Flynn entered into the tent housing the Thieves’ gambling enterprise and looked about. It was just past Sixth-hour, Eleventh-day, and the day’s opening match was set to begin in less than an hour. The activity within the tent should have been jumping, lost to the frenzy always directly following the release of the day’s list of combatants. He was therefore very confused to find only his four Thieves within.
“Where is everyone?” he demanded, taking a few more steps inside. The marketplace directly outside the tent, which also should have been bustling in the aftermath of freshly-dispersed leaflets, was nearly deserted as well.
Tishan was the first to answer, putting her elbows onto the counter and leaning forward. “Today begins the third round, and due to the uproar over Prince Luken’s fixed matches, the royal council is now drawing the names publicly, out upon the field.”
Flynn took this in and quickly determined it would in no way harm his business, mostly likely accomplishing just the opposite, in fact. With the names drawn publicly, the citizens would no longer fear making substantial bets on an outcome that had possibly been predetermined. Whether any matches besides the prince’s had actually been contrived no one could answer, but eliminating the possibility that such workings would continue definitely put a positive spin on future wagering. Five days of fighting still remained, a total of fifteen duels yet to come, and Flynn was determined to make the most of them.
He cocked his head at Tishan. “I’m going to observe. Join me?” As she nodded and began stepping around the counter, he looked to the three Thieves remaining. “Stay here and prepare for the mob. Take no bets until I return with the official listing.”
Holding back the flap of the tent entrance, he waited for Tishan to step through and then followed her out into the early morning sunshine. It was already hot and humid, typical of a Dhan’Marian summer but a circumstance Flynn was still getting used to. His native lands of Ceja tended to be much drier, and the humidity here was an annoyance he was still having trouble adapting too. On the other hand, winters here in Dhanen’Mar were much more pleasant, with only its northern regions becoming cold enough to see more than a few gentle flurries of snow.
But snow was the furthest thing from his mind that morning as he felt a trickle of sweat run down his brow while he and Tishan made their way through the eerily silent marketplace. By the looks of it, even most of the vendors had gone into the forum to watch the names being drawn.
Flynn glanced over at Tishan as they approached the gates leading into the arena. “I haven’t seen much of Knoxx these past few days,” he commented blandly. The mage appeared to be avoiding him, and Flynn was rapidly losing patience with this. Well aware that Knoxx had again somehow embroiled himself in one of his brother’s schemes, it was clear he was simply trying to forestall the looming confrontation with his commander. But this avoidance would not be allowed to continue much longer.
“I haven’t either,” Tishan then replied, “although he left a note under my door stating that he wished to speak with me sometime today.”
Suspicious, Flynn dropped the matter. Clearly, Tishan knew even less than he, and there would be little point in wasting the might of his interrogation on her. Better he simply keep it in check until he could unleash it, full force, onto Knoxx.
Only steps into the arena they realized they could go no further. It appeared all those who came to attend the fights wished to be in attendance for the name-drawing as well, although many were loitering about rather than finding seats, probably so they wouldn’t be caught in the mad dash to the gambling tent. Flynn quickly determined he and Tishan would need to stay upon the outer fringes if they were to have any hope of arriving there before any of their customers.
Their line of sight was largely obstructed, but Flynn managed to catch a few glimpses of the far–off field. He assumed the giant, steel goblet at center field—which, by the looks of it, had taken at least two men to heft—contained the names of all the round three participants, and the royal jester appeared to be reaching into it now. Flynn began searching himself for parchment, which he found a scrap of, but then had to ask Tishan if she carried anything to write with. She deftly lifted a charcoal pencil from the pocket of a nearby citizen and handed it to him.
A roar from the crowd implied the first names had been drawn, but it was a few minutes before word of them trickled back through the crowd. Flynn jotted down the information in his nearly illegible scrawl, noting the Balshan Gliddion Xaz would be featured in the first duel opposite a knight of the royal guard. Flynn found himself pitying the knight, despite not being in the habit of feeling sorry for those suicidal enough to have willingly entered a contest such as this.
Minutes later, the names of those set to appear in the second fight rolled near and Flynn added them to his list. Both these men were Dhan’Marian, one a known criminal and the other Nathon Wythe, the man who’d stabbed Knoxx back upon the Oslund vineyard. Flynn found it interesting how both Nathon Wythe and Taleb Okin seemed to be doing quite well in the competition thus far. Knowing these two had somehow caught the interest of Devlin Alvik, Flynn could only imagine what their appearance here in the Challenge might imply.
The third duel would involve a foreigner, a man from Veron, versus a Justice officer. The fourth and final match of the day would then again consist of two Dhan’Marians, one a criminal and the other a knight.
Flynn furiously scribbled all of this down even as he and Tishan rounded back, hurrying to stay ahead of the crowd now intent on emptying into the marketplace. The first duel was less than an hour away, and Flynn figured he and his fellow Thieves would be utterly swamped at taking wagers until its onset.
While zeroing in upon the tent, he also made some fast determinations. With round three consisting of only eight fights over two days, the men not called on this morning would instead all be fighting tomorrow, and Flynn now found it an easy thing to identify them all.
The Dhan’Marian prince, of course, would be making an appearance, which could very well end in bloodshed now that his council was no longer protecting him. One knight and one Justice officer still remained unaccounted for, as well as a Dhan’Marian mercenary suspected of being a rapist and murderer. Taleb Okin would also be up tomorrow, as well as the warlord Baiel Maves. And then there was the Jennite Rydin Kale—a man Flynn had been watching with much interest ever since taking that stunning wager on him the very first day of the Challenge. This remained the only outside bet as yet placed upon the final outcome that did not favor the warlord, and for this reason he was hoping to see Maves and Kale paired up soon, expecting their fight to be an extremely interesting one no matter the result. Perhaps tomorrow would be the day.
He and Tishan arrived at the tent only moments before the full-blown chaos hit, as hundreds suddenly converged within and began trying to push and shove their way to the counter. Flynn hollered for order, threatening to close the tent until the second duel. This was a bluff, but none were so bold as to test it, and with slight order restored he and his Thieves set to work.
There was no time for anything but recording names and taking bets until only minutes before Seventh-Hour. The tent then emptied out at a stunning speed, leaving the five Thieves alone and able to organize the mess of pages now strewn all about the counter and floor behind it.
Because he always required official confirmation of a duel’s result before paying out even a single copper, Flynn next sent one of his Thieves to run out and view this first match. The four of them remaining used this time to catch their breaths and shift all the scattered pages into more or less organized piles, an act that would make their tasks much easier when those who’d wagered wisely began returning to collect their winnings.
On an average, the duels of the King’s Challenge tended to last less than ten minutes, which did not give the Thieves much time to collect themselves between rushes. The first fight of the third round proved no exception, seeing the man Flynn had sent to witness it j
ogging back through the flap only minutes after he’d vanished through it.
“The Balshan won,” this thief reported breathlessly.
Flynn turned and circled Gliddion Xaz’s name on the huge piece of parchment serving as their daily match-board. The betting did not wholly hinge upon the victors, however, but also, if the bettor had so wished, on whether the match had resulted in a kill. In this particular case Flynn felt he could make a relatively safe guess as to the answer, but asked the question anyway.
“Is the knight still alive?” he put forth.
“No,” his thief told him with a grimace.
Flynn didn’t request details, already well aware of what the Balshan had done to his previous two victims. Instead, he simply made a mark to denote the knight had been killed in combat, and then told everyone to prepare for the next wave of gamblers who would be pouring into the tent at any moment.
Since most hadn’t been stupid enough to bet against the Balshan, many came to collect winnings for this duel, but for the same reason the majority of these winnings were small. The surprises and upsets paid out the biggest amounts, although lucky guesses still accounted for much of the payoffs with so many fights still left before the final duel. Most appeared completely certain that the warlord Baiel Maves would be one of the last two men standing in that final fight, but speculation surrounding who might be left to face him remained widely debated. Personally, Flynn would have gone with Kale or the Balshan, but it really was a bit soon to be making these sorts of guesses with any degree of accuracy. A lot would depend on how the pairings matched up over the next round.
When the crowd within the tent again started to die down, Flynn estimated it was closing in on Eighth-hour and the next duel. His morbid curiosity caused him to tell the other Thieves to await him here while he personally went to witness the imminent fight. He could explain it only because of his own strange connection to them, but he’d felt compelled to watch all duels yet fought by Nathon Wythe and Taleb Okin, and evidently today would prove no exception. He’d also been sure to catch both of Kale’s duels thus far, as well as the warlord’s. While holding to the opinion that a man would have to be more or less insane to actually enter the games—why risk your life for gold when you could simply steal it?—Flynn did enjoy catching a match whenever he could manage it.
Nathon Wythe would now be fighting one of his fellow Dhan’Marians, a known criminal with an affinity for starting fires. Flynn had heard an inn down by the waterfront had burned to the ground earlier in the week, and he wondered now if this man had had anything to do with it. If so, it was of no surprise the Legion had ignored his guilt, but they’d likely be set to converge the moment someone defeated him, provided he was still alive to be arrested, of course.
Flynn entered the forum and took up a standing position at the sidelines. A couple Justice officers charged to prevent this sort of loitering glanced at him but ultimately let him be, much as they’d been doing all week. Obviously, they’d been ordered to steer clear of him so as not to interfere with the gambling web. Flynn smiled and flipped them a rude hand gesture simply because he could, and then turned his attention onto the field.
The duel was just beginning, with the gong sounding out in the quiet of the hushed crowd. The combatants made a quick pass and then both took a step back, circling slowly. The fire-loving criminal made a feint, looking to be aiming for Wythe’s side, but then reversed his sword’s direction and swept his blade in low, aiming to slash a thigh.
Wythe wasn’t taken in by the ploy and used his own weapon to parry, simultaneously slamming his shield into his opponent’s face. The criminal reeled back but swung wildly as he did so. Wythe took a small slice to his shoulder but landed his own blade into the other man’s side—but by using the flat rather than the edge. With no kills or even serious wounds upon his record thus far, it was obvious he was not a man to do such things if he had any other recourse. An admirable code of personal honor, Flynn supposed, although one that could potentially get him killed in a contest such as this.
It appeared Wythe had the situation well under his control, however, as he then made swift slashes to either side of his opponent, back and forth several times, that only seemed to confuse the man and cause him to begin flailing wildly again, trying to parry. Wythe carried on in this manner for almost a full minute, and then suddenly drew his sword back, swept low, and slammed the flat of his weapon into the criminal’s outer thigh. The man pitched to the ground in a tangle of his own limbs, scrambling to get his sword aloft and before him. Not fast enough, he then froze as Wythe’s blade leveled at his throat.
The audience erupted in cheers, and Flynn turned away to start back to the tent, pondering. He thought Wythe’s aversion to killing was strange, as he’d obviously had no difficulty stabbing Knoxx earlier in the summer. Of course, Flynn further reasoned, Wythe had, at the time, been defending his lord and home, an act which tended to make most men particularly deadly. Actually, after watching both Wythe’s and Okin’s fights in the past rounds, Flynn felt he and Knoxx were incredibly lucky to have escaped the Oslund vineyard with their lives. He remained a bit sour over the situation, his resulting bruises and broken nose healed but not forgotten.
He entered back into the tent and posted the results of the duel on the match-board just before the next swarm of bettors descended. The rest of the day passed quickly, seeing the Justice officer prove victorious over the man from Veron in the third duel, and the knight coming out the winner in the last. The death toll held steady at one, with the Balshan proving the day’s only murderer. So far, the most blood had been shed in first round, although historically the brutalist battles tended to occur during rounds five and six, once the remaining combatants grew close enough to ultimate victory to begin smelling the prize money.
The five Thieves packed it in and left the marketplace, scattering in different directions to enjoy their freedom for the remainder of the day. Flynn remained with Tishan, starting back to their inn, The Dancing Damsel. With the day’s business concluded, it was now his intention to seek out Knoxx and get to the bottom of whatever business had seen him slinking all about Aralexia for the past few days. Or rather, not seen him. Flynn suspected the mage had been using his power of invisibility to get by him unnoticed, and this was something he was going to pay for once his commander caught up with him.
They entered into the common area, which remained largely empty. Flynn made a cursory look about for Knoxx, not surprised when he didn’t see him.
“Go on up to Knoxx’s room and see if he’s in,” he instructed Tishan. “If he is, bring him to my quarters immediately. If he’s not, sit down here and wait until he decides to make an appearance.”
She didn’t appear pleased with the assignment, but headed upstairs as directed without comment. Flynn followed more slowly, unlocking his door and moving into his room while pondering on how to spend the remainder of his afternoon. Thanks to Knoxx, he was pretty much stuck holding to the inn for now, and this left him few options. He did have a meeting later, after sunfall, to offload the last piece of jewelry made from the Tulan diamond, but this was not to occur for hours.
But thoughts of this did bring him to the large, varnished armoire in his bedchamber. The last necklace was within, wrapped in a small square of silk and wedged into the pocket of one of his shirts; while it was doubtful anyone in Aralexia would have spine enough to attempt thieving from the network’s very own commander, simple habit had prompted him to conceal it in this manner. He stepped toward the armoire now, reaching for its handle.
Flynn was not expecting to find anything but his neatly-hung garments inside, and he certainly wasn’t expecting to see the body that came hurtling out at him.
Sylvain, he realized instantly, even as he felt himself hit with the tackle and begin soaring backward.
He landed flat on his back, with Sylvain on top of him and moving to enclose his hands about his throat. Flynn, still st
artled but rapidly regaining access to his senses, brought his arms up and out to fend off the hold, following up with a furious punch to the side of Sylvain’s head.
Sylvain’s head rocked to the side as he took the hit, but he countered by bringing his elbow down and slamming it into Flynn’s sternum. In pain but still drawing breath, Flynn twisted to get to the knife he always carried in his belt, managing to heave Sylvain off of him in the attempt. Pulling the blade free he shot upward, panting as he spun to keep eyes on his attacker.
Sylvain was also lunging to his feet, but turning about to make a leap through the doorway. Furious, Flynn hurled his knife after him. A moment too late, the blade thudded into the wall as its target vanished into the sitting room.
“Come back here and face me, Sylvain!” Flynn bellowed in rage, racing after him. “This will see its end today!”
Apparently Sylvain disagreed. He’d reached the door leading into the corridor and was vanishing through it even as Flynn pounded after him. Sylvain bolted toward the stairs, hurtling himself downward at a furious pace. Some sort of commotion then seemed to occur, and Flynn heard a thunderous crash just as he saw Tishan and Knoxx racing to meet him from the corridor opposite his.
“What happened?” Tishan demanded breathlessly, as all three converged at the top of the staircase.
“Sylvain,” Flynn said simply, looking down. “He was lying in wait in my room.” His eyes then widened as his mind worked to try and form a picture that would explain what he now was seeing.
Knoxx appeared to be way ahead of him, chortling loudly. “A pity he got away, but he’ll likely think twice before trying anything like this again.”
The warlord Baiel Maves was paused about three-quarters of the way up the stairs, looking at the three Thieves expressionlessly. “A friend of yours?” he asked tonelessly.
“Hardly,” Flynn replied.
It appeared Sylvain’s timing had been unfortunate, throwing himself down the stairs at the precise moment he had. Whether he’d actually stumbled into the warlord remained unclear, but the broken banister made it obvious Maves had proven immovable. Sylvain had apparently been shoved clear through it, falling to the common room below where he’d evidently landed on a table, its four legs now shattered outward in every direction. Unfortunately it didn’t seem as though he’d been injured too badly, already vanishing through the doors leading to the street beyond, but those seated below who’d witnessed the fall were now showering the warlord with applause, which he failed to acknowledge.
“He was holding to something,” Maves then went on, looking to Flynn and raising one of his hands. “I could not initially make out whether or not it was a weapon, but felt it prudent to deprive him of it all the same.” He tossed the item into the air.
Flynn caught the necklace made from the Tulan diamond, glanced at it briefly, and then stowed it into his pocket. He presumed this had been but a simple crime of opportunity, with Sylvain just happening upon it during his wait for Flynn while hidden in the armoire. Flynn would have been beyond angry had he actually managed to make off with it. As it was, he found himself grinning back at Maves.
“Please tell me he at least broke something in the fall,” he said.
The warlord appeared to find that a strange request. “Well,” he replied, giving a small gesture, “I don’t think he’ll be using his right arm for a while, unless he gets himself to a Healer quickly.”
Flynn felt his smile widening. While extremely regretful he’d missed seeing Maves actually heave Sylvain through the bannister, hearing these details was extremely pleasing. He thanked the warlord for the amusement as well as for returning his property, wished him luck on his match the following day, and then jerked his head at Knoxx.
“My room,” he said. “Now.”
All mirth vanished from the mage’s face and he appeared to pale slightly. He also didn’t argue, leading the way from the stairs and down the corridor toward his commander’s room. Flynn followed, leaving Tishan behind with the warlord.
Knoxx dragged himself into the sitting room and sank down into an armchair. Lifting his gaze, he eyed Flynn warily.
Flynn ignored him, content to let him sit there and stew, and moved on into his bedchamber. The doors to the armoire remained open, and he gave the contents a cursory inspection. None of his belongings appeared damaged, and nothing else was missing.
Sighing in frustration at Sylvain’s escape, he could at least say the warning given to him by the diviner had now seen fruition; although, he hadn’t anticipated the man being so bold as to ambush his quarters. A mistake he would not repeat, though he tended to agree with Knoxx in that it wasn’t likely Sylvain would try this a second time.
Leaving Knoxx alone in the sitting room simply because it had to be rankling his nerves, Flynn sank down onto his bed and basically did nothing for a full fifteen minutes or so. Finally content Knoxx had suffered adequately, he rose and swaggered back into the sitting room.
Incredulous, he then saw the mage had fallen asleep, even while sitting upright in the chair. Flynn snatched up a pillow from the couch and threw it furiously at his head. “Wake up!” he demanded.
Knoxx snorted awake, his eyes blinking rapidly as they opened. He then glanced about, finding Flynn.
“Sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I’ve had a long few days.”
Flynn sank onto the couch opposite him. “I can imagine,” he replied icily. “And it is time we discussed them.”
Knoxx looked upward for a moment, a common tell that he was gathering and organizing his thoughts. When he turned back to Flynn, his eyes were shadowed but resolved.
“Flynn, listen to me,” he began. “I know you disapprove of my involvement in my brother’s schemes and intrigues. But this is not a typical game of the royal court. This is . . . much bigger than any of that. I cannot reveal its details to you, and believe me, you don’t want them. But I can’t turn away from it. The safety of Dhanen’Mar may hang in the balance.”
As not only his commander but also his friend, Flynn instantly recognized two indisputable truths. First, there was absolutely no deceit or embellishment in these words. And second, whatever truth Knoxx was now aware of, his resolve to either aid it or thwart it was completely and utterly fixed—no matter what he had to sacrifice to see it done.
It was some time before Flynn responded. “So you’re telling me that you have chosen to remain here in Aralexia, rather than return to the canyon?”
The mage grimaced at the question. “That is not my wish, no.” He paused, highly agitated. “While I will continue to be of service to my brother this week, it is my hope to depart with you back to the canyon. However,” he went on, eyeing him, “with Sylvain’s possible involvement now a factor, the situation has grown even more dangerous. If he and Stavrakos are to learn what Devlin has uncovered . . . there will be death, and much of it.”
“So what are you proposing?” he frowned.
Knoxx began nodding. “I have just spoken to Tishan, and she’s agreed to remain here in my stead, so long as you do not disapprove. I am too obvious a tool of my brother’s.” He then seemed to hold his breath, looking back at him.
Flynn was silent. Knoxx had been clever to mention Sylvain’s presence in this matter, for it did work to strum his temper. But it was not enough to convince him.
“Tishan despises this city,” he said. “Did she agree because she knows more of this than I do?”
The mage shook his head. “Even less than you, actually. Her ignorance should work to keep her safe. At least, I’m hoping so,” he added worriedly.
Again, Flynn frowned. Despite his own desire to remain ignorant, his curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. He was also through letting his Thieves risk their lives for a reason he wasn’t even aware of. He believed Knoxx in regard to the seriousness of the matter, but without full comprehension he wasn’t letting any of them get a single toe in deeper than
they already were.
He sat back and regarded the mage flatly. “Tishan will be returning to the canyon, and you will not,” he said. “Not unless you explain yourself to me, and do it now. I’ve heard enough of this secrecy horseshit. Start talking, or leave me.”
Knoxx’s eyes widened in sudden panic. “Flynn, I can’t! I swore to my brother that I would speak not a word of this!”
“Your brother does not need to know,” he countered. Knoxx continued to stare at him helplessly, and Flynn looked back as he went on. “Make your choice. Either you truly need my help, or you can carry on without it. I will give you one more minute to decide.”
The mage’s agony was clear, torn between his conflicting loyalties. But in the end, Flynn knew, it would not be his loyalties dictating his decision. Knoxx’s only recourse lay in following the advice his commander had just given him, for if this circumstance truly was as dire as both Alvik brothers claimed, they would need all the help they could get. Otherwise, they could take their chances alone.
Flynn watched as the man before him finally dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes in defeat.
“There is something you need to know about one of the men we confronted in the vineyard,” Knoxx began.
Chapter 40