Lord of the White Hell Book One

Chapter Seventeen

When the day of the tournament finally arrived, the students at the academy rose early and ate quickly before mounting up and riding in a tight procession into the town of Zancoda. Nervous excitement pervaded the air, and neither Kiram nor Nestor was immune. As Kiram reined Firaj alongside Nestor's mount he noted the pink flush of Nestor's cheeks and felt certain that anyone close at hand could hear the pounding of his own heart.

Students from the Yillar Academy would be approaching from the opposite direction. Once the two great schools of Cadeleon had converged in Zancoda's center, the race to the gold pavilion would begin.

Kiram hadn't known what to expect beyond that, but he certainly hadn't imagined anything like the spectacle surrounding him. Crowds of people lined the road even far outside of town. As they entered the city gates the display amazed him. When he had last passed through Zancoda on his way to the Sagrada Academy the town had struck him as dull and colorless. The buildings were old and the stonework had been weathered to a lifeless gray. The few inhabitants he had seen from his carriage had looked as pallid and plain as their surroundings.

But now brilliant blue banners and vibrant green flags hung from the balconies. Flags emblazoned with colorful crests of noble families were waved from poles and chapel bells rang out wildly over the shouts and cheers of the gathered crowds.

Men and boys thronged the streets, cheering as the academy students rode past. Every so often Kiram spotted an older matronly woman amidst the crowd holding a young child on her hip and helping the child wave. Kiram often waved back. Younger women, with their dark hair still braided and held up in combs, threw flowers and perfumed kerchiefs from overhanging balconies. Groups of onlookers stared out from open windows. Everyone, regardless of age or sex, wore bright paper flowers pinned to their clothes or waved shimmering ribbons.

Kiram could not believe the sheer number of people who had come out just to watch the students of the Sagrada Academy ride two abreast through the streets. The inns appeared to be bursting with visitors, all waving from windows or leaning out on the steps. Some onlookers had even positioned themselves up on the roofs.

From time to time, especially where the streets were narrow and the crowds were close, Kiram would feel a small hand reach out and touch him or Firaj. He realized that parents were holding out their children as if the passing riders were lucky stones to rub. At first he feared that an excited grasping child would spook Firaj or cause him to strike out with one of his hooves, but Firaj remained calm. At times he seemed to enjoy the attention. Even when a youth stumbled out and collided with his hindquarters, Firaj only released a hard snort and stamped once in warning. The youth scurried back into the crowd.

"There are even more people here this year than last year!" Nestor shouted over the noise of the crowd. "The stands around the tournament arena are going to be packed!"

"They can't all be from around here," Kiram yelled, surprised at how little impact his voice made upon the turbulent roar of so many other voices.

"No." Nestor shook his head. "Merchants and nobles from all over the country come to see the autumn tournament. Even the princes come. This year the heir himself is supposed to attend."

Kiram couldn't help but feel a slight dread at the mention of a royal Sagrada. Though Nazario Sagrada's atrocities were long past, it was still Kiram's first association with the name "Sagrada". If he won the Crown Challenge he would have to attempt to change that. He would be expected to demonstrate his mechanism to the king and entertain the royal family with its many uses. He couldn't be brooding over the infamous impaler while cheerfully serving the man's descendants.

Then a downpour of pink rose petals from the balcony above distracted him. A white kerchief, embroidered with yellow butterflies, fluttered down and landed across Nestor's arm. Nestor flushed bright red and clutched the token. Kiram joined him in gawking up at the shy Cadeleonian girls on the balcony.

"Might be the one with the butterfly combs in her hair," Kiram shouted to Nestor.

"Do you think?" Nestor peered at the girl and she ducked quickly back into the shadows of a bright blue banner. "She was pretty, wasn't she?"

"I think so," Kiram replied, though he hadn't really seen much of her, but she had certainly possessed the deep curves and lustrous dark hair that Cadeleonian men seemed to desire.

"It smells like jasmine." Nestor carefully tucked the kerchief into his riding glove. "Not too much further to the town center. You ready?"

"Not at all. I'm terrified."

"Me too."

Under other circumstances Kiram thought he would have found it funny that both he and Nestor were screaming out their fears. But now the irony of the situation didn't amuse him. He was too nervous about the race that was to come, once they met the Yillar students at the town center.

The students of both schools would circle the city fountain once and then race madly down six narrow avenues out of the town and to the tournament grounds. The first student to reach the gold pavilion would receive a favor directly from the Sagrada prince.

Countless bets had been placed within the academy and in the town as well, Kiram imagined. Both the Helio twins were thought to be contenders, as was Javier.

Apparently Javier had finished second last year, only a neck behind Hierro Fueres of the Yllar Academy. Elezar had placed a huge wager on Javier and made it clear that he would personally take it badly if any other rider from the Sagrada Academy cost him his money.

Kiram had no illusions about his own chances of winning. He hoped only to survive. He clenched his fists around Firaj's reins. Last night Elezar had recounted stories of students who had taken terrible falls in the race from the fountain. He'd described young men being trampled by their own horses, or becoming tangled in their stirrups and being dragged against the hard cobblestones of the street.

Kiram's thoughts were so focused on his possible impending death that for an instant he failed to register the familiar voice calling his name from the surrounding crowd.

"Hey! Kiri! Kiram Kir-Zaki!"

Kiram turned slightly in his saddle and was shocked to recognize his uncle Rafie waving from the midst of dozens of pale Cadeleonians. The sight sent a thrill of joy through him.

Despite Rafie's elegant Cadeleonian clothes he stood out starkly from the rest of the crowd. His slim Haldiim build and smooth skin lent him the appearance of a tall youth but his close-cropped hair was nearly white and deep smile lines etched the corners of his mouth. Days of summer travel had deepened the natural cinnamon tone of his skin to a rich walnut color, making his pale blue eyes seem to blaze in contrast.

Rafie ducked between two big Cadeleonian men, slipped through the crowd with fast graceful twists, and was soon jogging alongside Firaj.

"We're staying at the Laughing Dog!" Rafie called to him in Haldiim. "We'll see you this evening. Take care!" Rafie tossed a small bundle into Kiram's lap, then ducked back into the relative shelter of the crowd.

"Who was that?" Nestor called out.

"My uncle Rafie." Kiram clumsily opened the satchel with one hand. Inside he found a Bahiim lotus medallion on a fine gold chain.

"He came all this way to see you in the tournament?" Nestor looked happy. "That's nice."

Kiram nodded. He guessed that Alizadeh was here as well and had probably blessed the medallion personally. Kiram pulled the chain over his head. The weight of the medallion felt amazingly comforting.

Chapel bells boomed over the streets in double time, and Kiram realized that the riders at the front of the procession must have arrived at the city center. A few moments later he and Nestor rode into the huge square with a massive fountain at its center that featured a sculpture of three stallions rearing up in the spray. Carved across the base of the fountain were the words: Faith, Honor, and Strength.

A church rose up on one side of the square, and ranks of Yllar students, dressed in deep green uniforms, gathered there. Kiram guessed that there were nearly two hundred of them, forming a veritable wall of armed men and glossy warhorses. A gnawing anxiety clutched at his stomach and he had to look away from them.

The last students from both schools filed into the square. Like Kiram and Nestor, they each took their positions as they had drilled countless times in the months earlier.

Master Ignacio rode his stallion from the front of the Sagrada Academy ranks to the fountain where he met the war master of the Yllar Academy. Ignacio was the younger of the two and far more serious in appearance. The Yillar war master was plump with a big white beard. He smiled like an indulgent grandfather at Master Ignacio's grim salute and returned the gesture as if it were nothing more than a wave.

Once the salutes of engagement were exchanged, riders from both schools surged into action all around Kiram.

"Good luck!" Nestor shouted, and then his roan stallion lunged ahead into the fray of riders and horses.

First-year riders forced their way forward and suddenly strangers surrounded Kiram. One rider attempted to force Kiram into the wall of a guild building. Firaj snorted angrily and sprang ahead. Kiram clung to his reins. He lost sight of Nestor. Then suddenly Yllar riders surged up from behind him. Kiram spurred Firaj forward to keep from being trampled in their charge.

Though Kiram had hated every moment he had spent with Master Ignacio, he was suddenly glad for the practice. Without it he would already have fallen.

Now his heart pounded madly in his chest but he urged Firaj ahead faster and the big gelding responded. His hands shook, but he kept his grip on his reins and focused himself on staying in his saddle.

Somewhere in the crush of uniforms and horses, Kiram heard shouts of pain and animal screams. Firaj bounded between two other horses and a big student in Yllar green swore at Kiram and swung his riding crop. Firaj suddenly bared his teeth at the man's mount and the other horse reared back, nearly throwing its rider. Firaj and Kiram raced ahead.

Kiram completed his circle of the fountain just behind the bulk of other riders and took the nearest of the six avenues leading out of the town. Stone buildings rose up on either side of him like walls and dust churned up from the street in choking clouds. From the balconies above, spectators screamed other men's names and hurled flowers.

Suddenly the closeness of the crowd and the constant downpour of flower petals became unbearable. Kiram swatted rose blossoms away from his face as if they were flies. He couldn't slow, much less stop, without being trampled by the riders behind him. They drove Kiram ahead faster but could not pass him. The street was too narrow. All of them raced to escape the confines of the town walls and tight streets.

The sight of harvested fields and wide open tracts of fallow land came as an overwhelming relief.

Even in the fields there were spectators. Groups of young boys sat atop stone walls and waved. Milkmaids and farmers leaned against fences watching. Ahead, an entire fairground of tents and bright flags spilled out from behind a huge yellow pavilion.

The open field allowed him the space to slow. Other riders urged their mounts ahead and Kiram let them pass. Firaj seemed to hate the sight of another horse racing past him and each time another rider sped by, he made an attempt to give chase. Kiram always reined him back to a reasonable pace.

He just wanted to reach the gold pavilion in one piece; he had no interest in risking his life to be counted among the finest riders, though he could tell that Firaj would have liked to be among the finest horses.

As he neared the huge gold pavilion Kiram caught sight of Nestor, racing across the field on his roan stallion. Kiram slowed Firaj further to allow Nestor to catch up.

Kiram waved. But Nestor didn't respond and Kiram guessed it was because Nestor couldn't see him. He'd obviously lost his spectacles somewhere earlier in the race.

However as they both drew closer to the gold pavilion, Nestor squinted at him and then waved ecstatically. Kiram rode up next to him. Nestor's face was streaked with road dust and the bridge of his nose appeared to be bruised.

He shouted, "It's madness this year!" by way of greeting.

Then they both passed beneath the yellow silk ropes decorating the entry to the tournament grounds and they were done. Grooms wearing blue armbands took their horses and told them what place they had taken in the race. Kiram was the hundred and forty-eighth rider. Nestor was the hundred and forty-ninth.

"I don't see why anyone keeps count after fifth, except to embarrass us," Nestor commented. Kiram wondered briefly how Javier had fared in the race. He hurried after Nestor into the gold pavilion.

Inside, sunlight glowed through the luminous yellow silk walls, lending a gold cast to the hundreds of onlookers gathered in the wooden stands. The center of the silk tent, however, was open and hard morning light poured down over the dirt floor of the arena, illuminating every detail of the filthy students gathered there.

Two men with silver horns blew out sharp notes as Kiram and Nestor walked in. A young man shouted both their names. When Nestor was announced a roar of cheers went up from the stands and Kiram realized that most of Nestor's family had to be here. The Grunito crest of a red bull on a blue field hung from ten raised box seats where dozens of big Cadeleonians waved and shouted out Nestor's name. A tall woman with shoulders as broad as Kiram's and a nose like a hawk's beak hurled a bouquet of red and blue ribbons to Nestor. It slapped into Nestor's chest and he gripped it tightly. His dirty cheeks took on an embarrassed flush.

"God save me," Nestor whispered as he squinted up at the box seats. "I'm never going to hear the end of this. I come in one hundred and forty-ninth and then get a bouquet from my mother."

"It's not so bad." Kiram said. "There are plenty of riders behind us."

"Yes, but my mother isn't going to throw them bouquets."

"Your mother isn't the only one who threw you a favor, though," Kiram reminded him.

"That's true." Nestor smiled slightly. "She really was pretty, wasn't she?"

"She was," Kiram assured him.

The two of them joined the other Sagrada Academy students in the center of the arena. Elezar was the easiest to pick out in the crowd, simply because of his size. The vestiges of a bloody nose stained his upper lip and mud spattered the entire front of his shirt. Almost immediately after finding Elezar, Kiram caught sight of Javier.

He wasn't with the rest of the Sagrada students but instead he leaned up against wall of the stands with his neck craned back. He shouted something up to a group of people in a box seat on the second level. A green and yellow banner hung from the box. Fedeles was up there, along with half a dozen other very well-dressed people. None of them resembled Fedeles as much as Javier did but Kiram still guessed that they were Fedeles' family, the Quemanors. One elderly woman gazed at him with that particularly adoring expression that Kiram always associated with grandmothers. When her gaze shifted to Javier, however, her expression was one of undisguised hatred.

Fedeles bounced in his seat and appeared to be singing something. Kiram couldn't hear him over the pressing roar of hundreds of surrounding conversations. Elezar was recounting his own worst failure in a race to Nestor, but Kiram was only half listening. Every now and then a trumpet blast announced more riders and cheers went up through the crowd.

A giddy feeling of joy and relief washed through Kiram. It had been a mad ride but he had survived it. Briefly, he thought that he would do it all again just for this rush of happiness at the end. The notion was crazy, but it filled him with a strange kind of joy. Kiram thought he might be grinning as wildly as Fedeles right now.

Up in the stands, Fedeles threw a wad of black and white ribbons down at Javier and then suddenly leapt up from his seat and pointed directly at Kiram.

Kiram returned his enthusiastic wave. He received a cold stare from Fedeles' grandmother, but he hardly cared. Javier pulled the black and white ribbons from his dusty hair, then he turned and started towards Kiram. As Javier drew closer Kiram caught sight of the bloody, matted black hair dried to the right side of his face.

Suddenly Kiram's pleasure turned cold. "Are you all right?"

Javier only smiled at him.

"He took first place!" Elezar crowed. "Flat out beat Hierro Fueres this year."

"What happened to his head?" Kiram asked. Javier seemed oddly unaware of the question.

"He got clipped. His right ear is full of blood." Elezar pointed to Javier's head.

Javier nodded. "I can't hear out of my right ear. It's full of blood."

"Shouldn't he see a physician?"

"He'll be fine," Elezar responded. "It's just a graze. Bled like hell though. He looked completely bitched when I first came in. Bastard had the gall to tell me I looked bad."

Javier watched Elezar's face intently as he spoke and then nodded.

"I said you looked like shit," Javier said to Elezar and then he turned his attention back to Kiram. "I didn't hear them announce you."

"You can't hear anything, can you?"

"No, I'm fine," Javier responded.

"He can't read lips for crap either." Elezar stepped closer to Javier. "Do something about your bloody ear."

"I think it's nice and quiet like this." Javier shrugged.

Kiram saw the faintest spark flicker over Javier's right ear. It guttered out almost instantly. Another spark trembled to life only briefly and then it too went out.

Kiram frowned. It wasn't like Javier to put up with an injury, not even to annoy Elezar.

"Did Holy Father Habalan administer muerate poison to Javier?" Kiram asked Elezar.

"Of course. It's the only way to make sure he doesn't cheat during the tournament. He still took first-" The rest of Elezar's words were lost in the loud blast of a trumpet. More riders were announced. The crowds in the stands cheered as the dirty students made their way to the center of the arena. The last students seemed to be arriving nearly all at once. Few of them showed any injuries, though one young man in a Yllar uniform had clearly been bombarded with flowers. Rose petals and straw flowers were still falling out of his hair and clothes as he walked across the arena.

"Well, I did better than Ladislo," Nestor said. "He was two hundred and thirty. What about you, Elezar?"

"Thirty-three," Elezar replied proudly. "I came in right ahead of Morisio. Genimo took fortieth. He's helping Scholar Donamillo treat a first year who took a nasty fall."

"What about Atreau?" Nestor asked. "I thought he'd be here by now." Kiram hadn't thought to look for anyone but Javier but now he noticed that of all the Hellions only Atreau was unaccounted for.

"Poor bastard got completely fucked by some crazy girl who threw herself at him on the street." Elezar shook his head.

"Is he hurt?" Nestor looked suddenly worried.

"No, he kept his seat, but he was pretty much out of the race once he had some love-struck trollop in the saddle with him. He said something to Morisio about riding her hard and putting her away wet." Elezar flashed another of his crude grins.

Kiram had no idea what Elezar was referring to. He glanced askance at Javier but then realized that Javier hadn't heard any of the conversation.

"Atreau ought to show up soon," Elezar said. "Ahh, look! What did I just say? There he is."

Elezar pointed just as the trumpet sounded and Atreau was announced along with the last two other riders. Wild, feminine screams tore through the pavilion as Atreau walked past the stands. Gaudily-dressed women in the lowest row of the stands hurled flowers at him as well as kerchiefs. Kiram even thought that one woman had thrown out a pair of underpants.

"The whores do love him." Elezar shook his head.

"It's not just whores," Nestor said. "Lots of ladies write him letters."

"I imagine that the number would drop significantly if they knew they would have to spend their wedding night queuing up in line for a turn at him," Javier commented.

"So, you can hear again," Elezar said.

"Sadly, yes. It's louder than it was last year." Javier surveyed the hundreds of people in the stands, then turned to Kiram. "I'll take you around the fair after we're done here. The fighting doesn't usually last past third bell. After that, actors take the arena. Ybu can see those Irabiim I was telling you about."

"All right, but I have to find the Laughing Dog-"

"Wait! What's this?" Elezar broke in on them, scowling. "We should celebrate your win at the Goldenrod."

Javier looked genuinely annoyed. "Not tonight. Master Ignacio won't allow any indulgences until after the tournament. And in any case, Kiram and Nestor can't-" The rest of Javier's reply was drowned out by the resounding noise of several trumpets blasting out a piercing melody.

"All bow before His Royal Highness Prince Sevanyo!" A man called from the pavilion entry.

A sudden, perfect silence fell over the entire gathering. An instant later the quiet rustle of cloth became a reverberation through the pavilion as hundreds of people bowed down. It struck Kiram as strange to hear such a slight noise magnified so intensely by the sheer number of people making the same motion at once.

Immediately, Javier caught his hand and pulled him down to kneel beside him. The Cadeleonians were all so much more formal than his own people. There was no nobility among the Haldiim and not even the oldest grandmother would demand that others kneel in the dirt before her.

Javier kept his face lowered, not even glancing at Kiram. But he didn't release Kiram's hand either. His skin felt icy-an effect of muerate poison. Even so it seemed singular to Javier and made Kiram very aware of how long Javier's fingers lingered, pressing against his own, and also of the precise moment when Javier released him.

It was exactly as six young men dressed in violet liveries emblazoned with the white Sagrada stallion marched into the pavilion. The gold buckles on their highly polished boots jingled like bells. Kiram stole a glance up at them. They wore dueling swords, but also carried golden bowls full of flowers, from which they scattered fistfuls of rose petals across the ground. Behind them came six mounted guards, wearing light armor and riding black chargers.

The trumpets raised a resounding note as the prince rode into the pavilion on a white stallion. Six more pages followed him on foot, carrying large gold globes, and behind them came another six mounted guards.

Kiram studied the prince. He inspired so much awe and wielded so much power. If he wished he could elevate or destroy any man, woman, or child in this pavilion. He could do it on a whim.

Kiram knew that many of his fellow students were nobles as well. In their own lands they could decide the fates of entire populaces with a few words, but at the academy they attended classes and took tests just like everyone else. They obeyed the rules of common scholars and accepted punishments for their misdeeds.

The Sagrada heir was not restrained in any such manner. He had left his academy days far behind him. Kiram thought suddenly that Javier too would leave the academy. After next year he would be free to bring hundreds of people to their knees with his mere presence. Kiram wondered if he would choose to do so.

Prince Sevanyo's pale skin and dark eyes were testaments to his close relation to both Javier and Fedeles. There was resemblance in his long build as well. But the prince was not a young man; deep lines creased his forehead and the corners of his mouth. The sharp bones of his cheeks jutted up over gaunt hollows. White streaks shot through his black hair.

As he shifted, surveying the gathered crowd, his entire body seemed to glitter. The crown on his brow shone, gold stitching flashed up and down his dark violet clothes, and dozens of cut jewels gleamed on his gloved hands.

He hardly moved, but his mount immediately drew to a halt. For a moment, the prince surveyed the bowed heads of his gathered subjects up in the stands. His expression was distant and contemplative, as if he were regarding a foreign landscape. Then his gaze shifted to the students kneeling in the arena.

Kiram quickly bowed his head, as the prince looked his way. He didn't dare to look up again.

"Ybu may rise, faithful subjects." The prince did not need to raise his voice. His words carried effortlessly through the silence.

As everyone straightened, the pages standing behind the prince opened the gold spheres they held, releasing dozens of white doves. The royal prince sat in gleaming gold and darkest violet as white wings rose all around him, ascending into the heavens. It was a startlingly beautiful image, but also obviously contrived.

"Where's a cat when you really need one?" Javier whispered. Kiram stifled his laugh. Javier smiled at him with such open affection that Kiram had to look down at his feet to keep from blushing.

"Javier Tornesal," Prince Sevanyo called out over the noise of beating wings and dove calls.

Javier stepped forward. His uniform was gray from road dust and blood and dirt clung to his hair. Still, there was something in his bearing-his utter ease-that made Kiram think he looked as regal as the prince.

He paused to allow the prince's stallion to nuzzle his bare hand. The horse clearly knew him.

Prince Sevanyo smiled at him benevolently. "Well, cousin, I understand that I am to offer you a favor, but I cannot imagine what the Duke of Rauma would want for."

"Nothing so much as the royal prince's health and happiness," Javier said.

"I am both well and greatly pleased," Prince Sevanyo said. Then the prince pulled a massive ring from his right index finger and handed it to Javier. "Attend me for a little time."

Javier inclined his head slightly.

"It would be a pleasure, but I beg for a dismissal. I have an obligation to the academy."

"The nature of this obligation?"

"This is my third year and I am required to mentor an underclassman, my prince." Pride carried through Javier's voice. Prince Sevanyo's expression showed both surprise and amusement.

"You have an underclassman?" The prince raised his dark brows. "Is the boy without human fear or an unmitigated idiot?"

"I assure you, he is no idiot," Javier replied with a pleased smile. The prince studied Javier as if he had offered him a challenging riddle.

"I must see this underclassman," Prince Sevanyo pronounced at last. "Bring him. You will both attend me."

Kiram's stomach clenched like a fist. Nestor gave a quiet gasp and Kiram looked at him.

"As you wish, my prince." Javier turned back to Kiram and beckoned him with a gesture, appearing utterly unconcerned.

For a moment Kiram felt too afraid to move. All he could think of was King Nazario, and the countless Haldiim he had murdered. But then he forced himself forward. Javier watched him intently, as if his mere gaze could draw Kiram to him.

He walked to Javier's side and bowed deeply before the resplendent prince. The prince blinked at Kiram for a moment and then laughed.

"A Haldiim! How clever." The prince swung down from his saddle and a page led his horse out of the pavilion. Just standing near the prince, Kiram was intensely aware of the dust, sweat, and grime that clung to his own body. While a rich fragrance of vanilla wafted off the prince, Kiram was sure his own scent was much more rank.

Fortunately two of the prince's pages brought basins of water and washcloths. Javier and he cleaned up quickly. The half-healed laceration running across Javier's right ear and up into his scalp stood out strongly against his clean, white skin.

"Let us take our seats," Prince Sevanyo said. For the first time he seemed to take note of the pavilion of silent onlookers. "Certainly a tournament should be getting underway in this arena."

The words released everyone from their frozen silence. The war masters called their students to attention and marched them off the arena grounds and into the low stands reserved for them. There they hurriedly stripped off their uniforms and pulled on their leather fencing armor. Master Ignacio shouted out the orders while grooms handed out blunted dueling blades.

All flurry of action and noise seemed muted and distant to Kiram. The prince's guards surrounded them and they ascended the stairs up into the stands. The pages trailed behind them.

The seats in the prince's box were padded with purple velvet. The surrounding wood walls were gilded and painted with images of horses and armored men in battle. As soon as the prince seated himself, a page knelt to wipe the dust from his boots, while another page brought wine and a small pastry of some kind. Javier sat beside the prince and pulled Kiram down next to him.

Not wanting to be caught staring at the prince, Kiram averted his gaze down to the arena below. First-year students from both schools assembled for the first contests. Six fencing rings had been drawn up and Kiram guessed the fights would be quick. The best of the first years would go on to challenge the second-year students.

"So how did this come about?" Prince Sevanyo asked Javier, though he indicated Kiram with his wine glass.

"This is Kiram Kir-Zaki. He won the Silver Leaf Challenge last year." Javier stretched out in his seat. "Scholar Donamillo was so impressed with him that he petitioned for Kiram to be invited to attend the Sagrada Academy. Kiram accepted and now he's my underclassman."

"I had heard that a Haldiim won the Silver Leaf, though I hadn't imagined that he would be so young. " Sevanyo studied Kiram, frowning slightly. "You are young, are you not? It's hard to tell with you Haldiim. You all look like boys."

"I am seventeen, sir-Your Highness." Kiram was horrified at his own gaffe but the prince just laughed.

"Now, why do I know the name Kir-Zaki?" the prince asked.

"His family makes the Kir-Zaki candies in Anacleto," Javier replied.

"Of course." Prince Sevanyo looked delighted. "I am told that I have them to thank for the proliferation of Grunitos throughout the kingdom."

"Yfes." Kiram tried to sound steady. "Nestor Grunito says as much himself."

"You must get Javier to eat more of those candies, then. We are in need of Tornesal heirs, you know."

"The world needs more Tornesals like it needs another great flood," Javier said.

"I would be greatly displeased if Rauma fell into my brother's hands, Javier." The prince sounded suddenly very serious. Javier nodded.

"It will not. Fedeles is my heir."

"Fedeles is not fit."

"He's improving steadily," Javier replied. "And I have no intention of dying any time soon.When I do, Rauma will pass to Fedeles' children in the Quemanor house. Your brother, the royal bishop, will not have it."

Prince Sevanyo sighed. A page refilled the prince's wine glass. He offered a glass to Javier as well but Javier waved it aside.

Another page arrived and offered Prince Sevanyo a silver tray stacked with small pieces of creamy paper. Each of them bore the seal of some noble house or a merchant's name. The prince chose several of them but told the page not to extend the invitations just yet.

Kiram stole another glance down to the arena below, where pairs of first-year students dressed in thick leather cuirasses fought with blunted silver blades. Only the crests on their gauntlets designated which school they came from. Judges in white coats walked between the contestants, calling fouls and strikes. The fights were fast and most ended amiably. Javier watched them intently but the prince was obviously bored.

Prince Sevanyo leaned forward a little to study Kiram. He didn't quite look at Kiram's face but instead seemed to be gazing at his hair.

"It really is quite an amazing color," Prince Sevanyo commented. He reached past Javier and caught a curl of Kiram's hair. Kiram froze in place. The prince pulled the lock of hair straight and then released it to bounce back into a spiral.

"You know, one of my ancestors had a cloak made entirely from Haldiim scalps," Prince Sevanyo said quietly. "I used to play with it when I was a boy. It really was the most beautiful thing. The leather was soft as silk and the hair looked just like long curling ribbons of gold. I loved it madly. When I turned ten I was told where the hides had come from."

A cold sick feeling gripped Kiram. Javier scowled at the prince but said nothing.

Prince Sevanyo took another sip of his wine. "I cannot tell you how horrified I was to discover how that cloak had been made. I could not bear to even look at it, much less touch it again. I burned it and then I cried all night. To this day I am not sure whether I was crying because I lost something I loved or because I had loved it in the first place."

Kiram had no idea what to say in response. But the prince didn't seem to expect any answer.

"I have not met many Haldiim in my life but whenever I do I am always struck by the thought that I am at last admiring those lovely curls as I ought to have in the first place. It's as though I am seeing the owners of those scalps reborn into better lives. That's what your priests would say, isn't it?"

Kiram wasn't sure but the prince seemed intent on this so Kiram nodded and the prince smiled.

"Even if you Haldiim are denied our holy heaven, I would like to believe that your souls can find some kind of peace." The prince sat forward again but to Kiram's relief he didn't reach for his hair. "I am told that your dead are reborn into other forms and if they have been wronged they can return as a curse."

"Yfes." Kiram wished that Javier would say something but Javier just leaned back in the seat and looked tired.

"How do you Haldiim lift these curses?" Prince Sevanyo's expression was intent and his tone very serious. "Without the solace of heaven how can you put an angry soul to rest?"

Kiram glanced to Javier, but Javier only shrugged.

"I don't know," Kiram admitted. "I'm not from a religious family, Your Highness. We never discuss these matters. I'm sorry."

"Not religious?" The prince looked stunned for a moment then gave a short laugh. "Did you hear that, Javier?"

"I did," Javier replied. He gave Kiram a quick apologetic look.

"Tell me," the prince said to Kiram, "if you are not religious, then what do you make of Javier and the white hell, young Haldiim?"

"I.I don't know," Kiram replied.

Beside him, Javier sighed. "When he thinks of me at all, he thinks I'm an ass who keeps interrupting his work for the Crown Challenge with annoying, superstitious babble."

Prince Sevanyo raised his brows.

"Really?"

"Really," Javier replied firmly and something unspoken seemed to pass between Prince Sevanyo and Javier. The prince sighed and took another sip of his wine.

"The Crown Challenge. That will be quite an accomplishment." The intensity dropped from Prince Sevanyo's voice leaving only a polite interest. "I suppose it's good then that you are receiving a proper Cadeleonian education. My father loves to retain geniuses at his court. No doubt he will want you there. He is quite sure that we are moving into a new age of mechanist wonders, but I cannot help but find them eerie-mechanisms without life or souls, moving about like living things."

Kiram had heard the same sentiments before, generally from older people. He considered his reply, but then Javier caught his arm and pulled him forward to the edge of the box.

"Watch out for this one, Kiram." Javier pointed to a young man in one of the fencing circles. He looked tall for a first-year student and his face was oddly expressionless.

"Ariz Plunado?" the prince asked.

Javier nodded.

"Bland thing, isn't he?" Prince Sevanyo commented.

Kiram found himself in agreement with the prince. Not even the reddish tint of Ariz's hair lent any character to his appearance. He moved quickly, but without grace or emotion.

He lunged forward. His opponent easily parried his strike, but then suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground. Ariz placed his blade to the fallen man's heart and was immediately declared the winner. Only then did Ariz allow himself a small, satisfied smile.

"Well, there is something to him after all, isn't there?" Prince Sevanyo commented.

"Did you see what he did?" Javier asked Kiram.

"No," Kiram admitted.

"All the time that they were fencing Ariz kept tripping his opponent until he finally brought him down. It's the second time he's won that way. Keep your feet in close when you're up against him. Make him overextend to get at you."

"I'll try," Kiram replied, though he had no idea how he would manage any such thing.

The three of them watched another pair of first-year students duel. Kiram's attention wandered and he found himself searching the stands for his uncle.

"Tell me, Kiram, have you thought of conversion?" Prince Sevanyo asked.

"What?" Kiram looked up quickly.

"Have you considered converting to the Holy Cadeleonian Church?" Prince Sevanyo briefly glanced to another of his pages and accepted two more papers with noble seals embossed upon them. "If you are to attend the royal court you ought to do so. Otherwise you'll have half the courtiers spreading nasty rumors about your private habits before they've even laid eyes on you. Taking a Cadeleonian wife would help as well. Probably one of those charming merchant girls. You aren't already engaged, are you?"

"No," Kiram said, though he immediately regretted it.

"One of my bailiffs has a daughter who would be just about the right age." The prince nodded as he considered the prospect.

Alarm shot through Kiram.

"I.I really couldn't marry right now," Kiram managed.

"Of course not now," the prince replied. "You must finish your schooling first. But it's always wise to have your plans in order, you know."

Kiram wondered how it was possible that a Cadeleonian prince could fill him with the same cold, trapped fear that his mother often inspired. He thought that it had to be something about older people. So many of them seemed intent upon planning his future for him. Both the prince and his mother seemed so sure of what would be best for him that they were already working out the details.

Conversion. Marriage. Living at court. Taking over his father's shop. Living at home for the rest of his life.

He didn't want either of the lives they planned for him.

"The first years are almost done," Javier announced. "We should get back down to the rest of the students. Kiram still needs to change into his cuirass and byrnie."

"It's good to see you take a responsibility so seriously, Javier," Prince Sevanyo commented.

"A man must serve his obligations. Though I won't deny that I have a sizable wager on Kiram to best Elezar Grunito's underclassman."

Javier stood, as did the prince, and they embraced.

"Thank you for coming, Sevanyo," Javier said into Sevanyo's shoulder.

"Of course. It's always a pleasure to see you. But do take care of yourself, Javier." Prince Sevanyo stepped back reluctantly. He looked at Kiram. "I look forward to seeing you again, Kiram Kir-Zaki. Look after Javier for me, won't you? Slip him some of those candies when you can."

On the stairs outside, dozens of well-dressed men stood waiting to be admitted in to attend the prince. They bowed their heads respectfully as Javier passed but several of them glared at Kiram as if his presence among them was distasteful.

"Ignore them," Javier whispered over his shoulder.

When they reached the lower stands where the rest of the academy students were gathered, Kiram flopped onto a hard seat of the bench next to Nestor. Javier remained standing, leaning against a wooden support. The nearest pair of combatants on the arena floor were only a few feet away. Kiram could hear them gasping for air and smell the sweat pouring down their arms and legs.

Javier studied them like a cat watching swallows. Other students glanced up from time to time but most were involved in their own preoccupations. The only change came when a winner was announced. Every Sagrada Academy student cheered for one of their own. Defeated students were greeted with disinterest. Master Ignacio hardly even glanced to them.

Farther down the bench Elezar stood close to two other third-year students and Kiram was sure he glimpsed money pass between them. Elezar was collecting winnings from his wagers already.

Kiram wondered if Javier had actually placed a wager on him. He hoped not.

"So, how was it?" Nestor asked Kiram. "What did the prince say?"

"He wants Kiram to convert, marry a nice Cadeleonian girl, and come live at court," Javier said.

"Convert and marry and move to the court?" Nestor rolled his eyes. "Why doesn't he ask him to shave his head and buy a monkey while he's at it?"

One of the judges on the arena floor signaled a win for the Sagrada Academy, waving a small blue banner over the head of a winded young man. Kiram had no idea who he was but he cheered along with the rest of the academy students.

It had been the student's fifth duel and he would not be expected to fight again today. The exhausted first-year student staggered back to the stands and collapsed onto the bench.

"Prince Sevanyo means well. He just doesn't know when he's asking too much of someone or even telling them too much." Javier glanced to Kiram. "He didn't offend you, did he?"

"No, he surprised me. I guess I wasn't expecting.Well, I didn't know what to expect." Kiram looked up to where Javier stood. "I wish I could have answered his questions."

"What questions?" Nestor asked.

"He wanted to know about the Haldiim religion," Kiram replied. "I couldn't tell him too much because my family isn't religious."

"Lucky." Nestor sighed. "My mother made us recite a verse of her choosing before she would let us sit down to dinner each night. I memorized the entire Book of Redemption just for the love of a hot meal." Nestor shook his head. "I still don't know what half of it is supposed to be about."

"Redemption, I'd imagine," Javier said.

"I guess, but every time I hear a verse all I can imagine is piping hot roast beef."

"Chapel sermons must be oddly appetizing for you," Javier remarked.

Nestor nodded. "I always leave hungry."

"Maybe you should convert to my faith," Kiram said. "On the Highest Holy Days the Bahiim prepare huge feasts and anyone who comes to the Holy Gardens is fed and offered honey wine."

"You all just eat in church?" Nestor stared to Kiram as if this were unbelievable.

"Of course. The two Highest Holy Days are celebrations of compassion and generosity. Even my family puts gifts out for the poor on the Highest Holy Days."

Nestor looked like he was going to ask something more but Javier leaned between them.

"I'm not sure how wise it is for you to be seen and heard at this public gathering, converting Nestor to your faith."

"I wasn't serious," Kiram objected.

But Nestor, too, looked worried. "He's right, Kiram. It's just what Holy Father Habalan is always warning us about in chapel. If word were to get back to him it could be bad for both you and me. The holy father hasn't got much of a sense of humor."

"I guess not." Kiram frowned out at the arena. The white salt circles of the fencing rings were spreading into the dirt, blurring and distorting the way smoke rings dissipated.

Several grooms worked their way down the length of the stand distributing leather armor and fencing blades to the second-year students. Kiram imagined his own face reflected Nestor's queasy pallor. It would be them out in the arena soon. Everyone in the stands would be watching.

The leather of Kiram's cuirass fit tightly across his back and chest though it hung loosely over his stomach. The byrnie he pulled over it draped down to his groin. The thick scales of leather overlapped like snake skin.

He laced his blue gauntlets tightly over his forearms and then tested his grip on the blade he had been given. The armor felt hot and heavy. Kiram could already smell his own sweat soaking through his under shirt and into the cuirass. He had no idea how men managed to move, much less fight while wearing the much heavier armor required for the tournament's final duels.

"Here." Javier handed him a black ribbon. "Tie your hair back."

Kiram did as he was told. Next to him Nestor sat back on the bench, scowling at the dueling sword he'd been given.

"I was out right away last year. It wasn't so bad really." Nestor sighed heavily and then glanced up at Javier. "You don't think Elezar's put any money on me, do you?"

"Of course he has. We both know how much you've improved over the last four months. You're going to take the wind out of your opponents before they know what hit them."

Nestor straightened slightly. "I have gotten a lot better. Though I wish I had my spectacles."

"You never wear them while you're fighting," Kiram said.

"I know. I just think it would settle my nerves if I could see how nervous the other boys look."

Kiram nodded. In a way he thought Nestor might be the lucky one. None of the students left on the arena floor looked nervous. All of them had already fought and won several duels. They looked dirty and some wore bandages, but all of them wore hard, assured expressions.

The last remaining pair of first-year duelists stepped into a nearby ring. They were both Yllar students and their armor was covered in nicks and dust from previous duels. A judge raised his hand and then swung it down indicating the beginning of their combat. Both students stood still with their blades drawn and then one of them simply knelt and the other touched his chest lightly with his blade.

Kiram gaped at them. "What was that?"

"Yillar etiquette, I guess," Nestor said. "When they're evenly matched one Yllar student will forfeit to another of higher rank instead of dragging out a real fight."

"We're allowed to forfeit?" It made sense. Why should two students from the same school exhaust themselves fighting each other? And it offered Kiram some relief. Rather than take a brutal beating he could simply forfeit.

"No," Javier said firmly. "They can forfeit. We at the Sagrada Academy do not."

"Master Ignacio would kill you if you did," Nestor said. "A chain is only as strong as its weakest link or something like that."

"Master Ignacio will not tolerate cowardice," Javier continued. "It's his philosophy that it is better to fight and be beaten than it is to simply surrender. No war was ever won through surrender."

"None was ever won by being beaten into bloody submission either," Kiram replied.

"True." Javier smiled at him. "So, I wouldn't advise that you do that either."

Master Ignacio shouted out the names of the second- year students who were to take the floor of the arena. They were the worst combatants of the second year: the ones who would face first-year challengers and both Kiram and Nestor were among them.

As Kiram started to go, Javier caught his shoulder and leaned close to his ear.

"Bring them to their knees," he whispered and his breath sent a thrill over Kiram's skin. Then Javier gently shoved Kiram out into the arena.

Kiram's heart hammered in his chest as he took his place inside the salt circle of the dueling ring that Master Ignacio indicated.

"Hold this ring," Master Ignacio told him. "Hold it five rounds. Do not fail me."

"Yfes, sir," Kiram responded but the war master had already turned away. Moments later the first-year combatants took their places. Kiram's first opponent was a stocky young man from the Yllar Academy. He had a blunt little nose and a snorting, aggressive sword style. The first time his blade crashed against Kiram's it sent a jolt through Kiram's wrist.

Fortunately months of training with Javier had honed his defenses. Even utterly flustered, Kiram reflexively sidestepped the Yllar student's second thrust and brought his own blade down across the Yllar student's exposed shoulder.

"Haldiim bitch," the Yllar student snarled. An instant later Kiram deflected another thrust and the Yllar student's sword arm swung wide out. Kiram pounced forward, slamming his blade against the Yllar student's chest. Taken off guard and suddenly off balance, the Yllar student fell to the arena floor.

The judge called the win in Kiram's favor and a cheer went up from the Sagrada Academy stands.

Kiram's entire body trembled with a rush of exhilaration and shock. He hadn't expected to win. Now he would have to fight again. His heart was beating so fast and hard that he thought he could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears.

He faced another Yllar student. This one was faster and he scored a bruising strike across Kiram's left forearm, but the blow cost him his balance. Kiram brought him down with a two fast thrusts into his stomach and chest. The judge held his banner over Kiram and another cheer went up. Kiram's muscles felt molten. The air of the pavilion seemed cool against his skin.

Kiram's third opponent was a first-year student from the Sagrada Academy. Kiram exploited his clumsy footwork, pressing him hard to the right then suddenly shifting his thrusts to the left. The young man finally tripped over his own boots. Kiram dispatched him with a quick strike.

Excitement and fear rolled through Kiram's entire body. His breath came in deep animal gasps. He held the ring. He brought his opponents to their knees. But with each triumph came the realization that he had to do it all again and his next opponent would be better.

By his fifth and final duel, Kiram's body was slick with sweat. His nerves felt tremulous as spider silk; his muscles were soft lead.

A tall Yillar student stepped into the ring. Locks of chestnut colored hair were plastered to his face by sweat. He gazed at Kiram with a blank, almost dead expression. Kiram wondered how long he'd been fighting. He looked like he might collapse any moment.

The judge signaled for them to begin. Kiram tested his opponent's reflexes with quick thrusts. The Yllar student blocked, but just barely. Kiram moved in closer, pressing the attack. He thrust for the Yllar student's stomach, but suddenly something caught his foot. Kiram stumbled backwards. Instantly, the Yllar student struck for Kiram's heart. Kiram blocked the blow with his left forearm. The blade tore into his gauntlet with shattering force.

Kiram fell and rolled just as the Yllar student slammed his blade down again. The sword slashed across Kiram's left shoulder, ripping through the leather scales of his byrnie.

Kiram bounded back up to his feet, gasping for air and shaking. The Yllar student regarded him with that same dull, dead gaze.

Through the din of the roaring crowds in the stands, Kiram suddenly picked out a single voice shouting at him. It was Javier. Kiram couldn't make any of his words out clearly, but he didn't have to. Javier had already warned him, already told him what to do. He had just been too exhausted to remember the one Yllar student Javier had specifically pointed out to him. Ariz Plunado. Kiram felt like an idiot for not recognizing that bland face immediately, but Ariz was simply so forgettable.

Now he circled Kiram slowly, testing Kiram's defenses with quick jabs. All the while his feet darted in, kicking at Kiram's steps. Pain shot through Kiram's left arm as he pulled it in close to his side. Dark red rivulets of blood trickled from under his gauntlet and dribbled down his hand.

"If it hurts you can forfeit." Ariz's voice was as colorless as his expression. His lips hardly moved.

"I-"Before Kiram could make his response, Ariz kicked his ankle hard and lunged for Kiram's chest. Kiram leapt to the side.

Ariz spun on him. "You look like you should see a physician. You're bleeding a lot."

Kiram was expecting the attack this time but it was still brutal. Ariz lunged to strike Kiram's left arm and when Kiram shifted back Ariz landed a hard kick on Kiram's knee. Kiram's leg buckled. He caught himself but hardly had time to block Ariz's thrust for his stomach.

"You look pale, Haldiim." Ariz drove him back toward the blurred white edge of the fencing ring. If he stepped back across it this could all be over. He would be disqualified. His arm hurt so badly he could hardly think. One misstep and it would be over. Javier would be so disappointed. Every bigoted Cadeleonian in the stands would be pleased, though.

Kiram forced himself to attack Ariz again, jabbing hard and fast. His muscles screamed from the effort and when his strength failed him, Ariz sprang after him, lashing out with his blade. Kiram didn't attempt to block the blow. Instead, he spun to the side as if he were dancing. Momentum carried Ariz a step past him. Kiram planted his shoulder in Ariz's back, shoving forward as hard as he could. Ariz skidded forward then spun back. But it was too late. He had crossed through the salt ring.

The judge swung his blue banner up over Kiram. Screams and cheers erupted from the Sagrada Academy stands, but he could barely hear. His own pulse hammered through his ears. His left arm hung like a limp rag and muscle cramps bit into his legs. Slowly, Kiram sank to his knees on the ground. He felt numb, utterly thoughtless. Then he was lying on his back staring up at the blue sky above the pavilion. Three back silhouettes passed over him. Crows, he thought.

A few moments later two of the judges dragged him from the arena back to the Sagrada Academy stands.