Chapter 1 #2
Their wielders are run through. They fall. They all fall. Their bodies are kicked to the side, then thrown into the flames, before they’ve even taken their final breaths.
Fuck.
The next surge of volunteers is already rushing forward. More metal fractures and breaks.
Panic rises within me like a bitter tide.
My eyes widen at the blood, already spilling rivers across the stone and dirt around it.
But my thumb traces the etchings down the hilt that I carved myself, the curve of a flame that mirrors the one currently melting a pile of flesh and bone. A reminder of why I’m here.
For you. I’m doing this for you.
The hawk screeches a second time. One minute, already gone.
No more standing still. I use the chaos as a cover and duck, slipping through rows, eyes fixed on the glimmering stone. Five rows away. Four—another screech. Three.
Clashing metal sounds to my left. The crowd erupts in mayhem as nothing short of a legion forces itself through its center, curved shields creating an orb-like barrier. They march as one body, inching forward, shoving anyone in their way to the ground.
Only when they reach the platform do the shields part, and out walks a man wearing glimmering armor that mimics the sun itself.
It’s crafted from pure, unfiltered gold. Selling just a piece of it would feed our village for a year. It’s nearly impenetrable, crafted with the utmost care.
I know. It was made in Stellan’s forge.
The crowd murmurs to one another, but the displeasure doesn’t rise above a whisper because Cadoc is the heir of House Bolter, one of the five remaining Great Houses on Stormside. Thousands rely on the house for food, since the Bolters own most of the remaining fertile land on this side.
It isn’t an accident. Every Questral, House Bolter has sent its eldest through the gates, and they have returned with enough magic for another half century of prosperity.
For themselves, at least. They’ve hoarded relics and knowledge that make it easier for their descendants to survive the next quest. Over generations, the house has ballooned in power.
Unlimited access to gold from their House’s mines doesn’t hurt either.
I don’t have a legion. Thanks to Stellan, I don’t need one. He taught me to be strong. Independent. Resilient even through tragedy.
You rise. You rise from the ashes like a phoenix, he told me when I was just a child who wouldn’t stop crying.
Phoenixes aren’t real, I told him.
“Not here,” he said. Not here.
It was the most he ever revealed about the place beyond the gates. The one we’re all now risking our lives to visit.
Starside. The land of magic and immortals. A place that is said to glimmer like diamonds and cut like teeth.
A paradise that is lusted after and feared in equal measure.
Immortals don’t die from disease, they don’t bleed, they don’t need food and water to survive.
Their eyes glitter like gemstones. They are the descendants of the gods.
The gods themselves live on that side, imbuing their land with endless resources.
We kill each other for scraps of that magic.
I’m so close. The crowd is still partially scattered, and I use that to my advantage. The stone glimmers brightly, winking beneath the sunlight. I take another step forward—
And nearly take an arrow in the eye. At the last second, I turn, and crimson spatters as the arrow goes through the skull of the man behind me.
He slumps to the dirt, body crunching the glass of discarded goblets, drinks left by those who have waited days in the same spots to catch a glimpse of the action.
A sword is gripped in his lifeless hand. It’s a lesser metal. Still, a half-starved man from the crowd lunges to take it. Another fights him.
My path has been noticed. I duck—then am slammed to the side as someone pushes past, making a run for the platform. A woman with tan skin and dark hair, cut close to her scalp.
The arrow was meant for her. That’s made clear when another one whistles through the boiling afternoon air, right at her chest. She dips to avoid it, rolls, and pulls her own bow and arrow from her back so quickly, her movements blur.
She doesn’t even stop, or slow. She just aims without looking, fires, and keeps going, before leaping onto the platform.
The archer falls from the top of a nearby building, his body hitting the road with a sickening thud.
A fourth cry.
Just seven minutes left.
I bolt, then almost trip over a body, curled low. The ridges of a spine are clearly visible through thin fabric. A head whips to the side, and—it’s just a child. Clutching a jagged piece of glass as a weapon.
My gaze lifts to the platform. There’s an opening, a gap between king’s guards already dueling other opponents. I should run. I should take my chance. But instead, I find myself crouching.
“Don’t do this,” I tell the child. He looks at me with wide amber eyes. And I know I’m a damned hypocrite as I say, “You won’t make it.”
But his mind is set, just as mine is. “My family is starving. I’m—I’m their only chance.”
I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Do they know you’re here?”
He shakes his head.
I look down at my dagger. “Listen, I—”
Before I can finish, the boy turns and lunges. He makes a run for it.
He’s small. No one even seems to notice. He might actually reach it.
A moment before he does, someone steps into his path. A king’s guard. His mouth turns into a cruel smile, looking down at the boy with relish.
Fifth screech.
I should stay back. Wait for the right moment. It’s the only way I’ll make it.
But when the guard’s silver sword comes crashing down, I throw myself in front of the boy without thinking.
The dagger I’ve tried so hard to hide slips from my sleeve, and I turn it midair, until the cold hilt hits my palm.
I lift it right in front of my face at the last moment.
Close my eyes tightly. The guard’s sword slams against my dagger with bone-rattling force a second later.
And there’s a glorious crash as that silver shatters.
The crowd has gone silent. Slowly, I open my eyes. The guard is staring down at me, mouth agape, as if still not comprehending what just happened. Not understanding how a dagger went up against his silver sword … and won. When he finally notices the metal of my blade, his face pales.
His hilt hits the ground and he staggers back, a coward without his sword. The boy has slipped away, and made it onto the stone. Before I can join him, the crowd stirs back to life, and half a dozen people hurl at me in a wave.
No going back now.
Sixth screech.
A copper blade reaches me first, and I turn, lifting my dagger, my metal just skimming its edge—but it’s enough.
The weapon breaks apart in a spray of splinters, just as a nickel sword aims for my neck.
Cracks spiderweb across its blade already, the mark of either bad welding or too many fights.
Either way, it takes just a brush of my metal to turn it into shards at my feet and some of the people charging forward stop in their tracks.
Rethinking going against my metal. Good.
Just when I think I’m in the clear, a rallying cry sounds right behind me.
The man from before, with the wandering hands, is struggling to lift his sword up as he lunges at me, sharp edge trained right at my spine.
I don’t think. I remember how those hands slipped down my body, and—
I cut them clean off. The Starside steel goes right through skin and bone. The blade glimmers even more than usual, as if savoring the blood. His heavy sword falls to the ground, fingers still curled around it. The man screams. A few people gasp.
Seventh cry.
When I raise my blade toward the crowd again, no one moves. Even the king’s guards look hesitant to face me, now that they’ve seen my metal best theirs. They each only get one sword. Without it, they’re dead.
My chest rises and falls wildly as I take a step back, inching myself toward the platform. Maybe I’ll actually make it. I finally turn to jump.
And a man who looks like he was sired by the towering Dagger Mountains themselves blocks my path.
Shit.
Pagnus Ender, from House Ender, known for their magnificent size, rumored to have gods in their blood lines, takes a step toward me, and the very ground seems to tremble.
I catch my horrified expression in his gleaming bronze armor, the top of my head not even reaching his stomach, his blade nearly the size of my body.
His house has eight heirs, and half are expected to make the quest this time.
I see them now, positioned at the other corners of the platform, each sporting their house’s metal.
Already culling the potential recruits, alongside the guards, which aren’t even trying to cut them down, likely from orders from the king, who has partnerships with all the Great Houses.
Of course, he’s the one person standing between me and the platform. Of fucking course.
I take a deep breath. Steady myself. Take the stance I’ve fallen into as easily as sleep for years. Prepare for a blow that might be my last.
But Pagnus Ender just looks down at me and smirks. He steps to the side.
Something worse than fear sinks through my chest.
He doesn’t even think me worthy of his killing blow. He doesn’t think I have a chance at surviving the Culling.
Pride and anger battle behind my ribs, but I shove them down and opt for gratitude. I will do anything to make it onto that platform, through the Culling, and through those gates.
I step past him. I’m almost onto the glimmering stone.
That’s when Pagnus seems to change his mind. Maybe he’s decided he wants to claim my dagger. In a flash, I’m blinded by sun reflected off bronze, his sword arcing right toward my head.