Dawn of Swords (15 page)

The targets were brought back in after another set of contestants finished. The Barker shouted four names, including
Kindren Thyne
.
Aully glanced aside to see Kindren nervously stand. He circled toward the back of the dais, retrieved a bow handed to him by his father, and descended the stairs. Gently twanging the string of his bow, he entered the arena, joining the other competitors in line. Despite the aged gracefulness of his posture, there was awkwardness to his movements that revealed his youth. He turned to look at her, smiling sheepishly, and then nocked an arrow. The three other competitors readied themselves as well, and all four released their strings in unison. The two Quellan elves on the left hit just outside the center, and the Dezren on the far right hit a perfect bull’s-eye. The arrow Kindren loosed missed the target entirely. It flew over the rounded, stuffed fabric by a good yard and embedded itself in the dirt. The crowd, perched on their raised platforms, uttered a collective moan of despair. He stepped away from the firing line with his head bowed low, even as the Barker said, “Disqualified.”

The prince of Dezerea skulked out of view. Aully held her breath as she heard him climb back onto the platform. She listened as the boy’s father offered a disgusted grunt, as if shamed by his son’s failure, and his mother gave him a too sweet word of apology. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ceredon roll his eyes and shake his head.

Kindren sat down beside her and held his face in his hands. He was shaking. Knowing she had to do something, she touched his wrist gently. He peered at her through his fingers, and she shrugged.

“It happens,” she said.

His dropped his hands and gave her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry to have insulted you,” he said.

She shrugged again. “No shame in missing. I miss every time a cute boy’s staring at
me
.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder and whispered into his ear. “And don’t tell anyone, but the Neyvar’s son was staring at you something fierce.”

Kindren laughed so hard that a string of spittle flew from his lips and dribbled down his chin. For a moment he froze in horror, but when Aully only laughed harder, he relaxed and joined in. She
was so lost in amusement that she barely noticed when Ceredon rose from his seat and stormed away, a disgusted look on his face. Afraid of how the mass of royalty behind them might be reacting to their inappropriate mirth, she kept her focus squarely on Kindren’s gorgeous face.

“Thank you,” Kindren said when their laughter finally died down, keeping his voice low. The competition in the arena was going on as scheduled, oblivious to them. “I didn’t mean to ignore you earlier…I was nervous. I’m not the best archer, but father insisted that I take part in the tournament. I knew I would make a fool of myself.”

She elbowed him. “At least you do it well.”

“Very funny.”

“But it is,” she said with a smirk, channeling her sister’s demon-may-care persona. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“So you’re not embarrassed to be my betrothed?” he asked, disbelief heavy in his voice.

Aully shook her head. “I’d be more embarrassed if you’d thrown a tantrum.”

He grinned. “Good.”

“Besides, if you really want to impress me, all you need to do is conjure up a fireball the size of a redwood.”

“I might be able to do that. I’m
much
better with magic.”

“Really?” she said, her heart leaping.

“Really,” he answered with a wink.

Orden Thyne’s head poked between theirs, making both young elves jump. His expression was rigid, with narrowed eyes and firm lips.

“Children, this tournament is being held in your honor. It is disrespectful of you to ignore the proceedings,” he said.

Given his grave air and tone, they both shut their mouths and looked on. From that moment onward, though, they kept their fingers intertwined as often as possible.

The archery competition ended, won by Argo Stillen, the master of the Quellan archers’ guild. At almost four hundred years old, he was the oldest of the entrants, and yet he scored a staggering forty-three consecutive perfect hits, the last eleven from two hundred and fifty yards. Aully stood in awe of him, and gave a rousing ovation when the last of his bolts found its mark.

Next came contests of speed and strength. While an elf from Stonewood won the dash, Kindren’s cousin Mordikay won the high jump. The Dezren swept the speed competitions, which was not surprising given the taller and leaner physiques of Aullienna’s people. The Quellan were more compact and powerful, and when the strength contests began, they emerged victorious each time. Even the grumpy Ceredon got involved in the victory laps after he won the pole toss by a wide margin. He smirked up at Aully and Kindren, trying to appear superior, but the two youngsters laughed him off. Aully felt as though the newfound bond she and her betrothed shared was indestructible, and she wasn’t going to let some spoiled royal brat ruin it for her.

When the time came for the fencing competition, the sun had nearly disappeared behind the glittering spires of Palace Thyne. The contenders lined up to be introduced, dulled iron sabers hanging limp at their sides. With each name called, the participant removed his or her helm and offered a bow to the crowd. Aully cheered vigorously for each one. Fencing was a favorite pastime in Stonewood, and she recognized many of the competitors. There were J’obeth and Kara, Lucius and Demarti, Crabtree and Shomor. Ceredon again joined in, appearing just as obnoxiously confident as he had during the pole toss.

Halfway through the procession, her clapping stopped. She stared, dumbfounded, at the light-skinned human with white hair and dark, haunting eyes who had just removed his helm. He was introduced to a stunned crowd as Joseph Crestwell of Neldar. The human seemed unaffected by the lack of support. He took a step
forward, like all the other combatants, and raised a lightly armored hand in salute. There had been tension between elves and humans for as long as humans had existed. The elves were sharing a land that had once been theirs and their alone, and after their rulers had refused Celestia’s request for them to act as wardens to the new species, they had lost their homeland forever. It had neither been forgotten nor forgiven. But if this man were bothered by the silence, he didn’t show it.

Aully hadn’t met many humans over the short span of her life, and other than her sister’s love, Jacob, those she
had
seen were the dark-skinned ones who were constantly pilfering from Stonewood Forest—including the giant Bardiya, who seemed nice enough the only time she had met him but whom her father disliked more than anyone. This Joseph was tall and thickly built, his skin as pale as her own, but there was something dangerous beneath his calm gaze. He was more a bull than a gazelle, and according to her nursemaid, bulls couldn’t go anywhere without breaking a few things.

Before the competition could begin, Joseph Crestwell stepped away from the introduction line and marched straight for her platform. Both she and Kindren leaned over the rail to see him better. The human stood below them and bowed low in respect. When finished, he lifted his hand to her, which she hastily grasped in her confusion over proper etiquette.

“I come to fight in your honor,” the man said, his voice kind despite his hardened appearance. “But I do not wish to cause a disturbance. If the prince and princess of Dezerea so desire, I will withdraw from the competition.”

He kissed the back of her hand, and then shook Kindren’s. Aully stood and curtseyed.

“If it pleases the kind sir to fight in our tournament, then it pleases me to watch,” Aully said. “It is not my place to judge.”

The crowd murmured.

“It is not
our
place to judge!” shouted Kindren, offering the man a bow. With those words, the crowd resumed their cheering, louder than before. A wide grin spread across Aully’s face, growing even wider when a stolen glance behind her showed that all three of the imperial families were nodding their approval. Neyvar Ruven even stepped up to the rail and shook the human’s hand. A shrewd look passed between the Neyvar and the human, one that made Aully wonder what was afoot.

Soon after, the Barker announced the first pairing, and the competition began. The sound of clanging steel echoed through the crowd as the opponents lunged and parried. It was a complex dance, feet tapping forward and back, shoulders held straight, sabers acting as extensions of the combatants’ arms. One pair after another entered the packed dirt arena and fought until someone yielded. The early matches lasted less than five minutes, until the last pairing of the opening round was announced.

It was Ceredon, son of Ruven, squaring off against the human, Joseph Crestwell.

Aully’s hand found Kindren’s, and their fingers interlocked as they watched the two fighters circle each another. Ceredon was graceful, seemingly floating over the ground. His chin was high, and he held his saber out like a lance, twirling it in circles, baiting his opponent. His movements were confident, but Aully noticed a somewhat lackadaisical look in his eyes, as if the prince were bored.

Joseph Crestwell plodded on heavy feet. He appeared unsteady, and held his saber at an odd angle—diagonally upward and turned to the side, with his offhand set close to the pommel as if for balance. And yet there was a permanent grin on his face, seeping excitement, as if he knew something his opponent did not.

Ceredon grew impatient, his feet moving faster as he danced his circular dance. The Quellan made the first move, striding forward, thrusting his blade forward when the tip was at its lowest point, aiming for a gut shot.

Joseph’s cocked arm plunged down in a stroke that smashed into Ceredon’s blade. The tip jabbed past the human’s padded surcoat. Ceredon stumbled to the side, off balance, dropping his sword hand to the dirt for support. Crestwell swung his arm in the other direction, looping the sword over his head so that he could clutch it with both hands. Down came the rounded blade in a powerful, two-handed blow. Ceredon barely got his own blade up in time to block the human’s blow. Aully gasped as she watched, her fingers tightening around Kindren’s. The human had aimed for Ceredon’s head, which was generally frowned upon in open competition.

Ceredon must have realized it as well, for his eyes were wide as he scrambled to his feet.

The elf’s movements were still nimble, but there was an urgency to them now, a nervous energy that made him slip more than once. Aully found his strategy odd: he was on the defensive, utilizing only a handful of well-known techniques, while the human steadily advanced on him each time they circled. Ceredon lunged, hoping for a lucky poke, but his jab was easily batted away. The young elf no longer seemed regal and overconfident. He was breathing heavily, his eyes darting side to side, and his expression mirrored Kindren’s during the archery contest.

During one of the elf’s rasping inhales, the human went on the offensive. His slogging footfalls brought him forward as he chopped sideways, again with both hands. Ceredon tried to parry, but his sword was knocked into the bridge of his helm by his adversary’s more powerful assault. He performed a slight pirouette to keep from falling—an astonishing feat in and of itself—and jabbed his saber into the dirt again for balance.

Joseph swung low for the elf’s leg, this time from the other side. For some reason his attack looked slow, almost overly patient. In a flash Ceredon leapt over the blade, barely avoiding having his knees smashed. Aully stood in awe of the power the human possessed,
but she found it strange that his attacks were so sluggish. Suspicion crept into her breast. Was he holding back on purpose?

Ceredon twirled away from the next attack, a diagonal downward hew, and Aully saw panic in his eyes. He was rushing around like a chicken trying to evade the butcher’s knife, and she could tell that he was beginning to tire. He went on the offensive over and over again, trying to outwit the human with his speed, but Joseph appeared to be ready for every hit. The slightest shifting of his feet, the subtlest twisting of his sword, and Ceredon’s swings would parry to the side. The elf’s feet dragged and his back arched. When the human resumed his assault, there was little Ceredon could do but offer a weak block, falling to his knees from the force of the blow.

The human stood over him, and for a brief moment Aullienna thought the fight was over. This was where Joseph should have waited for his opponent’s surrender, but neither combatant appeared ready to yield. Joseph brought his saber to the side, then swung it for Ceredon’s throat as if he were trying to lop off his head. It appeared that he was putting everything he had into the attack, though his movements were still oddly unhurried.

But tired as he was, Ceredon proved even slower.

His head lowered with a simple shrugging of the shoulders, and Aully almost leapt over the railing. Time slowed, as the blade screamed toward Ceredon’s thin metal helm.

And then Joseph’s blade lifted as if possessed of a mind of its own, sailing over the elf’s head.

Ceredon looked surprised, but he reacted quickly. He slashed his saber in a single tight arc, catching the human under the chin with the flat of the blade. Joseph’s head snapped back, a thin stream of blood shooting from his mouth. He stumbled on weak knees, then collapsed onto his rear.

“I yield, I yield,” Joseph stammered, tossing his saber to the dirt.

His surrender resulted in a sudden surge of cheers. Aullienna watched Ceredon stand on unsteady legs and raise a half-hearted
salute to the crowd. The elf glanced behind him at the still bleeding Joseph Crestwell and then threw his saber down.

“Why is he leaving?” asked Kindren as Ceredon limped out of the arena. “He won.”

“Only because the human let him,” Aully said. “And he knows it.”

“What? No he didn’t. Ceredon ducked the attack.”

Aully shook her head. “That’s what it was supposed to look like. Sir Crestwell lifted the blade on purpose. I’ve seen my cousin do the same thing countless times when we played swords back home.”

“But…why would he do that? Why would he allow himself to get hurt?”