Page 31 of Court of Talons
Caleb beats me on the shoulder. “Not up—over there. That’s a sight, isn’t it? Something big has to be happening for Fortiss to be?—”
“Who?” The name jolts me to my toes, and I turn to where Caleb’s pointing. My eyes round as I take in the gold-and-black bedecked figure standing in the center of a stage that apparently had been erected overnight, along with all the pit fighting rings. The platform is nearly four times the size of the small stage the boys were grappling on.
I frown. “I thought Fortiss was a warrior knight. What’s he doing in a fighting ring?”
“That’s not a fighting ring. It’s for announcing the winners.” Caleb stiffens. “Hold your ears. I hate it when they do this.”
Horns suddenly blare around us, so intense, my bones vibrate. Agreeing with Caleb’s suggestion, I clap my hands to my ears and screw my eyes tight against the pain.
As quickly as the blast begins, though, it’s over. In its wake, utter silence reigns.
I peek once more at the stage. A man now stands beside Fortiss. He’s as big as a bull, dwarfing the younger warrior, but Fortiss remains the more menacing of the two. Fortiss stares out at the crowd as if it’s offended him. He nods to the giant, and theman puts his fists on his hips, then cries out in the loudest voice I’ve ever heard a man utter.
“Men of the Tournament of Gold, the First House commends you,” he shouts, and a quick cheer rises up, cutting off sharply as the man-bull lifts his hands. “The Lord Protector seeks a new army of the best and strongest soldiers. Men who will be sanctified to band with the Divh. You are here because you think that there will be twelve such warriors accorded to your winning house, and eighteen more to the other top houses. But I say to you there will befifty, apportioned to the highest-ranking combatants of the Tournament of Gold—and twenty to the house of the warrior who wears the winged crown!”
A wave of excitement sweeps through the camp. So not thirty, but fifty? Withfiftybanded soldiers in play, and if the warriors weren’t distributed equally, one house could easily take over the others, if it wanted to—especially whoever won the winged crown. I’ve never even considered the possibility of house striking house before these past several days, but now it weighs on me heavily. By Protectorate law, the First House would never allow such a transgression—for no sooner would one house fall than others would band together in side alliances, to either defeat the original attacker or join forces with it, intending to establish a new ruling order. The First House wouldn’t—couldn’t—want that.
Then again, it’s the First House who’s proposing this new infusion of warriors, which will almost undoubtedly alter the balance of power among the houses. So…why?
If other houses have my same worry, then there’s no way they agreed to this new influx of warriors—even those houses who are already represented in the Tournament of Gold. And for houses like my own, tucked into the mountains, far away from tournaments and monsters four times the size of our originalDiv… How could they even know what was happening until some new, unexpected army landed on their doorstep?
I’m not alone in my concern, it seems. Throughout the field, warriors dressed in formal livery stare at the First House crier, their faces stony. This is clearly news to them as well.
The giant isn’t finished, though. “And who will rule this new army of soldiers? Who will claim these banded soldiers and their Divhs for their own house?”
He raises his hands again, but it’s Fortiss who stands forward, his voice loud and clear, echoing across the tournament ground.
“Warrior knights of the Protectorate, I salute you,” he cries out. He claps his right hand to his left bicep, and I’m jolted by the reaction in my own, an answering tremor that shoots down my arm, even though Fortiss is not truly banded. “You are the greatest collection of warrior knights of our generation. Whoever of your number is the winner of the Tournament of Gold, to his house will go fully twenty of these newly created banded soldiers. Twenty! Then seven to those who follow in the second and third positions, then five and then four, three, two, and one each to the final two place holders. Each house will see gain if they win at least one round in the tournament. And for your trouble, you will be awarded the best banded soldiers assembled in all the Protectorate!”
A cheer rolls forth, and I find my own voice raised as well in salute to the Lord Protector for his ample generosity. In truth, though, my head’s still spinning. Fifty new warriors equipped with Divhs?
The horns sound once more, and I turn, then turn again. The battles have recommenced all around me. Men fighting each other if not to the death, then it might as well be, all of them under the careful or not-so-careful eye of the First House officials. Even given the possibility of graft, as Caleb suggests,there can be no disputing clear winners. Eventually, the cream of the crop will rise and be awarded a Divh. Even those who aren’t made into banded soldiers will be invaluable as foot soldiers and guards.
Fifty banded soldiers.Fully twenty to the winning house. What would the Tenth House do with twenty banded soldiers—or even seven? Seven warriors with the protection of Divhs remotely close in size to Gent? We wouldn’t need to worry and wait, hoping that marauders didn’t come up from the south, or refugees from the east looking to escape the laws of the Exalted Imperium. We wouldn’t need to cower in fear because my parents are too old to bear another son.
No. With twenty, seven, or eventhreebanded soldiers in addition to the soldiers I’ve just purchased, my father could rule for years yet. Perhaps in time, a cousin would step forward, prove his worth, and my father would agree on a successor. With banded soldiers, he has options. With banded soldiers, our house will truly be safe, even without my brother.
Without my brother.
My mouth flattens, my fists clench, and I have to force myself to focus on what Caleb is saying now, hissing in my ear.
“—take it lying down, I tell you plain.”
“What?” I blink at him. He’s staring at me now, shaking my arm. “Take what lying down?”
“Fifty new warriors? That’s not in accordance with Protectorate Law—and I know that law, I learned it back when I thought…” He waves off his own words. “Never mind. But I know it. Which means that the Exalted Imperium needs to sanction such a decision. Do you see anyone from the Imperium here? Because I don’t.”
I squint up to where Fortiss and the big bull of a man still stand. The battles roil around us, but Fortiss isn’t watching them, exactly. He has the sense of presiding over the entire field,but he’s not identifying the most viable men battling each other on their platforms. I pivot to track his gaze, noting as it shifts around the field, from man to man.
I’m right. He’s not watching the fighters. He’s eyeing the warrior knights. It’s easy to pick them out, of course. They sit atop their warhorses, a wide berth given to them and their steeds. There are easily two dozen of them. None of them wear gold and black except for Fortiss…the sole representative of the First House, keeper of the law, upholder of the Protectorate’s most sacred traditions.
Traditions.Anger spikes anew. There must be justice for Merritt’s death in the First House, somehow. Rihad surely can’t already know that one house has struck another. Once he does, how could he not help me? “How do you get inside the First House?”
“By showing up with a Divh on its doorstep.”
I glance down at Caleb. “What do you mean?”
“I mean if you’re a first-blooded warrior knight, you’ll be welcomed with opened arms. You and your entourage given top-drawer treatment. The Lord Protector isn’t an idiot. He wants to keep warriors of worth coming back, so he’s going to treat them well. And once this new rumor spreads, I bet we’ll see the last of the missing houses come out of the woodwork. The prize of more soldiers, especially banded soldiers, isn’t one lightly made, for all that it’s illegal. Unless there are agents of the Imperium up there in the First House, anyway.” Caleb purses his lips, clearly considering the possibility.