“We need a new approach. Almost a third of the contenders have been eliminated after only two trials. We’ll be fortunate to have enough people for the final trial at this rate, let alone worry about rankings.” <mark>Corbyn</mark> looks at each of us as he continues, “Survival is now paramount. We must stay focused and concentrate on getting through the next trial instead of seeking a higher rank. We must change our approach until we know there are enough competitors left for rankings to matter again.”
I devour a sausage, enjoying the salty flavor despite my anxiety. This morning, I’m sitting down to a full breakfast with the <mark>Izadeonians</mark> instead of grabbing an apple on the go, as I usually do.
<mark>Bryn</mark> growls, “We also need a reliable communication method like the <mark>Jamshahis</mark> have. <mark>Corvys</mark>, <mark>Cyrias</mark>, and the others wouldn’t have been tossed out if we could communicate faster.”
He’s been in a foul mood all morning. The other <mark>Izadeonians</mark> didn’t return before midnight, leaving <mark>Bryn</mark>, <mark>Daryan</mark>, and <mark>Corbyn</mark>, the only three left in the trials from their fellowship.
I feel bad for him, but I’m not exactly having a tea party myself. I just declared war on the <mark>Ahiras</mark>, a decision that felt incredibly satisfying at the moment but now leaves a lingering sense of dread. Defying my senior <mark>Ahiras</mark> goes against everything I’ve been taught for the past eleven years. The trials have barely begun, and they are already taking their toll on loyalties and alliances.
<mark>Daryan</mark> nods solemnly. “This isn’t a child play anymore. We’d be back home smelling roses on the hills if it weren’t for <mark>Arien’s</mark> quick thinking. We need to get serious and devise a plan that doesn’t involve running around like headless chickens with swords.”
We’re down to three <mark>Izadeonians</mark> now, while the <mark>Jamshahis</mark> and <mark>Aramisis</mark> are still strutting around with a full fellowship of nine. The game has also shown its true nature, at last. The memory of the <mark>Martsymen</mark> returning with two lifeless <mark>Maravanians</mark> last night haunts me. All through the night, I couldn’t shake the image of the young man with an arrow protruding from his throat.
<mark>Corbyn</mark> grumbles, “Aye. This trial also revealed our vulnerability in moving around the fortress. We need to know its layout like the back of our hand.” His gaze shifts to the table, where his half-eaten breakfast sits beside a map. Turns out, he’s been secretly mapping the entire castle for the past ten days.
<mark>Corbyn’s</mark> map is a masterpiece, a tangle of lines and symbols revealing the castle’s secrets. Locked rooms are marked with ominous iron nails, while open passages are drawn with different colors. <mark>Corbyn’s</mark> sharp eyes have even uncovered several hidden passageways snaking across the parchment like veins. He’s clearly a cartography master, but his furrowed brow suggests he’s not satisfied yet. “I shall dedicate more time to completing the map,”
“I’ll try to work my charm on the tight-lipped <mark>Martsymen</mark>.” <mark>Bryn</mark> offers, “They may be masters of secrecy, but a shared tankard of ale can loosen even the stiffest lips.” He leans in. “Speaking of ale, I heard whispers of a secret revelry in the western ward tonight. Perhaps I can sweet-talk our way in and uncover some juicy gossip.”
<mark>Daryan</mark> nods, “The <mark>Maravanians</mark> spill secrets like a leaky <mark>wineskin</mark>. I’ve also managed to forge bonds with a few <mark>Eyrians</mark> over our shared hatred of mountain beasts. Misery loves company, as they say. And as for the <mark>Hamden</mark> and <mark>Kish</mark>, we know all there is to know about them, which is to say, precisely nothing worth knowing!”
“Information is valuable, but allies are crucial for survival,” <mark>Corbyn</mark> states.
<mark>Bryn</mark> adds, “Especially now that we’re down to a mere three.”
<mark>Daryan</mark> interjects, “Four,” nodding towards me as if we are lifelong comrades rather than recent acquaintances.
<mark>Bryn</mark>, amused, clarifies, “True, but I was referring to the <mark>Izadeonian</mark> contingent as a whole, not our expanded circle.” He winks at me.
But <mark>Corbyn</mark> tempers the budding fellowship. “Let’s not get too comfortable. These trials are fickle; alliances can shift like sand. Today’s friend could be tomorrow’s foe.”
I tense, but <mark>Daryan</mark> dismisses <mark>Corbyn’s</mark> concerns and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Nonsense! We <mark>Izadeonians</mark> value loyalty and recognize a worthy companion when we see one.”
<mark>Corbyn</mark>, however, remains unconvinced. “The <mark>Ahiras</mark>, as <mark>Arien</mark> mentioned, seem determined to remain in the competition for now, but victory isn’t their priority. We’ll leave them to their own devices. The real threat lies elsewhere. The <mark>Jamshahis</mark>, <mark>Aramis</mark>, and <mark>Eyrians</mark> still boast significant numbers. We need to forge new alliances if we hope to survive.”
<mark>Bryn</mark> proposes, “The <mark>Maravan</mark> and <mark>Hamden</mark> contenders are our best bet. The <mark>Jamshahis</mark> are too numerous to need allies, and the <mark>Aramisis</mark> have already aligned themselves with the <mark>Ahiras</mark>, all practically worshiping their High Lord’s son even though he belongs to a different fellowship. The <mark>Gajaris</mark> are lone wolves, and as for the <mark>Kishis</mark>…Well, <mark>Daryan</mark> might have scorched that bridge last night, eh?”
<mark>Daryan</mark> snorts, unrepentant. “Rightfully so! We wouldn’t be here celebrating if I hadn’t chosen <mark>Arien</mark>.”
Last night and this morning have been bizarre. <mark>Daryan’s</mark> praise for my quick thinking feels strange yet satisfying. <mark>Corbyn</mark> and <mark>Bryn’s</mark> gratitude and <mark>Daryan’s</mark> constant reminders of my contribution are soothing remedies for the cold shoulder I got from the <mark>Ahiras</mark>. It’s unfamiliar and sometimes uncomfortable, but I’m starting to warm up to it.
<mark>Corbyn</mark>, however, remains pragmatic. “Choosing <mark>Arien</mark> was wise. But burning bridges isn’t. We need allies, not enemies. Isolating ourselves is dangerous, as the last trial showed.”
<mark>Daryan</mark>, under <mark>Corbyn’s</mark> stern gaze, relents. “Alright, alright. I didn’t anticipate last night’s twist. A quick decision had to be made. I’ll find them and apologize.”
Turning to me, <mark>Corbyn</mark> inquires, “What’s your plan going forward?”
“I’ve been scouring the library, searching for anything related to <mark>Martsy</mark> and the trials. There’s little to be found, but maybe some hidden secret can give us an advantage.”
<mark>Corbyn’s</mark> face slightly lights up, “That’s a plan I can get behind! Mapping this labyrinth is a full-time task, and any insights you unearth from the library can be valuable.”
Relieved to have a clear task in their group, I nod enthusiastically. “Sounds like a perfect division of labor!”Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
<mark>Daryan</mark> chimes in, “Don’t forget the importance of steel, <mark>Arien</mark>. Your mind is sharp, but your sword arm needs some work. We saw how quickly things can turn dangerous. So, while hitting the books, make sure you’re hitting the training yard as well. Ditch the archery. You’ve got that down. Focus on what needs improvement.”
<mark>Bryn</mark>, surprisingly gentle for a man of his size, offers, “I’ll take her under my wing.”
I gulp, imagining sparring with the giant, but <mark>Bryn</mark> seems oblivious to my apprehension. “Meet me this afternoon,” he says with a confident grin. “We’ll make a warrior out of it in no time.”
The rest of the day, I’m in a whirlwind of emotions. The thrill of passing the second trial and securing a spot in the top nine wars with the fear of future challenges. I keep reminding myself that things are looking up! I’m currently holding the third-place spot with a solid 13, trailing only slightly behind <mark>Eshavan’s</mark> 17 and <mark>Maleed’s</mark> 14. Even better, my new <mark>Izadeonian</mark> allies are also ranking high – <mark>Daryan</mark> is tied for fourth spot with <mark>Olanna</mark> at 12 points, and <mark>Bryn</mark> and <mark>Corbyn</mark> are hot on the heels of the other <mark>Jamshahi</mark> women, <mark>Samira</mark>. We may be outnumbered, but with this crew’s strength and smarts, I feel more confident than ever about my chances in this competition.
But my newfound allies, <mark>Daryan</mark>, <mark>Bryn</mark>, and <mark>Corbyn</mark>, are a source of anxiety as much as they are of comfort. Their acceptance feels like a warm embrace. But I can’t shake the feeling that this sudden camaraderie is fragile, a feeble house built on the shifting sands of competition. I’ve learned the hard way that opening myself to others is a dangerous indulgence.
I’ve been hurt before, approaching others only to be rejected. With my own father, my mentor, and the girls in the Academy. I can’t risk that again, not when the stakes are so high. These new companions are ultimately my rivals. I need to focus on winning rather than on forming friendships that could easily shatter, especially in this cutthroat game where alliances can crumble in an instant. So, I tell myself to focus on the prize, to keep my emotions in check, and to remember that I’m here to win, not to make friends.
By the early afternoon, as I drag myself toward the training ground, I’m mentally and emotionally drained. The prospect of training feels overwhelming, but I know it’s crucial, especially with <mark>Bryn’s</mark> generous offer to train me. When will I ever get a chance to train with a mountain of a man?
Calm down, <mark>Arien</mark>. Focus!
I’ve always been prone to anxiety, battling the shadows of terror attacks that once plagued my life. But through the years, I’ve developed inner strength, erecting barriers to shield myself from fear and doubt. Now, more than ever, I must draw on those reserves, stay focused, and remain steadfast in my pursuit of victory. I have to push through the exhaustion, the anxiety, and the fear. I have to train, hone my skills, and become the warrior I need to be to survive these trials. So, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the challenges ahead, and remind myself that I’m stronger than I think. I’ve overcome adversity before, and I’ll do it again.
Lost in contemplation, I deviate from my usual path. Instead of the well-trodden route from the inner ward to the southern ward, I venture behind the kitchens, past the pantries and storage rooms, and down a secluded hallway.
As I reach a wider space before the door leading to the southern ward, I stumble upon a scene that instantly raises my suspicion. <mark>Morteez</mark> and another <mark>Myran</mark> man are huddled in the shadows, furtively smoking something that looks suspiciously like pilfered kitchen herbs. The air is heavy with a pungent, unfamiliar aroma, and their shifty glances only fuel my alarm. But before I can find my way out, <mark>Morteez</mark> spots me.
His face twists into a sneer. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the traitorous <mark>Ahira</mark>. Fraternizing with the servants after <mark>cozying</mark> up to those lowly eastern dogs? Or did you lose your way, little lamb?” He practically licks his lips when he says “lamb,” sending a shudder of disgust down my arms.
I stay silent, opting to ignore and walk past him. But it seems that my dismissal is angering him more than any retort.
“Cat got your tongue? Last night, you were squawking like a crow.” He leans closer, his voice dripping with venom. “I told <mark>Maleed</mark> it’s that <mark>Gajari</mark> blood in you, diluting even the noble sorcery in your bones. Even magic can’t wash away the dirt that runs in <mark>Gajari</mark> veins.”
Nine <mark>hells</mark>, the arrogance of this puffed-up peacock! I may not have given two copper coins for my absent <mark>Gajari</mark> mother, but to hear him spew such bile about the <mark>Gajaris</mark>, the very people he and my own father rule over against their will, ignites a fire in my belly.
My fingers itch to unleash a bolt of lightning and singe his eyebrows off, but I am not about to break the rules and get myself tossed out of the trials. <mark>Morteez</mark>, though, clearly has a few loose ends, or maybe that herb he is smoking has addled his brain. He sways like a drunken sailor, eyes glazed over, words slurring like a bard after a flagon too many. I try to sidestep him, but he blocks my path.
“<mark>Gajaris</mark> should know their place,” he mumbles with a voice thick with menace. “You don’t just ignore your betters and walk away.”
I take a deep breath, summoning my sorcery, hands open and ready. “And what will you do about it? Make me?” My voice is steady despite the rage and fear boiling inside me. “Perhaps you need reminding that harming a fellow contender is forbidden between trials.”
Let him make the first move. I’d be waiting. And he’d learn that this “little lamb” has teeth.
<mark>Morteez</mark> let out a bark of laughter. “Lucky for me, then, that no one will witness our little… disagreement in this secret corner, aye?” He slithers closer. His breath is hot and reeks of that cursed herb.
Every instinct screams at me to run and vanish into the maze of hallways like a shadow. But I stand my ground, chin held high. “I doubt there’s a corner in this whole castle beyond the <mark>Martsy’s</mark> beady eyes. And lest you’ve forgotten, I’m an <mark>Ahira</mark>. Touch me, and I’ll turn you into a bloody stain under my foot.”
His smirk only widens, and he keeps getting closer. Rage is quickly turning to panic. Not because I can’t defend myself, but because if I blast him with sorcery first, I’d be the one accused of breaking the rules.
Is this his game? To goad me into attacking so he can play the victim and toss me out of the competition? Maybe he isn’t as addled as I thought—the cunning bastard.
If I have to use sorcery, it has to be in self-defense. Then I have to pray that <mark>Martsy</mark> believes my word against his. But what if they don’t? It would be my word against two <mark>Myrans</mark>. Should I run? Scream for help? Anything but resorting to violence?
My mind races as I step back. Then, with a sickening thud, my back hit the cold stone wall. Trapped. <mark>Morteez</mark> looms over me, and the other <mark>Myran</mark> blocks the hallway. I have one choice now: take the hit, then retaliate. At least a bruised face would be proof of his attack.
Nine <mark>hells</mark>, why didn’t I run? Now, I should let him make the first move. I’d be waiting. And then, it will be sweet, sweet revenge.
I brace myself, summoning my sorcery, waiting for the blow that I can only hope wouldn’t crack my jaw. Just as my knees start to wobble, a voice booms from behind <mark>Morteez</mark>, “What in the nine <mark>hells</mark> is going on here?”
<mark>Morteez</mark> freezes, and I take out a sigh of relief. An <mark>Martsyman</mark> is standing in the doorway leading to the southern ward, his face filled with suspicion.
<mark>Morteez</mark>, caught like a rat in a trap, plasters that slimy smirk back on his face. “Just a friendly chatter, <mark>ser</mark>. Nothing to see.”
Oh, there is plenty to see, you weasel. And I have a feeling this is just the beginning of his menace. I sidestep <mark>Morteez’s</mark> encroaching form and nearly sprint past him and the <mark>Martsyman</mark> as my heart thunders in my chest. Once in the open bailey, I lean against the cool stone wall, taking a deep breath.
“That was a close call, huh?” A cheerful voice startles me. Lila, the <mark>Kishi</mark> girl, stands nearby with a playful grin on her face.
“Did you see everything?” I ask, disappointment forming in my stomach. If only I’d known there was a witness, I would’ve gladly turned that brute into a rodent. But then, would she have testified in my favor? My high rank on the <mark>leaderboard</mark> makes me a better opponent to eliminate than the oaf.
Immediately, shame replaces disappointment when she replies, “I saw it all. That’s why I called the <mark>Martsyman</mark>.”
I stare at her, speechless. Why would she help me? <mark>Daryan’s</mark> betrayal, for my sake, had cost her fellowship dearly. Only four <mark>Kishis</mark> stand in the game now after four more didn’t return with their golden stones before midnight. Yet, despite that, she’d come to my aid.
“What? I may not like <mark>Ahiras</mark> much, but you seem different than them. And nobody deserves to be cornered by those slimy southern <mark>Myrans</mark>.” Her grin widens. “Just remember, you owe me.”
With a wink and a playful wave, she vanishes out of the southern ward, leaving me stunned. It isn’t until her figure disappears that I realize I never thanked her for her intervention.