment. “Your sister was born to Revenge, yes?”

  Wary, he nodded. There was much he wanted to ask about Reagan, but for obvious reasons, did not dare. In fact, he was now extremely paranoid what else her gifts might be revealing of Reagan and her future plans.

  But, to his relief, she said nothing more at all about his sister, instead asking him more about his life in Lutarre Keep. Unsurprisingly, she showed a particular interest in the insight received by Brother Jord, that which had brought him here to Aralexia. She inquired quite seriously if this was the only insight Stahl had bestowed in regard to him, and when Baiel told her it was, she simply nodded, looking thoughtful.

  Okin rose from his seat several minutes before Ninth, needing to begin making his way down to the field for his own fight. He paused before heading away, however, and looked back to Madilaine.

  “Are you all right here, Madi, or do you want me to bring you back to Oliveah and Nathon?” he asked.

  While some men may have found this offensive, Baiel approved of the action. Especially once she gave her reply.

  “I’m fine here, Taleb, thank you,” she told him. Then, “Be well.”

  Okin nodded and turned away.

  Baiel took in her expression of worry as she watched him disappear into the crowd, and it puzzled him.

  “You appear concerned for him,” he said, “but do your own divinations not speak that he will come from the Challenge unharmed?”

  “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I see what is meant to happen, what Fate and the Patrons have designed, or the result of events already in motion. But even these influences cannot counter the free will all mortal beings have been granted. Taleb entered these games of his own free will, and that means his survival through them is not guaranteed, no matter his destiny.”

  Baiel thought about that for a full minute before responding. “So nothing is ever for certain?”

  She slanted a strange look at him. “I’m not certain I would go so far as to claim nothing.”

  He was forming his next response, rather fascinated by the topic and wishing to explore it further, when the first gong rang out from the field below. Aiming to take up the conversation again once the duel was over—so long as Taleb made it through unscathed, of course—he turned his attention down to the field.

  “I’m curious to see if he will make a similar mockery of this Justice officer as he did with the one he faced in the last round,” Baiel commented. Unlike Madilaine, he was not overly concerned Taleb would lose this duel.

  She glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Oh, he made that show for Oliveah,” she told him promptly. “She becomes rather distressed whenever he or Nathon fights, and I believe he just thought to lighten the mood.”

  Baiel took that in. He was by now aware of who both Oliveah and Nathon were, as well as their basic relationships with each other as well as to Taleb. He’d been slightly disappointed to learn Nathon Wythe, also War-born, did not share in the intention of traveling to Lutarre Keep. While perhaps not possessing the same raw talent as Okin, Baiel thought some proper training would take him a long way and probably see him a warlord in less than a year’s time. But it appeared the man had no intention of leaving the vineyard where he’d spent the past decade of his life.

  All further thoughts were then halted as the second gong rang out from below, commencing the fight. The Justice officer took an immediate offensive, slashing and hacking in what Baiel found to be an obvious attempt at intimidation. Okin didn’t appear rankled, blocking and parrying each strike, seeming content to let the other man keep on in this manner. Baiel found himself nodding as he watched, knowing Okin was simply biding his time and waiting for his opening. The biggest mistake he could make now would be to grow impatient and take the action too soon, but after several minutes of assault from the officer, this didn’t appear to be a danger.

  Beside him, Baiel now noticed the diviner wringing her hands in distress. “Why isn’t he fighting back?” she demanded, turning to him.

  “He’s doing precisely what he should be,” Baiel told her calmly. “He will come from this unhurt, Madilaine, I promise you.”

  She appeared to believe him, lowering her hands to her lap and exhaling a deep breath as she looked back to the field.

  Baiel turned his own attention back to the fight, seeing the situation for the most part unchanged. But it did appear as though the officer was growing more and more frustrated, as Okin continued blocking each and every one of his strikes, making none of his own, and apparently greatly confusing his opponent in the process. The officer’s swings were starting to grow wild, his uncertainty gaining ever more influence until he was reduced to looking like nothing more than a madman making furious hacking motions with his sword.

  Okin timed his long-awaited assault perfectly. Side-stepping an especially vicious downward slash, he twisted back and brought his sword about to sink into the officer’s side. The wound was serious, and while it dropped the officer to the ground, it would not kill him. Baiel approved of this as well; warlords didn’t kill unless it was necessary, and he could recall Okin killing only one of his opponents thus far, a Kathwein who all now knew had been mad. Under the circumstances, he found it difficult to fault Okin for the death.

  Taleb Okin appeared to be growing into a crowd favorite, and they cheered him deafeningly as the jester came forth to declare him the victor. Baiel noted Madilaine looking relieved beside him, and faintly heard her muttering her gratefulness that only three more days of the Challenge remained.

  When Okin returned he had another man and a woman in tow, those he quickly introduced as Nathon Wythe and Oliveah Oslund. As a fellow War-born, Wythe was welcomed heartily by Geves and Yuri, and they immediately began trying to recruit him to the keep. His responses were good-natured but adamant—while he professed a deep respect for all warlords, he claimed no aspirations to become one. This was a proclamation which appear
ed to greatly relieve Oliveah Oslund; no doubt she would not have been happy to lose both Wythe and Okin to the keep.

  With only one final duel left to finish out the round, Qyn stationed himself within the midst of the group and began listing those men moving on to the fourth round, including the three seated in his very presence. The only uncertainty to remain was whether Rydin Kale or the knight he would be facing at the top of the hour would be advancing with them. Mention of the Jennite Rydin Kale seemed to spark an interest in both Okin and Wythe, but neither offered any reason for this. If Baiel had to guess, he’d say the two knew something about the Jennite that, for some reason, they did not feel inclined to share.

  Baiel had actually been keeping an eye on Kale himself, finding him interesting. The man didn’t appear to use any particular kind of style or strategy when he fought, instead seeming possessed of a reckless abandon that made his movements utterly impossible to predict and had, so far at least, worked entirely in his favor. Of all the men left in the competition, it was Kale who Baiel thought would be the most challenging to face, and he turned his gaze onto the field with interest when the first gong rang out at Tenth-hour.

  Kale and the knight took their positions, and the fight began with the knight making a vicious slash that left little doubt as to his intentions. Kale, devoid of a shield as he’d been for his first two matches, blocked with his blade and took his own offensive. They traded passes for the next minute or so, all clearly meant to prove fatal had they been allowed to land.

  He’s toying with him, Baiel realized, keeping his eyes trained upon Kale. Disturbed that he still could not accurately predict the man’s movements, he was at least able to discern this much, seeing two opportunities Kale could have used to finish off the knight. There was no doubt the Jennite had been aware of them as well, which just led to the question of why he hadn’t utilized them.

  Frowning faintly, Baiel continued to scrutinize his movements, only to find his calculations brought to an abrupt halt when the knight suddenly erupted in an inexplicable manner. Screaming, the man’s sword fell to the ground as both hands rose to clamp over his left eye. He appeared to be yelling something, but the royal council—and Kale—were likely the only ones close enough to actually make out his words.

  The crowd was silenced with bafflement, and Baiel was no different. He’d not seen Kale’s sword come anywhere near to the knight’s eye, but the man was continuing to keep it covered, now bouncing about in an agonized circle as he went on shouting.

  With everyone’s attention riveted on this spectacle, it came as a great surprise when Kale suddenly hurled his sword across the ten or so paces separating him from his opponent. The knight failed to see the threat coming and took the blade straight in his chest. His screams cut off and he fell without a sound to the ground. Kale approached the body and collected his sword, sticking its point into the ground and leaning on it casually as he waited for the jester.

  There appeared to be some excitement now going on within the section of royal seating, nor did the crowd seem to know what to make of the situation. Finally the royal jester appeared and began making his way to Kale with measured steps.

  Baiel sat back, sending a glance to his right. Yuri and Geves were clearly perplexed, and both looked back at him as if seeking some sort of explanation. Baiel could only shrug in return, and then slide his eyes down further to see Okin and Wythe exchanging quiet words as they continued to watch Kale upon the field.

  To his other side, he found Madilaine wearing a strange expression which seemed to evidence both relief and disapproval. And down on the field, the royal jester was now hoisting Kale’s arm in victory, the most mystifying of its kind Baiel had ever witnessed.

  Chapter 41