Chapter 37

T he remaining battles pass in a haze of enormous monsters and screaming crowds. Everywhere, people are reveling, and there are no more disruptions by marauders. Perhaps they have left after all, as Rihad announces at every opportunity.

I’m called upon to fight twice more, but there are no further messages from Rihad, no personal connections in the battles. One is a warrior from the Third House, like Kheris, but unlike Kheris, he only recently became a warrior. He and his lizard Divh move slightly out of sync with each other—one too fast, the other too slow. Gent beats the great lizard by toppling it over, using his long arms and bony claws to protect himself from the lizard’s skin.

The second combat is with a warrior from the Eighth House and a creature with both wings and furred haunches, his face like that of a great cat. It takes Gent and me several passes to defeat it, and I’m weak with fatigue at its end. But not so weak that I can’t raise my arm to my own beautiful Divh as the world roars around us.

Thankfully, after the first battle, the platform is never again blanketed with petals, and I pray that my misstep has somehow escaped detection. As beautiful as they are, they are yet another marker of how different I am…a marker I can ill afford.

There are no more deaths, but several injuries, and the field of more than fifty men is winnowed down to eight by the end of the day. Tomorrow, these eight warriors will fight as two-man teams, leaving four who will fight each other again in teams, then two for the final match—two men who’ve just fought and won twice by each other’s side, asked to turn on each other and do battle to receive the ultimate prize of the Tournament of Gold.

And then there will be the melee, a mock battle for the ages, where monsters will line up against their fellows and wage brief and brutal war. This is to be the extraordinary capstone to the tournament, and bards are already spinning tales around it to last another quarter century and more.

My mouth tastes like ash.

Whatever Rihad has planned holds no more interest to me. I only want to win whatever I am able, transfer the men and their Divhs to my house, then face the fury of my father. There will be no justice for Merritt and no vengeance for me.

The only regret I harbor is that my time with Gent will be cut short, but there’s nothing for it. He’s carried me through this tournament, yes, but no matter how bravely and fiercely women used to fight alongside Divhs in the wars of three hundred years ago…no woman can fight now. Not with people like Rihad and my father ruling the houses. And Gent deserves an honorable warrior to fight with and for. He’ll get that warrior if it’s the last thing I do.

It will be the last thing I do, I suspect.

At length, the battles are done and we turn toward the warrior’s stage, waiting as our warhorses are ceremoniously walked back out to us. I see Caleb holding Darkwing’s bridle, his face not stoic like his counterparts. Instead, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

Something seems wrong about Darkwing’s tack, however. I frown, trying to place it. Then the horses reach us, and the procession begins anew, each of the warriors walking down to their mounts, to be assisted by their squires.

“You did it.” Caleb speaks gleefully as Darkwing fusses and stomps, and I miss placing my foot in the stirrup the first time.

“Did what? I can’t even get on my own horse by myself.”

“You won the day, at least as far as the public polls are concerned. You’re the one they’re talking most about, never mind Kheris and his great serpent or Baltor and his fire ape. You’re the crowd favorite.”

“And you’re insane. The battles I fought were no greater than any of the others, and quite a bit lesser, in some cases. Did you see the Seventh House death worm when it burrowed under the tournament floor, only to emerge behind the Fourth House warrior’s Divh? I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Caleb snorts. “The Fourth House’s man didn’t either.” He seats me in Darkwing’s saddle, then pats the horse’s shoulder. “But you are the favorite, make no mistake. Helps that no one knows you, that you’re from such a small house. You’re the one everyone wants to know everything about.”

That doesn’t sound good, but I suddenly realize what’s wrong with Darkwing’s fine tournament gear. “Where are the remaining sashes?” I point to the spot on the saddle where the long strips of green and silver had hung. “What did you do with them?”

“Oh! Those. Nazar told me to give them out to anyone in the crowd who wanted them.” He grins up at me. “There were a lot of people who wanted them. I ended up having to go back to him for more.”

“For more?” There’s no more time for talking, however, as the great procession of warriors turns to stream out of the tournament grounds. As before, I’m the last of the men, the final warrior from the smallest remaining house, the Tenth. But I don’t mind, I’m glad to finally be shut of this place, at least for another day.

As we ride, I look up and around. There are brightly colored flags for every house—but now there are banners as well, hundreds of banners it seems, and as we ride through the cut in the stands toward the wide-open marshlands beyond, I can see those with the green-and-silver sashes rushing through the crowds toward the stands above the exit tunnel, a school of desperate fish swimming upstream against an impossible current. Shouts of “Lord Merritt! Merritt of the Tenth House!” ring through the air, and I raise a hand as we turn into the corridor leading to escape?—

The sky is filled with petals.

Another resounding cheer crashes around me as everyone with a green sash seems to unearth great handfuls of petals and sends them scattering through the stiff breeze pouring through the tunnel. The breeze surges up and out, carrying the petals with it, but as I am the last warrior through the passage, there’s fortunately no one behind me to catch a faceful of the things, other than the unfortunate guards. I wince at what they might be thinking but still hold my hand high, my fingers tight in a fist. The roar lasts long after I’ve escaped into the relative stillness of the dark passage, focusing on the waning light beyond.

We empty out onto the broad marshlands. There are more people there, as before, chanting and singing and dancing in great celebration. Trilion will be reeling tonight, Caleb has told me, and I can well believe it.

Finally, the processional line stretches out, and the outriders are allowed to join their men. I watch with a rueful smile as the great entourages of the Second and Third Houses flow into line with the warriors. Every House has a brace of a half-dozen men or more, but I’m grateful beyond measure when my small honor guard rides up behind me, Caleb on his gelding and Nazar on his trusty mare.

“You fought well and admirably,” Nazar says, and I blush at his compliment. It’s perhaps the first he’s given me. But I have other concerns now.

“How many other people have you given sashes to, Nazar? Like the ones you affixed to my saddle? Because I saw literally dozens .”

He shrugs. “The seamstresses of Trilion had idle hands and need of coin. With Caleb’s wagering, we were amply supplied with the latter.”

“Still, those petals,” I groan. “They were everywhere in the first battle, but I thought that would be the end of them. Then the procession happened, and those people—all those running people, coming to drop those petals into the corridor. Rihad can’t have missed that.”

“Rihad was a league ahead of you at that time,” Caleb puts in. “It’s not like he was looking back.”

“The guards could see it, though—at least for a few moments. Thank the Light for the wind that blew up, that nothing was left behind.”

Nazar doesn’t turn to me as he rides but keeps his gaze steady on the mountain home of the First House, looming larger with every step. “There is always something left behind,” he says.

We weave our way through the scrubby, marsh-ridden plain, and I think again of the worm of the southern realms. “I thought I’d seen everything before this day. That worm…”

“That was the first time I’d seen it too,” Caleb pipes up. “Makes sense, though, right? The southern realms are buried in sand. Of course they’d have Divhs who’d be able to fight well in it.”

“I…” I hadn’t thought of that. Before he’d bonded to me, Merritt’s Divh had seemed much like Father’s before it, rangy, tough, and comparatively small, now that I’ve seen these other Divhs. But then, we are tucked into a tiny corner of the Protectorate, surrounded by mountains and forests. A Divh in those lands would need to be able to move through forests and streams without trampling everything beneath its feet. Here, in this wide plain, the terrain is different. The needs of the warrior are different.

I consider the problem aloud. “The First House Divhs are large—very large. Suited for barren mountains and plains. The northern Divhs are smaller but with thicker hides and fur.”

“The southern Divhs are covered in lizard skin or poison, and sometimes both.” Caleb’s eyes are wide as he turns to me. “Do you think…I mean, it’s so obvious. But is that part of the warrior-Divh connection? Not only the strength of a warrior’s blood but where his house is, what his needs are, what role he plays in the Protectorate?”

I’ve never been so weary, thinking of this. I sigh. “I have no idea. Such knowledge was forbidden to me.”

The honesty of my own words shocks me, but Caleb merely nods. “I know what that’s like. I was little more than a squire even before I lost my arm, so no one gave me any information,” he says. “You’re expected to figure it out on your own.”

Nazar is silent on the other side of us, and the guards bringing up the end of the procession are far distant, talking among themselves. It’s as good a time as ever to tell Caleb the truth. At least this truth, anyway.

“Rihad…sent a message to me, before my battle with Hantor.”

Caleb turns to me with wide eyes. “He did! That’s unexpected. I’d have bet differently had I known that. I mean, I thought you were going to win, but to have the sponsorship of the Lord Protector, that’s impressive!”

“That’s not the kind of message it was,” I say, waving him to silence. “He told me that Hantor… He told me what happened to your arm. That Hantor was behind it.”

“Oh…” Caleb looks away, shifting his body so that his shoulder isn’t so easily seen by me, and my heart twists anew. “I didn’t know he knew about that. Seems odd that he would.”

I think again of Miriam, and all the deception of the First House, but I push on. “I’m sorry, Caleb. If you’d wanted me to kill Hantor, I’m sorry that I disappointed you. You deserve vengeance. Any warrior who’s wronged deserves as much.”

Nazar still rides in silence on my other side, but Caleb’s laugh, when it comes, is wry.

“No, I don’t want vengeance, not like that, anyway. Hantor—I should have been smarter. About my position and about his.” He lifts his head and stares into the shadow of the mountain. We’re only a quarter hour from the gates, and I can already feel the whispered secrets of the First House closing around us as Caleb continues.

“Hantor is a warrior knight, but not a very good one. He was given the band too early. His father was lazy and wanted to focus on his gold and his feasts, but he was cruel as well. Hantor wanted both to appease and please him. I can’t say I would have been different.” He sighs. “When I bested him in the fighting pit, it wasn’t the first time, only the most public. It was also in front of his father. I’d thought to gain glory, because the father often ridiculed Hantor in front of—well, everyone. But I’d miscalculated on both sides. Hantor’s need for redemption, and his father’s need for Hantor to be feared. Hantor recruited Jank to help him, and another warrior knight—a good man who didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late—stood watch.”

I think of the Second House warrior knight on the stage in the tournament grounds, the one who’d looked down at Caleb with guilt and pain, but I say nothing.

Caleb shrugs the stump of his arm. “What happened next was the natural outcome of that.”

“What happened next has forced you to hone the skills of a warrior.” Nazar’s quiet words flow over us, and Caleb’s face flushes in surprise that the old man has been listening so closely. “What happened next has improved your speed, your stealth, and your ability to manage the weight of the sword and stave with only one hand. It has also improved your strategy.” Nazar pauses. “Which clearly needed improving.”

I can’t help my bark of laughter, and Caleb laughs as well, even as the great gates open to draw us once more into the twisting, turning road to the First House. Our progress is further delayed by the cheers of the villagers who’ve been stationed along the way, and as we wind our way up the mountain, the cries get even louder—for all the warriors, but especially for me. Perhaps because I am the last one, or perhaps once again in anticipation of the coming feast.

There will be two feasts, in fact, according to Caleb.

“The villagers’ one tomorrow is better, you ask me, because then the feasting will all be out on the main plains between the First House and the coliseum. Another swarm of tents and food for all. But the journey back to the First House tonight is specifically to gather all the warriors here and keep them safe and celebrated.”

I grimace, looking at the high walls on either side of us. “Or to keep them corralled, anyway. This has been the worst day yet,” I say, almost more to myself than anyone else. “One man and his Divh nearly died today, and so many more were injured. If I were given my preference, I’d leave tonight, and I didn’t fare so poorly.”

Nazar leans forward on his horse, peering ahead. “Rihad is a man of great strategy and guile. There’s nothing he does that isn’t carefully thought out.”

Whatever he sees on the far horizon seems to sober him, however, and we ride the rest of the way in silence. We don’t lack for noise as we enter into the hamlet leading up to the gates of the great fortress of the First House. Once more it has all the laughter and activity of market day, and the savory smells and crackling fire remind me how hungry I am. But we can’t stop—not yet. The procession continues to the very doors of the First House, and by the time we flow in at the rear, Rihad is already off his horse and standing on the steps, ordering us to make haste to the great hall for the feast he has prepared.

We move quickly then, driven both by hunger and an interest in appeasing Rihad, who has not yet set the rolls for tomorrow’s paired-off battles. Caleb and Nazar bully me into another tunic and breeches, and I think with grim amusement about the servant’s overwrap I have stashed in my bags. How much I’d rather leave the feast hall behind and secret myself in the caverns with the great dragon Szonja buried below. This may be my last time to see her. After the end of tomorrow’s battles, the First House will be barred to me once more.

Perhaps…

“Merritt.” Nazar stands in front of me, straightening my half cloak over my tunic. “What is the way of the warrior? “

I frown at him, but the answer he’s insisted upon so many times comes instantly to my mind, and I speak it before I can think. “Death,” I say simply.

“And what does that mean?”

“That the warrior must fight when death is certain, and accept that death may be the end, and even welcome that death, versus not taking up the fight at all.”

The priest smiles then, a tired, determined smile. His words are quieter, too. “Then go, and face this night as only a warrior can, Talia of the Tenth House.”

He turns away from me before I can ask him what he’s talking about. Caleb bounds up to me, laughing and happy and eager more than anything for the food and drink promised in the great hall. We join the throng of warriors pouring into the room, and I look around, noting the layout of tables is much as it had been the first night. Several small tables scattered around, and one high table, set upon the pedestal, for Rihad, his family, and honored guests.

Now Rihad stands, and I sense the wrongness in the air, the danger, though I can’t understand it, can hardly breathe as we’re jostled and pushed into the wide space, everyone heading for a table overladen with food, wine, and ale.

But I can’t keep my eyes off Rihad. Especially when the crowd before him clears and I can see the man standing to his right. I freeze.

“Tonight, we honor the warriors of today—and yesterday—who fight with pride for the glory of the Protectorate,” the Lord Protector announces. “And as part of that honor I present to you Lord Lemille, master of the Tenth House!”