Powers of the Six (6 page)

“Don’t be ridiculous!” He tossed it on the floor and led the crying boy away.

Nolan scowled.
Oh, for Brim’s sake; let the kid have some fun.

The storyteller rose and threaded his way through the pub, talking with those he passed. He headed to the bar where the pretty girl waited for him. She tapped her fingers, speaking to the man in low tones. Nolan straightened, his stomach dropping in disappointment and shock. The girl was with … him?

How in the name of Brim did a hairy oaf end up with a girl like her? She only came to his shoulders. And for crow’s sake, he was way too old for her. A smattering of gray went through his dirty blond beard.

Nolan studied the girl’s profile. And while staring at her might’ve been rude, he found the view much better than the smelly tradesmen crammed around the tables surrounding him. After several moments, she placed a few coins on the counter and swept the room with her eyes. Nolan panicked and jerked his head down.

The table wasn’t very interesting, but there was no way he would look anywhere else. Nolan traced a finger on a jagged knife gouge, and when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he raised his head.

The brown-haired girl and the mountain man had gone.

Nolan pushed back disappointment and downed the last of his drink. He reached to retrieve his overstuffed pack and noticed a small wad of cloth lying on the floor—the one the father had tossed away. Nolan glanced around, seeing if anyone else had noticed. Conversations continued. He plucked it from the ground and set it in front of him.

It consisted of some sort of animal fur—deer, maybe—tied closed with a thin bit of leather. Nolan pulled the strap, and it came undone. Inside lay six small stones, each painted a different color. Nolan smiled. Magic stones. He palmed the small rocks, rolling them, inspecting them. He then placed them back in the pelt and tucked the bundle into his pack.

As he rose to leave, Kardos Deverell, the blacksmith, burst through the door like an angry badger. Nolan sat again and pulled out his book, pretending to read. Things were too interesting to leave now.

“What can I get for you, Kardos?” Bonty asked.

“The same as usual.”

“Aren’t you and your boy swingin’ swords about this time of day?”

“It’s a bit hard to fight yourself now, isn’t it?” He downed the mug in a long gulp and slammed it on the bar. “Alec is leaving for that nightforsaken tournament, and he won’t bother listening to reason.”

“It’s not like he had a choice.”

Kardos grunted. “I swear … If they lay one hand on my boy, those Rol’dan dogs will be on the other side of a Deverell blade.”

The room quieted into whispers as eyes darted toward Kardos. Either Kardos didn’t notice or he didn’t care.

“Here, love.” Bonty refilled his mug and pushed it toward him. “Set your mouth to this instead.”

“Forget it.” Kardos shoved the mug away, sloshing its contents onto the bar. He threw two coins on the counter. “I need to get to work. The Rol’dan might not be able to murder anyone else without a good weapon. Good day, Bonty.”

“Take care, Kardos,” Bonty said, and then shifted her attention to cleaning the mess.

The conversations swelled back to loud drones. If Alec was anything like his father, the tournament would be interesting, indeed.

Nolan stood, grateful to leave the overcrowded pub, but dreading the start of his day. The streets outside were even worse than the pub. The merchant shops in Alton were typically swarmed with shoppers and travelers. Today, the entire city—and probably the surrounding ones—had all come to wish the competitors a good journey. Nolan couldn’t take two steps without some passerby jostling him.

He finally reached the river where three long boats rested along the docks, waiting for departure. In the center of each boat, a canopy sheltered reclining Rol’dan soldiers from the scorching sun. Kael sat in the lead boat with his feet propped on a chair. He drank from a large mug, seemingly bored.

Nolan slid his bag off his shoulder and rotated his arm. A table had already been set on the pier. He situated his ink bottle and the tournament book in front of him. Nolan opened the book and ran his finger down the page. He was ready, he supposed, to begin his first duty of the tournament: the tedious process of calling off the names.

Nolan scanned the hopeful faces pressing toward the docks. A few of Alton’s guards held off the expectant throng, waiting for Nolan to give his cue to begin. Emery’s plea for help prodded the back of Nolan’s brain. Nolan
couldn’t
help him. Not now. Not ever. He was only a scribe, for crow’s sake.

Forcing back his guilt, Nolan focused on his task at hand. He had a job to do. Some of these people were about to confront their greatest desires and darkest futures. In a few moments, their life-altering journey to the Tournament of Awakening would begin.

Chapter Five

AFTER SEVEN DAYS ROWING down the Curlew River, and another seven on foot through the Forest of Vidar, Nolan and the traveling party broke through the trees into a breathtaking view.

On the farthest edge of a grass-covered field, a lake sat at the base of a towering cliff. Branches and twisting vines draped over the rock face, giving shelter to a small waterfall that cascaded and churned over a medley of red and brown stones at its base. Small shafts of light broke through the cloud cover—unlike the low, endless clouds over Alton—making the water sparkle in spots. The grouping of nearly one hundred travelers gawked, muttering a few “oohs” and “ahhs.” Many had probably never seen the sunlight at all.

The other thing that amazed Nolan was the colors. The grass was green—not the artificial green smeared over the district buildings in Alton, but green unlike anywhere else. The flowers smattered on the grass and clinging to vines all shouted natural colors, making the brightest paint in Adamah seem just another shade of gray. Nolan loved this place, even if it reminded him of the tournament. He shook his head, pushing aside memories of swords and arrows and blood. He scanned the mass of excited faces as they collapsed, one by one, in the grass. Poor fools. They didn’t even know what was coming to them.

Nolan wiped his forehead. For a brief moment, he considered running to the small lake and jumping in fully clothed. From the murmuring, it seemed similar thoughts crossed the others’ minds as well.

A short distance away, a sea of tents burst with competitors from other cities and towns. In all, over five hundred were supposed to come for the trials. Since Alton was the largest of the cities, and Nolan being the scribe of that city, he had the “honor” to keep track of everyone. His shoulders sagged thinking about it.

Nolan’s eyes drifted to the others, and he thought about Emery Cadogan’s request. A girl with red hair flipped it over her shoulder. A heavy-set boy chatted with a tan-skinned friend. How in the Darkness did Emery expect Nolan to do anything? Everyone looked the same before coming into their powers. How could he “keep an eye out” for anyone? Excitement buzzed. They couldn’t wait for their trials to begin.

He’d watch them, of course. That was his job: to watch and to record. But there was no way he’d ever try to coax them from the Rol’dan. Knowing his luck, whoever he talked to would report him. Then Nolan’s secret would be laid bare. And if that happened, he couldn’t help anyone, including himself. He’d be marked as a traitor and hanged. Guilt stabbed Nolan. Emery was on his own.

A hearty laugh sounded from the group of Rol’dan where Kael chatted. Unlike the rest of the travelers, they had ridden on horseback.

“Why do they get to ride anyway?” a boy whispered.

“It’s because they’re the Rol’dan,” a girl answered. “They deserve to ride.”

Several nodded in agreement.

“They probably forgot how to walk,” another voice said.

All heads turned to Alec Deverell, who, instead of resting, yanked a tall blade of grass out of the ground and flicked it. “Or they’re just too fat and lazy to walk on their own.”

The group giggled and gasped. The Rol’dan soldiers quieted, and a Perception officer’s eyes glowed orange as he listened with his Shay. Nolan held his breath; this would not bode well.

“Let
them
walk behind piles of horse dung for a change,” Alec continued. “Or maybe it was their own droppings, otherwise, they’d have to actually get off their fat backsides to relieve themselves.”

Those who’d thought him funny before went silent, their eyes wide.

Nolan stared.
Is he really that stupid? Or does he want to die young?

The Perception officer leaned over to Kael, and a few words passed between them. He pointed in Alec’s direction, and the whole lot made their way over, causing everyone to quickly rise to their feet.

Kael stopped in front of Alec and studied him. “What’s your name?”

“Alec Deverell … sir,” he replied, though the “sir” sneered with nothing close to respect.

“Deverell … Deverell …” He snapped his fingers. “Ah! You’re the bladesmith’s son.”

Alec didn’t answer.

“Yes, I see the resemblance. Dreadful man that Kardos. At least he turns out a good blade.” Kael slid his sword from its sheath and laid the shining blade against his open palm. “I carry one of your father’s swords.”

Alec only glanced at it. “Yes, I know that blade.”

Kael stabbed his sword into its sheath and flicked a finger across the scar on Alec’s cheek. “It appears you know your father’s blades quite well.”

The soldiers laughed, but Alec’s expression darkened.

“And unless you show the Rol’dan more respect,” Kael said, “you will be reunited with your father’s sword.”

“General Trividar,” Nolan said, cringing inwardly. “Under the law of Adamah, all competitors are protected during the Tournament of Awakening.” He paused, inhaling a slow breath. “Wouldn’t be a good idea to hurt one of them.”

“Nolan, might I have a word with you?” Kael’s voice was tight.

Nolan flinched. Crows, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this coming. His stomach twisted as if he’d swallowed a snake. As he bent to get his pack, he caught Alec’s eyes. Alec’s scowl melted into a strange, questioning stare. Nolan forced a smile, but it only made the confusion in Alec’s face deepen.

Nolan followed Kael and the other Rol’dan to the main portion of camp. They made their way past the Rol’dan lodge—a large, two-story building permanently made for the tournament. The six flags of the Shay fluttered in the wind. Three were posted on either side of the entrance, each displaying the symbol and color of the Shay Rol’dan’s six sects.

“I will be with you in a moment,” Kael said to the rest of his men. The soldiers cast knowing smirks from one to another, then nodded and turned toward the lodge.

Soon the duo approached Nolan’s quarters: a larger tent away from the bulk of the crowd. Kael grabbed Nolan’s arm, yanking him toward the tent’s entrance.

“Now, Kael,” he reasoned, “you need to calm—”

Kael flung him inside. He stumbled and fell, tripping over the leg of a chair. His spectacles flew from his face.

The blurred image of Kael rushed him. Nolan crawled away like a crab on a beach. Kael hauled him to his feet, and sudden, blinding pain erupted through Nolan’s cheek. A fist in the gut doubled Nolan over; Kael yanked him straight, twisting his arm upward.

Nolan coughed, and his eyes watered, blinding what little vision he had left. “Kael, can’t we just talk—”

“It’s General Trividar to you!”

Nolan’s vision burst with a flash of light, and he hit the ground. Kael pushed him, his boot shoving Nolan’s face into the dirt.

“You will remember your position, Scribe!” Kael pushed harder. “And I’ll personally run anyone through who attempts to heal you.”

Kael released him and leaned in, close enough for Nolan to see regret flick across his brother’s face. Nolan paused, staring.
He was … sorry?

“I expect you at the lodge,” Kael said, his scowl back in place. “You have a lot of work to do.” Kael turned and left Nolan alone.

Nolan closed his eyes, his body trembling. Kael had always been hard on him, even when he was a kid. But since he’d joined the Rol’dan, he’d gotten worse. Much, much worse. These last two years, Nolan didn’t know his brother anymore.

Then he remembered Kael’s brief look of regret. Had Kael been sorry? After weighing the possible hope against his fresh agony, Nolan decided he must’ve imagined Kael’s sympathy after all.

After the ache lessened, he tried to stand. He swept the ground with his hand, searching for his spectacles. He flinched when someone grabbed his arm. Alec stood next to him, glowering
.

“What are you doing here?”

Alec hesitated. “I, um … followed you.”

Nolan groped once more for his spectacles until Alec shoved them into his hand. Sliding them on his face, he saw with perfect clarity the chaos of his room. Upturned desk. Emptied bag. Papers and quills strewn.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved,” Alec said. He studied Nolan, and his expression flickered with guilt. “Maybe you can find a Healer. They’re swarming all over. Like roaches.”

“Great idea,” Nolan said. “Except I’ve been ordered to suffer.”