Gathering of Shadows (A Darker Shade of Magic) (45 page)

It was also Kell’s.

All right, brother
, he thought, balancing the gold ring on his thumb like a coin.

“The time has come to marvel, and cheer, and choose your champions. And so, without further delay …” Rhy flicked the gold circle up into the air, and as he did, fireworks exploded overhead. Each explosion of light had been paired with its own midnight blue burst of smoke, an illusion of night that reached only as far as the firework and set it off against the winter grey sky.

He caught the ring and held it up again, his voice booming over the fireworks and the crowd’s cheers.

“Let the Games begin!”

III

Lila had lost her mind. That was the only explanation. She was standing on a platform, surrounded by men and women who practically shook with power, the explosion of fireworks above and the roar of the crowd to every side, wearing a stranger’s stolen clothes and about to compete in a tournament in the name of an empire she didn’t serve in a world she wasn’t even from.

And she was grinning like a fool.

Alucard jostled her shoulder, and she realized the other magicians were descending the platform, filing back toward the corridor from which they’d entered.

She followed the procession out of the arena and across the bridge-tunnel framework—she honestly couldn’t tell what was holding the stadium up, but whatever it was, she seemed to be walking on it—and back to the solid ground of the city’s southern banks.

Once on land, the gaps between the magicians began to stretch as they walked at their own pace toward the tents, and Lila and Alucard found themselves with room to move and speak.

“You still look like a fish,” whispered Lila.

“And you still look like a girl playing dress-up,” snapped Alucard. A few silent strides later he added, “You’ll be happy to know I had a small sum sent back to our friend’s home, claiming it was a competitor’s bonus.”

“How generous,” said Lila. “I’ll pay you back with my
winnings
.”

Alucard lowered his voice. “Jinnar will hold his peace, but there’s nothing I can do about Master Tieren. You’d best avoid him, since he certainly knows what Stasion Elsor looks like.”

Lila waved her hand. “Don’t worry about that.”

“You can’t
kill
the
Aven Essen
.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she shot back. “Besides, Tieren already knows.”

“What?”
His storm-dark eyes narrowed behind his scaled mask. “And since when do you call the London
Aven Essen
by his first name? I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of blasphemy.”

Lila’s mouth quirked. “
Master
Tieren and I have a way of crossing paths.”

“All part of your mysterious past, I’m sure. No, it’s fine, don’t bother telling me anything useful, I’m only your captain and the man who helped you send an innocent man off into saints know what so you could compete in a tournament you’re in no way qualified to be in.”

“Fine,” she said. “I won’t. And I thought you weren’t associating with Stasion Elsor.”

Alucard frowned, his mouth perfectly exposed beneath the mask. He appeared to be sulking.

“Where are we going?” she asked to break the silence.

“The tents,” said Alucard, as if that explained everything. “First match is in an hour.”

Lila summoned the bracket in her mind, but it proved unnecessary, since every scrying board they passed seemed to be showing the grid. Every pairing had a symbol beside it marking the arena—a dragon for the east, a lion for the west, a bird for the one in the center—as well as an order. According to the grid, Kisimyr was set to face off against her own protégé, Losen, Alucard against a Veskan named Otto, Jinnar against a Faroan with a string of syllables. And Lila? She read the name across from Stasion’s.
Sar Tanak.
A crow to the left of the name indicated that Sar was Veskan.

“Any idea which one is Sar?” asked Lila, nodding to the towering blond men and women walking ahead.

“Ah,” said Alucard, gesturing to a figure on the other side of the procession. “
That
would be Sar.”

Lila’s eyes widened as the shape stepped forward.
“That?”
The Veskan stood six feet tall and was built like a rock slab. She was a woman, as far as Lila could tell, her features stony behind her hawkish mask, straw hair scraped into short braids that stuck out like feathers. She looked like the kind of creature to carry an ax.

What had Alucard said about Veskans worshipping mountains?

Sar
was
a mountain.

“I thought magic had nothing to do with physical size.”

“The body is a vessel,” explained Alucard. “The Veskans believe that the larger the vessel, the more power it can hold.”

“Great,”
Lila muttered to herself.

“Cheer up,” said Alucard as they neared another scrying board. He nodded to their names, positioned on opposite sides of the grid. “At least our paths probably won’t cross.”

Lila’s steps slowed. “You mean I have to beat all these people, just for the chance to take you on?”

He tipped his head. “You could have begged that privilege any night aboard the
Spire
, Bard. If you wanted a swift and humiliating death.”

“Oh, is that so?”

They crossed in front of the palace as they chatted, and Lila discovered that, on the far side, in place of the gardens that usually ran from palace wall to copper bridge, stood three tents, great circular things sporting empire colors. Lila was secretly glad the tents weren’t floating, too. She’d found her sea legs, of course, but had enough to worry about in the
Essen Tasch
without the prospect of drowning.

“And be glad you don’t have Kisimyr in your bracket,” continued Alucard as a guard held open the curtained flap that served as the main entrance of their tent. “Or Brost. You got off light.”

“No need to sound so relieved….” said Lila, trailing off as she took in the splendor of the Arnesian tent’s interior. They were standing in a kind of common area at the center, the rest of the tent segmented into twelve pie-like wedges. Fabric billowed down from the peaked ceiling—just the way it did in the royal palace rooms—and everything was soft and plush and trimmed with gold. For the first time in her life, Lila’s awe wasn’t matched by the desire to pocket anything—she was either growing too accustomed to wealth or, more likely, had enough charges on her plate without adding theft.

“Believe it or not,” Alucard whispered, “one of us would like to see you live.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“You always do.” He looked around, spotting his banner on one of the twelve curtained rooms. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a match to prepare for.”

Lila waved. “I’ll be sure to pick up your pennant. It’s the one with a fish on it, right?”

“Har har.”

“Good luck.”

* * *

Lila unfastened her helmet as she passed into the private tent marked by a black flag with crossed knives.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered as she tugged off the mask, the devil’s jaw tangling in her hair. And then she looked up. And stopped. The room was many things—simple, elegant, softened by couches and tables and billowing fabric—but it was
not
empty.

A woman stood in the middle of the space, dressed in white and gold, holding a tray of tea. Lila jumped, fighting the urge to draw a weapon.

“Kers la?”
she snapped, her helmet still resting on her head.

The woman frowned slightly.
“An tas arensor.”

“I don’t need an attendant,” answered Lila, still in Arnesian, and still fighting with the helmet.

The woman set down the tray, came forward, and, in one effortless motion, disentangled the knot, freeing Lila from the devil’s jaws. She lifted the helmet from Lila’s head and set it on the table.

Lila had decided not to thank her for the unwarranted help, but the words still slipped out.

“You’re welcome,” answered the woman.

“I don’t need you,” repeated Lila.

But the woman held her ground. “All competitors are assigned an attendant.”

“Well then,” said Lila brusquely, “I dismiss you.”

“I don’t think you can.”

Lila rubbed her neck. “Do you speak High Royal?”

The woman slid effortlessly into English. “It suits my station.”

“As a servant?”

A smile nicked the corner of the woman’s mouth. “As a priest.”
Of course
, thought Lila. Master Tieren chose the competitors. It made sense that he would supply the attendants, too. “The prince insists that all competitors be provided an attendant, to see to their various needs.”

Lila raised a brow. “Like what?”

The woman shrugged and gestured to a chair.

Lila tensed. There was a
body
in it. It had no head.

The woman crossed to the form, and Lila realized it wasn’t a headless corpse after all, but a set of armor, not polished like the kind worn by the royal guards, but simple and white. Lila found herself reaching for the nearest piece. When she lifted it, she marveled at its lightness. It didn’t seem like it would do much to protect her. She tossed it back onto the chair, but the attendant caught it before it fell.

“Careful,” she said, setting the piece down gently. “The plates are fragile.”

“What good is fragile armor?” asked Lila. The woman looked at her as though she had asked a very stupid question. Lila hated that kind of look.

“This is your first
Essen Tasch
,” she said. It wasn’t an inquiry. Without waiting for confirmation, the woman bent to a chest beside the chair and drew out a spare piece of armor. She held it up for Lila to see, and then threw it against the ground. When it met the floor, the plate cracked, and as it did, there was a flash of light. Lila winced at the sudden brightness; in the flare’s wake, the armor plate was no longer white, but dark grey.

“This is how they keep score,” explained the attendant, retrieving the spent armor. “A full set of armor is twenty-eight pieces. The first magician to break ten wins the match.”

Lila reached down and took up the ruined plate. “Anything else I should know?” she asked, turning it over in her hands.

“Well,” said the priest, “you cannot strike blows with your body, only your elements, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

Lila hadn’t. A trumpet sounded. The first matches were about to begin.

“Do you have a name?” she asked, handing the plate back.

“Ister.”

“Well, Ister …” Lila backed away toward the curtain. “Do you just … stand here until I need you?”

The woman smiled and dug a volume from a pocket. “I have a book.”

“Let me guess, a religious text?”

“Actually,” said Ister, perching on the low couch, “it’s about pirates.”

Lila smiled. The priestess was growing on her.

“Well,” said Lila, “I won’t tell the
Aven Essen
.”

Ister’s smile tilted. “Who do you think gave it to me?” She turned the page. “Your match is at four, Master Stasion. Don’t be late.”

* * *

“Master Kamerov,” came a cheerful voice as Kell stepped into his tent.

“Hastra.”

The young guard’s armor and cape were gone, and in their place he wore a simple white tunic trimmed in gold. A scarf, marked with the same gold trim, wrapped loosely around his face and throat, masking all but his aquiline nose and warm brown eyes. A curl escaped the wrap, and when he pulled the scarf down around his neck, Kell saw that he was grinning.

Saints, he looked young, like a sanctuary novice.

Kell didn’t bother removing his helmet. It was too dangerous, and not only because he could be recognized; the mask was a constant reminder of the ruse. Without its weight, he might forget who he was, and who he wasn’t.

Reluctantly he shed the silver coat and left it on a chair while Hastra fitted the plates of armor over his long-sleeved tunic.

In the distance, trumpets sounded. The first three matches were about to begin. There was no telling how long the opening rounds would take. Some might last an hour. Others would be over in minutes. Kell was the third match in the western arena. His first opponent was a Faroan wind mage named Ost-ra-Nes.