Of Dawn and Darkness

CHAPTER NINETEEN

With Petal aboard The Testament, all of Calder’s plans for freeing Urzaia advanced easily. Almost too easily. He distrusted any plan that wasn’t full of danger and fraught with unnecessary risk.

She manufactured explosives so quickly and cheaply that Foster had become suspicious. He knew something about alchemy from somewhere in that past he refused to discuss, and he complained loudly that there was no way she could put together a functional charge without…a list of ingredients that Calder never bothered to remember.

So they’d tested one. Each of Petal’s charges was a rectangular wooden container the size of a cigar box. In fact, they were cigar boxes, filled with alchemical solutions in several independent chambers and sealed with resin. Andel lit the fuse and launched the charge with the force of his arm, aiming at the whale-sized shadow that had been following them for days. The creature occasionally poked an eye-stalk out of the water to take a look at them, and Calder had gotten sick of it. He’d originally planned to let the Lyathatan deal with it.

When the charge flew straight for the underwater shadow and detonated, sending a plume of water up like a missed cannon-shot, Calder knew he wouldn’t have to bother his pet Elderspawn. And the charges worked.

After that, Foster went from calling Petal a “waste of bilge-space” to “genius.”

Upon reaching Axciss, the entire crew went on a visit to the arena. Petal seemed terrified of the crowds and Andel was surprisingly absorbed in the fights, but they all came to the same conclusion.

The exits behind the victor’s stage were the easiest place to smuggle Urzaia out. There, Petal only had to blow up one wall. Anywhere else, there were at least two walls that required destruction. And Jerri was quick to point out that the section of wall behind the victor’s stage could be removed without affecting any load-bearing columns, while the other exits came with a risk of partially collapsing the arena.

That was a risk Calder might be willing to take, but not with a coliseum full of spectators. And he wasn’t sure where Jerri had learned anything about architecture or demolition, but she sounded certain.

So they began their clandestine operations. Two charges packed under a rain-barrel outside the arena, leaning against their target wall. Foster and Petal both assured him that the charges were shaped appropriately for their needs, though Calder neither knew nor cared what a shaped explosion looked like. All he needed to know was whether it would work when they needed it to.

“Absolutely,” Foster said, looking him in the eye and daring him to doubt.

“I think so,” Petal mumbled into her hair.

Good enough for him.

For redundancy’s sake, there were two other charges hidden in the stairwell leading out. It would be more difficult to leave without stairs, and more dangerous to any bystanders caught in the blast, but that was their only plan in case the rain barrel was moved or emptied during the blast.

Besides that, they carried six other charges for a potential manual detonation. As Foster had said, “When you’re dealing with explosions, you need backups for your backups.”

Now, the night before Urzaia’s scheduled fight, there was one more step. Calder and Petal would bribe their way underneath the arena for a few minutes with the Champion. Urzaia deserved to know the plan.

And if there were any other problems, it would be better to find them out now.

Petal had finished hiding half a dozen cigar boxes in various places around her coat and skirts—their backups, if some of the charges needed to be replaced. She was along to make sure all their equipment was working. It was Calder’s job to get them into the arena.

Not that he had any idea how to do that, but he found that a smile, a Guild crest, and five goldmarks would work as well as a key in most places.

They were heading out of their room at a nearby inn when they ran into Andel. He stood in their way like a white-clad wall, hat perfectly in place, face impassive as he watched them.

Calder faced him with a carefully calculated puzzled expression. “Andel? Is something wrong?”

Inside, he was seething. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of all along.

Never, at any point, had Andel questioned their plan to rescue Urzaia. At first, Calder and Jerri had gone to great pains to hide it from him, but eventually it was inevitable that he would find out. When he did, he’d said nothing. Not a word. He accepted it and continued doing his duties about the ship.

The closer they got to the actual execution of the plan, the more helpful he’d been: putting advice in here and there, accompanying them to the arena, doling out correction or encouragement or sheer cynicism.

He’d helped too much. For at least a year, Calder had been waiting for the man to stand in their way.

And now here he was, actually blocking the hallway so they couldn’t pass. He’d known it wouldn’t last.

“What’s your plan?” Andel asked.

“Get inside, check the charges, compare notes with Urzaia. Tonight is our only chance.” They’d planned on speaking with him two nights before, but it seemed he only fought every three days. They could certainly wait for his next fight, later in the week, but Calder had rejected that idea.

He’d made the man wait four years. There was no way he was going to show up now and say, “Here I am to rescue you, Urzaia! Now, keep risking your life and wait until I’m ready.”

No, he’d waited until absolutely everything else was in place to speak with the Champion. And now that the time had come, Andel had a problem.

“That’s not a plan,” Andel said. “That’s a series of goals.”

“I’d be happy to fight a semantics duel with you another time, Andel. Tomorrow evening, perhaps, while we’re making full speed away from this city.” Hopefully with Urzaia onboard and a minimum of fuss behind.

Andel adjusted his hat. “I’ll get you into the arena,” he said. Calder immediately tried to figure out how those words could possibly be a trick. “Under tradition and Imperial law, gladiators have the right to invite a member of the Order to give them death-rites on the night before a match. I may have parted ways with my Guild, but I am still a Pilgrim.”

Calder leaned closer to Andel, trying to pierce the shapeshifting Elderspawn’s clever disguise. “You’d like to help us violate Imperial law? That would make you an accomplice.”

“From a legal standpoint, I’m quite certain we’d be tried separately. Rather than your accomplice, which is what I’d be in the Heartlands, an Izyrian court would likely find me a separate offender and hang me.”

Petal shuffled uncomfortably at the mention of hanging, but Calder was still waiting for an explanation.

“…this may come as a surprise to you, Marten, but I had a look at Urzaia’s charges on the way over from the Capital. He doesn’t deserve to be where he is, and even if he did, he’s paid the price by now. I have a great respect for Imperial law, but I am not a slave to it.”

He spoke so succinctly, so matter-of-factly, that Calder almost forgot the man was speaking nonsense. Until this point, Calder would have called Andel Petronus passionately devoted to the law.

But here he was, ushering them out the door to detonate some Imperial property.

Clearly, Calder had missed something somewhere.

Andel’s White Sun medallion got them through the arena guards faster than Calder would have thought possible. In fact, one of the guards pulled the former Pilgrim aside for a few private words before they entered.

Then they were allowed inside the arena, directed to Urzaia’s room outside the sand, and given full run of the facility. Just like that.

“Either the security here is much more forgiving than I would have expected, or having you along has made things significantly easier,” Calder said.

“I’m twice your age,” Andel said, without slowing his pace or turning around. “I give the commands, because I know what I’m talking about, and you execute them with energy and enthusiasm. That’s how it works.”

Not long ago, that reminder of Andel’s authority would have stuck Calder’s lips together like some of Petal’s alchemical resin. No way he would say anything to encourage the man after a comment like that. Now, though, Calder was used to it. “You were right this time. Edge case. Take your praise, beggar, and begone.”

“I’ve had to beg before,” Petal said softly, and that killed the conversation.

Urzaia was waiting where any gladiator would the night before a match—in a small room just outside of the arena. The only difference between Urzaia and his fellow fighters was that Urzaia got his own room.

Either he was too dangerous for company, or no one wanted to share a room with the Woodsman. Both ways worked for Calder.

They used the key Andel had been given by the guard, and then again on a second, inner door. Before Andel opened the second one, Calder stopped him.

“We have the keys. Let’s take him now.” He was getting excited the more he thought of it. “Why not? No need to blow anything up. We take him and just walk out. The worst we’ll have to face is a few guards.”

Without a word, Andel pulled open the door and showed him why.

The room was small and made entirely of the same yellow stone that shaped the arena. They could see the arena through two iron gates, and a cold breeze wafted in from the night, stirring the grit and straw on the floor. On a bunk set against the wall lay Urzaia, laying back with his head pillowed on his hands, just as he’d slept on the deck of The Testament.

Both wrists and both ankles were manacled, their thick chains leading to the stone wall. Without even checking, Calder knew they’d been invested. Even if they hadn’t been invested before they were brought to this chamber, they would be by now; the Intent of hundreds of captors and prisoners in this cell over the years. If the chains had held so far, they’d hold tonight.

Besides which, Calder glanced around the room and couldn’t find Urzaia’s black hatchets. They must arm him only before the match, which made sense. He wouldn’t leave without his Awakened blades, especially since one of them was likely his Vessel. Calder and his crew had been disarmed at the door, though fortunately Petal hadn’t been thoroughly searched.

Just in case, Calder took the key from Andel and headed over to Urzaia’s manacles. He knelt down to try the circlet of iron on the man’s ankle. The key wouldn’t even fit in the lock.

He’d known it was a long shot, but he was ready for a break of good luck. He pressed his fingertips against the cold metal and Read…nothing useful. A muddle of Intent with the clear purpose of keeping the latch closed.

Maybe with one of Petal’s charges—

Calder was cut off by bands of warm steel wrapping around his throat, choking his air. He clawed at his waist, looking for his saber, but his belt was empty. He slapped in utter futility at whatever was strangling him, but he might as well have saved his strength. It was worse than steel; it was Urzaia Woodsman’s arm.

“Hello, who are you?” came the Champion’s cheery voice. After another few seconds, his grip on Calder relaxed, and Calder’s vision swam as he tried to keep his breathing under control.

“The Navigator Captain!” Urzaia boomed, and his voice carried surprise and delight. “You made it! Four years is a long time in the arena, but I am fortunate. They only started really trying to kill me last year.”

Calder turned to face the gap-toothed Champion’s smile. Rubbing at his neck, he asked hoarsely, “What were they doing before?”

“Before, the fights were almost fair. I did not think so at the time. But when it suddenly became difficult, I asked why. My Patron told me they could not find anyone to fight me when it was only me against an opposing team. So I have been fighting all of the other teams.”

He laughed when he was finished, but Calder thought back to Urzaia’s fight with the Houndmaster. A Soulbound with the power to create four hounds to fight for him had been considered one full team. He had been enough to give Urzaia some new scars. Picturing the Woodsman fighting an arena full of enemies like that…

His memories were interrupted as he noticed a strange gleam from Urzaia’s eye. He leaned closer, inspecting it, and the Champion noticed. He chuckled, tapping his finger on the eyeball. “It is hard to notice, is it not? I lost the real one…oh, who remembers? But I do not want to ruin my beautiful face with a patch, so I paid an alchemist for a replacement. Worth every mark!”

Calder should have gotten here sooner.

“How long have you been fighting…like that?” he asked. It wasn’t the question he should be asking, but he needed to know.

Urzaia frowned, considering. “More than a year now. Fourteen, fifteen months, I would say.”

Calder gripped the man’s shoulder, which felt like grabbing leather armor. “I know it’s been longer than I wanted. But trust me a little more. Tomorrow, we’re getting you out.”

The Champion patted him on the arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry. If I trust a man one day, I will trust him the next, until he gives me reason not to. And here you are! I was right to trust you, yes?”

Calder had to look away, his throat choked with emotion. All this time…all this time, and Urzaia still trusted him.

In the meantime, Andel explained the plan.

“I have to win one more time, yes?” Urzaia grinned. “No problem! If this is the last fight of the Woodsman, I will give them a real show!”

Behind them, the door opened.

Calder straightened immediately, stepping behind Andel. Their previous arrangement may have looked suspicious: Calder the closest, obviously speaking to Urzaia, the Champion grinning like a fool, with Andel standing deferentially behind and Petal huddling in the back. It would be clear that Calder was the one talking with the gladiator, not Andel the Pilgrim. That wouldn’t be enough to get a guard to draw steel, but it might spark some questions.

Into the room came the guard they’d met earlier, the one at the door. And with him, he brought his supervisor.

The man’s rank was obvious. His hair was solid silver, his uniform pristine. He had a four-pointed star on his chest, where a Guild member might wear their crest, and he looked at them like a man deciding which variety of acid to spray on a bunch of sewer rats.

“Who are these two?” he asked his subordinate, gesturing sharply to Calder and Petal.

The guard didn’t have an answer, so Andel stepped in. “Guests of the Order and friends of the supplicant. They’re here to provide a measure of comfort before Urzaia’s last moments. Should they come.”

The supervisor squinted at Andel as though trying to see through his words with sheer force of will. For once, Calder was glad for the man’s mask of a face.

“We do not allow unsupervised access to the arena,” he said, evidently forgetting that his guard had done just that. He extended a hand, palm-up. “The key, if you please.”

Wincing, Calder handed it over. The guard paled, and the supervisor’s face tightened as he gathered his obvious anger. Clearly, Andel wasn’t supposed to relinquish control of their arena key.

“Search them,” the supervisor commanded. “Search the prisoner. And then get them out.”

Urzaia was still smiling, but now it made him look more dangerous than ever. He could snap a man’s neck without losing that smile. “I am not a prisoner. I am a gladiator of the arena.”

“You’re chained to a wall, is what you are. Search him first, see if they slipped him anything.” The man’s gaze stayed locked on Andel, as though he suspected the Luminian Pilgrim would try passing Urzaia something now.

Which gave Calder enough space to step to one side, out of the man’s view, and gesture to Petal. He mimed scooping something out of his pocket and throwing it away.

Her eyes grew wide.

During their first encounter with the guards, they hadn’t been inspected. They had willingly divested themselves of weapons and moved along. Now, based on the search the guard was giving Urzaia, they wouldn’t have the room to hide a needle. Which meant that Petal needed to rid herself of six alchemical charges in a way that didn’t see anyone detained or detonated.

Petal started edging closer to the edge of Urzaia’s bunk, behind the supervisor’s back. The guard had finished patting Urzaia down, and was glancing up to check for his next target.

Before the man had a chance to notice Petal was gone, Andel spread his arms. “I didn’t smuggle weapons in to a gladiator who requested death-rites,” he said, and Calder was certain he only spoke to keep the men focused on him. He was better at this than he had any right to be, as a representative of the Imperial court.

For his part, Calder kept his eyes on the supervisor. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Petal producing cigar boxes and sliding them under Urzaia’s bunk.

One of the boxes scraped over the stone floor, and Calder spoke up, desperate to cover the noise. “Ah! It’s…so…so great to see you, Urzaia, I’m sure you’ll make it out alive tomorrow.”

Urzaia chuckled, and Calder couldn’t tell if he was playing along or if the man was really just that relaxed. “I always have so far. I don’t see why tomorrow should be any different.”

Petal tossed one more charge under Urzaia’s bed, and then raised both of her small fists triumphantly.

A second later, the supervisor turned to her. “Get away from him. Over here.” He knelt to pat her down, businesslike and professional. “I hope you took the Pilgrim up on his rites, Woodsman. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Calder had no idea who this man was, but he spoke as though he knew something Urzaia didn’t. In the meantime, his subordinate had finished with Andel and moved on to Calder. He was in for a disappointment, as Calder had nothing suspicious on him.

His shoelaces were invested weapons, and he could kill a man with them given enough time. But nothing suspicious.

Urzaia raised his eyebrows at the supervisors words. “If it is twelve men and I must fight without my hatchets, that is not a surprise. I have done that already.”

The supervisor snorted, but said nothing else. Seconds later, he stood. “We’re done. Woodsman, we’ll see you on the sand.”

The two guards marched the crew into the hall, leaving Urzaia alone.

With half a dozen alchemical munitions under his bed.

The crew had to rise before dawn to make it to the arena in time to ensure seats, which meant that Calder had a grand total of three hours sleep. None of the others were much better off, except for Jerri, who for some reason was looking forward to the day with endless enthusiasm.

“Jerri, since you’re chipper this morning, sound us off.”

“With pleasure! Petal, you’re first up.”

“Checking the charges,” Petal whispered.

“Foster?”

“Oversight,” he grunted. “I’m on the closest guard.”

“Andel?”

“Backup. I have a seat on the opposite side of the arena, and I will signal Foster if I notice something wrong.”

“Cheer up, Andel, all you have to do is watch the fight! I, on the other hand, will close off the staircase as soon as the match begins.” Calder pointed to himself and said, “And then what, Calder? Why, thank you for asking. Once the fight is over, I will be the one to detonate the charges.” Technically, Foster or Petal should be covering this job, but he didn’t feel right leaving it to someone else. In the worst-case scenario, he could take full blame for the plan.

The Emperor needed him alive, or the thousands of goldmarks he’d sunk into The Testament’s construction would go to waste. If Calder went before an Imperial court, he’d likely get off with nothing more than a swollen debt.

Which would be painful enough, but anyone else would be executed or imprisoned for life.

“And if something goes wrong?” Jerri asked, as though delighted by the prospect. She could roll out of bed bristling with energy. Calder, on the other hand, currently wanted to knife someone.

“Andel signals Foster, Foster signals Petal and me, I tell you,” Calder said. “Or we all notice and run.”

“What about the charges?” Petal asked, then shook her head. “The extra charges.” The ones they’d left with Urzaia.

“The arena can keep them,” Calder said. He and Andel had considered and discarded half a dozen different plans for retrieving them, but in the end, it was less dangerous to leave them where they were. They wouldn’t spontaneously explode, and unless someone was stupid enough to light them on fire just to see what would happen, they were no danger to anyone. The risk was that some guard would stumble on them and call off the fight, or increase security. So long as that didn’t happen, they were clear.

As soon as they bought their tickets and headed into the arena, Calder could tell something was wrong.

Seven Magisters waited in the arena—one for each section of spectator seating, and one in the Imperial box. They were in the process of attaching small bronze shields to the outside of each section, facing the arena.

“What are those?” Jerri whispered to him.

“Invested protections,” Calder whispered back. “They might be Awakened. If they think they have to protect the audience in addition to all the Intent already invested into the arena, then they’re preparing for something big.”

“What is it?”

“I’d need to get closer to be sure, which means we’d have to wait until the Magisters are gone.”

Only the Magisters didn’t leave. Petal scurried down the far staircase, checked both of the primary charges and the two backup charges, and then settled into a nearby seat. Andel grabbed his own seat at the end of the arena, Foster sat directly underneath a guard tower, and Calder and Jerri found seats together next to the victor’s stage.

When they first arrived, there were only a scattering of other spectators. Two hours later, the stadium looked full. Two hours after that, and Calder realized he’d been wrong before; only now did he understand what ‘full’ really meant. It was somehow even more crowded than it had been the last time he was here, as though they’d squeezed out all the air and replaced it with people.

At least it wasn’t as hot as it had been last summer, so he didn’t have to bake in the scent of sweat.

Jerri shot Calder a parting smile as she squeezed past him and a small family to slide into the staircase. The match would start soon, and when it did, she needed to clear the stairs as soon as possible.

If she didn’t, anyone in the way would die in their explosion.

Finally, after what felt like a night and a day of waiting, the crier made his way onto the arena sand. At the mere sight of him, the crowd lost all reason, and the coliseum shook with a sound like a berserk beast.

“LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND GOOD CITIZENS OF AXCISS!” This time, the crier didn’t only rely on the acoustics of the stadium, but raised an invested horn to his lips. His words boomed out, easily cutting through the noise. “TODAY, WE HAVE A TREAT INDEED FOR YOU! ALL THESE YEARS, YOU’VE SEEN ONE MAN TRIUMPH AGAIN AND AGAIN OVER STAGGERING ODDS! ONE MAN—IZYRIA’S VERY OWN WOODSMAN!”

At the mention of Urzaia’s name, the crowd erupted again, until it sounded as though Calder stood in the middle of a great battlefield. It did nothing but give him a throbbing headache on top of a night’s worth of exhaustion.

“BUT I’M AFRAID, GOOD CITIZENS, THAT THE ODDS TODAY ARE TRULY IMPOSSIBLE. FOR TODAY THE WOODSMAN FACES NOT MEN, BUT A CREATURE FROM MYTH AND THE NIGHTMARES OF THE ELDERS THEMSELVES! A TERROR OF THE AION SEA! THE DREADED…CINDERBEAST!”

As his speech reached a crescendo, the biggest gate onto the sand slid open. Two Greenwardens, robed entirely in verdant leaves, marched out. They each hauled on a leash…attached to a massive Kameira. The Cinderbeast was coal-black, shaped like a hairless bear or a misshapen wolf, with two spiraling onyx horns above its eyes. Its tail, longer than one would expect, lashed like a whip.

Its eyes were red, swollen orbs, and even from here Calder could practically taste its mad Intent. It growled, scratching at the sand, but its collar was obviously invested. It did not strike at the Greenwardens holding its pair of leashes.

The crier shouted again, embellishing an entry for Urzaia, but Calder didn’t hear it. Even as Urzaia marched into the light, black axes held high, Calder’s mind was whirling.

What now?

The plan called for them to wait for Urzaia’s victory, because after more than five hundred victories in a row, only a fool would bet against one more. Then again, he wasn’t fighting men. He fought some sort of…horned bear creature four times his size. And if it was a Kameira, as Calder was certain it was, then it would have some power over nature. Judging from its name, it might be able to set Urzaia on fire. Waiting for the fight would be ridiculous; they had to rescue Urzaia as soon as possible. So what was the plan? Detonate an extra charge somewhere else, as a distraction, and then get Urzaia up to the victory stage?

He was still considering his options as the Greenwardens unclipped the Cinderbeast’s collar and hurriedly withdrew. The Kameira glanced from one side to the other, as though trying to figure out if it were really free, and then sniffed at the air. Smoke rose from its nostrils.

Finally, Calder put the clues together, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. He’d never felt as stupid as he did in that moment.

Copper shields in front of the spectators. Magisters standing ready. Smoke drifting from its nostrils. Light and life, they’d called it the Cinderbeast.

It was going to breathe fire.

Kameira could use their powers in a thousand different ways; it might summon fire from the heavens, or throw fireballs somehow, but the point was that it set things on fire with its Intent. He was no alchemist, but he knew he didn’t want fire involved in a plan that relied on explosives.

He shot to his feet, shoving a bigger man down into his seat as he ran forward. He actually punched a boy five years younger in the jaw, feeling terrible about it, but the boy wouldn’t get out of the way. By the time anyone realized what he’d done and got upset about it, he’d already moved on.

Calder had started out ten yards from the stairs, but he still wasn’t fast enough. The Cinderbeast drew in a deep breath of air, filling its lungs, and exhaled a stream of pure flame.

The copper shields at the front of the seats lit up as they absorbed excess heat, and the crowd gasped in unison. So the Magisters had done their jobs, and the people were safe. The Greenwardens had done their jobs, and the Cinderbeast hadn’t gone on a berserk rampage. And Urzaia had done his job, because he’d obviously anticipated the fire and had somehow leaped completely over it, in an inhuman jump that would have shocked Calder at any other moment.

In fact, the only one who had failed to do his job was Calder.

Because those spare charges, those half a dozen alchemical charges with their unlit fuses, were still below in the arena waiting room. Only two iron grates away from the fire.

The flame flowed through the grates and into the room like a river, then faded. There was a bare instant, a frozen portrait of time, in which nothing happened. Calder almost started to believe that they were safe, and that he had time to figure out a way to stop this.

Then the coliseum echoed like a struck drum the size of a city, and smoke billowed out from the grate. It was all the way on the other side of the stadium, but Calder still trembled and lost his balance. The stone cracked all around, a black line racing up the stands.

And people scurried out of the way like an evacuating anthill as the arena seats slowly, ever so slowly, began to crumble.

On Calder’s side of the arena, he was in more danger of being crushed as panicked people desperately sought the closest escape—which, in his case, meant straight past him and toward the stairs. But, as the first woman to reach the door to the stairway found out, the entrance was locked. Jerri had sealed it with alchemical resin as soon as she’d managed to clear people out of the stairway.

So Calder found himself mashed against the base of the victor’s stage, losing breath by the second, as people struggled to smash in the door. The iron-banded wood bowed, and he prayed it would break so that the people behind him would stop pushing.

Something almost as good happened—the stone against his face suddenly slammed against him, and a deafening sound set his ears ringing.

Jerri had detonated the charges.

He wasn’t sure how she’d done it—he held the matches, and Petal had the backup set—but he almost wept with relief. The people backed off, leaving his lungs room to expand, as they fled from the door as though expecting it to explode.

In that brief moment of freedom, he glanced at the arena.

The Cinderbeast was in the stands.

As half of the arena slowly fell apart, the invested shields had fallen as well. Streams of fire chased spectators away, though they fell well short of the nearest—people had stampeded on instinct after the first explosion.

Through the fire and crumbling stone, Urzaia Woodsman ran toward the monster. Calder couldn’t see the man’s expression, and certainly couldn’t hear him, but he was sure the Champion was laughing.

Calder pushed his way back through the crowd, meeting surprisingly little resistance. People were fighting this way, but if he clambered over the seats, no one cared enough to stop him going the wrong way. It was his life to waste.

When he caught sight of Urzaia again, the gladiator was riding the Cinderbeast’s back like a horseman on an unruly mount. He struck with one of his hatchets, and the impact slammed the Kameira into the stone seats.

In the back of his mind, Calder wondered at that. When Urzaia fought the Houndmaster, his hatchet had sunk into the man’s chest. Now it was striking with enough impact to drive a giant Kameira into stone. If it could hit that hard before, wouldn’t it have blown the man’s corpse into the stands? And how did Urzaia’s body withstand the opposing force?

It wasn’t worth considering just now, but as a Reader, Calder was still curious.

He finally started to slow when he got close to Urzaia. He needed to be nearby when Urzaia was finished to lead the man out before he was recaptured, but Calder wasn’t foolish enough to interfere in a Champion’s fight.

Which was just as well, because there was nothing he could have done to help.

The Cinderbeast built up momentum, loping across the back of the stone seats and bucking its head to try and gore the Woodsman. It didn’t come close. When that failed, it swatted at Urzaia with its claws, but the Champion swung around its neck like a monkey on a branch, laughing the entire time.

When the Kameira blew a burst of fire at nothing in particular, Calder knew it had given up. Urzaia must have sensed the same thing, because he swung himself down and to the Cinderbeast’s side. He steadied himself on the ground, drawing his hatchets back.

Stone cracked under his feet, and Calder stared. No matter how fast the coliseum was tearing itself apart, the stone shouldn’t have softened. Could the fire have done something? Or maybe the Intent of thousands of desperate people…

As Urzaia slammed his weapons forward, Calder realized the truth. A handful of separate pieces clicked together in his mind.

The stone wasn’t that weak, Urzaia was just that heavy.

Rumor had it that the Sandborn Hydra, a Kameira actually native to the Izyrian desert around this very city, had the Intent to increase or decrease its own weight. The Blackwatch had commissioned some research into its unique properties as part of their work on The Testament, in the hopes of making the ship lighter without compromising hull strength. The research had come to nothing, as no one could locate a Sandborn Hydra for testing.

But according to legend, the Kameira’s hide was made of gold scales. Urzaia wore a golden hide around his upper arm.

Come to think of it, the black hatchets were a little obvious for a Soulbound Vessel.

In the time it took Calder to realize what was happening, Urzaia had slammed both Awakened weapons into the side of the Cinderbeast with the full force of his Soulbound powers. The Kameira’s ribs caved in as though they’d been struck by a falling star, and its huge body blasted away from Urzaia. It scraped rows of stone seats away in its flight, finally slamming against the top section of the arena wall in a spray of dark blood.

Seconds after its impact, as the dust billowed up and Urzaia calmly walked over to Calder, the entire half of the arena collapsed completely.

Urzaia said something to Calder and then laughed, but the sound was washed out by the avalanche of crashing stone. Instead of responding, Calder jerked his head and ran for the exits.

As they got closer and the noise died away, Calder shouted back to him. “Urzaia. How would you like a job? I could use a ship’s guard?”

The Woodsman made a show of thinking about it for a few seconds, even as he ran. There was a thin sheen of sweat and blood on his skin, but he wasn’t even close to running out of breath. Champions are just…unfair.

“Guard is boring,” he said at last. “But I am a very good cook.”