Everything was going wrong. The fight had been delayed and Khelidon knew the Prince was up to some manner of treachery, more than what he had expected, and he foresaw their whole plan disintegrating underfoot. But he wasn’t certain until Jason was absent on the seventh day. All week they had been together in the fourth ring, side-by-side, watching Rook in the fighting, cheering for Arakos at every moment—and now he didn’t show up.

And the fight was delayed. The final duel wouldn’t take place. And…

He bolted downstairs to the hypogeum, each step sending jolts of pain shooting up his thigh. A Cult Custodian stopped him at an archway.

“Let me through,” he commanded. “I’ve got to see my competitor.”

The Custodian stared at him with dead eyes.

“Let me through, you bastard! I’m Khelidon Korakos, I have the authority by birthright to enter this—”

An armored hand landed on Khel’s shoulder. He turned, and he saw behind him one of the Archon’s men.

“They’re preparing the field,” the man said through a visor. “Return to your seat, Khelidon Korakos.”

That was when it became clear. By the time he returned to his vantage point, where he had a few retainers and a handful of his own guests, Jason was still absent—then he knew for certain had been betrayed.

Rook came out onto the field with seven other knights. The Prince gave a speech—and anyone willing to see the purpose of this new melee could see it clearly. It was a death sentence for the contestants. And that was just what the Prince wanted.

It was good work, Khel had to admit. The people were savages who wanted nothing more than to see blood; they wouldn’t care. The corrupt aristocracy was in on the rigging of the games; such tricks kept them in power. Only a few honest noblemen would be bothered, but they would keep their mouths shut. And meanwhile, Rook would be turned to paste.

Khel fumed in his seat. Gnawing on his knuckles. Thinking about what to do.

He’d never thought the Prince would try this, all for Hierax. He wouldn’t want to see the wrong branch of the Korakoi made Strategos, but—

Only if he knew who Arakos really was would he be willing to go to such extreme measures as this last-minute stunt, and he could only know if Jason had told him. There was no one else. Not Aletheia, not Eris, and not himself.

Jason. Or Diana, but that bitch was in on it with him.

The miserable bastard. He had ruined everything. Khel had known he wasn’t to be trusted, but this was truly an unforeseen depth of treachery. They both stood so much to gain with Hierax gone. Why would he ruin that? After so much work? Weren’t he and Rook friends?

Khel shook in apoplexy. Fear, anger, betrayal, anxiety, horror as the realization set in that his brother would be killed—everything was going wrong. His plans were all in place. Everything was so near to perfection. Arrangements had all been made, he had only needed Jason…

But there was nothing to do but sit and sputter now. Khel went limp in his seat, tears wetting his palms against his eyes, and he took a deep breath.

It all fell on Rook. He had to save himself. And as for Eris and Aletheia—they were on their own now, too.

Eris never would have expected it to be a mercy for Kirkos to return, but he was eliminated on the second day, and with his elimination he limped back to his father’s observation box. There he demanded Eris sit next to him, and she was liberated from her need to speak with his repulsive sister. Aletheia kept Kirke company in her place.

The boy was greatly embarrassed, but still determined to impress ‘Cleopatra’ all the same. She pretended to humor him. They spoke day in and out while he looked for some opportunity to molest her.

“Who do you cheer for now, Your Grace?” she asked coyly. “Sir Khelidon has been so gracious to Atalanta and I.”

“Sir Khelidon has no honor to enter someone other than his own kinsman in his place,” Kirkos said. “He’s a peasant slave, Lady Kallia. You must not pay him any attention. My father likes Sir Apeiron for the winner. Don’t you, father?”

The distant Hierax nodded. “He’s the Archon’s favorite to win this year. Excellent warrior.”

“Yes, see. Cheer for Sir Apeiron.”

In fact Eris cheered for no one, not even Rook; it was not in her disposition. Aletheia did cheer, however, and to such an extent that Kirke had to tell her to be quiet.

It was a nerve-wrenching, tedious, dull week watching the Tournament. Eris did not like sports, but she possessed enough fear for Rook that every moment was forced to be spent in close observation of the fighting. She was ready to assist him with a spell if need be. It would be challenging at such a distance, but not impossible.

She knew the trick with the goblins. They were given the order to attack, rather than liberated from their order to stand still and let themselves be slaughtered. She anticipated another trick of the same sort, but none came. Instead the sports continued. Running, racing, fighting, and mostly tense boredom. Not unlike being an adventurer.

Everyone was nervous as she arrived with Ajax and Aletheia on the seventh day. Hierax wasn’t yet there, but Kirkos waited for her in his armor. Kirke was absent.

Eris knew something was wrong straight away. Ajax did, too, for he took up a position very near her, a hand rested on his sword as he stared down one of the Korakos guards.

“Is something the matter, Your Grace?” Eris said cautiously.

Kirkos stared at her, then to Aletheia, then to Ajax, who had the look of a back alley thug on his face. “No. Of course not. I’ve been waiting for you, Lady Kallia. And Atalanta.”

“Where is the Duke?” Aletheia said.

“He will be arriving presently,” Kirkos said. But the expression on his face gave everything away. Eris knew she had been found out. “Would you care to have a seat?”

Aletheia looked to Eris for guidance. She was of the same impression. To break now would be to abandon their cover—and only an amateur liar abandoned a disguise when it was compromised. It was not yet time to give Cleopatra up, not until she knew what had happened.

So she smiled and sat down, and Aletheia beside her, and then Kirkos. A long silence followed. Eris had arrived late, not long before the game was scheduled to begin, and she grew tense as questions dripped through her mind.

“Has there been an issue with the duel?” she asked.

“It has been delayed,” came the voice of Hierax. Metal clinking followed, and when Eris turned she saw him in a suit of armor all his own. Two Cult Custodians were behind him. They came to rest by the staircase, looking upon them. “Good morning, Cleopatra.”

Cleopatra did not respond. There was no look of Cleopatra in her eyes; only Eris.

“Kirkos,” the Duke continued. “What color is Cleopatra’s hair?”

“Blonde, father,” the boy replied.

“Pezhetairos,” the Duke addressed one of the Custodians, “what color is that woman’s hair?”

“Brown, Your Grace,” the Custodian replied dryly.

“What color are her eyes? I see brown.”

“Her eyes are yellow, Your Grace.”

Hierax stepped forward. “You are not Cleopatra Kallia.”

Eris grabbed Aletheia’s hand. The girl was eager to grab hers back, out of fear or need to be comforted, but that was not what Eris had on her mind. “I don’t understand, Your Grace,” she lied.

“Your name is Eris. You broke into my vault with the help of Khelidon Korakos. You are the magician prostitute of Korax, my nephew, who poses as Arakos on the field below you.”

Eris glanced down the rings of the stadium. Eight knights had entered the arena on horseback.

“We’re from Telekhasmos,” Aletheia said meekly.

“The lies end here,” Hierax said. “Step forward.”

The Custodians both had spears, and they raised them now. Aletheia clutched Eris more tightly. She needed a moment, a distraction, so she gave in.

“Would you like to hear the truth, Hierax?” she began.

“That would be a start.”

“Very well. You have given issue to two useless, idiot, inbred children. You yourself are not fit to trim the leaves of Rook’s family tree. And your days are numbered, for although I could kill you now, I will temper my temptations and save the moment for my lover.” She grabbed Ajax’s bicep. “And you will forever, for the rest of your brief life, feel a fool—for you missed your chance to capture Eris and Aletheia; instead you blinked.”

She looked down at the fourth ring. She saw a section of the bleachers swelled by people, where a mass of a thousand spectators watched the knights eagerly, and she erased her presence with mana, rematerializing it lower down.

Nothing happened.

“Grab her!” Hierax shouted. The Custodians came for her, but they wanted her alive, so they didn’t use their spears. One hand reached her way—

“Blink!” she shouted again. A gauntlet brushed against her arm—

Too late. She disappeared.

She, Aletheia, and Ajax rematerialized in the crowd below. To see the spell shouts and chaos erupted, but there were so many people that they were soon lost in the sea of motion. Eris heard the Duke shout in the box above them:

“You said she knew no teleportation spells! You idiot! Find her! Kirkos, rally the guards.”

Ajax stumbled and threw up. Eris picked him up and pulled them into an alcove, where they found a moment’s solace from the crowd. Aletheia used Shadow Meld; and to all who passed them by, they were invisible so long as they remained still.

“What the fuck is happening?” Ajax said.

“We are discovered. They wish to capture us. Someone has sold us out.”

Ajax peeked out into the ring. There was shouting and commotion, cries of ‘witch’ and ‘sorceress,’ but nothing that led to them—yet. “We have to get to Khel,” he said.

Eris wasn’t so convinced, but if Ajax wasn’t in on this betrayal, she was reasonably confident Khelidon wasn’t either. “If we are found out,” she whispered, “then so is Rook—”

Just then, the Prince’s announcement came.

“…last month, my personal guards captured three ogres with the assistance of a magician. Not one, not two, but three, dwelling in the ruins not far beyond this Colosseum. To slay these ogres is the ultimate test of any warrior. He who does deserves his place in the final round, and is surely worthy to fight our first place competitor…”

Eris closed her eyes. “So we know their plan for Rook,” she said.

“You think you’re important enough to cause the Prince to change his plans?” Ajax said.

“Be quiet!”

They were on the fourth ring, where seating was sparser and there were fewer, better dressed guests, but it was still a madhouse of motion. Two guards in Korakos colors passed them by, deceived by Aletheia’s spell.

“This is what we will do,” she said. “There are few Custodians. I will give us new appearances and we will find Khelidon. Then we will assist Rook in this battle however we can.”

“You’re mad,” Ajax said.

“Shut up!” Aletheia said. “I like that plan.”

“Good, for we have no other. I only—”

A deafening roar overcame the rings. Eris looked back down toward the arena. Her view of the fighting was bad, but she could just barely see the northern portcullis, and she watched as it retracted upward, pulled open, and through the other side…

Three hulking figures emerged. They were hideous, misshapen monstrosities, like snot molded into golems the size of the manaforge’s arcane protector. They stood three times as tall as Rook but were four times as broad and they carried with them tree trunks for clubs. Each was unique in its repulsiveness: one was green and covered in warts, boils, and buboes, with an enormous gut and a face like a melted wax statuette of a human man; another was gray and thin and his skin was sallow, his eyes a mile apart, his ears halfway down his neck; and the last hued brownish-violet, with a singular cyclopean eye, a nose halfway crooked on its side, an uneven mouth without any teeth, and arms twice as long as his body, so that they dragged along the ground like the tail of a dress.

All were naked—and in every ogre’s eye glowed the blue hue of domination. Like the goblins on the field, these creatures were under the spell of a powerful magician nearby, giving them commands through the aether.

Eris knew her plan of action as silence fell over all the Colosseum. She turned back to Ajax and changed every feature on his face, working quickly and poorly, imagining someone else and making him that man. She did the same to Aletheia, then the same to herself, doing nothing more than making her face and hair and clothing unrecognizable at a glance. Then she stepped out of Aletheia’s spell.

“Stay near me,” she commanded.

“Khelidon is on this ring, isn’t he?” Aletheia said. “Can you take us to him?”

“Yes, his seating is this way,” Ajax said, but Eris didn’t follow. She was at the edge of the ring now, looking down at the arena, transfixed on the fight.

Rook and the other seven knights eyed the ogres carefully. They retreated as the monstrosities approached, and the monstrosities approached in unison, unlike how they ever might in nature. The knights all held lances; one spurred his horse forward and charged the gray-skinned ogre on the left. He darted around its side, dodging a blow from its tree-trunk club, and managed to lance the creature in the thigh—

And the huge beast launched a kick at his horse as he came around. It hit the animal under the belly just as he pulled away; the strength of the ogre was immense, for the mount was kicked feet into the air before falling back down on itself. All of its legs were broken. Its rider was knocked to the ground, dazed.

The ogre brought its club down onto the knight’s back. The crowd made no noise as his armor was crushed. The man within was killed instantly.

And the ogre did nothing but turn back to the others and resume its formation.

Eris needed to do something now.

“Forget Khelidon,” she said. “Aletheia, I need your help.”

“Okay. Tell me what to do.”

Eris looked at the girl. She was shocked to hear those words of obedience. She stared in awe—but there was no time for that. “We need to free the ogres from their domination.”

“How?”

“We could kill the magician controlling them—but he will be well-guarded. ‘Tis too obvious. No, we must wrest control of them from him directly. That will require a great deal of mana. And we must get close.”

“Okay,” Aletheia said, nodding.

“You bitches are insane,” Ajax said. “Khelidon will have a better plan.”

“Then find him,” Aletheia said, and the two women sprinted to a staircase down.

Two Archon guards had restricted all access up and down this ring. Far off, on the other side, Eris saw a Custodian sweeping through the spectators, searching for them. She could use Blink to lower them to the arena, but then they would be found out—if a Custodian saw them use the spell, they would never evade him.

She had no time to plan. She looked down at the arena again. The ogre like a melted figurine charged at Rook. It brought its club down on him, but he dodged beneath its legs, lancing it in the gut; but the ogre’s skin was like stone, and the tip of his fractured at the impact. Rook made it through by ducking to the side of the saddle, hanging off of it like a circus performer, but when he righted himself again, he found himself face-to-face with the fist of the cyclopean ogre.

Eris reached out to stop the ogre’s blow. She caught it with her Essence, pushing it back with her mind, and giving Rook just enough time to duck away and draw his sword. He rode to the far side of the arena.

She gasped as she let the ogre go. She was overcome with lethargy and tasted blood in her mouth, but Rook was alive.

The Custodian came closer toward her.

“Look!” Aletheia pointed. Another came around the other side of the ring, so that two converged toward their location.

Any teleportation was sure to be spotted now. She needed some way to distract the guards. If only she—

She focused on one of the two at the staircase. With her blood burning it was easy to cast carelessly, but she did not much care if the guard recovered from the spell she was preparing. She only needed the mana to hold for a few moments—but it was a complex transformation, more complex than she had ever done with this spell before, and she wasn’t sure…

She pulled Aletheia closer to the place the guards stood. She reached out for the guard’s soul, his presence around her, and she found it. She needed to be very near to pull this off. Then she poured mana into him, fashioning the form that surrounded his soul into something very different than its human shape. She sculpted the human body into…

A sandspider. From Darom. She had only seen them undead, but it was the most horrific creature she could imagine in an emergency—just what she needed. She cast Polymorph on him, and when she opened her eyes, her Essence drained, she heard the Colosseum erupt into screams.

An enormous spider stood beside the other guard. It waited in confusion for a moment, then scurried onto one of the walls, then onto the ceiling. Everyone scrambled away. Terror and horror overcame the ring. The lone guard standing at the staircase was overwhelmed as dozens of frenzied spectators poured down the staircase to escape the horrific creature.

And Eris was among them, with Aletheia and Ajax behind her.

The fight continued on in the arena. There were even more people on the third ring, and here they were transfixed on the battle, entranced by the spectacle of the ogres against the knights, so that even screams of, “Spider!” did nothing to rouse them from their waking slumber.

Eris navigated past seats, then down to the railing where more stood, quickly becoming lost in the crowd. She stole a look at the fighting once more:

Two of the knights charged in unison at the gray ogre. They lanced its legs; the blades drew little blood, but the force was enough knock the creature to its knees. Three more knights, Rook among them, then rushed past it, striking it in the neck and head with their swords, but it showed no sign of pain.

That was another reason the spell needed to be broken.

Eris used a spell to hold the ogre in place for a moment longer, to let it receive another hit from a fourth knight, but as the fifth came, she timed her release so that it would be able to strike him. Sure enough it did, knocking him from his mount, sending them both into the air—and when he landed, his horse landed on top of him, crushing him.

That was just what Eris wanted. If Rook was to win, every other competitor needed to die. There was no other option. Only six more to go.

“Where do we go now?” Aletheia said.

“Down. All the way, to the first ring,” Eris said.

“There are other ways down from here, follow me,” Ajax said. He led them halfway around the ring. One entrance was guarded, but another, an internal staircase, wasn’t; they quickly descended, and they found themselves on the second ring of the Colosseum.

There were ten Korakos guards scrambling here, searching everywhere for Eris, but hardly anyone was seated this low down, and it was impossible to see every face—nor would they know it when they saw it. They pushed to the front and looked down at the fighting again.

Another knight had been killed. One of the ogres looked seriously injured, the gray ogre, but it wasn’t slowing down. Rook led the remaining four humans, trying to tire the beasts, but they were smart enough not to pursue them around the arena; instead they cast a wide net.

Guards were at every staircase down. Eris could try the same trick again, but she was wasting her Essence: she needed mana in her veins for where it mattered most.

“This will have to do,” Eris said. They were close now, much closer to the fighting. She looked at the gray ogre and concentrated. She could sense the spell animating it, and although without Supernal Vision she wouldn’t be able to see who was pulling the strings, a continual stream of mana was required to enthrall a powerful creature like an ogre, and she almost felt it, like vibrations in the air, beneath her.

She looked to Aletheia. “I will disrupt the spell. But it will require mana. I need you to channel your Essence into mine.”

“How?” Aletheia said, eyes wide.

“How do you tap mana from the air? ‘Tis just the same, but in reverse. I am the target.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Aletheia closed her eyes. Eris channeled all her attention to the gray ogre. Within moments she felt mana flowing into her through Aletheia, like a conduit attached to her skin—almost identical to a staff.

It was like excising a demon. The control of the magician needed to be disrupted, blown away, put out like a candle. Eris gathered as much mana as she could: she reached out to find the ogre’s consciousness herself, to feel its hunger for magic, its willingness to be controlled, and with an invisible burst of energy she severed its link to the unseen magician pulling its strings.

The gray ogre roared. Its blue eyes went out, overcome instead with unglowing white. It toppled instantly to its side in pain, flailing its arms, and although it wasn’t dead, its will to fight was clearly extinguished.

“You did that?” Ajax said.

“That is one,” Eris said. “Another. Do not stop, Aletheia.”

Her next target was the ogre like melted wax. It was in the best condition; with luck, Eris hoped it would go berserk when uncontrolled, and be more easily defeated—or perhaps attack its compatriot. She did the same ritual once again, finding the link, concentrating mana, severing it—

And the ogre’s eyes went white. It was swinging its club at Rook, who dodged his horse to the side, when it stopped mid-motion.

It looked up and surveyed the crowds, realizing where it was for the first time.

The ogre was a stupid creature, but it was not an animal. Then it gazed at its fallen, wailing companion; then it gazed at Rook.

And it roared. It picked up its club and charged at him senselessly. He kicked his mount and fled away, but this time the ogre pursued, with no regard for its safety, and one knight was caught so off-guard by this change in tactic that he was caught in its path, knocked over, and trampled to death.

“One more,” Eris said. “Then we can attempt to dominate one for ourselves.”

She did the same again. She was almost ready to release the spell—

“Look out!” Aletheia yelled.

Eris’ concentration lapsed. She jumped to the side just in time to avoid being grabbed by a Cult Custodian behind her—he had seen them in the crowds, or noticed her casting her spells.

Ajax drew his sword. The spectators around them screamed and fled, but that attracted the attention of the guards. The Custodian drew his own blade, but Ajax managed to land a hit on his neck, and he was a savage fighter; he punched the foeman and kicked him over the railing, sending him thirty feet down into the arena.

The guards descended on them now. “You’d better have a plan!” Ajax said.

A man in banded plate shouted, “Throw down your sword!”

Eris launched a ball of flame at him. It landed in his torso, then consumed all the exposed fabric on his body, his tunic and a scarf. Aletheia did the same, sending fans of flame at the two nearest to her. Ajax fought off one with his sword, but soon they were all forced back to the railing.

“This isn’t a plan!” he shouted.

“I have a plan!” Eris said. She let their disguises fall. “Jump!”

And she jumped off the back of the railing.

After catching the attack of an ogre, the weight of three humans was little in comparison. She lowered them down to the arena’s floor easily—and then there they were, in the middle of the melee.

The ogres were much larger close-up.

The freed ogre continued its rampage. It picked up a horse in its hands and it threw it at one of the knights, hitting him directly. Then it roared, and it charged at Eris. She jumped out of its path and it collided with one of the ancient columns of the Colosseum’s arena, sending groundlings on the first ring flying and nearly knocking the ancient wall itself over.

The ogre was dazed for a moment. Rook ran their way.

“Eris!” he shouted. “What are you doing?”

“We are found out!” she yelled.

The still-dominated, long-limbed ogre came their way. Rook galloped to safety. The rest of them sprinted in every direction, while all the while, around them, the crowd was wild with excitement.

The ogre brought its club down where Eris stood. She jumped to the ground in her dress, filthying herself, and she was forced to roll aside again to avoid another hit. On the third blow she caught the ogre’s club with her Essence, forcing it back, and giving herself just enough time to grab hold of the ogre’s enormous leg. It tried to shake her loose, but she held tightly.

Rook came around to distract it, striking at its arms, and it nearly hit him.

Eris put her hands against the ogre’s thick skin and used Disintegrate. Slowly, inch by inch, the dermis turned to ash beneath her spell, but it was too slow: by the time bone was revealed, the damage was minor. It was not a spell meant for such a massive creature. It kicked its leg and the momentum sent her flying. She landed hard on her back with the wind knocked from her lungs.

It raised its foot to crush her—

But it used the wrong leg, the leg she had Disintegrated, and under the entire weight of its body the bone within snapped. The ogre fell to the ground, still silent, collapsing beside her, partially immobile.

Rook rushed forward. He took a hit from the creature’s arm and was injured, but not badly, and he rode into its face, and he shoved his blade through its singular eye. It faltered, finally, jolting haphazardly, and he brought out his blade and rammed it again through its mouth.

It went limp with a roar. Their attentions turned toward the last real threat.

Three knights were left. The misshapen ogre was tiring under its rampage; it came to a standstill and roared furiously, sending spit flying across the Colosseum. One knight saw its tiredness as an opportunity and tried to strike out at its legs—

And the ogre reached out like an alligator with its arm. It snagged him from his saddle with one hand and it lifted him over its head and it began to tear him in two. All the crowd watched in horror as he screamed, louder and louder, and then—

He split at the waist. His intestines spilled out onto the ground.

Then, the crowds cheered.

The two halves of the knight were thrown into the stands. Rook and the last remaining knight met at each other’s sides. Their horses were exhausted now and so were they. Aletheia rushed to the body of a knight and drew his sword for her own, and she rushed to the gray ogre, doing her best—with the help of magic and Ajax—to kill it for good.

Eris was thoroughly drained. She felt sick, but she lifted herself to her feet. For a long moment she gathered her senses. Trying to still her stomach. But then, suddenly, she felt a surge of mana in the air—

The magician in the rings was reestablishing its domination. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. Eris had just enough wherewithal remaining to intercept that mana for herself, tapping it from the air before it reached the ogre, pulling it into her own Essence. That kept the creature berserk, but it overloaded her veins with magic.

She was forced to throw up. Green and blue sludge shot from her mouth.

“Stay back!” Rook shouted. “Don’t engage it!”

But the ogre wasn’t looking now at Rook, or the other knight, or Ajax, or Aletheia. Its eyes were on Eris. Because an ogre was a creature of pure Essence, and it was addicted to magic. Now it smelled mana. And although it fought recklessly, Eris realized she had made a horrible mistake.

It charged across the field for her.

She didn’t know what to do. The ogre moved at a gallop. It would be upon her. She couldn’t escape, except with Blink, or levitation, but her Essence was so drained she might miscast and fall—and if she fell, she would die.

She stared like an idiot, doing nothing. Almost too in awe to move. There was such a long way for the ogre to travel, but even so it came closer, and closer, and closer still, until…

Rook grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his saddle. She yelped in surprise, and a moment later she found herself sitting behind him on the horse, galloping around the curvature of the stadium. The ogre blitzed past them and impacted the wall of the Colosseum head-first, just like before; this time it knocked two columns over and tore a hole through the ancient wall. A segment of the first ring collapsed under the lack of support and a dozen screaming groundlings fell into the arena, forced to scramble to the portcullises for cover.

The last knight used the ogre’s daze to drive his sword into its back. It was a good hit, but the frenzied creature responded by pulling his exhausted horse out from under him. He scrambled away, still alive, but now dismounted—and dismounted, he couldn’t outrun the wild creature. It grabbed him and threw him into the air, forgetting about him, letting gravity finish him off—and it pursued Rook and Eris.

She grabbed hold of his plate shoulders.

“Do something,” he said. “My horse is almost dead.”

She felt very, very ill. She put her head against his pauldron to think. Thinking about what to…

An idea.

“The wall. Lure it into the wall again, the same place in the wall!”

As the ogre pursued them about the arena, Aletheia let out fire to burn it as it passed, but an ogre was magically resistant, and mere flames did little against its thick skin. It rushed past her, ignoring her, still focused on Eris.

Rook did as he was told. He rode his horse back to the place where the wall was damaged. Then he waited, waited until the ogre charged, and he galloped away.

Once again the ogre collided with the wall. This time the hit was very hard, and it broke through the ancient exterior where it was weak, revealing a small hole through to the campgrounds set up around the Colosseum.

That wall had stood intact for three thousand years until Eris found it..

“Once more!” Eris said.

So Rook did it again, one last time, until the gap was wide enough for a horse. Then Rook lured the ogre to the other side of the field, and he galloped to the gap, and he darted through it.

“To the Lightning Wall,” she said. “Lead him to the Lightning Wall.”

“What Lightning Wall? What’s a Lightning Wall?”

“The gate! The gate to the city, you idiot! Lure him there!”

They entered out on the wrong side of the Colosseum. They were in a place covered by tents, surrounded by squires and vagrants and performers, actors and musicians, and they screamed to see a knight charging their way. Rook tore through a tent—and the ogre followed, first getting stuck on the small gap in the wall, but with its immense strength it tore it open, larger and larger, until eventually it squeezed through.

Rook led it on a chase around the edge of the Colosseum. It was a very long way until they reached the main road. The ogre trampled tent after tent without any heed, mindlessly following the source of mana it smelled, until at last Rook found the Oldwall gate that led back into the city. He kicked his horse again and again, making it gallop faster, and Eris clutched him tightly as they rocketed uphill, toward a confused clutch of guards, and then…

They reached the Lightning Wall. It was invisible, but Eris felt it. It was active.

The ogre was exhausted, but still transfixed. It made it up the hill. It knocked over a cart, trampled a horse, and finally reached the gate. It raised its arms as if to grab her, then charged past the Lightning Wall’s emitters—

And there was a blinding flash of light, followed by the crack of thunder. When Eris’ vision returned, she looked, and she saw nothing where the ogre had one stood.

Thousands of spectators poured out from the Colosseum to watch what was happening. Every step and entrance and staircase was flooded with people.

Eris kissed Rook on the metallic neck.

He hesitated for a long moment.

“Aletheia!” he said. And he rode back to the arena.

The Archon’s guards swarmed the field. First a dozen, then a hundred, coming to the arena like an army from the hypogeum with their weapons raised. Rook arrived just in time to find Aletheia and Ajax boxed in by a circle of spearmen; he ran through the backs of them all and dismounted in the middle, helping Eris down after himself.

The guards stopped. The stands were silent. Eris had never known any silence so intense. She was certain this was where she would be killed at last, because Rook was such a fool he needed to return—

And that was when the cheering started. It erupted over the rings all at once, as every single spectator of the lower four stood up from their seats and applauded, hollering, cheering, and chanting the name Arakos.

Cheering and cheering and cheering.

“This is your moment,” Eris said.

“Take off your helmet,” Aletheia said.

Rook breathed heavily. He spun around himself, taking in all the Colosseum around them. Then he reached down, and he pulled off his helmet, dropping it to the ground.

Eris knew he had practiced this speech. He had fantasized about giving it many times. Somehow she doubted it had looked like this in his imagination, but she watched him attentively as the crowd quieted.

He used a deep baritone that projected throughout the whole stadium:

“My name is not Arakos. I am Korax, son of Korax, of the Korakoi. I fought representing my brother.” He hesitated. “My father was duke. Four years ago, he was murdered by his brother Hierax, who sits in the stands here today. For four years I was wrongfully accused of a crime I did not commit. For four years I was in hiding across Esenia. Now I’ve returned to take back what’s mine, as the rightful Duke of Korakos.”

He let the echo of his words fade.

“I deceived you only for necessity, to ensure that when I won the Tournament, your ears would be upon me when I came to swear on my honor that Hierax is a traitor. He framed my father for a plot and—killed him, unarmed, and my mother, and many among our servantry and retinue. Now he sells Kathar citizens as slaves to the Elves. He is no duke of Korakos.”

Eris looked up to the Duke’s observation box. Hierax stared down at them, fuming. Then she looked to the Archon. The Prince had an evil grin on his face, the device for the speakers in his hand, and he readied himself to speak into it, to cut Rook off.

But beside him, the ancient Archon stood, watching them intently.

Rook didn’t know what else to say, but he didn’t need to say anything, because Alexandros came through the speakers.

“That’s quite enough, Korax, son of Korax,” he said. “You are a known traitor and a fugitive. You conspired to kill my father.”

“That’s a lie!” Rook shouted.

“You have broken a sacred oath of the hetairoi and lied to enter the Tournament under false pretenses. You have enlisted the help of magicians with which to cheat your way to victory. You have broken the rules of the special melee."

"You said there were no rules!”

“You are a valiant knight, Korax, son of Korax. But your crimes are unforgivable. Surrender yourself to the guards.”

A man shouted, “No!” from the stands.

And then it happened. A thing that Eris had seen from crowds before. One man cried out, and then another followed. And another. A woman booed. And soon all the ring, bottom to top, was jeering at the Prince. Booing at him. At their own monarch.

The look on his face was one of total surprise. He sputtered, uncertain what to do, when the Archon reached out for the device in his hands.

The old man took the device and brought it to his cracked, bearded lips.

“There is one fight left,” he said. His voice was like dust on the wind. “Surely the aether would not allow a guilty man to be victorious in the Kathar Tournament?”

“Father—” came Alexandros’ voice over the speaker. He swore and pushed the device farther away from their mouths, then whispered into the Archon’s ear. They conversed for several seconds, back and forth.

“The matter is settled,” the Archon said at length. “Korax will fight his last duel.”

Apeiron appeared from the hypogeum. He entered the arena, riding past guards on a barded horse. “Your Majesty!” he shouted. “I yield to the better man!”

The Archon raised his eyebrows. “Yield? Do my old ears deceive me?”

“Apeiron would be honored to come in second to the ogreslayer Korax Korakos,” Apeiron replied. He dismounted—and then he kneeled down, drawing his sword, and he presented it to Rook.

“Apeiron,” Rook whispered. “What are you doing?”

“The Prince will have you killed if you don’t win,” Apeiron said. “It looks better for us both this way.”

Rook’s head snapped back up to the Archon. The old man smiled.

“There,” the Archon said. “There is a young man who commands respect. He is a leader of men.” He wheezed the next words—the Archon was over ninety, “I hereby proclaim Korax Korakos Strategos of Katharos for the seven hundredth summer Tournament.”

“Father!” cried Alexandros. “You can’t—he’s a killer—”

“Are you Archon?” asked the Archon, now no longer bothering to pull aside the device.

“I saw the documents myself—the decisions have been made—”

“Your decisions today have seen enough blood spilled,” the Archon cut through his son like an executioner’s axe. “Your game has done enough damage to my Colosseum. You may rule as you will when I am gone, and destroy your knights as you see fit. For now, I will rule as I will rule. And I rule that…Korax is, for his performance, is made Strategos. And he is…he is…to be made Strategos. Yes.”

The Archon shook his head. He narrowed his eyes. Then he sat back down in his throne.

“Let the games begin,” he muttered.

And he fell silent, back to his infirm self.

“You have struck a vast fortune,” Ajax said. “The Archon’s annual moment of clarity came just when you needed it.”

“He didn’t say anything about who should be duke,” Aletheia said.

“No,” Rook said. “Some things we need to do ourselves.”

The Prince took back the device. “My father has spoken,” he said through clenched teeth. “Korax Korakos is proclaimed victor of the Kathar Tournament.”

Rook had no retinue of his own, but he had Khelidon’s: ten of his brother’s men-at-arms swooped down upon them and escorted them back into the city, fending off ecstatic crowds the entire way. When the siblings reunited they embraced each other.

“What the hell happened?” Rook said.

“It’s Jason,” Khelidon said as he limped beside. “He sold us out to the Prince.”

Everyone fell silent. “…are you sure?” Rook asked.

“Who else? Do you think it was me? What would I stand to gain, Rook?” It was a fair point. If Khelidon intended to betray Rook, it would surely be after Hierax was disposed of. “No, it’s Jason, he didn’t arrive today.”

“My things are at his manor. I need them back,” Rook said.

“As are mine,” Eris said. “And now he must die.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Khelidon said.

“No!” Rook said. “There must be something more to it.”

“He betrayed us once already,” Eris said.

“He did…” Aletheia said.

“If you will not kill him,” Eris said, “I will.”

“Either way, we need to see him,” Rook said. “And then—then we move on Hierax. Now is the time.”

“He has an army,” Aletheia said.

“A few dozen guard and a handful of knights. With Eris, we can make short work of them,” Khelidon said.

“I am tapped,” she said. “I need time to recover.”

“Then that’s time to raise more troops,” Rook said. “Khel, tell them I promise five hundred drachmae to any man who storms Keep Korakos’ walls. And—ask around at Crowsbrook. I think the people there will be eager to help.”

“Five hundred drachmae? Where do you think we’ll get that kind of money?” Khelidon said.

“Jason,” Rook said.

Khelidon smiled. “Fair enough. You know, brother, sometimes I think it’s assumed I’m the scheming one just because I’m a cripple.” He shrugged. “And it’s true.”

“But won’t the Prince still be after us?” Aletheia asked.

“The Strategos has prosecutorial immunity—equivalent to a pardon of his crimes. For a year,” Khelidon said. “Alexandros has been cowed by his father, I don’t think he’s eager to be humiliated anytime soon. Rook is a free man in the eyes of the court—for now. But that doesn't mean Hierax's allies won't send soldiers after us.”

“Do not forget the Seekers,” Eris said. “Our true identities are known. We are not safe anywhere.”

“She’s right,” Rook said. “We have to move quickly. Let’s hope Jason didn’t tell them where to find us, too."