Belvedor and the Four Corners (Belvedor Saga Book 1) (2 page)

She saw them, his dark eyes that matched so well the ruthless demeanor of his character, and a scar. It slashed across his cheek like a worm etched through his white skin. The sword at his belt swayed as he paced, revealing the promise in his glare. His black robes, lined with red fur and emblazoned with the golden snake of the King’s crest, swept the floor at his feet as he stood waiting.

Behind him, a large image created the backdrop on a black wall. The same golden snake intertwined itself between two blazing swords, the symbol of Arianna’s district. She always saw that symbol as such a brilliantly clichéd idea, to use swords to depict the Warrior’s District. What a superficial view of what it takes to be a fighter. Well, that’s what she thought anyways.

A low hum buzzed through the crowd until General Ivo raised his hand. The slaves were silenced in an instant. Arianna’s lips zipped tight, her arms flat at her side. The general walked forward, preparing to speak but stopped as something caught his attention. Was he looking at her? No, but his gaze burned straight through her center.

Arianna’s ears perked up to a whisper coming from behind her in the crowd. She bit her lip as the hushed voice instantly vanished. Too late. Nothing went unnoticed under the general’s watch, and right now his eyes stayed unblinking. Arianna tried to quiet her pounding heart, hoping no one else could hear as a stone-faced regulator moved towards her from his post at the front.

She flinched as he stormed past her, yanking a small girl from the crowd by her collar. Arianna recognized the girl as a sixth year as she kicked and screamed all the way to the stage. The regulator looked to the general as the girl squirmed under his hold, and Arianna held her breath along with the rest of her peers.

General Ivo gave a nod of command, that sinister, ‘you-know-you’re-done-for’ nod she’d seen so many times. The regulator grinned. “Show some respect,” he said, his voice low as he locked eyes with the terrified child.

The girl’s cries drowned out his words for the most part, but Arianna stood close enough to hear the tragic ending they promised. Some days General Ivo gave second chances, but today he seemed to be in as foul a mood as any as he ordered her off to the Pit.

She felt others around her fidget as the girl was dragged away from the Square. Nobody dared make a sound, not a peep from anyone as the girl’s pleading tears left a trail behind her. Arianna closed her eyes, shaking her head at another wasted life. The girl should’ve known better.

To be honest, she couldn’t help but feel relief when all was said and done.
I’m still safe. I’m still here.
Her eyes flew open just as the general reappeared, front and center, as if nothing at all had surpassed. His calm demeanor baffled her because inside her own head she was screaming. It was a silent scream that echoed into every corner of her mind until she felt numb and the voice died away.

Then she felt her whole body come alive, alert, as if someone had just called her name. It’s the way you feel when you know someone’s watching you, as though her body could sense the glare of eyes on her skin. She looked to her left and saw the culprit, the eyes. They were Liam’s, and they looked worried. She nodded in reassurance to her friend who worried for her. They looked out for each other, and it made life easier that way.

General Ivo raised his right hand and bent to his knee, stealing back Arianna’s attention. The crowd mirrored his movement as he balled his hand into a veiny fist and placed it on his chest above his heart. “Hail to the King! Hail to Lord Devlindor.” His voice, such a terrible one, made her want to stick her fingers in her ears, but she straightened her back and repeated the daily verse along with everyone else.

Arianna’s words melted in with the other mechanical voices around her. The phrase tasted wrong on her tongue. She hated lying, and she hated King Devlindor. Her loyalty to someone who squeezed so tightly at her life made her dizzy, but she didn’t have the leisure of choice, not in this world.

“Dismissed,” said the general as he turned and headed off the stage, down the long staircase. The crowd dispersed to their daily routines, and a dull chatter filled the air as Arianna headed to breakfast. She walked by the Pit on the way, but she didn’t dare look down.

CHAPTER TWO

The day dragged on. It dragged on, and on, and on, and on just like every other day in the district. For a few hours Arianna sat in different lectures learning, or, better put, daydreaming through the history of the King’s many accomplishments, of great battles won and his long-standing reign of the Olleb. Her mind wandered so far off at times that she could swear she lived like a royal or was knee deep in the mud, fighting for her people with a shield and sword in hand.

After emerging from her all-too-vivid imagination, she spent the rest of the day losing duels to Solomon during training, too many to count on her fingers and toes.

“You mustn’t falter again, Arianna!” screamed Solomon over the clashing of metal. Sparks flew as he danced around her in intricate circles. His sword cut through the air with skill and thwarted each attack she attempted. “I demand your attention! Your enemies demand your attention!” His sword landed hard on hers, and she faltered under the pressure. “Draw your mind to the battle at hand, and leave your thoughts for a more appropriate time.” With one hand behind his back, he never took a hit.

Arianna jabbed her double-swords at his midriff, but he swatted them away with little effort. She lost her balance and fell to her knees on the stone floor of the sparring room, the impact jarring all the bones in her body. Solomon lunged forward, brandishing his sword. She tried to stand up, but not quickly enough. Her body stilled as she felt the familiar cold steel at her neck. Sweat dripped onto his blade, and she wiped it away. “Yield,” she said. Her swords fell to the floor, the sound making her wince. Another battle lost to Master Bell.

Solomon laughed with an energy that boomed off the stone walls.

“I see nothing funny about another loss,” said Arianna, trying to keep her cool as she pushed aside his sword.

“No, of course not. I was merely contemplating the choice to switch from wooden blades to steel,” he said. “Dear child, I feel as if I could give you a sword with a mind of its own and it still wouldn’t puncture my skin.” She wished for a sword like that.

Solomon flashed his pearly teeth and leaned against the far wall, folding his arms across his chest.

Arianna’s nonchalance wavered as he paraded his victory in her face, and, in one swift movement, she got to her feet. Tightening her grip on the hilt of her blades, she shifted her feet to a wide fighting stance. Directing her swords at Solomon, she felt the adrenaline course anew through her veins as she challenged him, her master. The steel felt too heavy in her hands, and her muscles ached from so much training. Still, she found determination from somewhere, even if the effort was a bit futile at this point. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, letting the air revitalize her body.

“Again!” She lunged forward to attack. Solomon answered with a bow, such a gentleman he was. He side–stepped her attempt and slapped the flat edge of his steel on her back. It stung, pulsating across her skin, and she stumbled forward into the full-length mirror near the wall. A large crack spread down the middle, reflecting a broken image of the warrior’s crest on the opposite wall and a distorted reflection of her.

She regained her balance and steadied her swords once more, crossing them at her front. Solomon beckoned her forward, and the clashing of metal continued.

“Why have you chosen me as an apprentice, Master Bell?” said young Arianna as she knelt before the stage in the Square. The muddied ground dirtied her hands and knees.

She just finished a successful practice duel with a boy from her group, but it surprised her when Solomon declared his decision in front of the panel. Slaves hardly ever got chosen for private training before their fifteenth year. Besides, Arianna thought it obvious that her dueling partner had let her win. After all, Liam always took it easy on her.

As soon as the question spilled from her mouth, she regretted it. A hooded regulator hovered over her with his hand raised, ready to strike. Before his palm could reach the skin on her face, her reflexes took over, another thing she would soon regret. She jumped up and side-stepped his hand. The regulator faltered under her maneuver and tripped sideways. Her twelfth-year peers gasped at the scene, and her face paled in horror.

 More regulators closed in to drag her away, and sweat beaded on her forehead as they clutched at her arms. Before they could remove her, Solomon Bell raised his hand in an order of halt. The regulators gave their distance to Arianna, and she fell to her knees in shame and relief.

 “Let her be,” commanded the master swordsman. “She has made only a small offense. It’s nothing to get excited about. Besides, I will enjoy teaching her the hard lesson of respect in training tomorrow.” Arianna lowered her head, afraid to look him in the eyes for fear they would match the threat in his voice.

“Please, forgive my offense. I meant no disrespect, Sir,” she said in a small, shaky sound. Her eyes studied the ground.

“Look at me when you speak, girl,” he said in a menacing tenor, so she lifted her head in obedience.

There was no hint of anger on his face like she anticipated. His eyes gave her a strange sense of reassurance and warmth. He strode down the stone steps from the evaluators’ stand, and, for a moment, Arianna thought him a king. His white, velvet cloak sparkled in the daylight; rubicund silk trimmed the edges and lined the inside. On the back, embroidered in the same shiny thread, the crest of the district completed his regal appearance. He lifted her to her feet by the elbow and whispered something in her ear.

His words were quite unexpected and ones that she would never forget. “I chose you because you’re worth choosing,” he said. Immediately tears began to well in her eyes. She had never been worth anything to anyone in her life. “You are dismissed. Your lessons begin at dawn,” he said with finality.

“Solomon, friend, it pains me that you worry so much. You know you’ve taught me well.” She sprung forward again. “You get so angry when only my mind has faltered, yet not the blade in hand.” She smiled. “Am I not match enough without adding my intellect to the battle?” Solomon stopped attacking, his black skin glimmering with sweat.

Swords swinging at her side, her eyes steadied on her trainer. She tried to look brave, but he intimidated her. Could he tell? Although somewhat humbled by the bad knee gained during his time serving the King, his skill never faltered. He cleared Arianna by a full shaved head, so she looked up to meet his gaze.

He could pass for forty, but his eyes gave him away. In Olleb-Yelfra, people could live a very long time. No slave knew the age of any of the elders that ran the district. Why, even King Devlindor had just celebrated his third century, and his portraits still looked youthful. For all she knew, Solomon could be one hundred and fifty. He claimed twenty-nine, but Arianna knew better. His wisdom far outreached such a small number.