“Psst.” I say.

Gedden glances down at me. Nough leads us down the corridor, beating time with his staff and telling us about the betting frenzy that inexplicably rose around a fight where the outcome is predetermined. The goblin doesn’t notice when I pass the folded piece of paper over to Ged. I wait patiently while he frowns and decodes the atrocious handwriting.

Then he looks at me, a question in his eyes.

“Where?” I ask quietly.

Nough mutters to himself about how ridiculous thirty-to-one odds are, walking faster than his little goblin body suggests he can. A cool breeze wafts through the keep, ruffling the feathers on his head and tasting of late summer.

“First floor,” Ged says. “Up the main staircase, turn left and left again. How did…?”

“Someone left this in my room,” I whisper. “I don’t know who. I don’t know if it’s a trap.”

“And why would they want you to know that—”

“You two plotting somethin’?” the goblin asks, turning to give us a prodding look.

“Hum. Discussing strategy,” I say.

“Ah.” Nough nods sagely. “Good. Good thing, that.”

There’s a growing murmur in the air. An incessant rumble that travels up from outside, like an approaching waterfall.

“You wouldn’t want to share some of it, would you?” Nough asks carefully.

“Not in this lifetime,” Ged says. “Why so curious?”

“Oh, just wondering. Just wondering.”

“Nough,” Ged says, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Are you saying you’re betting?”

The goblin huffs and shakes his head, making his floppy ears slap the back of his head. His staff beats a quicker rap.

“Not that surprising, is it? I bet on most things.”

“You’re betting on me?” I ask.

Nough turns to us, both embarrassed and annoyed.

“Look, I wasn’t gonna, right. But the other guy’s an ass, and Ged can be pretty convincing when he wants to, and—”

“And you saw that Trugnar’s boys were betting on Malco too,” Gedden interrupts with a satisfied smile.

The staff stops in front of a closed door. The earlier murmur is a roar now, muffled only by the thick wood.

“Do they know something I don’t?” Nough pleads in a stage whisper, all pretense of shrewdness gone. “C’mon, Ged, you know you can trust me.”

“Trust you to hedge your bets, maybe. All we’re saying is thank you for your support, Nough, and you’re not going to be sorry. Tell your friends.”

“Goddamnit, Ged, how sorry am I not going to be?” Nough wrings the staff between his hands, making it creak slightly. “What do you know?”

Ged just smiles and shrugs.

“I think we’re here, Mal. Wanna do the honors?”

I step forward, rest my hand against the door, and push. The glare of the sun hits my eyes, blinding me just as my hearing is overcome by a sudden cheer. I look down at the courtyard, a new one I haven’t seen yet, and can’t help my mouth from hanging open.

The yard is a large, round sandpit reminiscent of the large arena outside the keep. Wooden seats surround it on four sides, and the crowd gathered on them is larger by magnitudes than the one that was present for the petitions. Larger than the mass of Godtouched that feasted in the refectory.

“Where the hell did all the people come from?”

“From the city, dummy. Did you think all the Godtouched in Red Harbor live in the keep?” Gedden places a hand on my back and exerts a sudden and unrelenting pressure. “I’ve been spreading the word. They’re here for a show, and we’re gonna give it to them, alright? It’s not over until it’s over, so wave and smile.”

I do, pulling my lips up in something closer to a rictus of death than an actual smile and waving my single hand like a madman. Part of the crowd cheers like the promised prince arrived, stomping their feet and clapping while other elements boo to their hearts’ content. I notice most of the cheering is coming from a single section of the seating area, where Loron and the rest of Trugan’s people have taken up space. They lead the cheer with something like a battle scream.

Rao and his people are already waiting in the center of the arena, with Essa standing at attention some distance apart. Between the two, Valkas stands with the sun playing on his perfect hair, ignoring the cheers and smiling beatifically.

He lifts his arms as we approach and join Essa on her side of the arena. The crowd silences by degrees, Loron and his team the last ones to quit.

Valkas’ smile widens.

“Dear subjects of the Black Sword guild. Dear guests. We are gathered here today to witness the settling of a disagreement and the first official battle between Godtouched and Untouched in years. On my right, Rao, Kalos, and Messer, all Godtouched, all recent members of the Black Sword guild.”

Amidst the cheering and booing, that Rao takes with a careless wave, Gedden leans down to whisper, “I wonder how recent.”

I don’t answer. I’m busy taking in details. Rao’s white hair shines in the sun, and I can tell his leather armor was augmented with extra bits and pieces, vambraces and shin protectors, as well as the addition of an eye-catching cape. Kalos, the warrior in the bulky armor, remains similar to himself, though his pudgy face is hidden by a full metal helmet that must be weighing in down in the sun and he switched his two-handed sword for an overlarge hammer. Messer, the Mage and remaining member of the party, has added a golden headpiece to his attire, a circlet laced with flames.

“And on my left, a team of two Champions and a Godtouched, are Malco, Essa, Gedden.”

The cheering builds up again. Fewer people are for me than for Rao, it seems, but they make up for it in exuberance. Loron himself sounds like a whole cheering squad.

I wonder how much he has riding on this.

“It’s a pity Malco’s patron, our friend Lysander, could not be present. But alas, justice waits for no man.

Is that a smile I see in his face?

“But before we start, we must set the rules,” Valkas continues, his smile of confidence turning to one of shrewdness. “So all involved understand the stakes. First, as agreed, the fight shall be to the death. Not the temporary setback that most of us here get to enjoy, but true, real death. Any questions?”

I step forward. Valkas turns to me, and his expression communicates perfectly how much he expects me to fight this, to plead, to say that it’s not fair. Keep waiting.

“Pardon for the interruption, guildleader Valkas,” I say, bowing slightly in a show of abasement and humility. “But I would like to propose an alteration to that rule, if you see fit.”

“I’m sorry, Malco,” he says. “But this is how it’s done. Certainly you don’t expect us to bend the rules only for your benefit.”

“Of course not,” I say. “I would only propose that if one of us was to concede the fight, that would also be considered a victory for his opponent. After all, isn’t that how fights between Godtouched end?”

From his silence, Valkas seems taken aback. He looks at Rao, whose gaze is filled with venom. He taps his foot impatiently.

“I accept that,” Rao says before Valkas can speak. “As long as the winner keeps the right of life and death over the loser.”

“Of course,” I say, and bow again, smiling all the time.

Valkas looks from me to Rao, as if undecided, and thoroughly displeased. Then he relents, lifts his arms, and addresses the crowd again.

“With the matter solved, we can proceed. I—”

“Pardon,” Gedden says, stepping in front of me.

“What,” Valkas snaps.

“Since Lysander isn’t present, like you said, guildleader Valkas,” Gedden intones, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in in his voice. “It falls to me to bring up an item of some importance. As you said, what’s happening here is justice, correct?”

Valkas’ silence is the only answer Ged gets.

“Then, I should point out that Malco has a trial pending, and since this trial may result in death, I think it would be fair if we did that one first. Unless you’d like to waive the charges, of course.”

For a moment, Valkas’ face just contorts, as if he’s unsure of what to say. A jeer sounds from the audience, yelling for us to get on with it, followed by a chorus of similar messages.

“Fine, fine,” the guildleader says, dragging an arm through the air as if to wipe the conversation clean. “Malco is hereby forgiven for having entered the Challenge without going through the volunteering process. The combat can proceed. Is that all?”

Gedden bows graciously and steps back again.

“As I was saying. The fight shall progress until the permanent death of Malco or Rao or until one of them concedes, at which point their destiny shall be in the hands of the victor. Other deaths will not count towards the resolution of this conflict.”

A murmur and a score of eyes look down to Essa, who stands resolutely focused on Rao.

“One magical artifact is allowed per person,” Valkas concludes. “Fighters, present your items.”

Gedden is the first to step in front of Valkas and smile to the audience. With a flourish, he reaches into his left sleeve and brings his hand out again with long, blue and flowing piece of fabric wrapped around it. Ged gives his hand a twirl, and the fabric twists in the air, catches the light and shimmers with a hundred different colors.

“The Waving Veil,” he says amidst the clapping.

Valkas looks to the rafters, where Laede, the woman with the semi-translucent skin, is sitting under an umbrella. She gives him a curt nod.

“Accepted. Next fighter.”

Essa steps forward and presents her shield. Round and metallic, it’s like no shield I’ve ever seen. The border is edged and sharp all around except in one spot, where an open slot was inserted. To see through? To grip? No matter its polish and material, the shield seems dull under the glare of the sun, like it’s jealously hoarding light instead of reflecting it.

“The Spinning Shield,” she says simply.

The audience mutters among itself, but there’s no clapping. I search and find Essa’s patroness Lucia in the seats, pouting next to serene Wyl, sitting on the balls of her feet and simply watching. Watching me? Before I can decide, Valkas looks to Laede once again, who assents.

“Next fighter.”

I step forward. I’m suddenly aware that everyone is looking at me. Stupidly, I blush and look down before forcing myself to stand straighter. In the sun, the troll war mantle seems greener somehow. On patches on my shoulders, I can see the bits of moss stretching to the sun.

It’s alive. I hadn’t realized it before. I thought the green was magically maintained, that the moss had been collected and somehow treated. Seeing it stretch, grateful for the sunlight, makes me wonder if I should have been watering. I can hear Mossgreen’s voice, admonishing me for being a bad little fly, and…

I realize everyone is still looking at me, waiting.

“Hum. The Troll War Mantle,” I say, trying to give the name a power and solemnity I don’t really feel.

“Tell us what it does!” yells a voice from among the audience. A string of laughter echoes down to the sand. I smile and wave, like Ged suggested, and they seem to take that well. When Valkas gives me leave, after another nod from Laede, I rejoin Essa and Ged. We share a pained smile amongst ourselves, grim solidarity.

Rao’s team begins presenting their items. Messer comes first, showing everyone the Circlet of Flames. With a twist of his fingers, a gout of flame springs from the center of the circlet, blackening a slice of sand. After the applause dies down, Kalos presents his hammer. He doesn’t swing it, doesn’t hit anything with it, just stands holding it with one hand as if it’s much lighter than its ridiculous size suggests. To both, Laede nods, and with each nod Valkas accepts the item and the fighter.

Rao’s turn comes. He steps forward and his hands shoot to the side, his expression crestfallen.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you all,” he says. “But I have no magic items.”

His eyes focus on mine for a second, and I almost fail to notice the mirth in them. I have a sense of foreboding, waiting for the other show to drop. On cue, Valkas steps in, not wasting a second.

“Oh, we can’t have that. Wouldn’t be fair, would it. Here, I have an idea.”

He reaches back and pulls a sword from the scabbard on his back. It’s long, elegant, gleaming dark in the sunlight. A gasp courses through the audience. Of us all, Rao seems the least impressed with the offer, but still he takes it while making grateful noises. He steps forward, sword raised high.

“Fucking hell,” Gedden says, burying his face in one hand.

“I present to you,” Rao says, voice ringing out over the murmurs of the assembled. “The Black Sword.”

“And that’s all,” Valkas says before the mutterings can become a roar. He steps back to the edge of the arena, then claps his hands twice. “Fighters to positions. Begin!”