Page 73 of Court of Talons
“But for everyone to laugh, that meant they’d noticed it too. The connection.” I frown, turning the problem over in my head. “I thought that’s what everyone did.”
“And it’s being presented as simply a lack of experience, so you’re good,” Caleb says. “You’re from the Tenth House, after all. You’re closest to the Exalted Imperium, hemmed in by rocks and trees. Who’s to say what odd customs you’ve developed?”
“Right.” I nod. “What other talk was there tonight?” I ask, as casually as I can. “Were they able to catch the marauders in the camp?”
“Oh that,” Caleb scoffs. “You won’t believe this. Rihad is blaming malcontents from the western borders, stirring up trouble. Says the Divhs and warriors fighting in the tournament will remind them all of why we won the battles of the Western Realms, and that they’ll quail in fear once more.”
I think of the women I’d just met this night, women coming to seek the source of darkness leaching into the Protectorate. “How’d that go over?”
“A lot of cheering, knocking of mugs, stamping of feet,” Caleb says, shrugging. “Rihad knows his audience.”
We work our way back to the barracks then, and Caleb goes to look in on our horses as I rejoin Nazar. As expected, the old man is smoking his pipe. Beside him, laid out on a rack, is the servant’s overwrap.
“I need to return that.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Nazar says mildly. “A servant’s garb is soiled easily and often. Extras are equally easy to come by, I expect. Keep it awhile yet.” He watches me over a curl of smoke. “The first round of the tournament has been charted. The warriors selected for battle. We have less than a week before it begins.”
I wince, moving my arm. “Am I in the first round?”
He shakes his head. “The second, and you are against a minor foe, one of the Ninth House warriors.”
“The Ninth.” That can’t be right. “They had their second warrior killed. There’s only the one left.”
“And you command arguably one of the stronger Divhs in recent memory.” Nazar nods. “You are expected to advance.”
“What about the other southern houses?” I ask. “Who are they slated against?”
“The lesser warriors of the northern, to a man. The strongest fighting the least strong, winnowing down the field quickly.” He pauses. “But Rihad has added a new element. At the close of the tournament, there will be a melee, pitting the Divhs against each other on the open ground between the First House and the spectator stands.”
I stare. In the deepest pit of my gut, I know that’s very wrong. “A melee of Divhs? But how?—”
“The details are scant, except this one: Every warrior knight still standing must participate. The entire Protectorate is anticipated to flow toward the First House for the event at the close of the tournament. Great honor goes to the First House for creating a battle that will go down in history.”
“But multiple Divhs against others? That’s never been done before, surely. Not in a tournament. Not even in open battle since—well, since the borders were closed to the Western Realms, right?”
Nazar takes a long draw on his pipe, and we stare at each other, the knowledge of tonight’s discoveries weighing down the air between us. “Then it would seem that the First House wishes to create a new tradition.”
“So it would seem.”
Caleb returns then. We make our pallets, but my mind refuses to rest. The entire night, I turn in my half sleep, dreaming of Gent’s laughter, his bounding strides and his leapinto the darkness to catch me, the race along the mountainside. How had I summoned him so quickly and so well? Even now, it seems as if his enormous hand is close enough to touch, his glassy eye with its long, thick eyelashes barely a breath away.
I tumble into deep slumber at last, dreaming of blue mountains. And of all the monsters of the Divh lined up against each other, blowing and huffing like bulls about to charge.
One of those monsters I recognize too, smaller than many of her peers, but no less fierce.
The dragon trapped in the cavernous hollows of the First House’s dungeon hold.
Only now, the dragon is free and forced upon the battlefield, her broken wing flopping oddly against her body. The other Divhs watch her with a curious mix of anger and fear, and when the horns finally blow to signal the start of the melee, the monsters don’t turn on each other, they turn on the dragon in their midst, arms and paws outstretched, jaws open wide, all of them rushing, jumping, thrashing?—
I jolt awake. Nazar stands above me.
“We go to train,” he says.
In the shadows, Caleb also stands watching me, his eyes wide.
“What?” I ask him as I shoulder on my cloak. Nazar moves ahead into the barracks corridor, motioning me to follow. But I can’t ignore the horror on Caleb’s face. “What?”
“You werescreaming,” he whispers. “You weren’t making a sound but—your throat, your face…” He shakes his head. “Whatever you saw…bad things are coming, aren’t they?”