I woke to find Aysulu and Khalim in the common room, Khalim with his head down on the table and his arms folded over it.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
He made a pained noise. Aysulu passed me a bowl of rice and the last of one of the cuts of dried meat.
I sat down opposite Khalim. “Couldn’t you just heal it?”
He looked up, squinting painfully. “I did this to myself. It’s a lesson I’m learning.”
“The way I see it,” I argued, “if your god doesn’t want you to heal yourself, he won’t let you. There’s no harm in giving it a try.”
He put his head down again, and his hands glowed with soft light. When he sat up again, his pained look was gone and his eyes were brighter, and he got up to fetch his own breakfast.
“Someone should get Garvesh up,” Aysulu said. “We need to leave for the arena soon.”
Garvesh’s door was open a crack, and I knocked gently.
“I’m indisposed,” came the response. “I will catch up with you later.”
Khalim came over. “Are you sure? I could—”
Garvesh kicked his door closed, ending that line of inquiry.
It was customary for all members of each team to come to the arena, even if they were not all participating that day. Aysulu and Khalim, and Garvesh when he arrived sometime around midday, waited in our designated place dug out under the first row of the stands to watch me compete. The second day of the festival was the first day of the games, and it was the day of the contests of strength. First, I and the many other competitors threw a felled timber, end over end, over a measured course, and I performed admirably, though it was one of the nobles in blue silk who hurled it the farthest.
The second contest, shortly after noon, was the javelin throw. I watched as each competitor walked to the first line in the sand, closest to the targets, and sunk the weapons into the canvas. One would get more points by standing farther away, but most warriors only threw from a short distance, so as to guarantee an accurate hit and earn their points that way.
When it was my turn, I went up to the second line, and then the third. The targets were not much farther than the lind-worm’s mouth had been from the deck of my longship. If I could throw a harpoon between its pointed fangs, I could strike these targets. I let the javelins fly, one after another. There was a murmur of surprise from the crowd that erupted into cheers when the javelins hit home. I had not made the truest shots, but the distance had earned me many points, and the Iron Mountain was now close to the lead.
The last contest of the day was a series of wrestling matches, to take place at sundown. I watched the magic-workers of the other teams draw their symbols and perform their chants to grant strength and vigor to their contestants, and the air hummed and crackled with magic. With pride borne of my success in the javelin throw, I felt I could succeed without the help of enchantments. I took a deep breath, stretched my neck from side to side, and made to leave the enclosure.
Khalim caught me by the arm. “Good luck,” he said.
Warmth flowed from his hand into my body, and the ache in my muscles eased, and I felt as fresh as I had that morning, before a day of striving in the summer sun. “Thank you,” I managed to say, surprised, and I turned and stepped out into the arena to the sound of the masses in the stands.
My first two matches were against Phyreian townsfolk, who put together teams to compete for the amusement of it and expected to be eliminated when points were tallied on the fifth day of the festival. They put forth an admirable effort, but I pinned each of them after a brief struggle.
For the third and final bout, I faced Artyom.
“You may have beaten my cousin in the tavern,” he said, “but you’ll find I am not so easily overthrown.”
“Ha! Both you and your cousin are soft city folk!” I shouted. “You’ll fare no better than he.”
The horn blew, and we locked arms. Between him and Rolan, Artyom was the stronger, and we struggled against each other for what seemed like an age. Each time I thought I could gain the upper hand, he shifted and set me off-balance—I recovered each time, my feet digging furrows into the sand.
I was beginning to tire at last when I saw my opportunity. Artyom looked up toward the stands, and something there caught his attention for the briefest moment. I dropped my weight and brought him to the ground. He very nearly escaped, being an accomplished wrestler, but it was too late, and I wrenched one of his legs around and won the match. It was a stroke of good fortune; I do not know if I would have otherwise defeated him.
For my success, the Iron Mountain was comfortably in the lead at the close of the first day’s games. Close behind us was the Sunspear, the team put forth by House Darela, who wore blue silk and armor of bronze.
Reva met us at the house when the four of us returned, boisterous with our victory. Her stern face quelled some of our good cheer.
“I don’t believe I was followed, though I had to lead my pursuers all the way through the nobles’ quarter. As far as I can tell, no one has connected you to the rebellion. That’s good,” she said. “Congratulations on a strong showing. Keep this up, and the sword is ours.”
“We should celebrate!” I crowed.
“We have very little money,” Aysulu reminded me. To Reva, she added, “Perhaps the miners’ guild would be willing to offer us a few coins, so we can bring the joy of victory to the tavern in the slums?”
Reva gave her a bemused look. “Most of the champions drink at the Flower of the Mountain, in the market district.”
“We could venture there later,” Aysulu said, “but we represent the miners. We should celebrate with them first. You’re welcome to join us.” Her smile was disarming.
Reva’s grim mask faltered briefly before returning. “I’m afraid I have no coin to spare,” she said.
“We will just have to ask the miners if they’d be willing to give us a drink,” I offered. “Are you coming with us?”
She shook her head. “You can’t be seen with me, even out of the walls. I will come back as soon as I can.”
“Another time, then,” Aysulu said, and we filed out of the house and back into the city.
We left the gates, and the guards let us through with barely a glance. Khalim kept his head down and did not risk looking at them. The slums were more populous than they had been upon our arrival, as the miners were not required to work their backbreaking shifts during the festival, and our small procession attracted many stares. Down the narrow, muddy streets we went, the same way we had gone when led by the children to meet Reva for the first time, and I threw open the door to the dingy tavern.
The patrons stared in shocked silence for a brief moment and then burst into a cheer.
The setting was still dark, and the air was close, and the drink was foul-smelling and tasted no better, but it was freely given and freely accepted. We sang the miners’ working songs, and a hymn to the old divines once worshiped in these lands before the arrival of the Ascended, to ask good fortune in the contests to come. I sang to them a war song, a song for those who face death with pride and furious delight, who do not fear meeting the gods. I did not know it then, but they as well as I would need it in the coming days. They stumbled over my native tongue at first, but after a few repetitions they were as confident as the rowing crews of the fastest longships, ready to take on any challenge the harsh climes of the North could offer.
At midnight we left the tavern with a raucous farewell and reentered the gates. After some wandering, drunken on my part and more sober from my companions, we found the Flower of the Mountain. It was a tall edifice, elegantly designed, with slender columns and arches like gentle waves. Inside, the light was soft and warm, and the atmosphere was hushed. Sweet-smelling smoke hovered in the air, and a young dark-eyed woman plucked a stringed instrument on a dais in the center of the room. The first floor was open, arranged with rectangular tables of some dark wood, with hangings of silk on the walls, and above us the other floors were open to the central space. The lion-headed man from the southern kingdoms was seated on the second level with his companions, his massive hands around a glass vessel of a strange red liquid. I could see members of most of the prominent teams around—Reva had been right that this was the place for the champions to gather.
It was a strange place, to be sure. Not in the halls of all the clans of the North existed such finery, and this was but an inn, not a palace or a longhouse belonging to a lord.
I was approached by one of the men from the East, a tall fellow with a shock of black hair gathered into a bristly tail, dressed in a short robe that showed his muscular chest and a pair of wide trousers. He and the other man in his company, the serious, square-jawed one, had faced me in the contests of strength, and performed quite well, though neither had participated in the throwing of javelins.
“Well met!” the man said. “We have not been formally acquainted. I am Heishiro. I had hoped for a worthy opponent in these games, and you have not disappointed.”
“You are a fine warrior yourself,” I said. “I look forward to meeting you again in the arena. I am Eske of the Bear Clan, and these are my companions and teammates.”
Heishiro bowed in greeting. “Come! I will introduce you to mine, and we shall share a drink.”
He led us to a table across from the door, where three others were seated. Their leader introduced himself as Jin, and beside him were two women of similar strength and stature, named Hualing and Yanlong. The three of them wore white robes, while Heishiro’s clothing was gray and blue.
“We are from the Temple of the Dragon,” Jin explained. “None of us have ever come to Phyreios before, but we intend to win the Sword of Heaven. After your accomplishments today, it seems the task will be a challenging one. Please, sit down.” He gestured to the empty chairs facing the table, and I took a place opposite Heishiro.
Hualing gave Aysulu an appraising look. “I know a steppe archer when I see one,” she said. “I look forward to our contest, the day after next.”
Aysulu smiled, and nodded in respect. “I think you’ll find me as formidable an opponent as my friend here.”
“I would expect no less,” Hualing answered.
Jin made a gesture, and an attendant brought a jar of Cerean spirits and a set of wide and shallow ceramic cups.
“Tell me,” Jin said, “what was your aim in entering the tournament? Is it your desire to win the sword?”
“But of course,” I answered.
Jin studied me, his expression blank and unreadable.
“We were hired by the miners’ guild,” Aysulu interjected, “and it is their wish that we do our best to win. It would be a great boon for the city if we were to claim the sword on the workers’ behalf.”
He nodded, slowly, and said, “It would indeed. But the Sword of Heaven is a powerful artifact. It is the belief of the masters of our temple that it would be safest to keep it there, under guard, until the time when it is needed.”
Aysulu’s eyes narrowed. “If your team should win, then that will be your choice to make.”
“Yes,” said Jin. “And should your team win, I would hope that I could persuade you of our position.”
“We shall see,” she answered lightly.
Jin’s heavy brows furrowed. “I do not wish to be at odds with you outside of the tournament. If you are not convinced of our responsibility to protect the sword, surely you would agree that there are those in the competition who should not be entrusted with it. There is a tribe of reavers who have entered: the Lion and the Wolf. I know them, and have seen the destruction they have wrought before. The Sword of Heaven must not fall into the hands of such as these.”
Aysulu did not answer.
“We should not work together in the games,” Jin continued. “That would be dishonest and against the rules of the tournament. I only propose that your team and mine both strive to win, and to ensure that the sword is passed to worthy hands. We can sort out our differences later.”
“I cannot say whether we will agree to your terms in the future, but I will tell you that if you are looking for an enemy of the Lion and the Wolf, you need look no further,” said Aysulu. “I will consider what you have said.”
It was Khalim who spoke next; surprisingly, given his customary silence throughout the evening. His voice was soft, but it cut through the ambient murmur of conversation and music. “What would you do, Jin, with a sword that could kill a god?”
Jin turned to him—perhaps he had forgotten the young man was there—and fixed the same unreadable expression on him. He stood, pushing his chair back from the table, and drew his long, curved sword from his belt. The blade caught the light and shone, its edge glittering sharp and wicked in the candlelight.
He set the sword down across the table. “This blade was passed down to me by my father, and to my father by his father before him. Many generations ago, it was entrusted to my family by the dragon of the sunlit peaks, and like the claws and the will of that dragon it can cut through all defenses, mortal and divine. I carry this sword with discipline and patience, with the readiness to use it when it becomes necessary and the hope that it never will. Your question is one I have answered with all the years of my life.”
Khalim, who had never held a weapon in his life, examined the sword and did not touch it, and he lifted his gaze to meet Jin’s eyes. “I understand,” he said.
The blade was longer than my arm, gently curved like an unstrung bow, with a single, devilishly sharp edge. The simple handle was wrapped in leather and silk, and long enough itself to easily support two hands.
“How does it not break?” I asked, incredulous. “Even the finest of ironworkers could not produce a blade so long and narrow.”
Heishiro laughed. “Have you never seen steel before, my friend?”
I shook my head.
“It is iron forged with charcoal to make it stronger,” Jin offered. “The technique was developed by the metallurgists of the southern isles.”
This made very little sense to me. “How is this done?”
“Bah,” Heishiro interrupted. “I have had too much of talk and not enough drink, and certainly not enough fighting. You have a strong throwing arm, Eske, but I think I could beat you in a direct contest of strength.”
Jin returned the sword to its sheath and sat back down. “It would be discourteous of you to wrestle here, Heishiro.”
“A smaller contest, then,” Heishiro said. He placed an elbow on the table, his hand raised and open.
I clasped his hand in mine, mirroring his pose, and we struggled mightily against each other. Several times I believed I had bested him, but he endured. Finally, with a mighty war cry, he gathered his strength and slammed my arm into the table.
He stood with his arms skyward. “Victory is mine!”
I rolled my shoulder; the strain had made the joint and the attached muscles ache. “Well done, friend. Next time, you will not be so fortunate. The next victory shall go to me.”
He grinned. “I look forward to it.”
My companions and I left the inn in high spirits, and returned to our borrowed lodgings to rest.
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