The sixth day of the week began the last day of the Challenge’s first round, seeing the final ten men yet to fight taking the field to determine which of them would move on, and which would be defeated or killed. Oliveah had been seated in the stands since early morning, had now witnessed the first four duels—and consequently two deaths—and she was determined not to leave this arena again until Devlin Alvik did.
Despite making three trips in the past two days to the bookshop where they’d met before, and leaving him urgent messages each time, he appeared to be ignoring her demands to meet. Likely, he anticipated her fury over the result of both Nathon and Taleb moving on to the second round of the competition, but she would be ignored no longer. It was her intention this day to stalk the royal jester until he agreed to face her—something he would have no choice but to do if he did not want her drawing unwanted attention to the both of them.
At present, she was seated with Madi, Taleb, Nathon, and Sabian and Eugan Reif. Reavis had been making appearances on and off all day, but was currently not with them now. Their position, due to Oliveah’s insistence upon arriving early as well as to the fact that three of the men in their party were first-round victors, was about as favorable as it could get; front-row at field level, and directly across from the seating of the royal council. She had consequently spent much of the day glaring across the grasses in the general direction of Devlin Alvik. Whatever sort of game he was attempting to play with her, she was determined to put a stop to it today.
To her right side, Taleb, Nathon, and Eugan were discussing the combatants who would be moving on with them to the second round. Eight knights and eight Justice officers had so far conquered, as well as five foreigners, including the much-discussed Rydin Kale, several Dhan’Marians who for the most part represented the country’s criminal population, and the warlord. This young man had fought just the day before, with his victory causing a great amount of apprehension to erupt in his fellow combatants. Oliveah had specifically overheard Nathon and Eugan discussing how neither held even the slightest desire to face him. She was of an entirely different opinion, figuring that any match-up with Baiel Maves would prove the most effective way of seeing out the task the jester was so far miserably failing to accomplish.
She remained unsure of Taleb’s opinion of the warlord, but after speaking to Madi the night before, she now knew he would be departing Aralexia in Sir Maves’ company. If nothing else, this had convinced her that she could not, in any way, attempt to send Taleb with Madi and Sabian when they set off to begin their quest for the Ruby Stone at the conclusion of the week. Sabian, of course, had already told her as much, but knowing Stahl, the very Patron of War, wanted Taleb in Lutarre Keep with the warlords caused her to give the matter a much more serious consideration. Apparently, even the Patrons were now interfering to be certain Taleb would be ready when the time came—a fact she was regarding with absolute terror.
But despite learning the truth of Stahl’s objective, it appeared Madi continued to remain ignorant as to the deeper truth of Taleb. She did, however, seem to have glimpsed something else to upset her greatly, remaining quiet and lost to her own thoughts for much of the previous evening. She had not offered to share whatever this information was, and Oliveah had not asked. It was a difficult path the diviner was often forced to walk, and Oliveah knew the best thing to do in these sorts of situations was to simply let her be.
Taleb, Nathon, and Eugan were now discussing how they would configure the match-ups of the second round were such decisions in their power, an activity they all appeared to find highly entertaining. Oliveah tuned them out while looking to her other side.
Madi was seated on the bench to her left, and Sabian next to her. The two were speaking in low tones and Oliveah caught the word “ship”. While Sabian had yet to reveal the exact location of the lost Catalyst Stone he and the diviner would soon be seeking, he had spoken that their destination lay upon another continent. This information made Oliveah nervous, and gave her a clearer understanding of why Stahl had directed one of his warlords into Taleb’s path; for had he not, she would have still, despite Sabian’s warning, been extremely tempted to send him to act as Madi and Sabian’s protection—something they would likely be in dire need of, depending on which of the foreign lands they would have to enter. Oliveah knew Nathon would do it if she asked it of him, but she was very much hoping to find another alternative. Losing Taleb was going to be difficult enough, but sending Nathon off at the same time would devastate her. She would do it if it was her only hope of keeping Madi and Sabian safe, but would keep her eyes and ears alert for any other possibilities during the next several days.
“I don’t know why we’re even bothering to stay for this,” Taleb was saying now, drawing her attention back. “There’s no chance this will be a fair fight.”
“I can’t believe the king even let Prince Luken enter,” Nathon added, shaking his head. “Perhaps the rumors of his madness have some truth behind them after all.”
Eugan snorted. “I hope it is not the royal council’s intention to have him win this. For once they’ve run out of knights and Justice officers to pair against him and take the fall, our fine prince will find himself in a difficult position.”
Nathon looked at him. “Are you saying you would not hold back, if drawn to face him?”
Eugan was quiet, giving the question serious consideration. “My pride demands I proclaim the fight would be fair, and that I would approach it with every intention of seeing it out to the best of my ability. But to speak truthfully, I think, once finding myself facing him, I would throw the match. I don’t believe I could truly risk harming our future king.”
“I would likely do the same,” Nathon admitted.
“I wouldn’t,” Taleb broke in, turning to shoot a frown at the both of them. “He entered this willingly, while fully understanding the rules. Whatever befalls him now is his own doing.”
Oliveah’s eyes were fixed blindly on the field ahead as she took in Taleb’s words, her limbs locked within the chill they’d just sent coursing through her.
Eugan, however, was emitting a faint chuckle. “You are clearly a braver man than I, Taleb.”
“Or one far more foolish,” Nathon added, sounding perturbed.
Taleb’s tone was amused when he replied. “My bravery or foolishness aside, I believe there’s at least a handful of men in the competition who would not only enjoy crossing blades with the prince, but who wouldn’t hesitate in the slightest to kill him. The Balshan in particular comes to mind,” he said, referring to the man who’d snapped the spine of the unfortunate knight who’d been paired against him.
“None of the Jennites would think twice about it either,” Eugan added. “In fact, King Stoneburn would likely proclaim the one to do it a hero upon his return to Jennen.”
Oliveah was still listening to them silently, and what they were saying did give her reason to ponder. Since she’d been told by the jester himself that he was manipulating the pairings of the duels, she figured there was little reason to be concerned over Prince Luken’s fate. But it would be interesting to see if the knight he was about to face had been instructed to take the fall so as to let the prince advance, or to conquer quickly and oust his highness from the competition unscathed. In any case, she finally decided, the royal jester certainly had his hands full this week, not that this provided any excuse for his recent failures.
The first ring of the bell called the final two combatants to the field just minutes later, and the reception given by the crowd appeared to indicate that much of the audience had come to the same conclusions put forth by Taleb, Nathon, and Eugan. The consensus seemed to be that Prince Luken had been included in this year’s Challenge for the sole purpose of manipulating his win, and the populace was not at all happy about it. Although not bold enough to heckle or jeer at their future king, no cheering pervaded the field at his entrance either, leaving an eerie and dense silence to fill the entir
e forum.
When the match began just a minute later, even Oliveah had no trouble quickly discerning the obvious sham of this duel. In fact, she was soon wincing, feeling embarrassed for both the prince and the knight as they carried out their dance. Although, in Prince Luken’s defense, it didn’t appear as though he realized the truth of the matter, seeming to be putting his full effort into the fight. And, to her eye at least, the prince was not wholly unskilled—but he was in no way a match for the skills of a knight.
After several painful minutes of observation, the knight at last stepped into a thrust and went down. The injury would be minor, and yet he kept to the ground, giving a clear signal of defeat. Prince Luken was the only person in the entire forum to appear surprised by his victory, and the strange silence continued to reign even as Devlin Alvik loudly proclaimed him the victor of the fight.
Finally, a small splattering of applause began. It grew in momentum, circling its way about the stands, but remained nothing more than a polite show of appreciation that lacked all feeling. Prince Luken appeared not to notice, smiling as he waved to the crowd before turning back to rejoin his father and the rest of the council.
Oliveah sighed and put her head in her hands.
“As I thought, an utter waste of time,” Taleb was now saying.
Oliveah felt a nudge and turned to regard Nathon.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, frowning slightly.
She thought quickly, as she would now need to make a quick escape from her party if she was to have any hope of actually cornering the jester before he made his way back to royal grounds.
“Fine,” she told him. “But I do have a performance tonight, and should start back to the inn immediately so that I have time to prepare.” This was true, although the performance wasn’t until Fourteenth-hour—almost three full hours from now.
“Where is the performance?” Nathon asked her. “I would like to attend.”
“I’m afraid you will have to miss this one,” she responded promptly. “It is to happen at a private residence.”
Nathon looked disappointed. “Well, perhaps the next one, then. But very well, I will see you to your inn,” he added, rising.
She had anticipated this. “Thank you, but that is unnecessary. I bid Reavis to meet me just outside the arena.” He frowned at her and she went on. “But, if you could make sure Madi gets back safely, I would appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
She got to her feet and began moving down the aisle, only to stop and repeat the entire conversation again with Taleb. Finally, she put them behind her and pushed herself into the crowd now converging upon the exit. Rather than leave the forum entirely, however, she instead loitered at the wall, her eyes now upon the royal council. The seven men making up this party were now being surrounded by a large group of knights, the security detail that would see them all safely back to the castle, she knew.
Most of the crowd had left by the time the royal party began to approach, and those who hadn’t were quick to make way. Oliveah donned the manner of an impatient woman awaiting someone as the group finally drew near, and the knights seemed to pay her little mind as she went on tapping her foot and sighing.
But she did manage to catch Alvik’s notice, very briefly while he filed by, and she filled her eyes with all the wrath she could muster in that fleeting moment when their gazes locked. He gave absolutely no reaction to seeing her, but this she’d been expecting. She remained confident her message had been received.
She waited until the knights bringing up the rear guard marched through the exit, and then stepped after them. Never venturing closer than a hundred paces, she followed after the royal procession out onto the street, heading west.
She had not considered the possibility that the king deemed it beneath him to walk the ten or so blocks back to his castle. Spying the two ornate carriages waiting for his majesty and his entourage at the end of the street, her heart dropped as she realized the jester was going to escape her.
Cursing violently under her breath, she drew to a halt and watched as King DeSiva, his son, and the captain of the royal guard stepped into one carriage. The commander of the Legion of Justice, the treasurer, and the king’s seneschal moved to take the other. Frowning quickly, she realized she’d lost sight of Alvik.
Desperately she scanned the street, finally seeing him as he rounded the block on foot. Deciding he must have taken her silent threat seriously, she hurried after him.
She followed him through a maze of streets, up one, down another, across one block and then two, never coming closer than fifty paces behind. Not once did she see him look back to check if she followed, although he must have been assuming she was. Finally, they turned onto a street that looked vaguely familiar. She was just beginning to panic, having lost sight of him again, when she realized this was the very street housing the bookshop where they’d met before. Seeing it just ahead, she closed in quickly.
There appeared to be no customers within the small shop, with only a lone man sitting behind the counter, making figures in a ledger. He glanced up briefly when she entered, jerked his head toward the door behind him, and then returned his attention to his task.
Oliveah said nothing, moving past him and pushing open the door to the tiny room where she’d spoken with Alvik before.
He was waiting for her, seated at the table with his hands folded neatly before him. He held his silence until she’d closed the door behind her.
“Before you begin shouting at me,” he started calmly, “I feel compelled to relay the danger of what you just did.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, pulling out the chair opposite him and dropping herself into it. “And in any case, if you’d done as you vowed, it wouldn’t have been necessary for me to take such an action.”
He nodded blandly. “I can see this is going to be a rational discussion.”
She chose to ignore that.
“Explain yourself,” she demanded instead.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Now,” she added, refusing to be intimidated.
His expression turned completely unreadable. “You might have warned me,” he began, “as to the extents of their talents.”
Pausing, she reminded herself to tread carefully here, suspecting the jester would not hesitate to use any opportunity to trick her into slipping up and revealing Taleb’s identity.
“They are both born to War. It seemed obvious you would realize they would therefore be much skilled,” she told him.
Actually, from what she was hearing about the city, it appeared both Nathon and Taleb were a fair amount more adept that she’d ever given them credit for. Although in Taleb’s case, she now realized, this made a hideous sort of sense.
“Perhaps,” Alvik responded to her now. “But even still, I matched Nathon with a man possessing a knight’s abilities and a refusal to kill. I truly did not anticipate him winning, especially with such ease.”
Oliveah thought about this. She didn’t see any reason for the jester to be lying, especially since he’d already placed his very life in her hands by revealing what he knew of Taleb. Plus, it made no sense at all for him to desire Taleb and Nathon continuing on in the competition.
“Well, what of Taleb, then?” she persisted, not yet ready to abandon her fury.
The jester blew out a breath. “I had no way of knowing the Kathwein was mad. Surely you understand why I’d thought him the perfect adversary.”
She nodded grudgingly. Had the Kathwein not be insane, he would indeed have made a wise choice. Apparently not wise enough, however—for mad or not, Taleb had beaten him.
She sighed, frustrated that she could no longer, in good conscience, blame the jester. Quite likely, he was just as distressed by the matter as she was.
“All right,” she said, relenting. “Let us concentrate on the second round, then.”
He leaned back in his seat and sp
read his hands. “I’m open to suggestions. For besides the knights, I don’t know of any but the warlord who has the possible skill to best them without making the final blow a fatal one. Our options are running thin, Lady Oslund.”
“The warlord,” she then said, “could have taken at least one of them out in the first round. Why did you not make such a pairing?”
He rubbed at his forehead. “Had I to do it over, I would. But I truthfully thought the would-be knight and the Kathwein had the matter covered. The council themselves wanted the warlord pitted against that knight, a veteran they thought to have a fair chance of ousting him.” He laughed faintly. “They are not at all happy with the disgrace Sir Maves made of their champion, if not the entire knighthood.”
Oliveah narrowed her eyes at the jester, sensing a dark connotation in those words.
“Exactly how unhappy is the council?” she asked.
He regarded her silently in response.
“You cannot let this happen,” she came back, suddenly feeling near to panic. “Just yesterday, Madi divined that Baiel Maves is meant to take—” she cut herself off abruptly, just in time. “To take him back to Lutarre Keep once this week is over. Stahl himself sent the warlord here specifically for this task, although Maves was unaware until Madi happened to cross his path.”
To her surprise, these words appeared to have a profound effect on Alvik.
“The warlord does not understand the full truth though, does he?” he demanded quickly.
“No. Madi does not know, and neither does the warlord.” She frowned at him in confusion.
He gave her an impatient look in return. “Do you think it likely the warlords would still take him, if they knew?”
She thought about that. “But . . . for the very safety of the realm . . . would they really turn him away?”
Alvik sighed. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I would not take the risk.” He paused, then went on. “But worry not for the safety of Baiel Maves. I have already seen to the matter.”
Looking back at him, Oliveah finally began to realize what she’d not let herself fully comprehend until this moment. Not only was the man seated across from her incredibly dangerous, but he was obviously willing to cross whatever lines were necessary to see out his aims. And so long as he was careful, he carried the power to step over those lines with utter impunity.
To cross Devlin Alvik was to earn yourself a death sentence. There was simply no other way to regard the matter. She suddenly found herself wondering how many people he was responsible for killing throughout his many years upon the royal council.
“Lady Oslund?” he was now calling to her.
Blinking quickly, she saw he now had several sheets of parchment spread across the surface of the table.
“The lists?” he said pointedly, gesturing.
Lists? She scrambled to pull her thoughts together, knowing she needed all of her wits to deal with this man. Not even for a moment did she want him to suspect she was off-balance.
The lists of the round two combatants, she quickly supplied herself.
She reached for the nearest piece of parchment, pulling it toward her. A quick glance told her that her guess was correct.
“All right,” Alvik said, taking up another of the pages. “Let us get to work.”
Chapter 35