Marked for Death

Chapter 50

“You are in the presence of a lieutenant of the Lord of Blades,” a warforged courtier said as the guards hauled Kandler, Sallah, and Burch through the indigo curtains that separated the leader’s box from the rest of the arena’s stands.

The warforged leader turned to get a better look at its guests. He stood taller than the other warforged. His epidermal plates of polished adamantine encased him more like a suit of armor than a skin. Long, polished spikes poked from his arms, shoulders, legs, and knees. A crest of smaller spikes ran up from the center of his back. These fanned out and grew longer as they reached his head, like the plumage of a deadly bird. His eyes seemed made of sapphires.

“Bastard, I presume,” Kandler said. He stuck out his hand in greeting, but the warforged ignored it.

The guards standing to either side and behind him moved closer until he lowered his hand again.

“My fame precedes me,” Bastard said. “As it should.”

He gazed at each of his visitors in turn. Sallah fidgeted under the relentless stare, but she kept her tongue and met the creature’s eyes.

“I saw the breastplate, and I’d recognize one of those swords anywhere. What has the Lord of Blades done to deserve this honor?” Bastard said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Has the Keeper of the Flame heard of our magnificent city and sent you to curry our favor?” The leader turned his sapphire eyes on Kandler and Burch. “Or has King Boranel finally decided that it is time to pay his regards to the Master of the Mournland?”

Kandler shook his head. This sort of talk made him uneasy. He’d gone to live in Mardakine to get away from such nationalism. He appreciated the irony of doing so in a town built on a mission to restore Cyre, but it was the pursuit of such a hopeless mission that set the town outside normal concerns.

“I don’t pay much attention to politics,” Kandler said.

Bastard nodded. His shoulders creaked as he did, and a servant was there in a moment to oil his plates as he continued to talk. “So it seems. I would not expect an emissary from one of our neighbors’ courts to burst into our arena unannounced before our first meeting.”

“We were chasing a criminal,” Kandler said. “You saw her-a changeling.”

Bastard held up a spiked hand. “That may be so,” he said. “We saw the person you followed in here fly away. We already have people hunting for her. Even so, that does not excuse this intrusion.”

“We only came here looking-” Sallah started, but she winced and stumbled over her words when she saw Kandler’s glare. “We were looking for, um…”

“Supplies,” the justicar said. “We ran low on food and water. Otherwise, we would have waited outside the city for the changeling to leave. If we had not been in such dire straits, we would not have dared to bother you. We hoped to resupply and leave without your notice.”

Bastard nodded at the trio, each in turn. “What happened to you before you came here is of little concern to me. I am charged with maintaining this city until the return of the Lord of Blades. Nothing more.”

“I understand,” said Kandler.

“Because of this,” said Bastard, “I am concerned about the innocents you slew here in the arena before my eyes.”

Burch snarled at this. “We were defending ourselves.”

“You murdered people for whom I am responsible,” the warforged leader said. No emotion leaked into his voice-at least as far as Kandler could tell. “The penalty is clear-immediate execution.”

“No!” Sallah said. As she moved forward, the warforged guards to either side of her snatched her arms and held her still. “That’s not fair!”

“Fair?” Bastard paused a moment before it spoke. “I care not for your knightly concepts of justice and fairness. The Lord of Blades demands retribution for such transgressions.”

Kandler extended his open hand toward Bastard. He saw only one chance here, and he needed the warforged at ease enough for it to work. “I understand your situation, and I think you understand ours. Maybe I have another solution.”

Bastard shook his head. “The solution I have is fine.”

“I’d like to ask for a trial.”

Bastard cocked his silvered head at Kandler. “You are a breather. You have no rights here.”

“A trial by combat.”

Bastard cocked his head the other way, never taking his eyes from Kandler, then he threw back his head and laughed. It sounded like a hammer tapping an iron mug of mead.

“You have strong metal, breather,” Bastard said as he brought his head back down again. “But tell me this. Why would one of us risk his life to give you a chance at freedom?”

“Sport,” said Burch. All eyes turned to the shifter, who shuffled his feet a bit when he noticed everyone was watching him. “People are bored here. They want action, need distraction.”

“Why would you say that?” Bastard asked, his sapphire eyes narrowing at Burch.

Burch squinted out at the arena all around them. “Training grounds don’t have stands.”

Bastard stared at the shifter for a long, quiet moment then turned to Kandler. “Who would you like to fight?” he asked. “Do you think you could defeat me?” The warforged leader preened, the dim light reflecting off his polished spikes.

“I’ll fight anyone you like,” the justicar said. Kandler to suppressed a shudder. He had just opened the door for the warforged to do with him as he liked. He was less concerned about Bastard’s mercy, though, than in buying Esprл and Xalt more time.

“Yes, you will,” said Bastard. “I have made enough concessions today.”

Kandler stood like a stone and waited. Sallah shrugged the warforged hands from her arms. Burch gazed out over the arena, and Kandler followed his eyes. No one had left the place since the prisoners had been taken, and none of the spectators spoke as they waited to learn what would happen.

Bastard picked up the golden horn that stood on a small, handsome table next to his chair. He put it to his mouth and spoke to the crowd, the horn amplifying his voice so that those in the arena could hear his every word.

“The breathers we captured petitioned the Lord of Blades for the right to trial by combat! As his lieutenant, I have decided to grant their request!”

The crowd erupted in cheers.

“Should I be worried that they’re so happy about this?” Kandler asked Burch.

Bastard looked back at the justicar then continued to speak into the horn. “If their champion wins this fight, they go free.”

The crowd booed.

“If our champion wins, they die.”

The cheers returned louder than ever.

Bastard turned to the justicar. “How are you called?”

“Kandler?” said Sallah. “Who said that he would be our champion? It should be me.”

The justicar glared at the lady knight. “You’re a fine knight,” he said, “but I’m a better duelist.”

Sallah scoffed at that. Bastard ignored her and said to Kandler, “How many people have you killed in a duel?”

Kandler looked at Burch. “What would you say?”

“I lost count a while back. A score? More?”

“More, I think.” Kandler looked at Sallah tenderly. “People find out you’re something special, they come looking for you.”

“You are the breather champion,” Bastard said. “Kandler, is it?”

The justicar nodded, avoiding Sallah’s frustrated gaze.

Bastard spoke into the golden horn again. “The breather champion shall be Kandler!”

The crowd booed.

“The warforged champion shall be Gorgan!”

The assembled warforged roared so loud that even Bastard covered his ears.

“Who’s that?” Kandler asked. “Gorgan?”

Burch jerked his head at the arena. Kandler watched as one of the titans lumbered out into the middle of the floor and raised both of its weapon-hands in the air, soaking up the audience’s cheers.