CHAPTER 66

A hush comes over the crowd as take the middle path, between Godtouched and Untouched, to the round open space before the throne. The gazes that follow us range from unfriendly to curious, hostile to amused. If nothing else, it seems we’re a point of contention in the halls of the Black Sword guild.

The smaller crowd behind Valkas’ makeshift outdoors throne leans more clearly to one side, their expressions filled with disdain. They stand like professionals, possessed of all the confidence in the world. Teryon and Lagos wait next to figures I recognize from an earlier time. A goblin with a too-tall staff, his nose recurve and ears floppy, and Laede, the woman with the translucent skin and dark veins spreading from her eyes who was there that fateful day when Katha was taken. Zala and her cronies eye us with mocking curiosity.

Valkas himself seems rid of all animosity. He rises from his throne with a tousle of his perfect hair and opens his arms as if to envelop us all in a hug.

Gods, I think. It’s hard not to want to stab the man.

“Val,” Lysander says politely as we stop.

Valkas steps forward and, to the surprise of everyone, actually hugs Lysander. The embrace lasts only a second, but it leaves the elf out of balance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him off-balance before, but as they separate it’s clear from his face that he wasn’t expecting any of this.

“It’s good to see you,” Valkas says in a low tone, for Lysander only. “This past week I’ve come to realize it’s been years since we’ve spoken properly. We’ll make up for that this time. Promise. Now,” he eyes move over to me before Lysander has time to answer. “Is this the man who’s given me so many headaches recently? How do you declare?”

I open my mouth to answer, hesitant about whether I can control the furious swirl that’s building up in my heart. The fire wants out, in the form of a spell or a biting remark, it matters not. But Valkas is unwilling to let go of his momentum. He slaps my shoulder and smiles his neat smile.

“Just messing, man. We’ll get that sorted soon enough. Before all that, these nice folk have been discussing you nonstop since the Challenge. What do you say we let them take a good look?”

His arm envelops my shoulders and in the same movement he turns me around to face the waiting crowd. Or rather, crowds.

The one to my left is composed of supplicants. Regular people sometimes travelling for miles to beg something of Valkas, to have their problems heard, to demand justice. You can tell they’re Untouched from their air of awe mixed with worry mixed with defeat. Their clothes range from the poor and overused to the rich and overwrought, these last ones clearly making an attempt to copy the dramatic Godtouched style. To a man, they watch me with apprehension at least, open anger in some cases.

To my right stand the Godtouched. Some clad for battle, others for an evening at home, and both groups watching me with curiosity or sneer. I pass my eyes over them, unsure if they’re here to air their grievances also, noting the incomplete armor and goofier appearances of the less established ones. Gedden waves at me from the back, finally arrived, though I can’t see Delos. I nod at him, and let my eyes wander while Valkas makes an impromptu speech about camaraderie and the might of the Black Sword guild. Half-listening only, I make it all the way to the front of the crowd before my eyes are arrested by a shock of red hair, and under it a pair of coruscating angry eyes, smoldering in my direction.

Wyl.

Her arms are crossed. Her Black Sword uniform was replaced by a slim and unobtrusive dark leather armor which must be giving her trouble in this heat. If it is, she doesn’t show it, focused as she is in impaling me with her eyes. A hand flies in front of her face, drawing my attention to the person standing next to her.

Essa!

If Wyl’s armor must be sweltering, Essa’s would have made a lesser individual collapse, from the weight if not the heat. The breastplate alone, wrought with an eagle’s motif, might weigh more than I do, and the sword at her side is longer and broader than the one she used in the Challenge. Her hair remains at chin-length, and her dark skin shows none of the dust and grime I last saw her with. For an instant, I’m worried. Our last interaction wasn’t simple or peaceful, and the way Essa stormed off after I stopped her going into the Golden Door is still etched in my mind. But when our eyes cross, she gives me a lopsided smile and nods. ‘Good to see you’, the smile seems to say.

In front of the two Challengers is a woman in prim and light clothing, her hair caught in a complex shape, her grin waxy and absent as Valkas says something about how the Black Sword will conquer all its enemies in the Challenges. Lysander mentioned Lucia, the woman who won two Challengers in one go. This must be her, the patroness of the third level.

Valkas drones on, and the crowd is either locked in rapt attention or fighting hard not to yawn. No one is paying me much attention. I raise my hand as if chasing away a fly, drawing a beard on my face with a quick gesture. Hilde. Essa catches my meaning and nods casually towards the inside of the keep. I exhale. Hilde is alright.

“…and I’m sure that soon we will have cleared the strange occurrences that marred clever Malco’s participation in our Challenge,” Valkas says, a winning smile on his face as his eyes take in every face in the crowd.

He sure loves to hear himself talk.

“His actions will be cleared by a court of law, so all can see,” Valkas says, stressing the final words.

There is a pause, a strange, off-beat silence, and then someone steps into the middle path that divides the two crowds. Bile threatens to surge up my gullet in a strange moment of vertigo. I recognize him immediately.

“I would like to air a grievance,” says Rao.

Two other Godtouched stand behind him. Kalos, whose helmet is now off, revealing a somewhat full and eager face, and their third companion, whose name I can’t recall ever hearing.

“Alas, now is not the time,” Valkas says. “It’s a day for celebration, not confrontation.”

“I’m afraid the grievance is related to your celebration.” Rao points a trembling finger. “That man stole from me before he cheated his way into the Challenge. The potion he carried with him belonged to me.”

Valkas gasps, immediately removes his arm from around my shoulder. I feel the heat burn in my face, grit my teeth at the injustice.

“What do you mean? Malco, can you defend yourself from this accusation?”

I’m still and mute, hypnotized by the cruel smirk in Rao’s face, my breathing accelerating. The crowd whispers like a nest of snakes.

Lysander makes to approach me, but Valkas wedges himself in front of the elf.

“Sorry, old friend,” he says, unable to conceal the smile creeping up his face. “Given your past behavior, I can’t let you close to the kid. Who knows where you’d teleport him to.”

“You fuck,” Lysander hisses. “You absolute bastard.”

“Yeah? Join the line. Air your grievances. Until you do…”

Valkas turns to the crowd again as Lagos and Teryon approach to stand next to Lysander.

“Citizens, friends, loyal subjects of the Black Sword guild,” he begins. “I’m appalled at these revelations. In light of them, it’s my opinion that…”

“He tried to murder us,” I yell, unable to face the expression of victory in Rao’s face a second longer. My account spills out in a gush. “Me and my sister, in the Barrow hills. When we ran into them, Rao tried to force himself on Reva, the fifth Black Sword Challenger. Only by threatening to smash the potion did we make it away from them.”

Another general mutter, this time followed by disgusted glances in Rao’s direction. Hardest among those is Essa’s, who actually pushes people out of her way to get a better look at the Godtouched, whose expression now resembles that of a man forced to swallow a whole lemon.

“You have no proof,” he says, crossing his arms. “Where’s that sister of yours? No one’s seen her since. My friends will back me up.”

“I don’t need my sister to prove anything. Everyone who watched the Challenge saw the state my hand was in,” I raise my stump for effect. “It was you who did that to me.”

“I did that in self-defense—”

“Liar!” yells a voice from the back I recognize as Gedden’s.

A tink sounds in the courtyard as something is thrown into the space between me and Rao. I recognize Lysander’s transportation amulet at a glance.

“Unless you think I’ve found a way to teleport without it,” the elf says, his words directed to Valkas alone. “I’ll be taking part in this discussion as the patron to the accused Challenger. Will you deny me that right?”

Valkas’ jaw contracts, but he doesn’t get in Lysander’s way. The elf walks in front of me to stand protectively but relaxed facing the crowd.

“I don’t believe I need an introduction,” he says to the world at large.

“I don’t know you,” Rao interrupts.

“Don’t worry,” the elf says. “Everyone that matters does.”

A chuckle courses through the audience.

“What are you accusing Malco of, specifically?” Lysander continues.

“I already said what I—”

“Repeat it, if you would. I don’t believe anyone here takes the word justice seriously, as the matter of the boots demonstrated.”

“Careful,” Valkas hisses to Lysander, as a mock-offended background gasp from Zala echoes in the courtyard.

Lysander only smiles.

“If my Challenger is being publicly accused, I insist things be done properly. Could you please repeat your accusation?”

Rao gives a dubious glance in Valkas’ direction, who only nods curtly in response.

“I’m accusing him Malco of stealing a precious potion from me.”

“And your proof?”

“My friends here, present at the time, will back me up.”

As show goes on, reviving the moribund attention of the heat-stricken crowd, I’m thinking furiously. Rao is not wrong; I did steal the potion from him after he threatened my sister. First in retaliation, then as a desperate means of escape. Will that hold up in whatever passes for a court here? Somehow, I don’t believe so, thinking back to the angry little man being carried away as his wife was thrown into a dungeon.

“And during or before that event did you, as Malco suggested, make undue advances on his sister?”

While Lysander sounds perfectly reasonable and polite, the venom in his words doesn’t escape the notice of the audience, who once again turn to shoot dirty looks at Rao.

“I did not,” he says defiantly. “It’s his word against mine.”

“Perhaps we should get a diviner involved, then,” Lysander says. “Get a third opinion.”

“A splendid idea!” Valkas stands side-by-side with Lysander, clawing his way back to prominence. “We have many talented Mages in the guild, and they’d be glad—”

“Someone whose allegiances aren’t so clearly compromised,” Lysander interrupts. “An actual expert. A Champion.”

This time the gasps aren’t feigned or mocking. It seems the idea of Untouched Champions carries more than a little danger among the Black Sword guild. I think back to Lysander’s notebook, the passage which noted a quiet war had been waged against existing Champions, the only threat to the Godtouched’s dominance.

Valkas looks like he finally got his hands on the Boots of Swiftness only to find someone took a shit inside them.

“Even you wouldn’t be so brazen to suggest you know how to find a Champion,” Valkas says.

“Why? Because they’re outlawed? We’ll move this fake trial beyond guild borders,” Lysander tells his old friend. “If it bothers you that much.”

While the two Godtouched debate the intricacies of the law, I catch the look on Rao’s face with each rebuttal of Valkas’ criticisms.

He doesn’t want magic involved, I realize. He’s afraid of the reaction when people find out he did try to force himself on Rev.

To be fair, neither am I. I don’t see Lysander’s plan working as well as he’d like.

He’s conferring with his friends, looking for support. He finds none in Kalos’ unsure face, and his other companion’s words don’t seem to assuage his doubts. Meanwhile, the matter of bringing in a Champion has taken hold of the audience’s attention.

“They’re outlawed everywhere!” Valkas insists in a near yell.

“Everywhere the guilds reign,” Lysander retorts calmly. “Which is a very small space indeed. Take them to the Spine Forest, or the Frozen Wastes. Hell, take them to the Kerrel Caverns. I’ve often heard you question our friends at Dumas’ Pack’s domination of that area. How do you put it? ‘If the snakes keep eating them, then the snakes are in charge,’ wasn’t it?”

Valkas bristles when another wave of laughter courses through the attendants, who are clearly enjoying themselves now.

“That’s not lawful.”

“Can anyone in the audience give me a reason why that is so?” Lysander asks.

No one steps forward to make an attempt. Rao’s head swivels as if on a stick, eyes wide and hesitant.

“Then, I suggest we find such a diviner and…”

“I want Trial by Combat,” says Rao.

Lysander focuses on Rao, anger deforming his placid expression.

“What did you say?”

“We want to challenge Malco to Trial by Combat,” he corrects himself, his voice gaining confidence with every word. “To the death. He stole from the three of us and we’ll solve this amongst ourselves. No need for Champions.”

“You cannot be serious,” Lysander scoffs. “A Godtouched cannot challenge an Untouched.”

“Malco has accused me of soiling his sister’s honor. If that’s true, isn’t he eager to fight for her man to man?”

“Valkas, please silence your man,” Lysander says.

“Not my man, Lys,” Valkas says with feigned shock. “I don’t even know his name!"

“If, that is,” Rao sneers. “Any of what he says happened. Considering his sister isn’t even here and we all saw what happened to her.” He crosses his arms, bearing the same viperine smile I remember from his camp. “I wonder if he was hiding the proof of his crime when he threw her dead body through the door.”

“I accept.”

All eyes turn back to me. Alarm in Lysander’s and Ged’s, victory in Valkas’, defiance in Rao’s, a mix of confusion from both Essa and Wyl, and a promise of a good time in the rest.

Lysander leans to whisper in my ear.

“Malco, no. As your patron, I—”

“You said you wouldn’t stop me,” I interrupt, heart galloping, enamored with my own daring. “Whatever path I picked.”

The elf frowns.

“Splendid!” Valkas says, rubbing his hands. “Then we must find someone to join young Malco! Who among you is brave enough—”

“I’ll join!” yells Gedden.

He makes his way to the front of the crowd to stand next to me and Lysander.

“A Godtouched supporting a Challenger!” Valkas says. “How novel. Rogue and Mage. We’re missing a Warrior! Who among those gathered is brave enough to throw his sword with Malco’s lot?”

Silence.

“Two against three,” Gedden mutters. “That’s better odds than just one, at least.”

A clink of armor as someone steps into the middle path. Essa walks away from her patroness and joins us.

“I’d like to stand with Malco in this trial as well,” she says respectfully. “With your leave, Patroness Lucia, Guildmaster Valkas.”

Now the murmur turns to real excitement as the crowd Oos and Aahs.

“None of you have anything to do with this,” Rao attempts. “You weren’t present when—"

“You stand accused of making unwanted advances on a person dear to me,” Essa says, intoning each word clearly and gripping the pommel of her longsword. “I would relish the chance of cutting you down myself.”

“Sure. What she said,” Gedden adds.

The audience is talking loudly, both Godtouched and Untouched turning to their neighbors to comment the recent developments.

Valkas claps loudly and steps between the two groups, cutting the conversation short, drawing all eyes to himself.

“Alright, alright. This is all very irregular…”

A cry of ‘let them fight!’ comes from someone in the Godtouched side of the courtyard to much merriment from everyone else. Valkas smiles, holding up his hands.

“But we could use a little excitement, couldn’t we? Lucia, you agree?”

Confirmation doesn’t wait. A cheer courses through the audience as Valkas turns to Essa’s patroness. Her eyes widen at being targeted.

“Well, I, I…”

“Mistresss,” Essa interrupts. “You remember what we discussed? Regarding my abilities? I think this would be the perfect occasion.”

Lucia hesitates, but eventually bobs her head up and down in an enthusiastic nod.

“I agree, Valkas.”

“Then let’s do it! Let’s say midday in two days, Lysander? Give your boy time to prepare?”

“And the rules?” Lysander asks, the only person who doesn’t appear happy with the developments.

“Keep it simple.” Valkas smiles, perfect white teeth shining in the glare of the sun. “Any weapons. One artifact. Like Rao said: to the death.”