Baiel, by and large, was not impressed with the city of Aralexia. Accustomed to the quiet and tranquil life of Lutarre Keep, he was finding the home city of Justice loud, abrasive, and for the most part, downright rude. He’d so far attended most of the duels occurring over the first four days of the Challenge, and had been stunned by the ferocity and viciousness of the populace. He honestly did not understand how so many of them regarded these fights as entertainment, particularly those resulting in great injury or death. These observations left him feeling rather disgusted with humanity.
His own fight was scheduled for Ninth-hour, the third match of the day. He was neither looking forward to nor dreading the prospect, viewing it simply as something he needed to do. He was not concerned for his safety. So far, he’d witnessed little regarding his fellow combatants to concern him, although a couple of the men had gained his interest and would warrant further observation.
Had it not been for Reagan, he would be finding his stay here in Aralexia entirely unpleasant. As it was, his reunion with her was enough to keep even the ugliest facts of the week from souring his mood, so much so that even his fellow warlords had commented upon his obvious happiness.
Baiel was with his sister in the stands of the arena now, just as they’d been the previous four days. Also with them were the two warlords he’d brought with him from Lutarre Keep, Yuri Filbon and Geves Corth, as well as the young warlord-in-training, Qyn. These three seemed not so put off by the reality of Aralexia and its people, and Qyn in particular had not been able to contain his excitement over being here at any time during the past four days. He had also taken a great liking to Reagan, and constantly questioned her about city life here in Aralexia.
“Have you ever met the king?” he was asking her now, while jelly from his pastry dripped down onto his breeches.
“Not yet,” she replied, smiling faintly.
Reagan was seated between her brother and Qyn, and Baiel looked over at her interestedly. He had noted, over the course of the past few days, that any mention of King DeSiva brought a certain cadence to her tone, a gleam to her eye. Baiel wasn’t certain what the reaction implied, but he could not ignore the truth of her Birth Patron. There was little doubt his sister would desire revenge for the circumstances that had befallen the Maves family, and any fool could piece together that the king’s blind eye was much to blame for them—but she couldn’t truly be contemplating the dark suspicions his mind was now whispering to him, could she?
He was fervently hoping not, but after taking another glance at her, and seeing that now-familiar gleam alight in her blue eyes, he vowed to himself that before this day was through, he and his sister were going to have a serious discussion. And should he discover his worst fears to be true, he’d simply have to find a way to make her reconsider her reckless schemes.
“In fact,” Reagan was now going on to Qyn, while handing him a handkerchief so he could wipe up his mess, “there is an annual ball, upon the eve of the final duel, hosted by King DeSiva himself. And as one of the royal jester’s assistants, I have been invited to attend this year.”
Qyn appeared impressed. “What fun you will have!” he exclaimed, then added wistfully, “I’ve never attended a ball.”
Reagan smiled at him regretfully. “Would that I could bring you along, but I’m afraid I have not been permitted any personal escorts.”
Qyn looked briefly disappointed, but then shrugged. “I imagine we’ll be invited to the castle when your brother wins the Challenge, in any case.”
“Perhaps,” she nodded, still smiling as she glanced at Baiel.
Baiel said nothing, not caring if he ever received an invitation to the royal castle, or even if he won the competition. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind in the least losing his duel today, for that would only mean he wouldn’t have to take the field again in any of the subsequent rounds. He also knew this was extremely unlikely to happen; he would not fight below his abilities simply to have himself tossed out, and from what he’d so far seen of the other contestants, it was doubtful any had the skills to match, much less best, him. Baiel was actually giving very little thought to his upcoming fights, trying instead to focus on simply enjoying the week with his sister.
“So tell me more of this ball,” he said now, looking to her. He’d quickly deduced that were she really in Aralexia for the purpose of seeking revenge on the king, this affair would present her the perfect opportunity.
Her blue eyes, so like his own, appeared clear and guileless as they looked back at him.
“I imagine it will consist of nothing more than a crowd of highborn conversing about which of them gained the greatest income this past season. I’ll likely be bored to tears,” she confessed.
“Perhaps you simply shouldn’t attend, then,” he suggested, watching her carefully.
She gave a slight shrug. “An enticing thought, however I would hate to insult Master Alvik by not appearing.”
Baiel nodded and sat back. He really wasn’t certain what to think, but he did reinforce his intent to have a private discussion with her as soon as possible. He could not imagine she would survive any attempt to murder the king, particularly in a setting such as the one she was describing, not to mention the simple horror surrounding the act of regicide. No, she could not seriously be considering it.
He turned away to take in his other side, where his fellow warlords Yuri and Geves sat. “Any sightings?” he asked them in a quiet tone that would not carry to Reagan.
“None as of yet,” Geves replied just as quietly.
Baiel pursed his lips together and nodded. “Hopefully this means we’ve seen the last of him, then,” he said.
For the past few days, all three warlords had been catching glimpses of a black-haired man who appeared to be shadowing them. At first, they’d simply presumed him to be a fellow guest at their inn, The Dancing Damsel, but when they began spotting him all about the city as well, their speculations turned rather more suspicious. Especially as this man took obvious pains to go unnoticed, so far managing to keep any of the warlords from getting a clear look at his face.
Baiel didn’t know what this man might possibly be after, but he was quickly losing patience with his games. The next time Baiel took note of him, he had every intention of getting to the bottom of the matter, and by any means necessary. He had enough on his mind this week without having to deal with this sort of nonsense.
When the talk around them began falling into a muted silence, Baiel turned his gaze to the field below. The bell-ringer was now making his way into position, ready to call the first combatants of the day forward. Baiel knew nothing of either man, but he quickly identified one as a knight of the royal guard; a slight point of interest, since he would be fighting a knight himself in just two hours’ time. He’d actually been curious to see these men in action, and while he so far had to admit they were greatly skilled, he couldn’t imagine any of the warlords actually falling to one. This should not have been surprising, and tended to explain why the many generations of DeSiva kings did their best not to anger those dwelling within Lutarre Keep.
The match began with the second ring of the bell, and Baiel watched with interest as the knight quickly began to dominate the fight. Beside him, he could hear Yuri and Geves commenting on the moves of the combatants that they agreed with, as well as those they felt were unnecessary or stupid. Baiel swiveled his head to take them in.
“I would be curious to know if this will continue once I’m on the field,” he said.
Yuri grinned. “Of course,” he replied.
Baiel shook his head with good-natured exasperation and looked back to the field. The knight was completely overpowering his opponent now, and, evidently deciding not to draw the drama out unnecessarily, promptly sent the other man’s blade flying from his hand with a perfectly-timed swing.
The crowd cheered, and Baiel was pleased to see the knight keep it a clean victory by causing no further harm to his opponent. The f
ights of the day before had been savage and brutal and, for the most part, he had not enjoyed watching them. He’d been surprised at Reagan’s insistence to stay until their finish, and even more by the fact that the gore of them seemed not to bother her. Occasionally he wondered if she had actually told him the whole truth of her life after she’d been taken by those Jennite raiders.
With nearly an hour until the next fight, Qyn asked if they could walk about the market place just outside the arena. Baiel agreed, and he and Reagan began escorting the boy through the crowd, leaving Yuri and Geves behind to hold their seats.
“I think you may lose this one to city life, once he reaches his fifteenth year,” Reagan murmured to him several minutes later, nodding ahead at Qyn as he closed in upon the brightly-decorated booths now surrounding them.
Baiel smiled but shook his head. “Little chance of that. Qyn is pure warlord, and will never leave the keep.”
She looked over at him, her expression questioning. “How can you be so certain?”
“We can always predict which of the boys will stay on and which will go. It is not difficult.”
Reagan accepted this with a nod and then hurried forward to meet Qyn at the booth of a glassblower. The vendor hailed from the deserts of Navosa and was displaying all manner of glass items, ranging from candle holders to delicate stemware to knives.
Baiel halted a few paces back from the two and took a quick glance about. He was looking to see if the black-haired man he’d been catching glimpses of all week was somewhere in the surrounding crowd, although if he was, he was doing a considerably better job of concealing himself for Baiel saw no trace of his presence. But he did spot another figure that immediately gained his interest.
She was standing twenty or so paces away, petite in stature and with her head and shoulders completely covered over in a purple scarf—a curious adornment for one to wear in the summer heat. Turned his way, she appeared to be staring at him.
At first, Baiel took this to be just another example of the women here in Aralexia giving their attention to any Challenge participant they encountered, but as he continued to look back, he began to feel that this was something altogether different. Curious, he began moving toward her.
She did not break her stare as he drew nearer, her wide, gray eyes staying trained on him as he came to a stop before her. He took in her face, seeing she was not much older than he, and that she wore a Birth medallion of Destiny. He saw her Secondary was concealed before he lifted his gaze back to meet hers.
“I know why you are here in Aralexia,” she said.
Diviner, he thought immediately.
“Our paths were meant to cross in Tyrell the week of Ardin’s Pride, but Destiny has given us this second chance,” she went on.
He took this in, surprised but thinking quickly. “Then you know why Stahl has sent me here to enter the games?” he asked.
Her eyes were showing much that he did not understand, but speaking the name of the Patron of War appeared to unbalance her.
“Yes,” she said, hesitant now.
“Tell me,” he said, feeling a rush of excitement. He had initially believed finding Reagan had been the answer, but his instincts had never agreed with this; it simply hadn’t felt right. But if any could give to him the true meaning, who better than a diviner?
She appeared to be considering her words very carefully now, and he forced himself to remain patient. At last, she spoke.
“You must take him back with you, to your keep,” she told him. “You must ensure he will be ready.”
Baiel frowned, confused. “Take who back with me? I do not understand.”
She appeared to be growing rapidly upset, which only deepened his confusion.
“Diviner, please,” he insisted, watching as her eyes began to grow frantic. “I will follow whatever guidance you give, but you must be clear.”
She finally looked away, exhaling heavily as she struggled to get herself under control. After several moments, she looked back, her gaze now calm.
“Stahl sent you here to collect a man that you are to bring back to Lutarre Keep. I will present him to you before week’s end.”
Baiel remained confused. “And then? Who is this man that he could not have simply traveled to the keep himself?”
The question caused her to consider, her look becoming faraway and thoughtful. “Oliveah would have sent him away with me, to act as my protection,” she then murmured. “But Stahl has brought you forth to ensure he reaches the warlords.” She continued nodding to herself, but now much more assuredly. Noting Baiel’s look of exasperation, she quickly held her hands up to him.
“All you need know is that it’s your charge to train him. You, specifically. Everything that you know of combat, it must be shared.”
He frowned. “Of course, if this is Stahl’s wish it will be done.”
She nodded once and made a move to turn away, but then paused and looked back.
“Baiel,” she said.
It perhaps should not have surprised him that she knew his name, but still it did.
“Something else, diviner?”
“Just that . . . it was an honor to meet you.”
He did not know what to make of such a comment. Watching as she now turned and slowly started off, he was left with a decidedly chilled feeling that he did not at all understand.
Musingly, he began moving back toward where he’d left his sister and Qyn, seeing both now standing before a cart selling sausages.
Reagan turned at his approach, holding a sausage on a bun out to him. “Did you at last find one to your liking?” she teased, with a nod to where he’d been standing and talking with the diviner.
Since he did not want to go into the details of the conversation here and now, he simply shrugged, saying, “Not exactly.”
She seemed to take this quick dismissal for embarrassment and went on, grinning. “You do not need to spend every moment of the week with me, Baiel. If you wish to be free to seek out your own pursuits this night, you have only to say so.”
He frowned at her. “Reagan, I haven’t seen you in twelve years, and feared you to be dead for much of that time. I have little care for such matters right now.”
This appeared to please her, her grin widening into a smile as Qyn rejoined them. The boy was carrying a sausage in each hand, with a flagon of lemonade tucked beneath his arm. Unused to such foods, for the warlords and their trainees followed a strict diet, he’d been eating almost constantly since their arrival in Aralexia, apparently determined to sample everything. Baiel was allowing it only because he knew Qyn would be sorry for his gluttony once they returned to Lutarre Keep and he again took up his training.
They continued strolling about the market place for the remainder of the hour, and then started back toward their seats when Eighth-hour began drawing near. They slid down onto the bench, handing over the food and drink they’d brought for Geves and Yuri, just as the bell-ringer gonged to bring the next two duelists onto the field.
The combatants were again two Dhan’Marian men, one a Justice officer. From all Baiel had so far observed, the individual talents of the Legion’s men seemed to vary widely. Three officers had so far been killed in the competition, and it appeared as though all opponents but the knights were using this opportunity to kill these officers without incurring any punishment. Probably because many of the men entered in the games were in fact criminals.
This fight actually proved to be the exception, Baiel then went on to note several minutes later. Both men had delivered relatively skillful blows, and both taken minor wounds, but it was obvious the Justice officer was not going to prevail. His opponent solidified his victory moments later, inflicting a deep slash across the officer’s calf rather than hewing through the entire limb. The first defeated Justice officer to be left alive, aside from those facing knights or their own kind, the man limped off the field, leaving his foe behind to officially be declared
the victor by the royal jester.
Baiel was pleased to note no deaths had yet occurred here this day, and knew his own fight would prove no different. Warlords did not kill if they didn’t have to.
He waited until only ten or so minutes remained until the top of hour, then began making his way down to the field. He allowed Qyn to join him, but left Reagan behind with Yuri and Geves; she did not appear to mind, simply giving him a smile and stating that she would see him soon. It was apparent she had full confidence in his abilities and wasn’t worried he was about to be maimed or killed.
Fighting their way through the crowd took longer than expected, and he was still collecting his sword and shield from the officers he’d been forced to leave them with that morning when the first gong sounded. Evidently, the weapons of all combatants had to undergo testing to ensure they’d not been magicked in some way, and while he hadn’t favored the idea of handing over his sword, he’d had little choice in the matter.
“You’re clear to engage,” one of the officers at the edge of the field told him, giving over his weapons.
Baiel didn’t reply, taking his sword and shield wordlessly and turning away.
“Await me here,” he told Qyn.
The boy nodded quickly, nearly vibrating with excitement.
The audience made their presence known as he strode out onto the field. Many of them, he noted, were cheering him, but a fair amount of others appeared to be wishing him a swift and brutal death, made evident by jeers such as “Die, warlord scum!” He ignored them all and drew to a stop before the bell-ringer and his opponent.
He quickly scrutinized the knight. The man was of about his own height, but somewhat heavier and near to twenty years his senior. His eyes were calm and determined as he looked back at Baiel, sizing him up in kind.
They set me against one of their veterans, he realized. He knew the pairings of the Challenge were supposed to be devised randomly, but he was suddenly very much in doubt of this. Whether simple defeat or actual death was their aim, it was clear the royal council wanted him out of this competition, and as quickly as possible. Annoyed, he aimed to make their supposed champion look like a fool.
The knight raised his sword, assuming the starting pose.
Baiel did likewise, crossing their blades with a light touch.
The bell-ringer leapt to safety.
Baiel lost focus of all sights and sounds around him, intent only on the blade in his hand and listening for the first chime that would give him the allowance to move. When it came, he reacted instantly.
Circling his wrist to the left, his sword blade rounded over and underneath the enemy steel. Putting a slight angle to his blade, he then brought his arm straight up, bringing the knight’s sword with it. With the weapons momentarily above both their heads, Baiel twisted to slam his shield into the knight’s unprotected right side, while bringing his sword arm down slightly to smash his elbow into the man’s face. The knight’s sword dropped from his hand, and Baiel brought the hilt of his own weapon down onto the top of his skull, knocking him senseless.
As much of the crowd erupted in cheers, Baiel turned toward the royal council and simply stared at them. The royal jester, Master Alvik, started toward him quickly.
“Your prowess is surprising, even for a warlord such as yourself,” Alvik said in greeting, drawing near.
“I’m sure it is,” Baiel told him dryly. “Clearly you would have selected a different knight to face me, had you foreseen the joke I would make of this one. Or was he actually the best of the lot?”
The jester paused, taking in his defiant stance with some amusement. “You may find it prudent to speak with more care, Sir Maves,” he warned. “Certainly you realize your kind are not well appreciated here, and such behavior will earn you no allies.”
Baiel shrugged. “I think I can do without the sorts of allies to be found in this city.”
The jester’s smile widened as he continued to watch him. “In that, Sir Maves, you would perhaps be surprised.” He took another step forward, grasped Baiel’s arm, and bellowed to officially declare him the winner.
“Until the next round then, jester,” Baiel said a moment later, taking back his arm. “Perhaps in the future you will consider actually providing me a challenge.”
Alvik snorted but said nothing more, turning away to start back to his seat amongst the rest of the royal council. Baiel left the field and found Reagan, Geves, and Yuri all waiting for him next to Qyn.
“If it was your intention to piss off every knight in Aralexia, I think you can consider your mission accomplished,” Geves said to him in greeting.
“Not to mention the royal council,” Yuri added, “who are never happy with our presence here to begin with.”
Despite their words, Baiel noted neither looked especially bothered. Reagan, however, was looking at him interestedly.
“I saw you exchanging words with Master Alvik,” she began.
He waved off the inquiry, not wanting to admit his rudeness to her employer. “It was nothing,” he said. He looked about briefly. “But I’ve about had my fill of the arena for the day. Stay if you like, but I am going to head back to the inn.”
Qyn wished to remain, as did Geves and Yuri, to witness the day’s final two fights. Reagan appeared undecided, but agreed to depart when Baiel mentioned his desire to speak with her in private. This statement seemed to make her apprehensive, and she remained quiet as they threaded their way from the forum and out into the city streets.
Baiel kept his silence as well, not wanting to broach the subject on his mind while they were in public. He was also using the time to carefully select the words he would use to initiate the conversation, knowing there was an excellent chance he would either offend or enrage her. But he could not keep his silence any longer—whatever Reagan’s reasons for being in the home city of Justice, he would discover them today. Confronting the conspiracies of the royal council first-hand had only reinforced to him the dangers they represented, and how utterly foolish she would be to attempt any sort of revenge upon the king.
The silence between then continued until they were securely sequestered in his room within The Dancing Damsel. Reagan sank into the chair by the window and took him in expectantly, her face now revealing nothing of her thoughts.
“What is on your mind, brother?” she asked steadily.
He came to stand before her, looking down. “I would know the real reason you are here in Aralexia,” he said.
She said nothing for some time, but held to their eye contact.
“I believe you know,” she finally replied, reaching up to idly finger her Revenge medallion.
He sighed, feeling a surge of disappointment. “And you intend to do what, exactly? Kill him? Such a thought is madness, Reagan!”
Her eyes blazed as she glared up at him. “Madness, you say? How many lie dead because of his neglect, and all of them citizens he was sworn to aid and protect! With our own parents among them, how dare you name me mad for wanting to make him pay?”
“Because you will fail!” he came back, just as heatedly. “And then you will die!”
Her eyes narrowed even further. “Do not underestimate me,” she hissed.
His eyebrows rose. “How can I not? He is surrounded by a constant guard, one that will cut you down the moment you make a suspicious move. Do you not understand, you cannot get to him! Not now, and not ever.”
She stared at him in silence.
Seeing no signs that she would relent, he withheld another sigh and crouched down before her. “Reagan, please, you must let this go. It was a terrible thing that happened, but you must believe that the Patrons, in their wisdom, will make everything right in the end. You may not be the one holding the reins, but Fate will see to it he receives his share of the blame for what happened. Please,” he repeated, “let this go and begin living your life. Otherwise you will forever be chained to a past that holds nothing for you but
ghosts and heartbreak.”
Keeping her eyes on his, she let go of her Birth medallion and reached for her Secondary. “I will be the one holding those reins, Baiel,” she told him, slowly flipping the bronze circle to reveal her Choice Patron. “No matter how many years it may take, or if the task claims my very life—it will be me.”
He stared in horror at her identical medallions of Revenge, his mind struggling to accept that she had willingly done this. To have risked madness, simply to pursue a vengeance that would in all probability claim her life. He could not make himself understand, and was led to the possibility that this desire she harbored went far deeper than he’d ever imagined.
At last he found his tongue, and he moved his eyes back onto hers as he spoke. “What truly happened to you during all those years you were kept in Jennen, Reagan?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing you would care to hear of, Baiel,” she snapped back, flipping her Secondary so that it again faced inward. “I had no intention of asking for your help in this, but I had at least hoped for your support.”
“That I can never give you,” he told her sadly, shaking his head. “Not for this.”
She shot to her feet and began storming toward the door, nearly knocking him over in her wake. “Just go back to your precious keep and continue ignoring the rest of the world. Leave the matters of the realm to those of us who actually care about them!” she yelled, disappearing through the door and slamming it behind her with a monstrous fury.
He stared after her, completely dumbstruck. After only days, the sister he’d been searching for a dozen years had again just vanished from his life. And all in the name of Revenge—shallow, spiteful revenge, a desire most loathed by all warlords.
He did not go after her.
Chapter 34