Chapter 7
The soldier and I waited side by side as the last competitor in our group took his turn and failed to hit all the bullseyes. Only the two of us remained.
I looked at the balcony where Lord Warwick, Atlas and Torgrin conversed. They were deciding on a tiebreaker. While I waited, I finally found the courage to search the crowd for Cillian, and it was as if the intensity of his stare drew me to him.
He was sitting on a bench a few rows back, and I couldn’t quite read his expression, but he gave me a subtle nod.
There was a flurry of activity in the arena. They had decided on the tiebreaker. I watched as men set up two targets at the furthest end of the arena. Then, both the soldier and I were told to dismount and only bring our bows.
We stood side by side, and they gave us a single arrow each. I was now facing away from Cillian and those on the balcony above. I could feel their eyes boring into my back, which had become uncomfortably hot under the armour.
A soldier approached me with a blindfold, and dread filled me. He gestured for me to take my helmet off.
I shook my head.
‘Take it off,’ he ordered.
I shook my head again, refusing to do as he asked. He looked up to the balcony behind me for guidance. Thankfully, those above just wanted to see this tiebreaker go ahead, and the soldier allowed me to keep my helmet on.
The crowd laughed as he tied the blindfold over my helmet visor. I waited unseeing while the soldier I was competing against had his blindfold tied. I guessed he had taken his helmet off because there was no more laughing from our excited audience.
Behind the blackness of the blindfold, I readied my bow and waited for the call. A slight breeze grazed across my bare fingers, gripping the arrow in place.
Atlas’s voice penetrated the darkness. ‘Draw.’
I pulled my elbow back until my hand aligned with my ear. It took strength to keep a bowstring taut, and all the muscles in my shoulder and back laboured to keep my bow steady.
‘Release!’
In my mind’s eye, I visualised the iron tip of my arrow piercing the centre of the target. I released my arrow with a steady exhale, feeling a slight tingle in my fingertips as the arrow left my bow.
There was a roar so loud there was no mistake that one of us had won. I tugged off my blindfold.
Our arrows had both hit the target, but only mine had hit the bullseye. I looked beside me to see the face of the man who almost knocked me out of the tournament. He was looking away from me at someone in the crowd.
I froze when he finally turned in my direction – it was the young man who’d retrieved Warwick’s sword from the shop yesterday – the same one who had watched me turn barrels to ash.
Of all the soldiers, he was the one to almost best me?
I rotated on the spot, searching for Cillian. With a broad smile, he clapped and cheered with the rest of Murus. A feeling of triumph washed over me for the first time.
?
The barracks felt empty with half the competitors gone. I rested beside Nightmare as the remaining competitors’ numbers were called up, and only the winners returned. The older, disciplined man I had observed earlier was the only other Murus man to get through the archery round.
I listened to the soldiers’ conversations while I waited for the next event.
They all seemed sure one of two men would be the victor.
First was a young, handsome man with ebony skin and blue eyes.
He was slight in build – but an expert swordsman from the talk I overheard.
The other, they treated with more wariness and fear.
He was a giant; the biggest man I had ever seen.
His countenance was mean, and he enjoyed making the other soldiers squirm in his presence.
While most of the remaining competitors were full of praise for each other’s talents, he spent his time mocking their size or technique.
He pushed his oily dark hair back from his face and jutted his chin at me. ‘Oy, you, why don’t you take off that helmet?’
From the corner of my visor, I saw the Murus man standing beside me shift his weight.
‘What? Do you have to hide how ugly you are?’ the giant mocked.
No-one laughed. With a face like that, he had some nerve calling anyone ugly. To my surprise, the Murus man stepped in front of me.
‘Leave them alone,’ he said as he dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword.
I didn’t need anyone to defend me. Perhaps being the only ones who weren’t in Torgrin and Atlas’s little army made him feel like we were comrades in arms?
‘Save it for the arena, old man,’ sneered the ugly giant.
The tension built as we waited. No-one was talking or laughing anymore.
A soldier with a list of our numbers came forward, drawing everyone’s attention. He informed us it was to be a series of simple one-on-one sword fights, with each of the winning competitors going through to the next round.
My heart sank when my number and colour, along with the Murus man, were called. It was wise for Torgrin and Atlas to put the two participants who weren’t soldiers against each other. It ensured that only one of us would make it through. I didn’t want to fight him after his kindness, but I would.
They had cleared the arena of targets and the two of us stood with our swords at the ready, with hundreds of eyes waiting and watching.
I let the man from Murus take the first swing, which I sidestepped quickly. He was testing how fast I moved, and now he knew. Even with a full suit of armour on, I was fast.
We parried a few more times, and I found him quick on his feet. But he dragged his left leg a little. He either had hurt it during the archery round, or it was an old injury he was trying to hide.
He struck high with his sword, and I met it easily with mine.
I felt his determination to win through his blade.
I let him believe I was weakening, and he took advantage by bearing more of his weight on his sword.
It was exactly what I wanted him to do. I extracted my sword and spun out from under him.
The quick withdrawal made him lose his balance, and he stumbled forward.
His mistake made it easy to kick his leg out from under him.
Despite his hard landing, he rolled onto his back swiftly, but it was to no avail.
I had my sword pointed at his heaving chest before he could rise.
I waited patiently for him to concede. Knowing he had been defeated, he released his sword and tapped the ground. There was a roar from the crowd. I removed my sword and reached out my hand to him. He took it without hesitation.
He lifted his helmet off and tucked it under his arm. ‘Good luck, Swordmaker,’ he said so only I could hear him.
My whole body went tense. ‘How did you know?’ I murmured through my visor.
‘I’ve seen you ride that enormous beast of yours through the city enough times to recognise the horse and its rider.’ Bloody Nightmare was a liability, it seemed. It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone other than Cillian would connect her to me.
‘Your secrets are safe with me,’ he whispered.
Secrets?
‘Thank you for saving my wife and daughter yesterday.’
I watched, dumbfounded, as he walked out of the arena.
I waited in the barracks for the other competitors to finish. Nightmare was drinking from a water trough, and someone had brought her hay to eat.
There was a commotion as the last sword fight finished. They carried a young soldier back through the doors who was covered in blood and missing an arm. He was rushed past and into the barracks, where a curly-haired healer waited.
I looked back to the arena door to see who had cut off his comrade’s limb. I was not surprised to see the ugly giant soldier who had tried to get me to take off my helmet. I felt even more disgust as he cheered and waved the dismembered limb like a trophy as he walked past us.
‘Hey! You forgot your arm!’ he taunted as he threw it at the open barracks door. His laughter cut through the somber silence from the rest of us.
There were five of us left. The soldier known as the best swordsman had won his fight easily, not even breaking a sweat on his smooth forehead. Then there was the ugly giant and two soldiers I hadn’t taken notice of until now.
One was slightly older than the others, with a bushy red beard and a balding head. He certainly didn’t like the giant and was keeping his distance. The other soldier appeared to be the giant’s friend, as he was the only one willing to sit and listen to his blustering.
There was no pre-compiled list of numbers this time. Instead, a soldier drew numbers from a pouch. The man with the red beard and the ugly giant would fight each other first.
The ugly giant’s friend had his number drawn next. Either I or the expert swordsman would fight him.
The soldier pulled out number twelve.
The expert swordsman grinned – he would get through to the final three automatically. He sat on a bench and stretched out his legs while the rest of us waited by the door.
Ugly Giant won his fight, but thankfully, Red Beard kept all his limbs. They half-carried and half-dragged Red Beard to the barrack’s infirmary.
I was about to enter the arena when I heard Ugly Giant call out, ‘Take him out, cousin!’
His cousin? I looked at my opponent. Come to think of it, they both had that same dark, greasy hair and unpleasant leer.
I was instantly pleased by this discovery. I was going to enjoy making Ugly Giant’s cousin lose.
He was strong but slow, and his swordsmanship was lacking finesse. He swung repeatedly, and I easily manoeuvered away from him. As he became more winded, he started getting frustrated.
With a quick dodge of his clumsy sword, I drew my own upwards with all my strength and knocked his helmet clear off his head.