《Rise of the Second Son [Epic Progression Fantasy, Gladiator LitRPG]》


 Chapter 1: The Apex

    ¡°I must say, I haven¡¯t been impressed by the [Gladiators] of Illd¡¯Or. Put a sword in my hand and I¡¯d cut them all down like vines.¡±


    The voice was that of Ellsworth, nephew to the Warden of Aonenbridge. His sentiment had remained the same all night, but Finn had long since learned the value of sifting through his cousin¡¯s words for meaning. The flicker in Ellsworth¡¯s eyes, the flame that burned hotter each time the trumpets sounded, told more of the truth. Finn opened his mouth to respond, but his words were swept away by the roar of the crowd as a new silhouette appeared at the tunneled entrance to the pits, and a fresh [Gladiator] rushed onto the sands below.


    His name was Dekker. He was local, the first [Gladiator] of Aonenbridge to ascend to the [Sand Grade]. At nearly seven feet tall, he loomed as a colossus¡ªa veritable mountain of a man, down to the painted brilliance of his face and chest. Styled in the proud verdant colors of Aonenbridge, even his beard bore shades of green upon green, hanging thick, matted, and mossy. He carried a large wooden shield in his right hand, and a warhammer in his left. The shield had recently been bronzed with the crest of the Allied Cities of Emelandra, and Finn recalled the hammer being used to reduce stone walls to rubble and dust over the past year as the pits were restored. He shuddered to think what such a weapon could do to a man.


    Dekker¡¯s tether followed into the pit unobtrusively. Already a small man, he was made to seem even smaller through the comparative bulk of his master. From the Apex, the supreme vantage point in the arena, Finn struggled to see any defining features beyond the tether¡¯s generic pale skin and chalk-white eyes.


    The Illd¡¯Orians came next¡ªmaster first, tether behind. The Illd¡¯Orian tether had the same pale skin and eyes, but the first thing Finn noticed were the scars. There did not seem to be an inch of exposed skin which had not been cut, healed over, cut again, in a seemingly unending cycle over years. He appeared scarcely human, a shadowy imitation, and a stark contrast to his master, the [Gladiator]. Slender and lithe, dressed in pale golden hues, the Illd¡¯Orian [Gladiator] would have fit in at a royal court and seemed incongruous on the sands. Not a single strand of his hair stood out of place. His skin was unblemished, his goatee fashionably twirled and sharpened to a point. He carried twin daggers, more akin to cleavers than swords, and no shield. A chorus of boos rang out around the arena at the sight of this quintessential Illd¡¯Orian arrogance.


    Ellsworth snorted. He wheeled around in his seat, his [Warrior] braid accidentally whipping Finn across the face. Finn scowled and followed his cousin¡¯s gaze. Behind them sat the other nobles and [Noblemen] of Aonenbridge, their faces flushed with the gift of Illd¡¯Orian wine. Though the histories would describe the Aonens as a rigid people, they now sat smoking, gambling, and otherwise drunk on a lust for violence that the night had only begun to quench.


    The tethers at their masters¡¯ sides stood solemnly, and most appeared faded, washed out. Finn had wondered many times if Omri¡ªhis own tether since the age of four¡ªwould one day begin to fade in the same way, but it had always been difficult to imagine. Although Omri was only two years older than Finn, his unwavering air of youthfulness was considered irregular for a tether.


    ¡°There he is, the little rat,¡± Ellsworth whispered at Finn¡¯s side.


    Lucien, Third [Mage] of Illd¡¯Or and one of only two Illd¡¯Orians present in the Apex¡ªthe rest of their company scattered among the local crowd in the stands¡ªhad stepped out for a moment and was now returning to his seat. He froze when he noticed Ellsworth staring at him. He met the glare with disdain, but, for what felt like the first time that night, did not rise to the goading. Adjusting the glowing scepter at his side, he sat, eyes fixed resolutely on the pit below.


    ¡°Prick,¡± Ellsworth muttered. Then, turning back, he clapped Finn on the shoulder. ¡°My money is safe on this bout, little lord. I¡¯ve seen Dekker turn a man¡¯s head into soup. His ascension to the [Sand Grade] tells us all we need to know. This one¡¯s a clear victory for Aonenbridge.¡±


    Finn wondered if he should remind Ellsworth that the opponent was also of the [Sand Grade], and, judging by the scars his tether carried, had been for some time. Dekker was a powerful man, but the Illd¡¯Orians were trained and had come prepared to slice through powerful men, which they had been doing all night with apparent ease. He chose to stay silent. Losses, in any case, both in the pit and his purse, would do little to quell Ellsworth¡¯s pride.


    It¡¯s the wine, Finn thought to Omri. Wine feeds patriotism.


    Omri chuckled.


    Dekker was pacing in the center of the pit and seemed on the verge of salivation as he eyed his opponent. His tether had already been dismissed and stood waiting in their corner. The Illd¡¯Orian¡ªlanguid and unhurried¡ªstood aside for a time, exchanging final thoughts with his own tether. With their heads brought together, nearly touching, Finn noted that master and tether had an extremely similar build, like brothers¡ªtwins, even¡ªand briefly wondered if the two had been related. Before, of course.


    The crowd had begun growing restless, a new round of boos setting in, and finally the Illd¡¯Orian dismissed his tether with a wave of the hand and approached his adversary, meeting Dekker¡¯s glower with a faint flash of amusement. The two men bowed stiffly, then turned to face the Apex.


    Lord Yoquin, youngest son of Duke Lonnais of Illd¡¯Or, lowered his cup and approached the balcony which overlooked the pit. His tether, a frail-looking man of middle years, followed silently, a look of concentration on his face.


    Yoquin raised his arms wide, and the tether stiffened.


    [Silence] began to spread through the arena, the sound of five hundred Aonenbridge locals gradually reduced to a hum. With an air of satisfaction, Yoquin began to speak.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Fine people of Aonenbridge!¡± he called. His voice was magnified so as to reach the farthest corners of the arena. His tether¡¯s expression of concentration slowly began transforming into one of discomfort, a bead of perspiration crawling down the side of his face. ¡°I thank you for the warm welcome I have received tonight, and congratulate you on a fantastic inaugural event as brave [Gladiators] from the town of Aonenbridge and the city of Illd¡¯Or christen the new Aonenbridge pits with their blood and valor!¡±


    The hum of the crowd was becoming audible again. Yoquin¡¯s [silence] had already begun to wane. His tether grimaced, then steadied himself with a hand on the balustrade. The [silence] took hold again.


    ¡°I only hope,¡± Yoquin said, raising his voice louder, ¡°that this bit of divertissement has, even for a moment, succeeded in taking your minds off certain¡ªdare I say¡ªtragedies that have plagued your town over the past few months. Aonenbridge¡¯s pain is Illd¡¯Or¡¯s pain, I can assure you. I also hope,¡± he continued without pause, ¡°that the representative gladiatorial class of Illd¡¯Or have lived up to your expectations. They were all, as you might know, hand-picked by my father, the Duke Lonnais of Illd¡¯Or, as an apology for his absence tonight, which he sorely regrets. I can offer you one more contest as consolation for my father¡¯s absence: the much anticipated main event!¡±


    The crowd began to drown out Lord Yoquin¡¯s words again, with the night officially reaching its zenith. Few seemed to care about the absence of Duke Lonnais of Illd¡¯Or, and fewer still, Finn thought harshly, seemed in dire need of help forgetting tragedies plaguing Aonenbridge. He glanced across the Apex, to the dais where his sister-in-law was seated, surrounded by her usual group of attendants, and saw that Lady Arabella¡¯s jaw was clenched. His eyes were drawn to the empty seat at her side, an open space which, by her command, was to remain vacant, as it now had for nearly six months. Let Zendar¡¯s absence stand out like a sore thumb, she seemed to be saying. Let none forget.


    Finn felt a tightening in his chest, a twisting.


    A sudden wave of [silence] tore him from his reverie. Lord Yoquin had raised his arms higher and order had immediately been restored. An impressive display of power, although Finn was sure he¡¯d seen Yoquin¡¯s tether sway.


    Yoquin held out a hand behind him, aware that the time for speeches was over.


    ¡°Bring me the flame!¡± he called.


    A [servant] shuffled across the floor and handed Yoquin a gilded torch, which he held high. The crowd watched, transfixed, their attention drawn more effectively than it had been by his [silence].


    The brimming pool of murky liquid beneath the Apex, the source which fed the ducts lining the pit, seemed to simmer, as if a sentient response to the closeness of the flame.


    The [Gladiators], Finn saw, stood frozen, the grips on their weapons firm. Their tethers had stiffened, ready.


    ¡°It is my great honor, ladies and gentlemen,¡± Yoquin continued, gesturing with his free hand to the larger of the two men, ¡°to introduce the first of our combatants: the pride of Aonenbridge, Dekker, the Sandstorm!¡±


    The Sandstorm? Finn thought to Omri.


    New name to honor his ascension to the [Sand Grade], I presume, Omri thought back.


    Dekker had raised his hammer high above his head and was leading an infectious chant which called for the castration of his opponent. Large trails of spittle spilled from his mouth and landed on his bristly beard. The crowd continued edging past the barriers of [silence], and this time Finn was sure he¡¯d seen Lord Yoquin¡¯s tether sway. Lord Yoquin seemed not to notice.


    ¡°Yes, the Sandstorm is a formidable foe,¡± Yoquin called, once Dekker lowered his hammer and a semblance of order was restored, ¡°but let us not be so quick to disregard his opponent, a veteran, formerly of the [Sky Grade], currently riding a sixteen-fight win-streak and undefeated in the [Sand Grade]: Ser Capulet, the Crimson King!¡±


    Ser Capulet remained expressionless, his concentration unaffected by the boos that followed. Lord Yoquin lifted his remaining [silence] with a flourish of the hand, and unrestrained pandemonium erupted without warning, causing a few in the Apex to jump. His tether stood motionless for a moment, an extinguished, shadowy look in his eyes.


    Yoquin turned from the balustrade and approached Lady Arabella. Her attendants made way for him. She watched him come, stone-faced.


    ¡°My lady,¡± he said to her, in a gentle voice. ¡°To honor your husband, and to honor you, the flame is yours. We wait for your benediction.¡±


    ¡°They speak about your brother as if he¡¯s dead,¡± Ellsworth snarled.


    Finn did not respond. He watched Lady Arabella. He thought he saw a moment of doubt, a shade of hesitation before she took the torch from Yoquin¡¯s hands, but when the warm glow of the flame shone before her eyes, he could see that it had done nothing to thaw the ice within. A memory resurfaced then, the echo of a young woman who radiated warmth, whose eyes would sparkle and crinkle at the edges with her laughter, a laughter which would cascade through the halls of Aonen Keep like the sweetest music. But there was none of that joy in her face now. It all seemed to have been wiped away, as she rested her gaze on Lord Yoquin. And then, from across the room, on Finn.


    Finn flinched.


    The twisting in his chest was back, like a white-hot knife. He noticed other eyes following Lady Arabella¡¯s, Lord Yoquin¡¯s among them. The lord of Illd¡¯Or¡¯s expression was blank, then curious, as he stared at Lord Finric, youngest son of the Warden of Aonenbridge.


    The younger brother of Lord Zendarus, who had been taken.


    Finn steadied himself in his seat and turned away, trying to focus on something else, anything else. The [Gladiators] on the sands were a blur. The crowd, who hadn¡¯t yet noticed a lapse in proceedings, who could not know what it meant, were still in a frenzy as if from a world away.


    She blames me, Finn thought to Omri. He hadn¡¯t meant to say it, but the words escaped him as if torn from his chest.


    No, Omri thought back. Don¡¯t say that. She just¡­


    In his head, he heard Omri continue, denying his master¡¯s words as he¡¯d done a thousand times over the last six months. But Finn had not believed these words the first time he¡¯d heard them, did not believe them now, and so they resonated through his head and faded away, devoid of meaning.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Arabella rise. There was a violent throbbing in his ears as she approached the balustrade. She had been summoned for this, to fulfill her husband¡¯s duty, his dream of reopening the pits, and she would fulfill it. Still, she held the flame Lord Yoquin had handed to her at a length from her body, as if an insult. The air in the arena seemed to pulse as the crowd watched her approach. Lady Arabella raised her hand over the balcony, her hesitation gone, and the flames poured like liquid into the pool beneath them. Between heartbeats, before the flames caught, she spoke her benediction to the men in the pit.


    ¡°In the name of the Celestial, I wish you well,¡± she whispered.


    She turned as the pool erupted. She did not return to the dais, and few noticed her leave. Two small oceans of fire shot off in opposite directions, tracing the arc along the outer layer of the pits, following the streams, one flame green, the other pale gold. Dazzlingly quick, hissing as they went, the flames finally crashed together at the far end of the arena and began to dance, casting a fierce glow.


    A final horn was sounded, and the combat commenced.

 Chapter 2: The Sandstorm

    Ser Capulet of Illd¡¯Or attacked with a wide swing of his dagger so sudden and ferocious that, for a moment, he appeared to be the bigger man. Dekker of Aonenbridge, caught entirely off guard, barely had time to raise his shield. His roar of indignation from the first strike was cut short by the second, then the third, the wood of his shield already beginning to split.


    ¡°Look at that!¡± Ellsworth growled. He swore. ¡°That man belongs with the [ungraded]. Trained men of Illd¡¯Or, they say? I¡¯ve seen more honor in brawls outside brothels!¡±


    A number of Aonenbridge nobles grumbled in agreement. Now that Lady Arabella was gone, closely followed by her attendants, few of the men seemed to spare her a thought. Finn took a deep sip of his wine, then another. It was unmixed, and he was grateful for it. The liquid began to pass through him, and he clung to its warmth. He allowed himself to feel outraged, as the other men did. Ellsworth was still swearing.


    Then came a sound halfway between a snort and a snarl. Finn did not have to turn to tell who had taken offense at Ellsworth¡¯s words. ¡°It is interesting that you use [ungraded] as an insult, my lord Ellsworth,¡± Lucien said. ¡°In fact, I might be in agreement with you. The [ungraded] [Gladiators] of Illd¡¯Or are, indeed, unpolished. Precious few of them show even a modicum of potential. And yet, curiously, they remain unbeaten tonight in Aonenbridge. Did you expect us to send [Gladiators] of the [Moon Grade]?¡±


    ¡°Lucien,¡± Lord Yoquin warned. He had returned to his seat. His voice was soft, the rebuke sharp.


    Ellsworth¡¯s eyes, too, had flashed. At the start of the night his hand may have twitched towards the blade at his hip, but the quips had been cyclical, and so a loud clang was all that was needed to draw his attention back to the pits. He sat down without a word.


    You''re smirking, Omri thought to Finn. That¡¯s good news.


    I''m not, Finn thought defensively, but found he had to fight to straighten his face.


    Omri¡¯s pale eyes looked amused, but he remained silent.


    Finn took another sip of his wine. It was difficult not to be diverted by what went on in the pit. One simply had to let oneself be drawn in. It was like two beasts had been unleashed on the sands, something less than human, and yet somehow far more. He found his eyes, unenhanced, were barely able to follow the unnatural swiftness with which the [Gladiators] moved. Ser Capulet was still on the offensive, slicing each of his twin daggers five or six times with dangerous precision before Dekker found solitary opportunities to strike back. Capulet¡¯s quick feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he pivoted, twirled, danced out of the way, and when Dekker missed with a wild swing, his warhammer hit the ground with a thunderous crack that reverberated through the arena and threatened to burst Finn¡¯s eardrums.


    Impressive, Omri thought.


    He can¡¯t win, Finn thought back. Ser Capulet is too quick.


    He¡¯d only just realized it. Both men were, indeed, impressive, but it was a mismatch. The former [Sky Grade] against the fresh [Sand Grade]. This was a reshowing of what had been happening all night. The Aonens had considered Dekker their secret weapon; their first citizen born and raised a [Gladiator], their most powerful by a stretch. But none of Dekker¡¯s power meant anything if he couldn¡¯t connect, if his opponent could make him miss. It was as simple a tactic as any.


    Never fight power with power, Finn recited. A bear can be defeated by a venomous viper, an empire by a single, well-placed arrow in the heart of their leader. This was something Zendar had told him.


    It¡¯s more than that, Omri thought back. Capulet is not just fast. It¡¯s like he¡­ sees everything.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Finn glanced at Capulet¡¯s tether at the edge of the sands. His body was rigid, his clothes stuck to his skin, drenched in sweat. Finn knew this had little to do with the heat of the flames that danced behind him.


    He was filtering [chaos], raw energy for his master to draw from.


    Finn watched the movements of the [Gladiators] more closely. Dekker seemed sluggish, heavy in comparison, but Omri was right: it was much more than that. Each time there was the slightest muscular twitch from his opponent, Capulet seemed to have already moved out of the way, seemed to already be poised to strike at any openings he saw.


    And he saw them all.


    Arms stretched far out from his body, his warhammer crashing desperately against the sand, the entire left side of Dekker¡¯s midsection was open to the mercy of the ducking Capulet and his daggers. One quick slash, then another, and the sands were stained with a splash of blood.


    Ellsworth groaned and dropped his face into his palms. A similar sound resonated through the arena from the crowd. Finn was sure the fight could have ended there, but Capulet sprang away, almost prancing, as Dekker dropped to a knee, held up by his already-splintering shield.


    Dekker remained there for a long moment, his fate suspended in the whims of his foe. But the Illd¡¯Orian did not advance. Capulet gave his daggers a flick towards the ground, a few more dark drops spraying the sands, and wiped the remaining blood on his gown. The crimson color stood out in stark contrast with the pale gold. The Crimson King smiled. It was his first real smile, which played on his lips and stretched until it was manic, much too large for his face, as he stared down, a predator eyeing his prey.


    Finn shivered.


    I think he¡¯ll be alright, he thought, watching Dekker¡¯s wounds. His words sounded odd, even to his own ears, but it had become clear that Capulet would not strike while Dekker was down. Perhaps he was more honorable than Ellsworth had thought.


    When his tether did not respond, Finn turned and saw that Omri¡¯s eyes were fixed on the far side of the arena. Dekker¡¯s tether had dropped to the ground, no shield to catch him as it had caught his master.


    His trembling fingers were clutching blood at his side.


    The mirrored wound seemed more dire on his small frame, and, as Finn watched, the skin continued to rip. The tether fought desperately, instinctually, to hold it back, but the blood began escaping through his fingers and dripping into the dirt, gathering into tiny pools and then snaking across the sands like the roots of a weed beneath the ground.


    They¡¯ll both be alright, Finn amended. Despite the grim sight, he felt more sure than when he had spoken of Dekker alone. Tethers did not die from physical wounds. Not directly.


    Omri did not respond, but nodded curtly, his lips pressed tight together.


    Dekker lurched back to his feet. His face was ashen, but the skin around the gash at his side had already begun to shift, to weave itself closed like thread on a loom, and in just a moment more it was gone, leaving behind a pale, pink scar. The span of a breath, and that, too, had faded. His [Lifeblood] would drop, and he would feel diminished as a result, but the wound itself would not worsen. His tether had taken the brunt of it.


    Ser Capulet was still smiling widely, his eyes mere slits. The two men remained motionless for a moment. The crowd, who had been so enthusiastic for action a moment ago, waited patiently to see which man would engage first.


    It was Dekker. To the confusion of many, he raised his warhammer, much too far from his opponent, and let it come crashing down. Sand sprayed at his feet, then settled. He raised it again, then let it drop. Sand sprang in every direction, more this time. Then again. Ser Capulet''s smile faltered. He raised his daggers hesitantly, unsure of what he was defending against. The hammer came crashing down a third time.


    Resisting the urge to clap his hands over his ears with each thunderous crack, Finn looked over at Dekker¡¯s tether. The small man had managed to push himself into a kneeling position, and, despite his wounds, there was a look of deep concentration on his face as his body went rigid, as he filtered [chaos] for his master.


    There was something else at work here.


    The rising sand on the fringe of his vision, the remembrance of something clicked in Finn¡¯s head.


    I¡­ think I understand, he told Omri.


    Omri nodded. Me too, he said.


    Dekker raised his hammer a fourth time, and when it dropped, the ensuing cloud of sand rose high enough to envelop the entire arena¡ªthe stands, then the Apex¡ªlike a veil. Finn¡¯s eyes burned as if from a sudden, sweltering heat. Sand whipped him across the face like tiny shards of glass as it spun in the air, suspended, vibrating against itself.


    He could barely see. Down in the pits, where the sand hung thickest, only one man would be able to see, and it wasn¡¯t the Illd¡¯Orian.


    [Sandstorm], Finn said. He named himself after a skill.

 Chapter 3: The Seven Conditions

    The moment continued to stretch. Finn looked in Omri¡¯s direction, and could just about make out the features on his tether¡¯s face through the haze. He looked at Ellsworth. His cousin¡¯s brow was furrowed, his mouth slightly ajar. Finn¡¯s eyes were still burning. He tasted dirt. He coughed and fought to close his mouth, to crease his eyes.


    The men in the pits had vanished from view. The veil of sand hung thick, the faintest outlines of the pit only discernible by the arc of the dimmed green-gold flames.


    There were sounds of unease where the crowd stood, unseen and unseeing. The only indication that there was a battle being waged was the occasional crash of a hammer, the desperate clang of daggers in response, and the screams. The shrill screams of one man. A heavy, booming laughter in response.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening? Can anyone see?¡±


    As quickly as it had begun, the sand began to settle, sinking to the ground as a sheet of silk might ride the wind. The wine cup in Finn¡¯s hand was filled with sludge. Everybody in the Apex seemed coated in a fine layer of filth. No one seemed to care. They all waited anxiously as the scene in the pits revealed itself. There was a sudden flash of light as the flames that burned around the pit caught and reflected off a shiny object lying in the sand. A dagger. Its twin lay a few paces away, buried except for the hilt. Their master stood further away still, his golden gown now the color of mud.


    A large silhouette was behind him. Dekker had finally abandoned his shield and was gripping his hammer with both hands¡ªone at the hilt and the other just below the head. He had swung it over Ser Capulet, locking his weapon across the Illd¡¯Orian¡¯s sternum, pulling him tight into a crushing embrace. Capulet¡¯s open palms were up at his side, empty, groping at nothing. His eyes were wide.


    There was a pause.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Ellsworth cried. The arena erupted. Everybody leaped to their feet. Even Finn stood. There were screams of joy all around him. He turned and looked at the Illd¡¯Orians in the Apex. Lord Yoquin looked amused, Lucien enraged. He pointed this out to Ellsworth, who squealed in glee. ¡°What did I tell you, little lord?¡± Ellsworth cried, shaking Finn by the shoulders. ¡°My money is safe on Dekker! He is the spirit of Aonenbridge incarnate! If only your brother was here to see us victorious. We¡¯ll tell him together when we get him back!¡±


    Finn couldn¡¯t help it. He broke into a wide grin. His chest was roaring. The mention of Zendar did not deaden his spirits. Even Ellsworth¡¯s final statement suddenly seemed an inevitability. How could they not get him back? Impossible was nothing. They had just pushed against the limits of what was possible, pushed and broken through. This could be repeated.


    There was something intoxicating about victory after certain defeat, something contagious about hope.


    Intoxicating, contagious, and dangerous.


    Eyes shining like diamonds, Dekker yanked his foe bodily into the line of sight of the Apex. Ser Capulet¡¯s feet swung lamely through the air as he was pulled, a limp puppet at the hands of a puppeteer. His expression was unreadable.


    ¡°I claim victory!¡± Dekker shouted. ¡°I claim victory!¡± he roared a second time, in response to the answering tumult of the crowd. His tether, Finn saw, was still kneeling, supported by a hand. The other was still clutched at his side. He raised himself higher, eyes brimming at his master¡¯s triumph.


    There was another noticeable pause in the arena. Dekker¡¯s words hung in the air.


    ¡°They await you, Lord Yoquin,¡± Lucien said, through gritted teeth. Ellsworth chuckled.


    It was true. Though many eyes were still fixed on the men in the pits, most had turned and followed Dekker¡¯s gaze towards the Apex. Lord Yoquin paused, then rose to his feet and approached the balustrade. He raised his hands again, but there was no need for his [silence]. Other than a few electrified whispers which had rippled through the air at his approach, the crowd had silenced themselves, waiting. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°An impressive display!¡± Yoquin said. ¡°It is always a delight to witness a [Gladiator] who lives up to his name, and esteem, as much as the Sandstorm does. The [Sandstorm] technique is an old one, a classic, and difficult to defend against. Very impressive, indeed. However, I would remind you all that a [Sand Grade] bout can only be declared ended¡ªthe flame subsequently extinguished¡ªwhen one or more of the seven conditions are met. We are thus not yet at an end of proceedings. If it is Dekker¡¯s desire to claim victory while still allowing for both men to walk out of the arena alive, it will need to be consented by his opponent, in the form of an official yield.¡±


    There was an even deeper silence now. The victory had drawn near enough for one to taste the sweetness.


    Ser Capulet had a strange expression on his face.


    ¡°Customarily,¡± Capulet began, and his words carried, ¡°one would be allowed the dignity to face his opponent as he yields.¡± His voice was a croak, his chest constricted by Dekker¡¯s squeeze.


    After a moment, Dekker asked, ¡°You intend to yield? You swear this?¡±


    Ser Capulet paused. ¡°I know when I am beaten,¡± he said. His voice had gone silky.


    There was another pause. ¡°I am not such a fool as to let you slither free,¡± Dekker said. ¡°Be warned, Capulet¡ªit will not take much for me to splinter your spine. One wrong move, and you will crumble. My hammer will meet you in the dirt. Your skull will be crushed, and your brain will splatter before your tether has a chance to save you.¡± A moment passed. ¡°But, from one [Gladiator] to another, I will allow you the customary dignity to face me, to look into my eyes so that you can acknowledge, and remember, who has beaten you.¡±


    No, Omri¡¯s voice came. It echoed in Finn¡¯s mind.


    What is it? Finn asked, but he felt his own growing sense of dread. The warmth in his chest had started giving way to shards of ice.


    Up until the final moments of his life, Dekker remained careful. He did not loosen his grip on Ser Capulet enough for the other man to slip free. He shook the Illd¡¯Orian, shifted his weight, turning him around slowly until the two of them came face to face. True to his word, he tightened the grip of his hammer menacingly across the other man¡¯s spine, pulling him even closer. There came a dull crack. Ser Capulet grimaced, but the grimace was only a shade away from his hideous, wide smile.


    ¡°Now,¡± Dekker said. ¡°Yield.¡±


    There was a sickening pause. Finn felt an acidic lump rising in his throat. Nobody was saying anything. The moment to intervene had passed, gone forever.


    ¡°I know when I am beaten,¡± the Crimson King said. His lips parted, there was a glint. ¡°And this is not it.¡±


    With something otherworldly, something beastly, [chaos]-fueled, he lurched at Dekker¡¯s face with his teeth. Just below the eye, Capulet tore at Dekker¡¯s flesh, shook at it until it made a horrible ripping sound. Dekker howled, both in pain and surprise. There was a sudden crash, and the two men were apart. Finn caught a sharp, acrid stench resembling burned meat. Dekker¡¯s flesh had blackened, had begun to char around the torn skin at his eye. He reached and clutched for his face. Blinded, the man continued to howl, and the grip of his hammer had become tenuous. There was no time for him to notice the slash at his wrist which knocked the hammer loose, nor the careful placement of the hand behind his head, the sharp tug downward. Capulet flourished with his other arm, and the blade up his sleeve was on Dekker¡¯s throat.


    The previous finesse of Capulet had vanished. He did not slice, he sawed. Back and forth, his blade ripped through skin as if it were shearing through rope. Dekker¡¯s final roar became a gurgle.


    Gasps and screams rang through the arena.


    Dekker reached for his opponent one final time, clutched, squeezed¡­ and loosened. He collapsed. His tether dropped a moment later, his final scream still etched as a whisper on his face. It had been too much to handle, too sudden. A tether could not die from a physical wound, but neither could he survive the death of his master.


    An ominous silence hung over the arena as the dust settled around the folded heap that had been Dekker. The Crimson King, Ser Capulet, remained still, allowing the silence to extend. For a moment, the drip-drip from his blade seemed the only sound in the arena. He looked stunned at his own deeds. Stunned, or enamored. Then he swung around, the stained blade brandished triumphantly above his head. He twirled again, and kept twirling, as if trying to meet the eyes of as many in the arena as he could.


    ¡°Is this,¡± he cried, ¡°truly the best of Aonenbridge?¡±


    His teeth were bloody. His voice was high, frantic, and his face ripped open into that horrid smile. His eyes had gone truly mad.

 Chapter 4: The Warrior

    He is the spirit of Aonenbridge incarnate, Ellsworth had said of Dekker. Many, if asked, would have agreed. He was their first [Gladiator], their most powerful, the symbol of their fortitude and valor. It did not matter that they had lost every preceding bout against the Illd¡¯Orians, as Dekker would win his. He would. He had to. He would crush his opponent, and the Illd¡¯Orians would be sent home, the sudden, bitter realization of the true might of Aonenbridge scorched into their memory.


    And so, with the death of Dekker, old wounds were reopened, and the city of Aonenbridge may have burned that night, had not a few key decisions been made quickly.


    An awareness of something echoed in Finn¡¯s mind. As the crowd hovered in their stupor, Finn knew there would only be a few moments before shock gave way to anger, to outrage, to the irreversible. He felt it rising in the air with each breath he took, he could feel the heat of it on his skin. He saw fires burning, reflecting in the eyes of those staring down in horror at Dekker¡¯s mangled body, and the similarly mangled body of his tether, who had been so small, like a child.


    Finn felt an emptiness at his sides. In his mind, he saw himself reaching out for Zendar, who was missing. He reached for his father, the Warden of Aonenbridge, who was away, seeking retribution for his eldest son. He even reached for Lady Arabella, who had always resisted, had told cautionary tales to her husband when discussing his dream of reopening the pits. But Zendar had seen more than violence, more than senseless barbarism, in the fighting on the sands. He had seen pride rising through the provinces as their [Gladiators] climbed the ranks, and had wanted that same pride nurtured in Aonenbridge.


    In short, he had seen wrong, Finn realized.


    He felt the precious few seconds continue to slip away. One by one. He felt frozen.


    It was him, he realized. Somehow, incomprehensibly, he was the highest ranking [Nobleman] of Aonenbridge present.


    ¡°The best of Aonenbridge?¡± the voice of Ser Capulet continued to goad. ¡°The best? The very best?¡±


    The first Aonens broke from the daze and began to shout. Ser Capulet¡¯s smile was unceasing. Blood had begun to spill from his mouth onto his chin and off the ends of his goatee. Finn turned away from the sight, and his eyes were drawn to the scattered Illd¡¯Orians in the crowd. They were so few, marked by their golden garments, and seemed in danger of drowning amongst those clad in green. He saw a man and woman huddled together, a group of men who might be brothers, an old man flanked by youngsters, grandsons and granddaughters. Finn¡¯s eyes fixed on the youngest of these, who seemed even younger than him, barely full-grown. Next to the suddenly wild-looking people of Aonenbridge, none of them seemed like the proud, arrogant Illd¡¯Orians one heard about and mocked. They merely looked anxious, fearful, like flickering candles ahead of an approaching gale.


    Finn turned to face his cousin. Later, others would invent a rationale behind this. They would say that Lord Finric, son of the Warden, had turned to his cousin and chosen a champion. Ellsworth was of noble blood, but he was not a [Nobleman]. The class available to him at his birth, as with many of those who had been born in times of war, had been the [Warrior] class. In his sagesse, people would say, Lord Finric had identified that this was what the people needed, in a moment when they craved blood. Vengeance. Somebody to take it for them, if they were to be withheld from taking it themselves.


    But, truthfully, there had been no command in Finn¡¯s eyes in that moment. There had been a plea.


    Ellsworth met the gaze of his younger cousin. His expression softened. He placed a hand on Finn¡¯s shoulder, then got up and approached the balustrade. Lord Yoquin was still standing there, but Ellsworth pulled him away, unceremoniously, out of sight from the crowd. Lucien hissed, stood defiantly, but Lord Yoquin [silenced] him with a hand and did not argue. In Yoquin¡¯s eyes, it was clear he understood. It would not help things, when they looked up to the Apex for guidance, for the first person the crowd saw to be an Illd¡¯Orian.


    ¡°Well,¡± Lord Yoquin said. ¡°I can¡¯t say the crowd is very pleased with the outcome of our main event.¡±


    ¡°It matters not,¡± Lucien said, approaching the other two. He was shorter than Ellsworth, though more gangly. ¡°This is the nature of gladiatorial combat. The strong survive, the weak rot.¡±


    ¡°That was a cheap trick by a dirty fighter,¡± Ellsworth said. ¡°There is no honor in a victory like that. The people will not accept it.¡±


    Finn had a few short moments to marvel at the steadiness of Ellsworth¡¯s voice, how quickly his cousin had managed to morph from intoxicated young noble to proud protector and [Warrior] of Aonenbridge. Then his attention was once again seized by the crowd, who had begun shouting obscenities. Ser Capulet spat in their direction and laughed.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°They will not accept it?¡± Lucien repeated. His eyes were wide and betrayed the fever hidden beneath his words. ¡°What hubris! It is the same hubris that has led the Aonens to believe that they could stand against Illd¡¯Or, the city of their liege. They learned a valuable lesson today.¡±


    Ellsworth¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Can you not see what is brewing in the stands?¡±


    ¡°I see a disgruntled group of defeated cityfolk,¡± Lucien said. ¡°What of it? The [Gladiators] of Illd¡¯Or leave this in their wake wherever they go. We have grown accustomed to it. Need I remind you, Lord Ellsworth, that there has been no crime tonight? None of the seven conditions had been met. Now two have.¡± He pointed towards the sand. He continued speaking, but his words were drowned out by the rising tumult beyond the Apex.


    There was a sudden shift in the wind, and Finn felt himself beginning to feel claustrophobic. The noise was unbearable, the air too thick, like he was being packed between columns of smoke. Above him, the night sky appeared clear, fresh, and so very far away. He felt the sudden longing to be up there, away from here, away from it all¡ª


    He caught himself.


    No. These were his people. His people. He had grown up with them, some of them he considered friends, others had served his brother, his father, and his father¡¯s father. He looked down into the stands and, with a start, realized he could not recognize any of them. They all seemed to be sharing the same face, one of hate. Finn felt the need to hide from it, and then, as with the wind, it shifted, and he felt the pull of it, the allure. It scared him. The distance between the stands and the Apex seemed to shorten in an instant of dizziness, and he knew that if he let it, the emotions, the foul contagion, would sweep him away just as easily as the violence on the sands had.


    He held onto his seat, felt his fingernails scrape against stone.


    He noticed he was not the only one feeling uneasy. Others in the Apex had begun staring sidelong at each other, their feet shifting uncomfortably beneath them.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that people had begun throwing things into the pit. Somebody tossed a sandal, which narrowly missed Ser Capulet¡¯s head. Somebody else tossed a wine cup, which Capulet reached for and caught. He studied it, curiously, then lifted his gown and began to urinate in the cup. Tossed it back. More vulgarities were shouted his way.


    ¡°The bout may be over, but the fighting is not,¡± Ellsworth was saying. ¡°Whether we like it or not, it will continue. Which would you prefer, Lucien: in the stands, on the sands, or in the streets?¡±


    ¡°Are you suggesting there will be some sort of riot?¡± Lucien asked, incredulous. Then he laughed. ¡°And so that is all it takes for Aonenbridge to crack, to squabble with itself? Again, why should Illd¡¯Or care?¡±


    ¡°You really are a dolt,¡± Ellsworth spat. ¡°Their anger will be directed at you. At Illd¡¯Or. How many Illd¡¯Orians are present? A company of thirty? Forty? There are five hundred Aonens in the stands, fifty thousand total. They will burn fields trying to find anyone clad in gold. And what do you think happens when they do?¡±


    ¡°There may be forty of us tonight, but how would your fifty thousand Aonens stack against one million Illd¡¯Orians?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll tear you apart,¡± Ellsworth said, ignoring Lucien and answering his own question. ¡°You forget where you are. This is our country. You won¡¯t make it out of the Marsh, let alone across the strait.¡±


    ¡°Illd¡¯Or has never feared the Aonen mud puddle,¡± Lucien snarled. ¡°But let your people follow, let them come, if they are stupid enough to try. This tale has already been played out, and we¡¯ve already seen what happens when Aonenbridge deludes itself into thinking it can rival Illd¡¯Or. We saw it tonight, we saw it fourteen years ago. And thirty years ago. And seventy years ago.¡±


    ¡°Lucien,¡± Lord Yoquin hissed. Then, to Ellsworth, ¡°What are you saying, Lord Ellsworth? What do you suggest? Lucien is not wrong. Capulet had not yielded yet. And now Dekker is dead. His tether is dead. Two of the seven conditions have been met.¡±


    Ellsworth hesitated. ¡°Forgive me, Lord Yoquin, but the eighth condition is paramount,¡± he said. ¡°Dekker is dead. His tether is dead. But the flame is not.¡±


    There was a pause. Lord Yoquin¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°What you¡¯re suggesting is¡­ unusual.¡±


    ¡°What is he suggesting?¡± Lucien asked.


    ¡°It is unusual,¡± Ellsworth agreed. ¡°On many counts. And you are correct. Capulet did not cheat. But I know my people. If we let tonight end like this, end like that, something else starts tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Then let it start,¡± Lucien spat.


    Lord Yoquin¡¯s upper lip curled. He raised a hand. His tether stiffened suddenly, grunted loudly. The temperature in the Apex seemed to rise. Yoquin¡¯s fingers extended, pulsed through the air. There was a burning hot sensation, and Lucien cried out and fell, catching himself with a hand at the last second before his face could smash against the stone floor. A moment later, his tether fell. Master and tether lay wheezing. Lucien¡¯s breathing began to steady, but his tether¡¯s shoulders continued to heave. Both men were conscious, but neither rose.


    ¡°Continue, Lord Ellsworth,¡± Lord Yoquin said. His eyes were calm. ¡°There will be no more interruptions.¡±


    Ellsworth¡¯s eyes narrowed. His gaze passed over towards Lucien, but then his attention was drawn by something beyond the stands, visible by the height of the Apex. Finn turned and saw [Guardsmen] gathering on the waterlogged path leading from the mass of dwellings that was Aonenbridge proper. There were already a dozen of them, armed and armored. He was not sure who had given the order. Another [Nobleman], a fool.


    Lord Yoquin peered across as well. A vein in his temple twitched. ¡°Tell me exactly what you mean, Ellsworth,¡± he continued. There was greater urgency in his tone now. ¡°Let us speak plainly.¡±


    ¡°I mean sending another into the pits,¡± Ellsworth said. He adjusted his braid. ¡°Send me.¡±

 Chapter 5: Wind and Chain

    ¡°Send you into the pits?¡± Lord Yoquin asked. His eyes narrowed. ¡°To what end? You are not a [Gladiator].¡±


    ¡°I am a [Warrior],¡± Ellsworth said. He touched his braid again. It was long, and had only been cut once. An old custom. ¡°[Warriors] are not uncommon in the pits. Nor are many other classes.¡±


    ¡°Have you fought in the pits?¡± Lord Yoquin asked.


    ¡°I have fought,¡± Ellsworth said simply. ¡°As the Second [Warrior] of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Have you fought in the pits?¡± Lord Yoquin repeated, stressing his words.


    Ellsworth paused. ¡°No.¡±


    Lord Yoquin turned away. He was staring beyond the stands again. Lucien found the courage to raise his head. Although he was not seen, his eyes stared, wide, in Lord Yoquin¡¯s direction.


    Lord Yoquin turned back. ¡°Convince me, Lord Ellsworth. Tell me¡­ something, so that I might agree to this. Why would I send the Warden¡¯s nephew to such an uncertain fate?¡±


    Ellsworth¡¯s eyes flickered over to the dais, to the seat which had been ceremoniously empty all night. Then to the crowd, and back to Yoquin. His voice had gone low when he said, ¡°Because there is nobody else.¡±


    Lord Yoquin followed his gaze. He sighed. Then, suddenly, ¡°Let me see your wrist.¡±


    Ellsworth tensed, hesitated, then held out his wrist. Yoquin took it and examined the single link of chain that rested at his forearm, held in place with a tight leather cuff. There was recognition in his eyes, though the chain was not an Aonenbridge custom, not an Illd¡¯Orian custom, nor native to any of the Allied Cities of Emelandra. Finn had not been there, but he knew the story well. Ellsworth had been much younger at the time. Too young to be leading a battalion of that size. Facing a larger man, a larger army. Windy terrain.


    One chain, and one loss.


    Ellsworth had put it on one night fourteen years ago and had never taken it off again. He would never let himself forget.


    Yoquin dropped Ellsworth¡¯s hand. ¡°This is¡­ unusual,¡± he repeated. He began to massage his temple.


    ¡°Your father sent you here as his representative, did he not?¡± Ellsworth asked. He sounded exasperated. Yoquin had touched a nerve. ¡°Do you really want to go back and say that Aonenbridge burned under your watch?¡±


    Finn was sure Ellsworth had gone too far. It was commonly reported, said to have been brought on by a lifetime of close friendship with Zendar, that Ellsworth had a tendency, a failing, to speak too boldly to those ranked above him. Finn watched Lord Yoquin¡¯s hand, expected to see his fingers pulse, to see Ellsworth¡¯s knees buckle. But nothing happened. Finn exhaled.


    Yoquin¡¯s eyes were drawn towards Lucien. He made a gesture, and the [Mage] stood, hesitantly. Yoquin wiped dust from the front of Lucien¡¯s gown before meeting his eyes. ¡°I cannot be driven by mere instinct,¡± he said, seeming to speak to nobody in particular. ¡°I must consider all perspectives. Perhaps Lucien is right. Perhaps Aonenbridge has learned a valuable lesson tonight.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps they have,¡± Ellsworth said. ¡°Me getting into the pits does not change that. The [Gladiators] of Illd¡¯Or defeated the [Gladiators] of Aonenbridge in¡­ honest combat. If that is what matters to Illd¡¯Or, leave with the knowledge that it was achieved. What matters to me is this city, these people. You said it yourself, it has been a difficult past few months. Zendar is missing, along with countless others. Brothers, sons, daughters. The Warden himself hasn''t been seen for weeks, as he begs for aid at your father¡¯s court. The citizens rallied together for the restoration of the pits, started by Zendar, finished in his honor. A necessary distraction. Then there was Dekker, our champion. Now he, too, is... gone. The anger you sense in the stands is not hubris, it is despair. Don''t let the people succumb to it. Give them something to cling to.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°You?¡± Lucien asked.


    ¡°One victory,¡± Ellsworth said. ¡°Surely Illd¡¯Or can spare that.¡±


    ¡°And if I say Illd¡¯Or cannot?¡± Yoquin¡¯s words were frank, spoken with rapidity.


    Ellsworth¡¯s expression changed. The green of his eyes caught the light. ¡°I¡¯ll get in anyway,¡± he said. His voice had dropped to a whisper, but his words carried. ¡°You may punish me after, Lord Yoquin. I may suffer, the people won''t.¡±


    ¡°They may still suffer, Lord Ellsworth, regardless of what you do. You said it yourself, you have never fought in the pits. It is different. You speak of honor in a realm where there is none. You speak of victory, but there is no guarantee you will win. And if you do not, we''re back to where we started. Perhaps worse off than before.¡±


    ¡°I won''t lose.¡±


    ¡°Ser Capulet was of the [Sky Grade].¡±


    ¡°I won''t lose.¡±


    For a moment, it seemed Lord Yoquin might smile. Then he turned his gaze towards Finn. ¡°There is someone we have not heard from. What say you, Lord Finric? You are the second son of the Warden, the brother of Lord Zendarus. I am merely the fifth son of Illd¡¯Or.¡±


    Finn¡¯s eyes met Ellsworth¡¯s. His cousin¡¯s face was tranquil, although his eyes continued to flicker: a reminder that he, too, was of noble blood, something he drew on when necessary.


    Finn cleared his throat. ¡°You honor me, Lord Yoquin,¡± he said. ¡°But I have nothing to add. I am in agreement with Lord Ellsworth.¡±


    Lord Yoquin¡¯s eyes rested on Finn for a moment, as if he was searching for something. ¡°Very well,¡± he said, after a pause. He turned back to Ellsworth. ¡°Many people say that all combatant classes are the same, simply because the skills may be the same. I disagree. Put three men side-by-side, have them fight before you, and you will not be able to distinguish the difference between a [Gladiator], or a [Warrior], or a [Mercenary]. It is true. However, the difference lies in why they fight. A [Gladiator] fights for entertainment. He fights for the love¡ªor hate¡ªof the crowd. A [Mercenary] fights for coin. A [Warrior] fights for his people. Tonight, Lord Ellsworth, you fight to save them from themselves. You have my blessing. You have the blessing of Lord Finric. But let me be clear, if you go into the pits, Ellsworth, this madness ends with you. No matter what happens, nobody follows you. As the son of your liege lord, I will not condone any more abnormalities.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Ellsworth said.


    ¡°I want more than your understanding,¡± Lord Yoquin said. ¡°I want your vow. Swear this. In the name of the Celestial.¡±


    Finn inhaled sharply.


    But Ellsworth did not pause. He nodded. ¡°I swear this. In the name of the Celestial.¡±


    And that was that. He met Finn¡¯s gaze, inclined his head, then broke away. He turned to the dais. He bowed at the empty seats. Then, finally, he locked eyes with his tether. The tether looked grave. Nodded. Finn studied the man, feeling as if he¡¯d never had a good look at him. He was broad-shouldered, fierce. He, too, had chosen to wear the leather cuff and the chain, to honor his master, to share the burden. The two men turned as one and exited the Apex. Silence followed their departure. Then¡ª


    ¡°Does your cousin have any [Anchor Points]?¡±


    Finn looked up. Lord Yoquin looked worried.


    Finn nodded. ¡°He does. [Level 12], anchored at [Level 10].¡±


    Lord Yoquin nodded, satisfied. ¡°Good,¡± he said, and made his way back to his seat. ¡°The green hue befits him. White eyes wouldn¡¯t suit him at all.¡±


    He did not add anything else, but at the mention of [Anchor Points], his meaning was clear.


    He thinks the only way Ellsworth can survive this is if he sacrifices the tether.


    ¡°Rian.¡±


    Finn looked over at Omri.


    ¡°What?¡± he asked. His voice sounded harsher than he¡¯d intended. He was not used to speaking to Omri out loud.


    Omri met his eyes. A rare flush had colored his cheeks. His jaw was tight, but softened after a moment.


    The tether¡¯s name is Rian, Omri thought to him.


    Across the mind-link, an awareness of Omri¡¯s emotion brushed against him, then lingered like an ache. Finn realized that Omri had not spoken, out loud or by thought, since the fall of Dekker and his tether.

 Chapter 6: The Crimson King

    There was a new silhouette at the tunneled entrance to the pits.


    Ser Capulet was the first to notice. The pit was his domain, he had just claimed dominion by slaughtering his only challenger. A fellow predator? No. Prey. Nothing more.


    He spat. The people of this city were like flies drawn by the allure of a carcass, the stench. They were insufferable. But amusing in their own way, when one pondered their existence, how easily they could be manipulated. And what his manipulation had done. With one flick of his knife he had ended two lives, stopped two hearts, and none of the pitiful onlookers would leave this place, could leave this place, without pain¡­ without the memory of their fallen countryman¡­ without Capulet. He was part of them now, part of them all. He felt it as an extension of himself. Existence without end. And it was so easy to take. One flick of his knife! Every time they remembered the other one, every time they shed a tear, they would remember Capulet, and he would feel it from wherever he was. Even from beyond this world he could be reborn, if only for a moment, and smile.


    And they could not see the gift they had given him, the gift they continued to give. Every shout, every cry of anguish. They were blind to it. It was¡­ It was¡­ Capulet felt his chest begin to move, felt his shoulders begin to shake, and realized he was laughing. He could not stop, he did not try. He laughed. Look at them! Look how it provoked them! They were no more free than he was. The flies gathered because he made them gather, like a true king he summoned his subjects and they came, all by what he had done to the other one¡ªthe one who now lay dead. What had his name been again?


    Master, a voice echoed in his head. Master, we must be careful.


    CAPULET


    [Tethered]


    [Gladiator]


    [Level 13]


    [Sand Grade]


    [Anchor Points]: 1


    [Skills]: 5


    METERS


    [Lifeblood]: 90 / 245


    [Chaos]: 30 / 245


    Capulet growled. He hated when his tether did that.


    Be quiet, Alun.


    His thoughts were venom, and he made sure they burned. He laced shadows through his mind, and Alun was silenced. The numbers faded into a mist.


    Low meters. He spat again. It did not matter. He was not some child, he did not have to be told. He had already felt an awareness of the fatigue within himself, and it did not matter.


    What mattered now was the tall, braided man walking across the sand.


    My sand, Capulet thought.


    What use were numbers to someone such as him? You cut people, and they bled. That was all. You cut them, and they died. All of them. And this newcomer¡­


    The newcomer carried a blade. His expression said he was not there to announce Capulet¡¯s victory, he was there to dispute it.


    For that, Capulet was going to make him suffer.


    ***


    Ellsworth crossed the flaming boundary into the pit. His shadow, by some trick of the light, did not flicker in accordance with the flames, but remained steady as he approached the Illd¡¯Orian [Gladiator]. The Aonens quieted down as the Warden¡¯s nephew came into view. Even the [Guardsmen], who had just entered the arena, hesitated.


    Ellsworth was known by all, respected. Despite being of noble blood, he and Zendar had never shied away from hard days in the flooded fields followed by long nights in the local taverns. They were closer to the common folk than most nobles, that was sure. Closer than Finn, at least, who had never managed to bridge that gap in quite the same way.


    Ellsworth came to a stop. Finn felt a sudden pang of fear for his cousin. Standing so close to the Crimson King, so alone¡­


    He¡¯s not alone, Omri reminded him.


    Rian was there, his tether. Shadowless, stoic, meditative. He did not look worried. He and Ellsworth had fought together. Many times.


    Finn nodded. Exhaled. He¡¯s not alone.


    The arena had gone deathly quiet. Ellsworth was speaking, but Finn had to strain his ears to hear. Then strain them again, far beyond what was natural. At his side, Omri stiffened. There was a movement from Capulet. Finn strained his vision. Omri made a sound as if punched in the gut.


    Sorry, Finn thought to his tether.


    ¡°A [Nobleman]?¡± Capulet was saying. There was visible disgust on his face.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°A [Warrior],¡± Ellsworth corrected.


    ¡°Either way, you sleep on satin at night,¡± Capulet said. He spat at Ellsworth¡¯s feet. ¡°You are not a [Gladiator], not a true [Warrior]. You dishonor the sanctity of our class with your request.¡±


    Capulet¡¯s tether drew nearer. His skin was clammy in the light of the flames. His ribcage was discolored, as if something beneath the skin had ruptured, and his shoulder hung loose from its socket¡ªwounds courtesy of Dekker. Finn was once again struck by the tether¡¯s scarring. It reminded him of a cocoon, or the shed skin of a snake. In another world, Finn thought, this would have been Capulet¡¯s true face. In a sense, it was. Capulet¡¯s golden gown, fashionable hairstyle, and courtly demeanor had been nothing but theatrics, and they had all been fooled. Ellsworth had underestimated Capulet from the first moment, and Dekker had underestimated him until the last. But now that his true nature had been revealed, it seemed unthinkable that they could ever have seen Capulet as anything other than what he was.


    ¡°You speak of honor?¡± Ellsworth said. ¡°Was there honor in the way you cut up Dekker?¡±


    ¡°Was that his name?¡± Capulet asked. ¡°He dishonored me.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°I do not yield,¡± Capulet said, and offered no further explanation. ¡°I dishonored him in return.¡±


    ¡°You dishonored yourself,¡± Ellsworth said. ¡°And now you are afraid to answer for your actions.¡±


    ¡°I fear no man,¡± Capulet said lazily, and Finn believed him, ¡°and certainly not courtly peacocks. If you want to die, boy, there are more pleasant ways, I can assure you.¡±


    ¡°Looks can be deceiving, as you know better than most. There is more to this courtly peacock than meets the eye.¡± Ellsworth smiled. ¡°But what of you, Capulet? Is that a Varoni accent I hear? I have led men into Varonos, cut down the barbarian clansmen. Perhaps you knew some of the men I hung. How would you stack up against them, I wonder? How would your corpse look buried amongst theirs?¡±


    Capulet chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to do better than that, boy. I care nothing for the clans. Although, I will admit¡­¡± He paused, considering. ¡°It has been some time since my blades have been treated with the blood of a [Nobleman]...¡±


    ¡°[Warrior],¡± Ellsworth said again.


    ¡°It does not matter. You are nothing, fodder for flies. You will know that soon enough. Alun, bring me my¡ª¡±


    But before he could finish speaking, his tether made a sound and stepped ahead of him, between his master and Ellsworth. It was a peculiar movement, like seeing a sapling claim the ground of a giant oak. For a moment, the tether looked surprised at his own daring. Standing at an angle, his eyes darted between the two men, then to Rian, who looked wary. Breathlessly, with a voice that did not project, the Illd¡¯Orian tether said, ¡°We¡­ we will fight you tomorrow night, my lord of Aonenbridge.¡±


    Capulet¡¯s fist hit his tether¡¯s jaw with the sound of a thunderclap. The scarred man fell. ¡°You forget your place, Alun,¡± Capulet said. His words were calmly spoken, his movements languid. He stared curiously at the back of his hand where the skin had split. It had already begun to heal. Then, to Ellsworth, as one might apologize for a misbehaving pup, Capulet said, ¡°My apologies. You¡¯re going to have to forgive my brother.¡±


    There were whispers. Finn and Omri exchanged a glance.


    Alun rose slowly, deliberately. His own knuckles were starting to bleed. He faced his master, his brother. There was a fire in his expression and, for a second, Finn was sure he¡¯d be struck again. Then a moment passed, and Capulet¡¯s face began to darken.


    As the two locked eyes in silent communication, a quiet smile began tugging at Ellsworth¡¯s lips.


    When Capulet spoke, his voice was so low that Finn had to strain his ears even harder. Omri groaned.


    ¡°Alun has brought it to my attention that I am¡­ low on [Lifeblood].¡± Capulet said the words through gritted teeth, as if it angered him to voice this. ¡°The silly trick with the sand was unexpected. I was struck. I¡­ also risk my tether if I continue to draw on [chaos].¡±


    Ellsworth''s smile grew. He spoke loud enough for all to hear. ¡°The Illd¡¯Orian is too low on [Lifeblood].¡±


    ¡°Coward!¡± a voice in the crowd shouted, and others joined him. ¡°Coward!¡±


    Capulet¡¯s upper lip curled. ¡°I said low. Not too low. I have more than I would need. But in the name of the Paragon I swore to fight a [Sand Grade] bout this day, and I have done so. I will soon be regraded. My reascension to the [Sky Grade] is imminent, and with it, its glories. You, boy, are not even an [ungraded]. I ask myself, then, what have I to gain from the breaking of twigs?¡±


    ¡°You have something to gain,¡± Ellsworth said. ¡°Something I can offer you. Something you want more than a reascension to the [Sky Grade].¡±


    ¡°And what is that?¡± Capulet asked.


    ¡°Your freedom.¡±


    There were gasps around the arena. Finn turned to Lord Yoquin, whose eyes were narrowed. Lucien, seated at his side, looked livid.


    ¡°My freedom?¡± Capulet¡¯s eyes were wide. He paused, then purred, ¡°My freedom.¡± He spoke slowly, savoring the weight of the word on his tongue.


    ¡°Your freedom,¡± Ellsworth repeated. ¡°End my life, and yours is yours again.¡±


    Capulet¡¯s eyes widened again, despite himself. Then he laughed. ¡°This life never ceases to amuse me,¡± he said. ¡°I, who have sinned against the gods themselves¡­ am constantly rewarded.¡± He chuckled once more. ¡°Very well, boy. The prospect of your death diverts me, and a city has borne witness to your promise. I accept. Bring me my daggers, Alun.¡±


    The tether did not move. His eyes spoke the same imploring message, but this time he would not touch reason. His master was a stone wall, unrelenting.


    ¡°Bring me my daggers, Alun,¡± Capulet repeated, slowly. There was an icy timbre to his speech.


    The fire in Alun¡¯s eyes began to dwindle until all that remained were cold embers in his skull. His shoulders dropped. He turned, shuffled across the sands with the expression of a murdered man, a man who knows he is dead. He picked up the first dagger, then the next. Wiped them both off. Handed them back to his master. Tried to meet his eyes one more time. Capulet twirled his daggers. His jaw was clenched, his eyes averted. The daggers cut through air. Once, twice, thrice. Jagged, jagged, then smooth, singing through the air and slicing through silence like a spectre''s wail. Alun stood a moment longer. He had already begun to turn before his master dismissed him with a motion of the hand. Capulet¡¯s jaw relaxed somewhat, and his eyes fluttered a moment to the retreating figure, betraying something hidden deep, too deep to matter. The smallest blade went back up his sleeve. Ellsworth¡¯s eyes followed it.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Capulet said.


    ¡°You will fight me?¡± Ellsworth asked.


    Capulet did not answer. There was no need.


    Ellsworth smiled. ¡°Very good,¡± he said. He sounded almost impressed. He nodded to his own tether, and Rian set off to their corner. To where the bodies of Dekker and his tether still lay. ¡°First, we need to remove those bodies,¡± Ellsworth said. ¡°And then we will need a new benediction. My cousin, Finric¡ª¡±


    Capulet struck with both blades, carving a perfect arc through the air directly at Ellsworth¡¯s skull.

 Chapter 7: Why They Fight

    Finn saw his cousin¡¯s eyes widen and felt his own heart sink, but Ellsworth managed to step out of the way as Capulet¡¯s blades came racing at him, an instinctive movement which saved his life. Before he could steady himself, Capulet was on him again, swinging his cleaver-like daggers with murderous intent. Ellsworth, shocked, side-stepped again, maladroit, and then his cheek was sliced open.


    ¡°You¡ª,¡± he began, his hand shooting up to the side of his face. His fingers came away red. He unsheathed his own blade¡ªlong and sleek, a noble weapon made for speed¡ªjust in time to parry the next strike. But there were two daggers, and the second was already roaring for his neck. Ellsworth dodged, not quite fast enough, and made a choice, raising an arm to save his head. The blade bit. There was a wet thud, a dull crack, a single scream, and Ellsworth¡¯s bloodied limb dropped uselessly at his side.


    You speak of honor in a realm where there is none, Yoquin had said.


    The crowd began growing restless. This [Gladiator] had beaten Dekker, but not Lord Ellsworth, surely not¡ª


    But Rian was quick, an experienced tether for an experienced [Warrior]. A moment passed, a transfer, and his own forearm hung pendulously at his side. He did not cry out, did not slacken. The blood on his cheek flowed freely from his face to the floor, and he let it drip.


    Ellsworth''s arm twitched, came alive. He chanced a look in his tether¡¯s direction, then bounded out the way. It was a powerful, unnatural leap, [chaos]-fueled. From a safe distance, he flexed his fingers, and the once-crippled arm rubbed at his brow.


    Finn found he¡¯d been holding his breath. He exhaled.


    Capulet clanged his daggers together. They rang, reverberated, echoed, and he charged.


    This time, Ellsworth was ready.


    Finn had always known his cousin was fast. It had been his one advantage in sparring sessions against Zendar. On occasion, it had almost been enough. He put his speed to good use now. Where Capulet took a quick step, Ellsworth took two quicker ones. Then, as his opponent overextended, Ellsworth raised his blade, changed direction, lunged forwards. Capulet¡¯s gown tore, and Ellsworth¡¯s blade dug deep.


    But neither man paused, and the dance was repeated.


    For an exchange or two, it seemed a close fight. Strikes were parried, traps were laid, but Ellsworth began to get the better of each and every one. Capulet¡¯s movements began to seem less flamboyant, his smile less sure. Faced with Dekker, the large, heavy steps, and thudding strikes, the Crimson King had seemed so quick, nigh untouchable. And though he remained quick, Ellsworth embodied a truer speed, his momentum in free-fall, gaining unceasingly.


    Holes began to appear in Capulet¡¯s gown, punctures emboldened in red. He seemed to be constantly miscalculating, stepping into strikes. It was suddenly clear to all who watched, the difference between the style Capulet had been imitating, and a true practitioner.


    It¡¯s like he doesn¡¯t even want his freedom, Finn thought to Omri, unable to contain his growing elation.


    Another cut. Capulet¡¯s tether, stiff, cried out as wounds he had received a thousand times reopened. A canvas painted and repainted in red.


    Finn suddenly had another thought.


    Looks can be deceiving, Ellsworth had said.


    I¡­ don¡¯t trust this, Finn thought to Omri. Look at his tether. He¡¯s filtering. But if not for speed¡­ if not to dodge¡­


    Omri nodded. All those cuts, all that scarring. I wonder¡­ how much of it was accidental?


    Again and again, Capulet was cut, until his gown began to soak, fresh cuts in his skin appearing long before the older ones could seal. Finn remembered the way his body had responded to every movement of Dekker¡¯s, every twitch, the way he had seemed ready to move out of the way before Dekker had even decided where he would strike. Ellsworth''s unimpeded success seemed too good to be true.


    I have to get a closer look, Finn thought. Do you mind?


    Go ahead, Omri thought grimly.


    Finn activated [Vision]. It was more than just straining one¡¯s eyes or ears, imbuing oneself with [chaos]¡ªit was a skill. A technique he had developed with [Level 6], had worked on for a fortnight with Master Wendell. It was useful, Wendell said, for a [Nobleman] to be able to observe his people from a safe distance away, when necessary.


    He felt he was on the sands. Capulet¡¯s blood splashed at his feet, and he could almost feel the spray, smell the iron tang. His cousin moved with a swift fervor, and Finn caught sight of a fire in his eyes, an upward tug at the corners of his mouth.


    Finn also saw the arena in a way he hadn¡¯t before. It extended in all directions around him. He saw the fists of the fevered crowd waving through the air, heard their cries as their emotions were carried by each swing of the sword, each clang, each slice.


    Staring up at the faces from below on the sands, Finn felt¡­ reduced¡­ yet elevated, elated.


    ¡°Ellsworth! Ellsworth! Ellsworth!¡± the crowd cheered. Finn hadn¡¯t heard the words from the Apex, hadn¡¯t focused on them. To hear one name chanted by five hundred people in unison¡­ stirred something within him.


    Suddenly, a blade.


    There was a blade racing towards his head.


    Finn¡¯s heart leaped. He tried to remind himself that he was still safe in the Apex, but he felt himself brace and tried not to scream.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    He screamed.


    The blade passed through him as if he was made of vapor. As he had known it would. And yet, he¡¯d been unable to fight the instinctual fear. He adjusted his [Vision] and sighed. He would need to work on that with Master Wendell.


    From a slightly wider angle, he watched Ellsworth. Finn saw him raise his blade again. Saw it coming.


    And so had Capulet.


    Finn saw Capulet¡¯s muscles relax, his eyes fixed on and following the arc of the blade which would miss. Ellsworth had been careless. He was growing increasingly more careless, drunk on something more potent than wine. He had aimed for Capulet¡¯s upper arm, and though the blade would come close, it would miss and cut through air. It would swing away and¡ª


    Capulet¡¯s upper arm was sliced open.


    The crowd roared their approval.


    Finn blinked.


    He deactivated [Vision].


    I don¡¯t understand, he thought. That strike should have missed him.


    ¡°You see it too, don¡¯t you?¡± a voice said.


    Finn turned. Lord Yoquin looked visibly uneasy.


    ¡°It¡¯s difficult to notice these things on the sands, in all the confusion,¡± Yoquin said. He drew a breath. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if Ellsworth has noticed yet.¡±


    ¡°Capulet wants to be cut,¡± Finn said. ¡°Why?¡±


    Yoquin nodded in the direction of Capulet¡¯s tether. ¡°You¡¯ve noticed the tether, too, I¡¯m sure,¡± he said. ¡°To be wounded like that¡­ it¡¯s rare, even for the tether of a [Gladiator].¡±


    ¡°The insanity of his master is rare, too.¡±


    Yoquin chuckled. ¡°Yes. And that¡¯s part of it, I¡¯m sure,¡± he said. ¡°But Capulet has a deep understanding of certain things. How to win, for example. You¡¯ve noticed one of his techniques already, against Dekker.¡±


    Finn nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the technique is called,¡± he said. ¡°But it was like he could see every strike before Dekker threw it, like he sees everything.¡±


    ¡°Not everything,¡± Yoquin said. ¡°But enough. Our bodies are not very good liars. There are always subtle cues that we plan to move in a certain direction before we take a full step to move there. Capulet is very good at noticing these subtle movements, mere twitches. The technique is called, quite aptly, [Track Movement]. He wins most of his fights this way, rarely having to resort to more. He figures out when the opponent will move, where they will move, and makes sure his daggers are there to meet them. Most opponents end up cut before they even realize they¡¯re in danger.¡±


    Finn waited.


    ¡°Dekker was smart,¡± Yoquin continued. ¡°I doubt he knew the intricacies of the technique itself, but he was quick to notice that Capulet¡¯s advantage was tied to his vision, that he had to take it away from him. The [Sandstorm] technique was perfect for that. It allows the user to roam uninhibited in a haze, a monumental advantage against anyone not versed in the technique. Capulet was not used to being blinded. I think a part of him panicked. He tried everything, sacrificing both [Lifeblood] and [chaos] in the process. He took more damage against Dekker than I¡¯ve seen him take in the [Sand Grade]. It was reminiscent of his [Sky Grade] bouts. Normally, in the [Sand Grade], he gets in and out of the arena without getting struck once.¡±


    ¡°But he is getting struck,¡± Finn said.


    ¡°I imagine he did not want to risk using the same rudimentary techniques against Ellsworth,¡± Yoquin said. ¡°An unfamiliar opponent, it had already been thwarted once tonight¡ªyou can see the rationale. He chose not to underestimate Ellsworth as he had Dekker.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Finn said. ¡°He¡¯s still seeing all Ellsworth¡¯s strikes, but he¡¯s allowing himself to get cut. Why? What is he doing?¡±


    ¡°Another favorite technique of his,¡± Yoquin said. ¡°This one can only be used when one is on the brink of death.¡± Yoquin hesitated. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it before. There are many variations of it, but this one is¡­ remarkable. A short burst of concentrated power. A short burst, but enough. More than enough. I¡¯ve heard it referred to as a second wind, of sorts.¡±


    Finn turned back, his thoughts racing. He¡¯s choosing when he gets hit. He¡¯s allowing himself to get cut. He¡¯s purposefully sacrificing [Lifeblood] so that he gets a [Second Wind] from the brink of death. Then, a realization. He wants Ellsworth to underestimate him again.


    We might not have to wait long, Omri thought back to him. Look.


    Finn looked at Capulet¡¯s tether. Alun was something out of a nightmare, some creature whose blood flows outside the body, his scars like twisted, external veins. Finn noticed for the first time that most of the cuts seemed to be caked, scars upon scars, in superficial areas. Capulet would not risk dying before his tether had a chance to save him. He had carefully chosen where he would allow himself to be struck so that he could track his vulnerability. And Ellsworth hadn¡¯t noticed anything strange.


    There came a roar of triumph from Ellsworth. His exultation was at a high. The crowd mimicked him. Everything was going according to plan. Their lord had barely been hit, and the victory Aonenbridge yearned for was close at hand.


    Capulet suddenly turned. Ellsworth came to a stop, staring at his opponent¡¯s back. He did not lower his blade.


    ¡°Turn around, Capulet,¡± Ellsworth said.


    Capulet seemed not to hear. He was looking up at the Apex.


    ¡°Capulet,¡± Ellsworth said. ¡°It is finished. Meet your fate with the dregs of honor remaining to you. I will not strike when your back is turned.¡±


    Capulet¡¯s face cracked open into that grotesque smile. Finn saw him draw a breath, as if about to speak. He strained his ears to hear, but it was unnecessary. Capulet¡¯s whisper moved as magic, threading itself through the cracks of silence within the tumult of the crowd.


    ¡°Freedom.¡±


    Lord Yoquin¡¯s face, usually a mask of calmness, suddenly looked angry. He turned to face Finn.


    ¡°Here it comes.¡±


    Capulet turned back to Ellsworth, raising both his palms up in apparent supplication. He let his daggers fall. He shut his eyes.


    Ellsworth did not hesitate.


    ¡°For Aonenbridge!¡± he cried. He bounded forward, and sliced Capulet across the chest. The wound was deep. The Crimson King cried out and fell. Lay motionless in the dirt.


    A silence took hold. Finn had expected cheers. The crowd, after all, hadn¡¯t known about Capulet''s [Second Wind]. And yet their cheers were caught, had gotten stuck, threatened to choke like a hand on the throat. A chill ran through the air. Capulet lay there, weaponless, vulnerable, and yet somehow more menacing than ever before as an imperceptible aura clung itself to him in stillness, as if death had been unable to claim him, as if it had tried and been turned away.


    The fallen figure did not move.


    But the tether had remained standing.


    Something was wrong.


    When a master fell, a tether fell. That was the way of the world.


    Ellsworth stared at Alun.


    Come on, fall, he seemed to be saying. Finn heard others repeat it out loud.


    Alun stared back from beneath a crimson robe. He did not smile. He was not like his master, could not relish in suffering. He shook his head.


    A whisper. A shiver.


    And then Capulet was gone.


    Finn¡¯s heartbeat rose suddenly. He activated [Vision]. Omri groaned and staggered, but Finn was not there to notice. He was on the sands, looking around desperately. Capulet was gone.


    Then, there he was, standing behind Ellsworth. Dekker had subdued him from the back, Ellsworth had refused to strike from the same position. It was not honorable.


    Capulet had no such qualms.


    ¡°My turn,¡± he breathed into Ellsworth¡¯s ear.


    Ellsworth tried to sidestep, was caught, held. Capulet was too fast, too strong. With [Second Wind], a sudden surge of reawakened power, he didn¡¯t need his daggers. He struck with his fingernails, his hand outstretched, and knifed Ellsworth through the shoulder.


    A painful strike. Ellsworth screamed, but it was not quite enough to kill him.


    Capulet removed his hand from Ellsworth¡¯s flesh and struck again.


    Ellsworth screamed.


    It was not quite enough to kill him.


    Again. Screams.


    Not quite enough to kill him.

 Chapter 8: The Tether

    Ellsworth became aware that the crowd was cheering. Why were they cheering? When had they turned against him?


    No, he realized, they were not cheering. They were silent. The shouts and screams he heard were his own.


    Hold it back, hold it back, he told himself. Hold it¡ª


    Knife.


    He screamed.


    His mind was swimming. At some point it had detached. How long had he been here? He tried to form a picture of where here was. He saw sand, saw faces, but none of it felt real. He was not sure he was real. The only thing real was the pain, and more pain, a spiral of pain. It blocked everything else out.


    He tried to focus. He had been in positions like this before, hadn¡¯t he? He knew what he had to do.


    Move, he told himself. You have to move.


    No, wait, that voice wasn¡¯t his.


    Move, Rian thought to him again. Move! You have to move!


    Rian. The face of his tether flashed behind his eyelids, then was swept away in a violent stream. Something compelled Ellsworth to go after it, a primal instinct. He leaped, clung to it, felt it begin to slip through his fingers again, and clung harder. Told himself he would not let go.


    There was another flash of awareness.


    He saw others. In the stands, beyond the pit¡ªwhat was he doing in the pit?¡ªhe saw the people of Aonenbridge. His people. They were no longer silent. They were yelling, their screams tuned with his own. He saw faces. He knew some of those faces, he realized. There was the [Blacksmith] who had crafted his first dagger, the [Innkeeper] of the Boggy Bastion who never charged him for the third jug of wine, the [Baker] who had sold him and Rian frosted cakes for half-price ever since they were five years old. He saw the aged man make an uncharacteristically heroic jump for the boundary separating the stands from the pit, saw others follow. A [Guardsman] swung a blunt weapon, and the [Baker] collapsed.


    No, Ellsworth tried to say. Leave him alone. He has a family.


    Move! Move, goddammit!


    Family. The Apex swam in front of his eyes. He¡¯d been sitting next to Finn, he seemed to recall. Finn, his cousin. Lord Finric. Little lord, Ellsworth called him. But he was not a little lord anymore. He was a man full-grown now, over the last year. A spitting image of Zendar.


    Zendar.


    I will follow you into hell, my brother.


    Ellsworth had said the words, said the words but hadn¡¯t followed him.


    Zendar. The closest thing to a brother he¡¯d ever had.


    The leather cuff around Ellsworth¡¯s wrist seemed to tighten. His hand began to feel numb until he felt sure it wasn¡¯t there, that it had fallen off. The cuff was all there was. The cuff, the chain.


    And the howling wind of Ortomalle.


    The terror was the same after all these years. As a boy, the memory of the Ortomallean hordes had wrenched him from sleep, his screams waking up half of Aonen Keep. Now, as a man, it was the cold sweats that kept him awake. Zendar had known, had always been able to sense. No matter how hard Ellsworth tried to hide it, Zendar could always tell. Many long days were spent in the flooded fields of Aonenbridge in an attempt to exhaust himself. And Zendar had stayed with him. Many long nights in taverns, until copious amounts of drink finally eased him into dreamless sleep. And Zendar had stayed with him.


    ¡°Ortomalle is behind us,¡± Zendar would say. ¡°We¡¯re never going back. Their deaths weren¡¯t your fault.¡±


    We¡¯re never going back. But Zendar was back. He¡¯d been abducted, taken. He was in Ortomalle, alone.


    I will follow you into hell, my brother.


    He hadn¡¯t followed him. Hadn¡¯t even tried.


    And now he¡¯d never get the chance.


    ¡°Don¡¯t die on me yet, we¡¯re just getting started. Perhaps I got a little carried away. Let your tether help you out. I¡¯ll give you a moment. How does five seconds sound? Five, four¡ª¡±


    Knife.


    ¡°Whoops,¡± the same voice came again. ¡°I lied.¡±


    A leering face swam up in front of him again. He didn¡¯t want to see it. The face, the eyes, the smile. He shut his own eyes, but the face was still there, scorched behind his eyelids. Capulet.


    The Crimson King.


    He felt his mind recoil. He found himself reaching, latching on to the first image he could find¡ªCapulet¡¯s own brother, who had suffered a lifetime under the thumb of this madman. Tethered to his own brother. A brother not chosen, but born with.


    However¡ªEllsworth found himself thinking with puzzling clarity¡ªsuch arrangements were not uncommon. To give a person a chance at life, families sometimes made an impossible choice. Sacrificed another.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    He¡¯d seen it done before, much closer to home.


    Knife.


    Ellsworth, the voice in his mind came, pleading now. You have to move. Look.


    ELLSWORTH


    [Tethered]


    [Warrior]


    [Level 12]


    [Anchor Points]: 1


    [Skills]: 4


    METERS


    [Lifeblood]: 90 / 230


    [Chaos]: 120 / 230


    ¡­


    [Lifeblood]: 80 / 230


    ¡­


    [Lifeblood]: 70 / 230


    You have to move, the voice repeated, sounding strained, almost cracking. You have to move.


    What was he being shown? What were these numbers? He tried to attach meaning to them, but they slipped away. All he saw was dirt. He was lying in dirt, he realized. There was a weight on top of him. Capulet. Reaching, knifing. Playing. Knife. There was pandemonium around him. Knife. The [Guardsmen] were trying to stop people from jumping into the arena after him. Knife.


    This madness ends with you, Lord Yoquin had said.


    He knew he had to get up. He knew what would happen if he didn¡¯t. But he couldn¡¯t. He felt so weak.


    I won¡¯t lose, he had said. Another lie.


    I¡¯ve lost, he thought, with finality.


    He felt a sudden, cozy warmth...


    No¡ª


    An ebb and flow...


    Stop¡ª


    He would finally be able to sleep, he realized. It suddenly seemed the easiest thing in the world. If he closed his eyes, kept them closed, he could shut it all out¡­ He could sleep. A sleep everlasting. There would be no more pain, no more screaming. No more guilt.


    I¡¯m sorry, my brother.


    There is another way, Rian¡¯s voice came. Ellsworth saw what his tether saw¡­ He saw what his tether saw¡­


    He saw what Rian saw.


    Ellsworth¡¯s mind cleared as if by a bolt of lightning.


    Don¡¯t even think about it, he told his tether.


    Rian remained quiet.


    I¡¯m serious, Ellsworth thought to him. I will not risk you. This is a price I refuse to pay.


    He¡¯d learned this technique years ago. They¡¯d learned it. It was customary for most [Warriors] and their tethers to study it. Few mastered it. Ellsworth had, and had vowed to never use it.


    Rian, don¡¯t do it, Ellsworth said again.


    There was a pause. I¡¯ll do what I must, his tether said.


    Then, he felt it. Activated. It began to rush over him, a heat in the cold. Rian hadn¡¯t even given him time to argue, time to shut him out. [Rend and Renew].


    [Lifeblood]: 50 / 230


    [Chaos]: 120 / 230


    ¡­


    [Lifeblood]: 80 / 230


    [Chaos]: 90 / 230


    ¡­


    [Lifeblood]: 110 / 230


    [Chaos]: 60 / 230


    ¡­


    [Lifeblood]: 140 / 230


    [Chaos]: 30 / 230


    Ellsworth screamed, but not from physical pain. An inward pain, unlike any he¡¯d ever felt.


    Rian!


    For an agonizing second, he thought his tether was no longer there. But then he felt him, distant, as a pale light. You were the brother I chose, Rian whispered, as if from far away. I would have followed you into hell. Again and again. Goodbye, my brother.


    RIAN!


    ***


    ¡°My turn,¡± Finn heard Capulet say. Then he¡¯d seen the Crimson King extend his hand and strike, reaching inside Ellsworth¡¯s shoulder. He¡¯d never forget the way his cousin screamed that night. Capulet removed his fingers, Ellsworth¡¯s shoulder began to heal, then Capulet struck again. The screams. Oh, the screams.


    We have to stop this, Finn thought to Omri. Then, out loud, ¡°Lord Yoquin. We have to stop this.¡±


    Ellsworth had tripped, had fallen. Capulet was above him, clawing slowly, methodically choosing his strikes. Maximum pain, minimum damage. An artisan. He wanted this to go on for as long as possible. Finn saw his cousin faint, saw his eyes roll back, close, jolt open. Shut by pain, awakened by pain. His blade lay forgotten at his side.


    ¡°Don¡¯t die on me yet, we¡¯re just getting started,¡± Finn heard Capulet say. ¡°Perhaps I got a little carried away.¡± Capulet leaned back, languid, as if he was straddling a horse. ¡°Let your tether help you out. I¡¯ll give you a moment.¡± Capulet spotted Ellsworth¡¯s blade lying beside them, reached for it. ¡°How does five seconds sound? Five, four¡ª¡±


    He stabbed Ellsworth with his own blade.


    ¡°Whoops,¡± Capulet said. ¡°I lied.¡± Then, with a [chaos]-fueled motion, he bent the blade until it snapped and broke into shards. He tossed them aside disdainfully.


    ¡°Lord Yoquin,¡± Finn said again.


    ¡°Back to where we started,¡± Yoquin whispered, speaking to himself. His face was red. At his side, Lucien looked uneasy. ¡°Worse off than before. I told him.¡±


    ¡°Lord Yoquin.¡±


    Lord Yoquin seemed to break out of his reverie. He met Finn¡¯s eyes for an instant, then turned to face Lucien. ¡°Lucien,¡± he said. ¡°We have to get the Illd¡¯Orians out of the arena. Round them up. As many as you can. Quickly.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Finn said.


    Lucien stood. ¡°As you command, my lord.¡±


    ¡°The enchantments?¡± Yoquin asked.


    Lucien nodded. ¡°They will hold, my lord. We will be waiting with the carriages.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t wait,¡± Yoquin said. ¡°I can handle myself. Watch the enchantments closely, increase the intensity if you need to. You should be safe once you get to the Fork, but don¡¯t slow until you¡¯re on the boats. Get my people to safety, Lucien.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Finn asked.


    ¡°As you command,¡± Lucien repeated. He turned¡ªhis shoulders tensing as another scream pierced the air¡ªand exited the Apex.


    ¡°Lord Yoquin,¡± Finn repeated. He heard a growl, realized it was coming from him.


    Yoquin finally turned to Finn. His face was pitying. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Finn,¡± he said, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid your cousin is lost. I must focus on my own people. Ellsworth was right. The Aonens will go after them. And that will¡­ start something.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ but Ellsworth might still¡­¡±


    Yoquin shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± he said.


    Finn heard a crash. He turned to the stands. The [Guardsmen] had formed a line in front of the boundary of the pit and were breaking up scuffles. He recognized the local [Baker], saw him trying to jump into the pit, then get shoved away by a [Guardsman]. He saw an [Innkeeper] go after the same [Guardsman], land a punch, then get struck with the hilt of a sword and collapse.


    ¡°You should focus on your people, Finn,¡± Lord Yoquin said. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. ¡°This should not have happened. Our history¡­ Aonenbridge and Illd¡¯Or¡­ too raw¡­ tonight was a mistake.¡± He looked ready to go, to follow Lucien, but something held him back. He struggled with his words for a moment. ¡°Your people¡­ they¡­ they will listen to you,¡± he said.


    Will they? Finn found himself thinking.


    But he had to do something, he realized. No Arabella, no Zendar, no Yoquin, no Ellsworth. Finn had to do something.


    He took in a deep breath.


    And Lord Finric stood.


    Wait, Omri thought.


    Finn paused, saw Yoquin freeze. An awareness washed over him, iced his blood. The arena had gone silent.


    He did not want to look. He feared what he would see.


    Through Omri¡¯s eyes, through a disorientating haze of double vision, Finn caught a glimpse of something. He inhaled sharply. His head snapped in the direction of the pits.


    Capulet had taken a step away from Ellsworth. His hands were bloody, already beginning to clot. He took another step back, tripped. There was an expression of utter disbelief on his face.


    Ellsworth¡¯s eyes were open. They were lucid.

 Chapter 9: Cracks in Glass

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe it.¡±


    Ellsworth rose. Color was returning to his cheeks in one steady pulse after another. When he stood, his legs were firm.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe it,¡± Lord Yoquin repeated. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s done it. Capulet¡¯s [Second Wind] is over. He¡¯s finished.¡±


    Finn was stunned. Sparks were being born in his chest, and he watched them go, scatter and glow. He stood as one might stand in the fragile calm after a tempest, wary and watchful for the storm winds to whisper and then howl back to life. He scarcely let himself dare to hope¡ªcould it really be over?


    Then, he felt the caress of an emotion and turned in the direction Omri was looking. A numbness came over him, a suspicion of what he might see. He saw Dekker¡¯s body¡­ Dekker¡¯s tether¡­ blood, weapons¡­ and then, in the far corner of the pit¡­ he saw Rian.


    The tether had been butchered, but Finn had expected that. Rian had taken as many wounds as Ellsworth had, but this was different. Tethers could not die from physical wounds. One barely noticed a bandaged arm, or a cut, or a burn, when one crossed a tether in the street. This was different.


    Rian was translucent.


    He was still there, but he had started to¡­ blur. His form had begun to fade, as if one was staring at him from beneath the surface of a murky lake, or through mist, as if he was the mist. Finn knew what this was¡ªeveryone did¡ª, but he had somehow managed to avoid ever having to witness it. Until now.


    Rian had exceeded his [chaos]-meter. He had drawn on too much, filtered too much, and now he was dissolving, drowning in [chaos].


    [Chaos] was a law of the natural world. It was wild, everything the name implied. Tethers could tap into that raw, untamed energy, filtering it into something harnessable for their masters, but not without respect for what it was, for their own limits. Whenever a student became too impulsive, too reckless with their usage, Master Wendell would remind them of the dangers, would remind them one could never become too comfortable with [chaos], regardless of the form¡ªwild, or harnessed.


    When Finn had been eight years old, the morning after a storm had ravaged Aonenbridge, Master Wendell had taken him and a few other sons and daughters of Aonenbridge outside, just before daybreak. The sun had not fully risen yet, and Finn had been entrusted with the proud task of carrying the lamp to light their way. It was a beautiful glass lamp, carrying the insignia of his House¡ªthe Mink and the Mallet. Even at such a young age, Finn had been able to appreciate the delicate craftsmanship.


    Wendell had taken them just outside the walls of Aonenbridge and had shown them a spot where lightning had split a tree in half and scorched the ground beneath. Then he¡¯d taken the lamp from Finn¡¯s hands and smashed the glass on the ground. Finn had tried to be brave in front of the others, but the flames had begun to spread, burning an even larger area than the lightning had. He and the other children had wept and asked Master Wendell to put the flames out. Wendell had done so, then explained. If you let the glass crack, if you let the flame catch and spread too far, it would be just as difficult to control as any lightning storm.


    [Chaos] was like this. It was always to be respected, always to be feared. One simple crack, one reckless usage, and there would be consequences.


    Tethers, it was said, did not have to be taught this. Their fear was innate. Omri, who had been a tether since the age of six, had once told Finn that the fear never went away, not even somewhat. Certain pious sects took this innate fear to mean that tethers were, in fact, a corruption, a mistake made eons ago. A price would have to be paid, they said. Energy taken had to be replaced, and the scales would balance, in the end. Finn had once mentioned this to Omri, had once asked him about the innate fear.


    Once, never again.


    He¡¯d seen something in Omri¡¯s eyes that day that frightened even him.


    One thing was clear to Finn. Something happened when one became a tether¡ªwhen one¡¯s eyes went white¡ªsomething that made them fear death more than anything else. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was a fear of retribution, of some sort of judgment, or if it went beyond the comprehensible.


    Either way, watching Rian begin to fade into nothingness, Finn knew Wendell¡¯s comparison about lightning strikes and glass lamps did not do it justice.


    He had known Ellsworth had this technique. Ellsworth had told him about it once, had called it the most vile technique in the world. In some ways, it was the antithesis to Capulet¡¯s [Second Wind]. Whereas Capulet had sacrificed his [Lifeblood] for more [chaos], Ellsworth¡¯s [Rend and Renew] sacrificed his [chaos] for [Lifeblood]¡ªsacrificed the tether for the master.


    Finn could not believe his cousin had done it.


    Ellsworth had been tethered to Rian his entire life, twenty-eight years.


    And he¡¯d¡­


    He¡¯d¡­


    Finn looked at Omri, catching his thoughts before he let them unravel. But he saw the same feeling in Omri¡¯s eyes¡­ heard snippets of the same thoughts.


    He turned back to the pits.


    Capulet had not moved from where he had tripped. He began backing away in a quick, scurrying motion. Ellsworth followed. He looked as he had when he¡¯d first entered the pit. Except for the eyes. Finn saw his cousin¡¯s expression, and it scared him. Distilled hatred, a cold madness that eclipsed Capulet¡¯s own¡­A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    If you let the glass crack, if you let the flame catch¡­


    Finn shuddered. He knew, could feel, that there would be nothing left of Capulet to bury by the time the sun rose.


    ¡°Yield.¡±


    Finn felt his brow furrow. He blinked. The word had come from Ellsworth. At his side, Omri¡¯s jaw hung open.


    Capulet¡¯s expression faltered, bewilderment briefly unveiled. He stared at Ellsworth for a moment longer then turned, cautiously, to glance at Rian. Finn¡¯s eyes followed. Saw¡­ a twitch.


    He¡¯s alive!


    Others had seen it too. A ripple ran through the arena. ¡°The tether¡¯s alive!¡±


    Capulet turned back to Ellsworth. There was a glint in his eye. ¡°I see,¡± he said, crooning. ¡°Very interesting¡­¡±


    Ellsworth¡¯s stare was devoid of warmth. ¡°Yield,¡± he commanded.


    Oh, no, Omri¡¯s thought came.


    Capulet planted his hands, drew himself up to one knee, then the other. He rose to his feet, slowly, deliberately. Ellsworth towered over him. And Capulet¡¯s smirk endured. Finn expected Ellsworth to strike him down again, found he longed to see it.


    But Ellsworth remained still, the burn within his eyes held tenuously at bay.


    The two men stared at each other.


    Capulet¡¯s shoulders began to shake.


    And then he was laughing.


    Ellsworth¡¯s upper lip curled violently, then slackened. Capulet¡¯s laughter rang through the arena, boisterous and insulting. Finn felt something within himself veer towards the fringe of breaking. He heard himself swear, shout, wish death upon this man.


    He could not understand how Ellsworth was remaining so composed in the face of such effrontery.


    Capulet¡¯s laughter finally tapered off. The silence that ensued was worse. There was no fear in it. Somehow, the two men on the sands were still equals. It made no sense. Here was the Warden¡¯s nephew, renewed strength and vitality, staring down at an extinguished foe, the same foe for the second time that night, and nothing had changed.


    ¡°So, we have arrived,¡± Capulet said. ¡°How will you proceed, boy? I wonder¡­¡±


    ¡°Yield,¡± Ellsworth said.


    ¡°I do not yield,¡± Capulet said.


    ¡°Yield,¡± Ellsworth repeated. There was a slight tremor to the word.


    ¡°I do not yield.¡±


    It was as if the wind was howling, and yet the night was still.


    ¡°You know what you must do, boy, and I am powerless to stop you,¡± Capulet said. ¡°So do it, and live the rest of your days with this failure. You have not beaten me, and you know this. I may perish, but I take a part of you with me. I force a part of myself upon you. Live with it, suffer from it. Remember me.¡±


    It was almost a plea, a request, and yet it was said with spite. Ellsworth¡¯s face twitched again. He did not move. There was more silence.


    ¡°There is nothing to think about,¡± Capulet said, and he sounded almost angry. ¡°You must kill me. There is no alternative. You must kill me, and you must kill him.¡± And as he spoke, Capulet raised a hand, and pointed.


    And then Finn understood.


    Rian had not exceeded his [chaos]-meter. Not yet. Not quite. There was the sliver of something remaining, the finest amount which allowed him to cling desperately to life. Somehow, he had managed to hold on as if from the edge of a cliff, fingernails dug into rock.


    One move, one strike from Ellsworth would use up the remaining [chaos]. It would be too much, the two of them would come untethered, and Rian would be lost.


    Ellsworth will survive. Rian won¡¯t. Lord Yoquin had said something similar, had mentioned [Anchor Points], but this time the thought came from Omri.


    Finn felt something within him fragment.


    ¡°What if he yields?¡± Finn said out loud. He hadn¡¯t been speaking to anybody in particular, but it was Yoquin who responded.


    ¡°Capulet?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Finn said. ¡°Ellsworth.¡±


    Lord Yoquin shook his head. ¡°He won¡¯t. He can¡¯t. He said it himself, the people need a victory.¡±


    ¡°Fuck the victory,¡± Finn heard himself say. ¡°This isn¡¯t a victory. There has to be another way.¡±


    Lord Yoquin turned away. ¡°Only Ellsworth can make that choice,¡± he said.


    Ellsworth won¡¯t make the choice, Omri thought. Rian already has. It¡¯s gone too far. Even if... Omri shook his head. It''s gone too far. Finn, I¡­ I don¡¯t think it was Ellsworth who activated [Rend and Renew].


    Finn was unprepared for this. Rian would do that?


    A faint smile touched Omri¡¯s lips. Is it that difficult to believe?


    But¡­ was he not afraid?


    A quiet breath. Perhaps he believes there are forces in this world more powerful than [chaos], Omri thought.


    Ellsworth turned his back to Capulet, who watched him go. With quiet footsteps he moved across the sands, past the remnants of a battle which had already claimed two lives and would soon claim more. Dekker¡¯s broken shield lay forgotten. The shards of Ellsworth¡¯s own blade, which Capulet had tossed aside. Splatterings of blood. Whose blood, it could not be known. Then the body of Dekker, the body of his tether, both corpses lying inanimate as the hammer which lay beside them. Undamaged. Ellsworth passed it without a glance, but Finn felt himself drawn to it.


    If only Dekker had smashed Capulet¡¯s head in, instead of offering the yield, Finn found himself thinking. There was undirected venom in his thoughts.


    Don¡¯t blame Dekker, Finn. If you need to blame someone, don¡¯t blame Dekker.


    Then who?


    Omri did not respond. Finn felt his anger rising, but then he felt beyond. He remembered Omri¡¯s silence after Dekker¡¯s tether had fallen, remembered what Omri had felt when Rian followed his master into the pits. Finn raised a hand, placed it on his tether¡¯s shoulder. A memory then, a distant memory of himself, aged four, the first time he¡¯d seen Omri, the first time he¡¯d raised his hand, placed master¡¯s palm to tether¡¯s forehead, the day he¡¯d claimed him. Omri¡¯s eyes going white, white forever.


    Omri¡¯s face cracked, an attempt at a smile.


    I don¡¯t regret anything, his tether thought to him. I¡¯ve told you this.


    Ellsworth continued towards Rian. His tether¡¯s form¡ªwhich had been growing more and more indistinct, seeming in danger of seeping into the sands or rising into the air like a column of smoke¡ªseemed to stabilize for a moment.


    Ellsworth crouched and reached out. He hesitated before his hand made contact, then forced himself onward. His fingers touched something that was barely there. A sound escaped him, a choke. Finn shut his eyes, blinked back what he felt rising. When he opened them again, Ellsworth was cradling Rian¡¯s neck.


    Seeing all this, Finn knew Omri had been right. Ellsworth had not been the one to activate [Rend and Renew].


    He heard the distant murmur of Ellsworth¡¯s words, but did not strain his ears. He hoped, perhaps naively, that nobody else would either. He thought he saw Rian¡¯s eyes flutter, but he did not strain his own to check, and he never asked his cousin whether he and Rian had managed to communicate in those final moments. Those moments were theirs.


    Time passed. Ellsworth got up again. He placed Rian¡¯s head down delicately. He stared, seemed unable to move, and then finally ripped himself away. His steps were violent, forceful. He came up to Dekker¡¯s body again. Paused. Paused again at Dekker¡¯s tether. Spoke. Picked up the hammer.


    Then he turned towards Capulet.


    Capulet was looking away, towards his own tether. Alun stared back. There were many things woven into that shared look of brother and brother, master and tether, but little anger. Capulet had let go of his smirk. His expression was blank.


    Then Ellsworth was there, Dekker¡¯s hammer in hand. The spirit of Aonenbridge incarnate.


    Capulet faced him. He whispered something else then, too low for Finn to hear. Ellsworth murmured something back.


    Then he let the glass crack, let the flame catch.


    And swung the hammer, [chaos]-fueled.


    Finn had been right. When the sun rose that day, there was nothing left of Capulet to be buried.

 Chapter 10: A Noblemans Burden

    You¡¯re bleeding.


    There was a long gash down the length of Finn¡¯s forearm.


    I¡¯m not.


    Your arm is bleeding.


    I¡¯m fine.


    Finn, you¡¯ve been steadily dropping [Lifeblood] since daybreak. You haven¡¯t slept. At least let me heal your arm.


    Leave it alone.


    FINN


    [Tethered]


    [Nobleman]


    [Level 7]


    [Anchor Points]: 0


    [Skills]: 3


    METERS


    [Lifeblood]: 153 / 170


    [Chaos]: 170 / 170


    The meters momentarily obscured his vision, drawing his attention away from the mountain of papers laid out in front of him¡ªwhich was exactly what Omri had intended. Finn sighed, waved a hand, and the meters began to fade, infuriating in their slowness. He waved his hand a second time, more vigorously, and the candle on his table flickered and went out. He stared in mild surprise at the wispy trail of smoke emanating from the stick of wax. He¡¯d forgotten about it. With a start, he realized it was nearly midday. The sun was bright, the sky clear, which felt somewhat inappropriate after the night they¡¯d had.


    Finn, Omri said again.


    I¡¯m not going to die from a lack of sleep, Finn snapped.


    At least let me heal your arm. It¡¯s going to be a long day.


    Finn sighed again. And so it would be. And his arm was hurting. There was no point denying it, especially to his tether. Omri was in his head, knew exactly how much the wound burned, how much it throbbed around the torn skin.


    Finn had had to make some difficult decisions¡ªand make them quickly¡ªlast night, after they¡¯d brought Ellsworth out from the pits. Lord Yoquin had disappeared, and the Illd¡¯Orian carriages had later been seen withdrawing from the town by jubilant Aonens parading through the streets. There was no more immediate danger, but Finn assumed Yoquin was aboard those carriages, headed back to Illd¡¯Or with the rest of the Illd¡¯Orians. He couldn¡¯t, he realized, blame the young lord for being cautious. And so Finn was left alone with the duty of dealing with the aftermath of all that had happened. And, up to a point, he felt he¡¯d done an adequate job.


    Up to a point.


    The wound on his arm was a testament to the fact that he may have made some mistakes, if he let himself think about it. He tried his best not to let himself think about it. Besides, mistake or not, he hadn¡¯t had a choice.


    That isn¡¯t, strictly speaking, true, a separate, traitorous part of himself said. You could have at least waited until morning.


    No, he couldn¡¯t have waited, he countered, once again drawn into the insistent wrangling with himself. Ellsworth had been in pain. Ellsworth had been untethered. That was not nothing.


    The events replayed in his mind, distracting him even further from the work he had to do, the list of names he had to review¡ªpotential agitators, the list called them¡ª, people who¡¯d been involved in the almost-riot last night and who he¡¯d have to seek out over the course of the day.


    The arena had erupted into a deafening tumult after Capulet had fallen¡ªno, after he¡¯d disintegrated. The [Gladiator] had exploded into a sudden cloud, his very essence sheared and cut adrift, the dust of his bones all that remained to swirl in the breeze and then return and settle upon the very sand on which he¡¯d fought. There¡¯d been nothing left, nothing corporeal. Finn had never seen a strike like the one his cousin had swung at the other man, but he felt that, had Ellsworth been a [Gladiator], the strike would have been worthy of the [Sky Grade], perhaps even the [Moon Grade].


    Capulet¡¯s tether had fallen where he¡¯d stood. His eyes had reverted back from white to their natural brown¡ªhazelnut, someone had said¡ªwith his death. An Illd¡¯Orian had been there to collect his remains. The tether would, at least, receive a burial, although doubtless in an unmarked grave. Tethers who died with their masters were buried with their masters, which was not possible in this case. Capulet would not be buried, could not. And neither could Rian.


    There¡¯d been four men in the pits to start the main event, and two more in the subsequent unorthodox post-main event. Three masters, three tethers. And only Ellsworth had walked out of there alive.


    He¡¯d stopped an almost-riot, yes, but he¡¯d paid dearly for it. A sacrifice had been made. It seemed to Finn that people were forgetting that.


    Rian had been, after all, just a tether. And a win was a win.


    Faced with the revelry of the people, Finn had chosen to immediately separate Ellsworth from the crowd.


    A euphoric throng of Aonens had seemed intent on following the noble procession all the way from the arena, along the flooded fields, into and across Aonenbridge proper and then up towards Aonen Keep. At first, Ellsworth had been able to dig deep within himself and smile, raising a hand in recognition at some of those who waved excitedly in his direction, but one looking for it would have been able to see through the facade and notice the storm of emotion within his eyes. Even after Finn had managed to lose the crowd¡ªafter he¡¯d sent a conspicuous, curtained litter ahead of them which the people followed, for surely Lord Ellsworth was within there¡ª, the singing and cheers and the chants of Ellsworth! Ellsworth! Ellsworth! seemed to follow them and could be heard through the city all night until long after the sun had risen.


    Once the litter was gone, Finn, Ellsworth and Omri snuck out of the arena, circumvented the main pathways leading to the town and climbed up towards the rarely used and lesser-known back entrance of Aonen Keep. None of them had spoken, their footsteps squelching in the mud as they walked. That, Finn realized afterwards, had been the worst part. They¡¯d taken this shortcut before, many times, but there¡¯d always been four sets of footsteps as they walked. Sometimes six. Tonight they were three, and the absence of those who were not with them deepened the silence until it thundered in their ears.


    Finn turned to his cousin, intending to speak, to make some silly quip about something that did not matter, but then he was reminded why he¡¯d been avoiding Ellsworth¡¯s gaze. The storm was still there, had intensified, and seemed on the verge of overwhelming the man. He was broken. No, more than that. Sundered. Rent.


    Untethered.


    Finn made up his mind then. His cousin¡¯s eyes had not yet been in danger of going white. They hadn¡¯t even begun to pale. Due to his [Anchor Point], Ellsworth would be able to remain untethered for at least a day, perhaps more¡ªthen again, perhaps less. Only Master Wendell would be able to calculate the exact length of Ellsworth¡¯s window. It didn¡¯t matter to Finn. He did not intend to take the risk.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Once they¡¯d gotten back to Aonen Keep, he¡¯d given the order, and Ellsworth had a new tether within the hour.


    Not every choice a [Nobleman] makes will be painless, but he must decide, for that is his burden. He must trust in his judgment and never look back, for in looking forward lies his only shield.


    Finn had gone along to secure the boy, to explain to the mother. And now, six hours later, his arm still hadn¡¯t stopped bleeding from where the shrieking woman had torn at his skin. The image kept replaying in his mind on a loop. The distraught mother, the wide-eyed son torn from his bed in the middle of the night. Finn had given the order. He¡¯d done that. He hadn¡¯t had a choice, he tried to remind himself. Ellsworth had needed a tether. Quickly. Finn had made a decision. It was the right one. It was.


    He must trust in his judgment and never look back, for in looking forward lies his only shield.


    His father had repeated this to him, the very day after Zendar had disappeared.


    Finn rubbed at his eyes with a cuff and sighed.


    Things had been easier when he¡¯d simply been the second son of Aonenbridge, when all he¡¯d had to do was trust in Zendar¡¯s decisions rather than make his own. Wherever others had struggled, the eldest son of the Warden had been able to effortlessly see through the haze of complex issues and pave a way forward. They, all of Aonenbridge, could trust in his judgment. He was all they needed.


    And they no longer had him.


    They had Finn. And all he had was Ellsworth. He hadn¡¯t had a choice.


    Finn looked down at his arm, and noticed the bleeding had stopped. The skin had slowly begun to scar. He turned and glared at Omri.


    I won¡¯t apologize, Omri thought to him, a growing red stain now soaking his own sleeve. I¡¯m not going to let you torture yourself. I don¡¯t need permission to help you.


    Finn felt the sharp edge to his tether¡¯s words, but also the sincerity. He stared out of his window, across the winding, narrow streets of Aonenbridge. He heard the distant clang of a [Blacksmith] at work, caught the far-off scent of baking bread, the laughter of children.


    He had to admit that, despite himself, he was grateful that his arm no longer burned. And that irked him. Why shouldn¡¯t he experience pain, after the pain he¡¯d caused that night? What gave him the right to try to forget? The image of the howling mother replayed in his head again, the way she¡¯d crumpled to the floor as they¡¯d dragged her only son away.


    His eyes had gone white, Finn told himself. It was just a matter of time. If it had not been Ellsworth, somebody else would have come along and claimed him. And they¡¯d have had every right to do so.


    He realized that his knuckles had whitened as his fists were clenched. He relaxed them.


    I don¡¯t need permission to help you, Omri had said.


    ¡°If you want to help, help me get this done,¡± Finn said. He spoke out loud, where it was easier to hide. ¡°I need to get this done today.¡±


    The [Guardsman] at Finn¡¯s door stepped forward, thinking he¡¯d been addressed. ¡°Yes, my lord. I could, perhaps, send for Lord Ellsworth, and let him know that you require¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Finn said quickly. ¡°Not Ellsworth. He needs¡­ time alone.¡±


    The [Guardsman] thought for a moment. ¡°Lady Arabella, my lord?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The harshness in Finn¡¯s voice surprised even him. The [Guardsman], who had at least three levels on Finn, shrank back as if whipped.


    Finn closed his eyes. He sighed. He turned and took a closer look at the [Guardsman]. He was young¡ªnot much older than Finn¡ª, clad in a short, weathered cloak, and his eyes carried the slightly disoriented look of somebody who has ascended too high too fast. ¡°My apologies,¡± Finn said. ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Tarik, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Alright, Tarik. Bring me¡­ Lord Quintin.¡±


    Tarik frowned. ¡°My lord, I believe Lord Quintin is away with the Warden¡­ in Illd¡¯Or.¡±


    Finn cursed under his breath. That was right. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°Who is your superior?¡±


    Tarik paused. ¡°I suppose that, officially, that would still be¡­ Captain Ophelia, my lord.¡±


    You suppose? Finn wanted to ask. But it didn¡¯t matter. ¡°Bring me Captain Ophelia, then,¡± he said.


    The [Guardsman] went pale. ¡°What I meant to say is¡­ My¡­ my lord. Captain Ophelia was taken. Nobody else has been appointed in her place as of yet. She was taken a few months after Lord Zendarus.¡± His eyes suddenly widened. ¡°My apologies, my lord, I didn''t mean to¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Finn said. ¡°You will come with me, Tarik. And¡­ Master Wendell. Bring me Master Wendell. Do you know how to find him?¡±


    ¡°I do, my lord. Right away, my lord.¡± He left the room in a hurry. His own tether was waiting just outside the door, similarly clad.


    Finn waited a moment until their footsteps had fully receded and then swore loudly. Omri frowned.


    Captain Ophelia. Of course. He knew her face. She was a [Warrior]. She hadn''t fought in Ortomalle with Zendar and Ellsworth, had instead chosen to stay behind and defend Aonenbridge against the looming threat of an Illd¡¯Orian attack, which, days later, came precisely as feared. Against all odds, she¡¯d held the Fork for days¡ªfar longer than anyone had thought possible with only a handful of [Warriors]¡ªand even when overrun, had orchestrated the small raids that had delayed the Illd¡¯Orian advance almost tenfold. Now she was married to the [Innkeeper] of the Boggy Bastion. They had two children together¡ªPoppy and Seb, if Finn remembered correctly.


    How had he forgotten that she¡¯d been abducted as well? Just a few months after Zendar¡­ Had he even known?


    You can¡¯t be expected to remember all their names at all times, a part of himself said.


    Zendar would have, another part of him said, a truer part. Zendar would have remembered every single one. And you should, too.


    Instead, he was here, ruminating in his chambers, bleeding onto his carpet, staring at a different list, a list of potential agitators. When had he become¡­ this? Whatever this was? And what was he meant to do today if somebody struck him as more than a potential agitator? Would he order them locked up? Whipped in the square for everyone to see? And then what? Would he come back here and tell himself that he¡¯d done what a [Nobleman] had to do, that it was his burden, and that he had to trust in his judgment and look forward?


    He looked down again and sighed. The list was mocking him now. Captain Ophelia¡¯s husband had been identified as a potential agitator. The [Innkeeper] Ronnie. Finn knew the man. He was eccentric, but docile. Had always been docile. Of course, that was until he¡¯d punched a [Guardsman] in the mouth and tried to jump into the pits after Ellsworth.


    There was a light knock at his door.


    ¡°Enter,¡± Finn said.


    Master Wendell shuffled in. His long gray robe trailed behind him. Tarik followed.


    ¡°My Lord Finric,¡± Wendell said, and bowed.


    Finn narrowed his eyes and stared. The old man had delivered him as a baby, had been his tutor all his life and had never shied away from pulling Finn by the ear or rapping him on the knuckles with a stick whenever he¡¯d misbehaved as a child. Wendell smiled quietly and inclined his head towards Tarik, who had resumed his spot at the door.


    Fine, Finn thought. Lord Finric it is.


    ¡°Have you seen Lord Ellsworth this morning?¡± Wendell asked.


    Finn nodded. ¡°I was with him earlier.¡±


    ¡°I saw him, too,¡± Wendell said. ¡°I visited his chambers this morning. He was with¡­ the new tether.¡±


    Finn pursed his lips. ¡°Ah.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Wendell repeated.


    Finn avoided his tutor¡¯s eyes for a moment. He noticed Tarik was looking uncertain. Finn nodded towards the door, ordering him outside, and the [Guardsman] seemed only too happy to oblige. When he and Wendell were alone, Finn spoke. ¡°Was I wrong?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I cannot make a judgment on that, my lord,¡± Wendell said.


    ¡°Finn. We¡¯re alone. And I¡¯m asking you to,¡± Finn said. ¡°Please.¡±


    Wendell hardened his stare. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I think,¡± he said, ¡°if you use [Command].¡±


    Finn ground his teeth. He wasn¡¯t in the mood for this. There was a time, not long ago, when he would have refused outright, when he¡¯d vowed to never use [Command] again. Besides, all he wanted was a simple answer. But it was Wendell¡¯s exhausting view that every moment had didactic value. Over the years, Finn had learned that, rather than fight it, it was better to give the old man what he wanted. At Finn¡¯s side, Omri stiffened. He stared into Wendell¡¯s eyes. They were dark, profoundly powerful, but he didn¡¯t expect Wendell to resist as hard as he could. He focused, and said each word slowly, with care. ¡°Wendell, now that you have seen Ellsworth, I [command] you to tell me, truthfully, if you think I did the right thing.¡±


    Wendell¡¯s eyes seemed to mist over for a second. Then they cleared. He smiled. ¡°You¡¯re improving,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re almost as good as you used to be. Fine, I will answer. As a [Nobleman], as Lord Finric of Aonenbridge, you were not wrong in procuring a new tether for Lord Ellsworth of Aonenbridge as quickly as possible.¡±


    Finn breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Very well,¡± he said. ¡°Then¡ª¡±


    ¡°But as Finn¡­ as Finn¡­ only you can decide.¡±


    Wendell¡¯s eyes were direct, probing. Suddenly Finn wished he hadn¡¯t called the man. He¡¯d wanted a straight answer. Had it been a mistake, or hadn¡¯t it? After a moment the old man smiled again. He knew exactly what he was doing. The struggle, the debate, was necessary. Vital.


    Finn rose to his feet. He¡¯d had enough of this.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go and see if we can expect another riot anytime soon,¡± he growled.

 Chapter 11: The Boggy Bastion

    The Fork of Aonenbridge, as it had come to be known, was the splitting of the road travelers crossing to the mainland via the Illd¡¯Orian strait would come to after roughly a day and a half of riding in the wrong direction.


    A dry, more welcoming path would lead away, while the winding wetland bordering Aonenbridge served as a natural deterrent. There the ground would soon turn damp, then muddy, until it was fully waterlogged, growing increasingly more treacherous until most were forced to either abandon their carriages and continue on foot, or resort to enchantments.


    The crossing of the Great Marsh was seen as a filtration system, a rite of passage for those wishing to establish trade with the Aonens, and a defensive barrier against would-be conquerors. It served this function for an age and more, a period during which Aonenbridge was dubbed by the greater lords of Emelandra as too small a prize to be worth risking their armies in the unpredictable terrain.


    That was, of course, until the uncovering of the Bridge.


    It was the Emelandran city of Illd¡¯Or who launched the first true military assault to secure the Bridge, and the bitter, bloody rivalry that ensued between the Illd¡¯Orians and the Aonens was fated to last more than half a century.


    Those days, however, were now gone.


    The flames of long-held rancor began to dampen, and with each passing year since Aonenbridge had been welcomed into the Emelandran Alliance, it became increasingly more common for travelers and merchants from Blackwater, Carmore, Raryar, and even Illd¡¯Or to stop in Aonenbridge for a night or two at the Boggy Bastion.


    The Bastion¡¯s standards were regarded as adequate, and the culture was such that weary travelers could count on being sheltered, entertained, fed, and watered. Thoroughly watered.


    And so, it was no surprise to Finn to find the [Innkeeper] drunk.


    It was a surprise to find the Bastion in disarray. When they crossed the threshold, Finn, Wendell, and Tarik had to mind their step to avoid the broken glass at their feet, the spilled wine. The air was stale and stifling. A hearth still crackled in the far corner, and the smell of meat, mead, and sweat hung thick. Tables and chairs had been pushed hastily aside to make room for dancing, and the original color of the floorboards was nearly indistinguishable through a dense layer of mud and footprints.


    The merrymaking had clearly gone on late into the night. A few snoring patrons still lay scattered across benches, though one had crept across the floor and lay flattened out near the fireside, a lumpy something oozing out of the side of his mouth onto his chin.


    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s you, Wen.¡±


    Tarik jumped. Finn turned towards the sound of the slurred speech. Wendell, he saw, had already been staring in the direction of the figure at the bar. The [Innkeeper] slouched forward into the light, smiled a toothy grin at them, and raised a tankard of beer high in the air.


    ¡°To the Warden!¡± he croaked, his voice hoarse. He glanced around a moment, swaying, then hid a flash of disappointment behind a shrug when he found none of the other revelers in the tavern still awake to join in his tribute. He took a large gulp from his tankard, then belched. ¡°To the Warden,¡± he repeated to himself. ¡°Yes, to the Warden¡­ this is for the Warden.¡± He belched again.


    ¡°Ronnie.¡± Wendell¡¯s voice was sharp and admonitory. Tarik¡¯s eyes were wide.


    ¡°My apologies, my apologies,¡± Ronnie said, waving a hand through the air. His eyes were red and watery. He had gone unshaven for a time and looked older than his years, more haggard. He cleared his throat, hawked once, then spat in a bucket at his side. He made an attempt to stand, thought better of it, and then gestured for them to sit instead. Finn saw more of the lumpy something on the table nearest to him and remained where he was. ¡°The Warden deserves to be honored by my finest wares, I know, I know,¡± Ronnie continued. ¡°But I¡¯m fresh out of that fine Carmori brandy, Wen. All I¡¯ve got left is this Illd¡¯Orian piss, and I can¡¯t even give it away, let alone sell it. No brandy, low on ale, would you believe that? The Boggy Bastion, dry as a [Nun]¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Wendell interjected, pulling a chair closer towards himself and taking a seat. ¡°We can see you¡¯ve had a steady stream of clientele recently. How are you, Ron?¡± When Ronnie merely grunted, Wendell continued. ¡°It seems things were particularly turbulent last night. Are these footprints on the bar?¡±


    Ronnie turned and studied the brown stains on his bar with professional scrutiny. He leaned forward and sniffed. ¡°Indeed, they are, Wen,¡± he said gravely. ¡°Can you believe it? Steffen is always having to mop up after these slobs, damn them. Oi!¡± Ronnie wheeled around suddenly and leaned¡ªfell¡ªto the floor, scooping up a handful of mud. Finn took a step, intending to help the man to his feet, but the [Innkeeper] surprised him and popped right back up. He tossed the mud in the direction of the snoring patrons and shouted, ¡°Wake up, you good-for-nothing sons of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Where is Steffen this morning?¡± Wendell asked. He maintained a conversational tone, but there was a hint of a frown on his face.


    Ronnie met Wendell¡¯s gaze. ¡°Is that a joke, Wen?¡± he asked, furrowing his brows. After a moment, he said, ¡°He¡¯s in the infirmary. Still unconscious. You didn¡¯t see me get struck down by that swine? Toppled me like a bottle of the strong stuff. Cracked my skull with the hilt of his sword. If Steffen hadn¡¯t been there¡ª¡± Ronnie shuddered. ¡°But no matter,¡± he continued, his eyes suddenly glowing. ¡°I know his face, Wen, I never forget a face. One day soon, when he least¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re lucky your tether acted quickly,¡± Wendell chipped in, ¡°and may he heal soon. But I was told you struck first, Ron, and the [Guardsman] merely retaliated.¡±


    Ronnie stuck out his chest. ¡°Of course I struck first. And it was a good one, Wen, believe me. You should¡¯ve seen it. Right in the jaw. These steel-bearers don¡¯t know what a good, old-fashioned smack feels like, I¡¯ve always said it. These self-righteous bastards are always parading through the streets, harassing the small folk. If my Ophelia were here, she¡¯d¡­ she¡¯d¡­¡± Ronnie waved another hand through the air. ¡°Anyway. Boys with sticks, the lot of them. Green as grass.¡±


    Finn saw Tarik twitch. He¡¯d considered asking Tarik to wait outside with Omri and the tethers. He wondered if it was too late, if he could send the [Guardsman] back out without Ronnie noticing. But then¡ª


    ¡°Ah, I see you¡¯ve brought one of them with you,¡± the [Innkeeper] said. He chortled. ¡°Ask him how his buddy felt about a cracked jaw, Wen, ask him. He¡¯ll remember it the rest of his life, trust me, Wen, he will.¡± He chuckled a moment longer, then stopped abruptly. ¡°You look familiar,¡± he said to Tarik, eyes narrowing. ¡°Do I know you?¡±


    Tarik hesitated. ¡°I¡­ I serve¡­ served¡­ under your wife, my lor¡ª¡± Tarik seemed unsure on how to address Ronnie, so he let his sentence fade awkwardly.


    ¡°Under Ophelia, eh?¡± Ronnie glared suddenly. ¡°And now look at you. Pleased as punch, serving directly under Wendell. Happy with your new position, are you? Not a care in the world about how you got there.¡±


    ¡°I do not serve under Master Wendell,¡± Tarik said. ¡°I am stationed in Aonen Keep, a private protector of Lord Finric and his family.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Tarik made a gesture, and Ronnie seemed to notice Finn for the first time.


    The [Innkeeper]¡¯s eyes widened. He leaped to his feet and bounded across the floor. Tarik¡¯s hand shot towards the hilt of his sword, but Wendell reached, grabbed his wrist, shoved it back down. Finn, on the other hand, hardly had time to register what was happening before the [Innkeeper]¡¯s nose was a hair away from his own. The man stared deep into his eyes, and his breath was sour and sharp, causing Finn to jerk back involuntarily.


    He reached out and steadied himself with a hand on the table. Though Ronnie did not pursue him further, he continued to stare, his eyes catching the light, the flash of a mischievous smile on his face. Finn tried to slow the sudden hammering in his chest and met the [Innkeeper]¡¯s calculating, appraising gaze. Finally, Ronnie nodded.


    ¡°Lord Finric,¡± he said, as if he¡¯d needed to confirm this and was now satisfied with the results. ¡°They told me the boy had healed. There are some things a tether can¡¯t heal, eh, boy? Some things we have to approach alone.¡± Finn did not respond. Ronnie studied him further. There was another pause. Then, to Wendell, ¡°He looks just like his brother, doesn¡¯t he?¡±


    Tarik seemed on the verge of saying something, but Wendell raised a hand to silence him. Ronnie stumbled back to the bar and reached for his tankard again. He raised it, and his voice was a deferential whisper as he made a second tribute. ¡°To my Lord Zendarus.¡±


    The drunk man sipped his beer and then placed it back down to the countertop.


    There was silence. A log in the hearth shifted. Flames cracked.


    Finn could feel Wendell¡¯s eyes on him. He took a moment to exhale.


    ¡°I thank you, [Innkeeper] Ronnie,¡± Finn said, and was pleased to hear that his voice was steady. ¡°My thoughts are with you and your family as well. Captain Ophelia was¡ªis¡ªa wonderful woman, a woman of steel and¡­ resolve.¡± He silently cursed the clumsiness of his speech. He cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯m here to ascertain the severity of your injuries from last night.¡±


    Ronnie¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Ascertain the¡ª?¡± he began.


    ¡°You¡¯ve served my family well over many generations,¡± Finn explained. ¡°You¡¯ve served Aonenbridge. The least we could do is make sure¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re damn right, I have,¡± Ronnie interrupted, and Finn thought he heard anger in the man¡¯s voice. ¡°Every stranger in my inn, every conversation reported to Aonen Keep. I¡¯ve served Aonenbridge, yes, served it well, as my father before me, and my son after me. And yet I always knew it could amount to nothing, if it was decided.¡± He took another swallow of beer. ¡°The boy is here to see if I am¡­ unstable, is that it? Is that right, Wendell?¡±


    ¡°You misunderstand our intentions,¡± Wendell said quickly.


    ¡°Do I?¡± Ronnie¡¯s color rose suddenly. ¡°How many years have we known each other, Wen? Don¡¯t insult me. If you cared about my wellbeing, the severity of my injuries, you would not be here, you¡¯d be at the infirmary, where my tether lies with a cracked skull. You¡¯d imprison the [Guardsman] who struck me. Instead, you parade around with another one of them. I¡¯m being¡­ assessed, is that it? Is that right?¡± His voice rose until it was nearly a shout.


    Finn saw Tarik twitch again. He looked over and stared at him, hard, until Tarik met his gaze and unclenched his jaw.


    ¡°As Master Wendell said,¡± Finn continued. ¡°You misunderstand our intentions.¡±


    The [Innkeeper] laughed humorlessly. It was not a pleasant sound, and it cut through the air. ¡°Where were these kind visits when my wife was taken?¡± Ronnie asked. ¡°You! [Guardsman]!¡± he barked suddenly at Tarik. ¡°Tell me, what do the other [Guardsmen] say about the abduction of my wife? What will be done to retrieve her?¡±


    A flicker of surprise crossed Tarik¡¯s face. ¡°It¡­ it is not my place to divulge what the¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah, but we¡¯ve already established, you¡¯re one of the ones who benefit from this, not so?¡± Ronnie continued. His voice was beginning to sound strained. ¡°You would never have ascended so quickly otherwise. You and your pals. The private protector of a [Nobleman], at your age? Is that it? So now you sit here comfortably, sit there, in Aonen Keep, when you should be crossing the Bridge into Ortomalle, facing down an Ortomallean horde, when you¡ª¡± He broke off. Tarik had made a sound, something approaching a yelp. The [Innkeeper] tilted his head. His eyes were curious. ¡°Ah,¡± he continued, much quieter. ¡°So that¡¯s it? You¡¯re pissing yourself every night, afraid somebody will give the order. Afraid somebody will order you to cross the Bridge? Tell me, [Guardsman], do you leak between your legs every time you hear wind outside your window?¡±


    ¡°Ronnie, that¡¯s enough,¡± Wendell said. ¡°We¡¯d all be fools not to fear Ortomalle.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m speaking to the [Guardsman],¡± Ronnie snarled. His color was still rising. ¡°Tell me what has been done for my wife, you pig!¡±


    Tarik¡¯s face was pale. His eyes shifted from Finn to Wendell and back to Finn.


    Finn said, ¡°Tarik is right, at times like this we may choose not to divulge everything with the common folk. Rest assured that my father will¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Warden will do nothing because Illd¡¯Or will do nothing.¡± He said it as a chant, as if he¡¯d said it before. Many times.


    ¡°Watch your tongue, [Innkeeper],¡± Tarik said, his own color rising now. ¡°You forget your place. This is the Warden¡¯s son.¡±


    A vein in Ronnie¡¯s forehead seemed on the verge of exploding. But then his eyes rested on Finn again and quieted. ¡°The Warden¡¯s son,¡± he said, musingly. ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    Ronnie got to his feet. He took a moment to steady himself, then went behind the bar. He reached for a cloth and wiped at a portrait hanging on the wall, a fading image of an older man. He looked at Finn again. ¡°Did you know my father, Lord Finric? He was an [Innkeeper] too. He liked to say that we are all gods of our domains. He served Aonenbridge as I do, as my son Seb will after me. We are the gods of the inn, he said. We must do our duties to Aonenbridge, and our duty to Aonenbridge is the Bastion. We need not worry about what happens beyond these four walls, for that is the domain of the Warden. We can trust in him. We are the gods of the inn. We keep the glasses clean, we keep the hearth warm and welcoming.¡± Ronnie inclined his head. ¡°Perhaps that is why nothing has been done to rescue my wife, because she was taken under my roof. My domain. A god of an inn. What an honor. What a farce. When they came into my inn and took my wife, what did I do? What could I do?¡± Then, in a different tone, he added, ¡°I saw him, you know.¡±


    Finn blinked. ¡°Saw who?¡±


    ¡°The man, the thing who took her.¡±


    Finn stared. He saw Wendell was frowning again. ¡°Was this in your report?¡± Finn asked.


    Ronnie waved a hand. ¡°Maybe. Maybe not. Probably. I reported to many people that day. It doesn¡¯t matter. He was masked. I never saw his face. I didn¡¯t need to see him. I felt him. And¡­ we can¡¯t fight them. Not this time. Not with the strongest among us gone. Not without Lord Zendar to lead us, as he did before¡­ And the Warden¡­ he will do nothing. The Warden can do nothing. I can do nothing. When my daughter Poppy asks me, every night, when Mamma is coming home, I can¡¯t answer her. I¡¯ve started pretending not to hear her. Though I know what I should say. It¡¯s done, child. It¡¯s finished. She¡¯s gone.¡±


    The tremor in Ronnie¡¯s words grew as he spoke. His face screwed up as if he was on the verge of breaking into sobs. The shaking extended to his entire body. But his face remained dry. He merely stood, quivering, staring at the portrait of his father.


    ¡°She¡¯s gone,¡± he said again. ¡°She¡¯s gone.¡±


    He stood like that for a moment longer. Then, without warning, the tremors began to subside. He shook his head once, defiantly. ¡°No,¡± he said, nearly a growl. ¡°No, no, no.¡± He looked up at Finn. ¡°Lord Finric,¡± he said, and his eyes were aflame, bright with yearning. ¡°Help her. Help them. Help them all. You can. You are the Warden¡¯s son. You can give the order. Send our men through the Bridge. Bring them back. You can. You can.¡±


    Finn had not noticed that Ronnie¡¯s shouts had woken a number of the drunk patrons. He saw them now. They were watching him. He felt the rising of the now-familiar cold twist in his chest, which spread until his entire body felt frozen. He opened his mouth to speak.


    ¡°I¡­,¡± he began. But that was all he could manage. His lips hung open, but no further sound escaped them.


    Wendell stood and approached the [Innkeeper]. He placed his hands on Ronnie¡¯s shoulders, but the man did not acknowledge him. They were all still looking at Finn. The [Innkeeper]¡¯s eyes were pleading. He waited. Finn felt a sudden rush of bile in his throat. He felt a light breeze through an open window, and felt perilously frail and insubstantial, like ash about to be scattered to the wind and lost. With effort, he closed his mouth. Ronnie¡¯s head drew back slowly. He looked confused. Then something took hold, an understanding, and the flame in his eyes began to die. ¡°The Warden¡¯s son¡­,¡± he repeated. ¡°I suppose it makes sense.¡± He sighed.


    Inwardly, Finn screamed at himself. He clenched his teeth, swallowed. Come on, do something.


    He could not.


    ¡°Perhaps¡­,¡± Wendell broke the silence. ¡°Perhaps I should have a word alone with the [Innkeeper],¡± he said.


    Finn lingered a moment. He¡¯d forgotten to breathe. He was still aware of all the eyes on him. He avoided them all. Even Tarik was looking at him, though the [Guardsman] broke away and exited through the door of the Bastion as soon as Finn inclined his head.


    A [Nobleman]¡¯s choice, Finn found himself thinking. Stay, leave. Help, do nothing.


    Forks in the road.


    He met Ronnie¡¯s eyes one more time. They had hardened. Finn could not bear the sight. He exhaled, and followed Tarik out of the Bastion.


    From behind him, he heard the words.


    ¡°He may look like his brother, Wen, but I fear the boy has the cowardice of his father.¡±

 Chapter 12: As Within, So Without

    There was a chill in the air, despite the season.


    Finn shivered. He looked around for a patch of sun to warm himself in, but everything seemed suddenly shrouded in shadow. The cobblestone beneath his feet seemed cold and wet.


    He began to walk.


    He heard footsteps behind him, a voice calling out after him¡ªOmri or Tarik, he assumed. He couldn¡¯t be sure. He had closed his mind to his tether.


    The Bastion was nestled in the shade of the city ramparts, one of many such establishments clinging to and dwarfed by the walls like clumps of moss.


    You could not escape the shade of Aonenbridge unless you went far.


    He¡¯d been six years old the first time he¡¯d climbed to the highest parapet, and nine years old before he¡¯d been brave enough to open his eyes. The great height and the expanse stretching as far as the eye could see had terrified him at first, but he¡¯d stood there, heart racing, arms wide and defiant with his back against the wind, and let himself be subsumed by the rolling hills and streets of Aonenbridge and the Great Marsh beyond.


    The feeling of giving oneself up to enormity was exhilarating. And that was just Aonenbridge. It was many years before he was able to grasp that there was anything beyond the Marsh, any town or city bigger than his own.


    From up close, the true size of a thing could never be appreciated. A forest was a single tree at a time, a street a series of cobblestones, its proportions swallowed up by densely packed walls and winding alleys. Only from far above would the grandeur of something truly open itself up.


    Driven by a desire to see more of the world, to understand, he¡¯d begun studying Wendell¡¯s maps. He¡¯d loved the dizzying images, the constant uncovering of something bigger, and then something bigger, and then again, and again, and again. He¡¯d visited Blackwater and Carmore, cities twice the size of Aonenbridge, which, according to the maps, were both only half the size of Illd¡¯Or. The entire province of Emelandra was smaller than the largest city in Varonos, which itself was dwarfed by Ortomalle. Finn had been particularly interested in the layout of the Ortomallean province, especially when Wendell had explained to him how difficult it had been to draw those maps to scale. There were dozens of Ortomallean cities, with barren stretches of land between them so vast and impenetrable that it was said a man leaving his city on foot as a child would reach the gates of the next city old and frail.


    And, if the holy fools were to be believed, there were more continents, distant and largely unexplored, some of which dwarfed even Ortomalle.


    And beyond that, across all of Terraveth, everything from the Great Marsh, to Varonos, Ortomalle, to the unexplored territories beyond, existed under one sky. And beyond the sky were the moons, and beyond the moons, the sun and stars.


    For a long time, Finn had been unable to let these ideas go. Wendell would often find him sitting, pondering for hours on end, and would have to pull him by the ear to bring him down from the clouds.


    Only the Celestial can bound the boundless, Wendell had told him. We are not meant to follow.


    There¡¯d been something approaching sacrilege in Finn¡¯s study, Wendell decided, a strange mixture of reverence and vanity in his ambition to comprehend the ends of the endless, the belief that he could.


    Such self-importance had come to an abrupt end.


    These days, Finn could barely recognize the boy he had been. He had feared so little¡ªfear had always turned to exhilaration in his chest. But, with time, exhilaration had turned to ash.


    He continued his walk, a futile attempt to escape from the shadow of the city walls, and the weight of the words he had just overheard in the Bastion.


    He may look like his brother, but I fear the boy has the cowardice of his father.


    The cowardice of his father.


    It had not always been like that.


    Finn remembered the day it had all come crashing down. The day when, after years of looking up and beyond, he¡¯d been forced to look down, and within.


    The day he had visited his mother¡¯s grave.


    ***


    There had been no moon that night, Finn seemed to recall. He¡¯d been just fourteen years old at the time, four winters past. He remembered the grogginess he¡¯d felt after being torn from sleep by the sudden crash of his shutters, the way they¡¯d swung open and collided against the stone walls of his chamber. A cold mist streamed into the room, and a sudden gust of wintry air shocked him awake, the contours of the night sharpening in an instant.


    An intruder stood at the end of his bed, watching him.


    Large, cloaked, a blade in his scabbard.


    Finn sat up and yawned.


    ¡°You know, you really should learn how to use a door.¡±


    Zendar grinned. ¡°Never. Now get up.¡±


    Finn looked outside. It was still a few hours before dawn. He sat up and yawned, somewhat theatrically. Zendar chuckled, removed his cloak, and hung it near the hearth to warm. His face was flushed, his hair tousled, his sleeves rolled up with nonchalance.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°You¡¯re drunk,¡± Finn noted, rubbing at an eye with the back of his hand.


    ¡°I am,¡± Zendar said. ¡°Get dressed.¡±


    Finn didn¡¯t move. ¡°You smell,¡± he said.


    ¡°We went for a swim. The lake behind¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Finn said. ¡°You smell like a chimney.¡±


    Zendar shrugged. ¡°We may have¡­ indulged. Blame Ells. Come on, little brother, let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Look at your eyes,¡± Finn said, groaning. He sat up further and tucked his hair behind his ears. ¡°Ellsworth and I are both getting blamed if you don¡¯t get some sleep. Bella will kill us. You do realize you¡¯re getting married in five hours?¡±


    Zendar¡¯s smile faded. He paled. Finn scratched at his mouth to cover a grin.


    Your brother doesn¡¯t fear war, but he fears a woman, Ellsworth liked to tease.


    Although, for all his teasing, it was Ellsworth who was more likely to flinch if Arabella stood up too quickly, who seemed to lose his ability to make wisecracks whenever she was near. Finn didn¡¯t blame him. She had locked both Ellsworth and Zendar in her father¡¯s dungeons for ten days when they first met, and threatened to have them flayed if they ever returned to Varonos.


    Bygones.


    Less than a day later, Zendar had returned. For her.


    The courtship had not been easy. There¡¯d been other suitors, many of whom had taken it as a slight that the son of a lowly Emelandran lord would even presume to call on a daughter of High Lord Ranar of Varonos. There¡¯d been challenges, duels, a hanging, and loss of life.


    She¡¯d decided within a week, he¡¯d decided within a moment, but it had taken ten years for the Varoni to accept that the foreign lord Zendarus would be their lady¡¯s husband. Ten years of waiting during which neither of them had even looked at another.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten,¡± Zendar said, raising a hand to massage his throat. ¡°But we have something to do first. We¡¯re going to see her.¡±


    Finn chuckled. ¡°You couldn¡¯t wait until morning? You¡¯re afraid Bella¡¯s forgotten you? Zen, it¡¯s been ten years, I think she can wait another¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about Arabella,¡± Zendar said. His voice was uncharacteristically rough, and his words hung, suspended in the silence.


    Finn stared for a moment, confused, then sucked in air as realization hit him. ¡°Tonight?¡± he managed.


    Zendar nodded. ¡°I promised you, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Tonight?¡± Finn repeated. He felt as if his insides were suddenly quivering. ¡°Are you sure you want to do this tonight?¡± He watched his brother closely. Zendar was staring at him, but Finn wondered if he was seeing him at all.


    ¡°It¡¯s for me as much as you,¡± Zendar said. ¡°I need to speak to her.¡±


    Finn blinked. ¡°Speak to her? She¡¯s¡ª¡±


    Finn caught himself before saying the word. Dead.


    Zendar grimaced nonetheless, then waved a hand dismissively. ¡°I may have found a way. Alright, let¡¯s go.¡±


    They went alone. They notified no one, even left their tethers behind. Finn and Zendar did not see a soul as they snuck out of the back entrance of Aonen Keep, nor were they seen as they approached and pierced through the city walls and into the Great Marsh beyond. The [Guardsmen] on duty were not inattentive, but these were the sons of Aonenbridge, who had grown up in the Keep, who had, as boys, frolicked in the surrounding wetland others feared and become intimately familiar with each and every individual marsh, river, bog, and swamp, with every tangled root, with every possible rustle in the underbrush, with the clinging mud and the shadows cast. Roots others tripped over were footholds for them, anchors. The eyes that followed them in the darkness and the shapes that darted across the flooring were familiar fauna. In the shadows they saw the faces of their forefathers, and in the clinging of the mud they felt the grounding grip of home, like a mother¡¯s embrace.


    For nearly an hour, they walked in silence. The earliest showings of dawn began unfurling across the sky in strokes of red and gold.


    They walked on. Zendar went ahead, and Finn followed.


    He had no memories of their mother. She¡¯d died when he was four. Sometimes, when he tried, he could imagine a feeling, an emotion, but it was like trying to hold on to smoke. It would pass before he could ever really be sure that it had been there in the first place. In the end, all he had of her was what other people told him.


    And they told him nothing.


    They came to an open stretch of marsh, a small clearing with an emerald pool nestled between the reeds. The water was knee-deep at first, with a soft incline sloping towards the center into dark and obscure depths. Finn caught sight of slow-moving dragonflies in the early morning air, water striders skirting the surface of the pool, and the occasional splash of movement, but the area seemed largely untouched by people, claimed entirely by the wilderness.


    ¡°There she is. Lady Manon of Aonenbridge. Our mother.¡±


    Finn crouched, the leather of his jerkin creaked. Zendar followed him and traced a hand across the surface of the pool. The ripples extended from his fingers and carried with them a gentle hush, a sigh, a release. Finn did the same. His fingers touched cool water, and he heard a whisper.


    He looked up at Zendar, startled, and found his brother was watching him closely.


    Finn fixed his eyes back on the water. The ripples continued to swell until the first of them reached the center of the pool, the deep. There they seemed to pause, hesitate, then continue until they dwindled and were gone. Finn watched the center of the pool, tried and failed to discern a shape in the depths.


    She¡¯s right there, he found himself thinking. After all this time.


    It was an old Aonen practice for the dead to be returned to the Marsh. Many families still observed these earliest traditions. The deceased would be laid to rest on a platform made primarily of densely packed reedmace and bulrush and left to the elements. The platform would break apart within a few days, and the body would begin to sink, to be claimed by the water. It was a familial practice to visit the sinking site, to touch the water and thus honor the dead, but Finn had never come here. He had never been allowed. Nobody would tell him where his mother had sunk. Until now.


    Finn rose. Zendar was still watching him closely.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Finn murmured. His words were scarcely audible; they caught in his throat.


    Zendar placed a hand on his shoulder. Finn saw him nod.


    ¡°If you had told me I would be trudging through the mud a day and a night, I would have asked for more gold.¡±


    The stillness of the morning seemed to burst. Finn spun around. Two men stood watching them from a few paces away. One of them stood solemnly, head bowed, with eyes white as snow. The other¡ªsmall, dirty¡ªemerged from behind the reeds, smiled a toothless grin at them, then sat into a crouch and reached out a hand to touch the water. Finn felt a sudden rush of anger. His hands seized his belt and¡ª


    ¡°Stop,¡± Zendar said. He hadn¡¯t turned, was still looking at the water. ¡°Finn, this is Elder Edrys of the Host of the Hallowhoods. I asked him to meet us here.¡±


    Finn stared at Zendar. He remembered his brother¡¯s words.


    I have to speak to her. I may have found a way.


    He looked back at Elder Edrys, who had hesitated before his fingers broke the surface of the pool.


    Don¡¯t you dare, Finn wanted to say, but, outwardly, remained silent.


    The man leaned forward, touched the water, then drew his hand back quickly as if burned. The tether, still half-hidden behind the reeds, stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.


    Edrys rose, flexed his fingers, then approached them. He was smiling again, and Finn noticed his mouth was not entirely toothless. There was still at least one stubby yellowing nub on the far right of his jaw.


    Edrys held out a hand. ¡°As Lord Zendarus said,¡± he began, ¡°I am Elder Edrys of the Host of the Hallowhoods. You must be Lord Finric.¡±


    Finn nodded and stared at the man¡¯s hand. He noticed the skin had been burned black in places, marked by an insignia. He recognized the patterns suddenly.


    ¡°The Host of the Hallowhoods,¡± Finn repeated, unbelieving. He turned to Zendar, anger rising in his chest. ¡°You brought a [Grave Robber] to our mother¡¯s grave?¡±

 Chapter 13: The Host of the Hallowhoods

    ¡°A [Grave Robber],¡± Finn repeated, his eyes ricocheting between the two men before him. Edrys met his gaze, Zendar did not.


    ¡°My lords, perhaps I should¡ª?¡± Edrys began after a pause, taking a tentative step backward.


    ¡°No,¡± Zendar cut in. ¡°Stay where you are.¡±


    Edrys froze. He looked nervous. His tether made a movement towards him, and the small man seemed to draw strength from that.


    ¡°Zen,¡± Finn said again. ¡°Zen, you brought a [Grave Robber] here. You invited him.¡±


    He repeated the words as if through repetition he could bring himself to believe them. He waited for his brother to deny them, but Zendar stayed quiet.


    ¡°[Grave Robber] is an unfortunate label, my lords,¡± Edrys said, after a silence. ¡°And misleading. I am aware of the ways in which my class is perceived by laymen, and while there are those of my Host who make use of their talents to¡­ eh, how can I say¡­¡±


    ¡°Rob graves,¡± Finn said icily.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Edrys conceded after a moment. ¡°Yes, I suppose that would be the vulgar way of putting it.¡± He gave a slight shrug, then waved his burnt fingers through the air. ¡°While I cannot deny that, my lords, I can assure you that most of us simply render services to the living by¡­ well, extracting, would be the better word¡­¡±


    ¡°He can talk to the dead,¡± Zendar said.


    ¡°Not so, my lord,¡± the [Grave Robber] interjected, and with that, his eyes became suddenly severe. His voice took on a steady timbre. ¡°Nobody can talk to the dead. A sufficiently powerful [Grave Robber] can extract¡­ analyze¡­ the imprint of a deceased soul, but it is not truly them, no more than the ash of a burned log scattered to the winds is the tree from which it was cut.¡±


    Finn had questions, but withheld them. His brother would still not meet his eyes. Zendar was staring vacantly across the water, and thinly veiled flashes flared in his face as his eyes cut through the morning mist.


    Finn knew that look. Zendar was preparing himself, hardening himself, for something difficult to come.


    Finn turned and gazed across the Marsh to where the farthest reeds met the sky in the distance. It extended beyond where the eye could see, yet he knew that had the landscape been more easily traversable, it would only take a day and a night to reach the first of the Varoni mountains. There the loosely allied Kings of Varonos held sway, but also the men of the free clans. Envisioning those peaks, and calling to mind the stories he¡¯d heard about the type of men who sheltered beneath them, Finn felt that what they were about to do was the type of heinous act reserved solely for barbarians.


    He wanted to cry out. The Aonen practice was to respect their dead, to visit the site, touch the water, honor their loved ones, and then leave. That was all.


    As if he heard Finn¡¯s thoughts, Zendar spoke. ¡°It¡¯s nothing like that, Finn,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s not what you think. I¡¯ve been collecting information on the Hallowhoods and their practices for nearly a year. I would never do this sort of thing if I thought it could¡­ harm her. I even spoke to Wendell. It¡¯s like¡­¡± He gestured to the wilderness around them. ¡°...swirling your hand through mist. There are no after-effects.¡± He raised an eyebrow in Edrys¡¯s direction. ¡°Right?¡±


    Edrys frowned. After a moment, he said, ¡°Again, these are crude ways of putting it, my lords, but yes, nothing will go wrong, if that is the concern. Nothing can go wrong. You have my word.¡±


    ¡°Your word,¡± Finn repeated, unable to hide a scoff. ¡°We don¡¯t know you. You say it¡¯s harmless, but how are we to know that anything you say is true?¡±


    ¡°If you need to hear it yourself, there are ways of finding out the truth,¡± Zendar said. ¡°You could [Command] him to tell us.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t mastered that yet,¡± Finn said. ¡°He could still lie to me.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t lie,¡± Edrys said. ¡°I¡¯m not lying. It will be clear enough to you when I begin. The dead are well beyond our reach to pollute. As lures, you will feel¡ª¡±


    ¡°So we will work as lures?¡± Zendar asked. Finn caught a fiery look of triumph in his eyes.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Edrys said. ¡°I was fairly sure, and after meeting you, I am certain. One blood relative may have been enough. Two is more than sufficient.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°Lures?¡± Finn asked.


    ¡°Something which can be used to draw the imprints of a deceased soul back momentarily,¡± Edrys said. ¡°Like fireflies to a flame. A body is a powerful thing, a physical imprint left on the world, but it is far from the most important. There are imprints of the deceased everywhere. Sometimes they drift, sometimes they gather. If they haven¡¯t gathered, we need lures, and the stronger the lure, the clearer the imprint. I don¡¯t imagine this will be difficult. Your mother was the Lady of Aonenbridge, buried in sight of the city. That is good. You are her sons. That is even better.¡±


    Finn still wasn¡¯t sure.


    ¡°Zen, I¡­¡± he began.


    Zendar finally met his eyes. ¡°Finn, I know,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Believe me, I know. But I need to do this. You have to trust me. You do trust me, don¡¯t you, little brother?¡±


    Finn did not have to think. He nodded. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ I don¡¯t know if I trust him.¡±


    Edrys¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°My lords, with all due respect, I am a [Level 9] [Grave Robber] of the esteemed Host of the Hallowhoods, I have been doing this since I was¡ª¡±


    ¡°So you have done this before?¡± Finn asked.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Edrys said, sounding strained. ¡°Countless times.¡±


    ¡°And you are the most¡­ capable of your Host?¡±


    ¡°On such short notice, yes,¡± Edrys said. Then his expression changed, and he looked suddenly curious. Inclining his head towards Zendar, he said, ¡°Might I ask why you were so hurried in your request, my lord, when you¡ª¡±


    ¡°You may not,¡± Zendar said. ¡°You are here, as promised. You also promised that you would ask no questions and conduct yourself with discretion. I need not remind you that you are being well-compensated for it. Enough talk. Let us begin.¡±


    The [Grave Robber]¡¯s mouth slackened. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I do require some information, my lord. The process requires that I know, for example, the exact circumstances surrounding the deceased¡¯s death¡­ the time of day¡­ I also need the names of both who are buried on the site¡ªsunken, in this case¡ª, and, if possible, the histories of both, so that I can differentiate between¡ª¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s only one body down there,¡± Zendar said.


    Edrys blinked. ¡°One body?¡± he asked. He hesitated for a moment. ¡°I must admit, my lord, that while I am not an expert on water burials, I did not expect the Aonen practice to be this unorthodox. Where is the¡ª?¡±


    The [Grave Robber]¡¯s eyes suddenly widened.


    ¡°Do you mean to say¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Hold your tongue,¡± Zendar said sharply.


    ¡°You did not tell me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hold your tongue.¡±


    The [Grave Robber] blanched. ¡°This changes things, my lord.¡±


    ¡°It changes nothing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it changes everything,¡± Edrys said. ¡°My lord, you must understand, the echoes of the deceased are volatile at the best of times. Perhaps I was too reductive in what I said before. I have faith in my abilities to contain them, to interpret, under ordinary¡ª¡±


    ¡°It can be done,¡± Zendar said. ¡°I¡¯ve read about it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you have, my lord. And I¡¯m not denying that it can be done. All I¡¯m saying is that I have never done it. Not quite. And why would I? Few would care enough to try. Before even attempting this, at the very least I would need to meet¡ª¡±


    ¡°Everybody you need is present,¡± Zendar said.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid you don¡¯t understand, my lord,¡± Edrys said. ¡°I need¡ª¡±


    ¡°I understand perfectly well,¡± Zendar said. ¡°Everybody you need is present.¡±


    The [Grave Robber]¡¯s brow furrowed. He looked from Zendar, to Finn, and back. His lips pursed.


    ¡°What is the problem?¡± Finn asked.


    Edrys opened his mouth, but Zendar was the first to speak. ¡°There is no problem.¡±


    Zendar¡¯s eyes were locked on Edrys. Finn felt something emanating from his brother, a surge of heat. Zendar was miles away from his tether. Edrys was standing right beside his own, and yet he was no match. Edrys wilted. Finn fought back a shudder of his own, and saw his brother as if for the first time. It was extremely rare for him to don the true face of Lord Zendarus, First [Warrior] of the Aonens, Defender of the Bridge, the first to have made the Crossing unassisted¡ªat age fifteen, no less¡ª, and the first to beat back a horde of Ortomalle.


    And his eyes spoke threats, in no ambiguous terms.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Edrys acquiesced with a bow. He paused for another moment, then turned to Finn. ¡°You will need to come with me into the water, my lord Finric.¡±


    Zendar and Finn spoke at the same time.


    ¡°Me?¡± Finn asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Zendar said. He seemed suddenly fearful, a pale shadow of what he had been a moment ago. ¡°My brother is not going down there. That was not the agreement.¡±


    ¡°My lord¡ª¡±


    ¡°You said you needed blood relatives nearby. You said one would do. You have two. You said nothing about getting into the water.¡±


    ¡°My lord, as I¡¯ve stated, the circumstances changed when¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    Zendar spun towards Finn, eyes wide. ¡°Finn,¡± he said.


    Finn closed his eyes and exhaled. Zendar¡¯s words echoed in his mind.


    I need to speak to her. I may have found a way. You do trust me, don¡¯t you, little brother?


    More than anyone, Finn answered inwardly.


    He opened his eyes. The center of the pool was still, and he tried not to imagine what was down there, waiting for him.


    ¡°Zen,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s okay, I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll get into the water.¡±


    Finn turned back to his brother, and suddenly his blood froze. He recoiled. Zendar was staring at him with a sudden intensity he didn¡¯t understand. It looked almost like¡ªanger? But then he blinked, and it was gone.


    I must¡¯ve imagined it.


    ¡°No, Finn,¡± Zendar was saying. His voice was soft, his eyes kind. He hung his head for a moment, then he raised it high. ¡°No. I will go down there.¡±


    ¡°My lords,¡± Edrys said, despairingly. ¡°My lords, I¡¯m afraid I must insist that¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is it possible that it will work if I go?¡± Zendar asked.


    ¡°It would be much better if¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is it possible?¡±


    Edrys¡¯s face twitched. He shut his eyes. ¡°Yes,¡± he said with a sigh. ¡°Yes, it is possible. If the¡­ if Lord Finric stays near.¡±


    ¡°He will.¡±


    Edrys grimaced, an attempt at a smile. He stared between the two brothers a moment longer before speaking. ¡°Well, I suppose there¡¯s no use standing here doing nothing.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Alright, then. Let¡¯s go for a swim.¡±