Lord of the White Hell Book One lotwh-1 (20 page)

"You all just eat in church?" Nestor stared to Kiram as if this were unbelievable.

"Of course. The two Highest Holy Days are celebrations of compassion and generosity. Even my family puts gifts out for the poor on the Highest Holy Days."

Nestor looked like he was going to ask something more but Javier leaned between them.

"I'm not sure how wise it is for you to be seen and heard at this public gathering, converting Nestor to your faith."

"I wasn't serious," Kiram objected.

But Nestor, too, looked worried. "He's right, Kiram. It's just what Holy Father Habalan is always warning us about in chapel. If word were to get back to him it could be bad for both you and me. The holy father hasn't got much of a sense of humor."

"I guess not." Kiram frowned out at the arena. The white salt circles of the fencing rings were spreading into the dirt, blurring and distorting the way smoke rings dissipated.

Several grooms worked their way down the length of the stand distributing leather armor and fencing blades to the second-year students. Kiram imagined his own face reflected Nestor's queasy pallor. It would be them out in the arena soon. Everyone in the stands would be watching.

The leather of Kiram's cuirass fit tightly across his back and chest though it hung loosely over his stomach. The byrnie he pulled over it draped down to his groin. The thick scales of leather overlapped like snake skin.

He laced his blue gauntlets tightly over his forearms and then tested his grip on the blade he had been given. The armor felt hot and heavy. Kiram could already smell his own sweat soaking through his under shirt and into the cuirass. He had no idea how men managed to move, much less fight while wearing the much heavier armor required for the tournament's final duels.

"Here." Javier handed him a black ribbon. "Tie your hair back."

Kiram did as he was told. Next to him Nestor sat back on the bench, scowling at the dueling sword he'd been given.

"I was out right away last year. It wasn't so bad really." Nestor sighed heavily and then glanced up at Javier. "You don't think Elezar's put any money on me, do you?"

"Of course he has. We both know how much you've improved over the last four months. You're going to take the wind out of your opponents before they know what hit them."

Nestor straightened slightly. "I have gotten a lot better. Though I wish I had my spectacles."

"You never wear them while you're fighting," Kiram said.

"I know. I just think it would settle my nerves if I could see how nervous the other boys look."

Kiram nodded. In a way he thought Nestor might be the lucky one. None of the students left on the arena floor looked nervous. All of them had already fought and won several duels. They looked dirty and some wore bandages, but all of them wore hard, assured expressions.

The last remaining pair of first-year duelists stepped into a nearby ring. They were both Yllar students and their armor was covered in nicks and dust from previous duels. A judge raised his hand and then swung it down indicating the beginning of their combat. Both students stood still with their blades drawn and then one of them simply knelt and the other touched his chest lightly with his blade.

Kiram gaped at them. "What was that?"

"Yillar etiquette, I guess," Nestor said. "When they're evenly matched one Yllar student will forfeit to another of higher rank instead of dragging out a real fight."

"We're allowed to forfeit?" It made sense. Why should two students from the same school exhaust themselves fighting each other? And it offered Kiram some relief. Rather than take a brutal beating he could simply forfeit.

"No," Javier said firmly. "They can forfeit. We at the Sagrada Academy do not."

"Master Ignacio would kill you if you did," Nestor said. "A chain is only as strong as its weakest link or something like that."

"Master Ignacio will not tolerate cowardice," Javier continued. "It's his philosophy that it is better to fight and be beaten than it is to simply surrender. No war was ever won through surrender."

"None was ever won by being beaten into bloody submission either," Kiram replied.

"True." Javier smiled at him. "So, I wouldn't advise that you do that either."

Master Ignacio shouted out the names of the second- year students who were to take the floor of the arena. They were the worst combatants of the second year: the ones who would face first-year challengers and both Kiram and Nestor were among them.

As Kiram started to go, Javier caught his shoulder and leaned close to his ear.

"Bring them to their knees," he whispered and his breath sent a thrill over Kiram's skin. Then Javier gently shoved Kiram out into the arena.

Kiram's heart hammered in his chest as he took his place inside the salt circle of the dueling ring that Master Ignacio indicated.

"Hold this ring," Master Ignacio told him. "Hold it five rounds. Do not fail me."

"Yfes, sir," Kiram responded but the war master had already turned away. Moments later the first-year combatants took their places. Kiram's first opponent was a stocky young man from the Yllar Academy. He had a blunt little nose and a snorting, aggressive sword style. The first time his blade crashed against Kiram's it sent a jolt through Kiram's wrist.

Fortunately months of training with Javier had honed his defenses. Even utterly flustered, Kiram reflexively sidestepped the Yllar student's second thrust and brought his own blade down across the Yllar student's exposed shoulder.

"Haldiim bitch," the Yllar student snarled. An instant later Kiram deflected another thrust and the Yllar student's sword arm swung wide out. Kiram pounced forward, slamming his blade against the Yllar student's chest. Taken off guard and suddenly off balance, the Yllar student fell to the arena floor.

The judge called the win in Kiram's favor and a cheer went up from the Sagrada Academy stands.

Kiram's entire body trembled with a rush of exhilaration and shock. He hadn't expected to win. Now he would have to fight again. His heart was beating so fast and hard that he thought he could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears.

He faced another Yllar student. This one was faster and he scored a bruising strike across Kiram's left forearm, but the blow cost him his balance. Kiram brought him down with a two fast thrusts into his stomach and chest. The judge held his banner over Kiram and another cheer went up. Kiram's muscles felt molten. The air of the pavilion seemed cool against his skin.

Kiram's third opponent was a first-year student from the Sagrada Academy. Kiram exploited his clumsy footwork, pressing him hard to the right then suddenly shifting his thrusts to the left. The young man finally tripped over his own boots. Kiram dispatched him with a quick strike.

Excitement and fear rolled through Kiram's entire body. His breath came in deep animal gasps. He held the ring. He brought his opponents to their knees. But with each triumph came the realization that he had to do it all again and his next opponent would be better.

By his fifth and final duel, Kiram's body was slick with sweat. His nerves felt tremulous as spider silk; his muscles were soft lead.

A tall Yillar student stepped into the ring. Locks of chestnut colored hair were plastered to his face by sweat. He gazed at Kiram with a blank, almost dead expression. Kiram wondered how long he'd been fighting. He looked like he might collapse any moment.

The judge signaled for them to begin. Kiram tested his opponent's reflexes with quick thrusts. The Yllar student blocked, but just barely. Kiram moved in closer, pressing the attack. He thrust for the Yllar student's stomach, but suddenly something caught his foot. Kiram stumbled backwards. Instantly, the Yllar student struck for Kiram's heart. Kiram blocked the blow with his left forearm. The blade tore into his gauntlet with shattering force.

Kiram fell and rolled just as the Yllar student slammed his blade down again. The sword slashed across Kiram's left shoulder, ripping through the leather scales of his byrnie.

Kiram bounded back up to his feet, gasping for air and shaking. The Yllar student regarded him with that same dull, dead gaze.

Through the din of the roaring crowds in the stands, Kiram suddenly picked out a single voice shouting at him. It was Javier. Kiram couldn't make any of his words out clearly, but he didn't have to. Javier had already warned him, already told him what to do. He had just been too exhausted to remember the one Yllar student Javier had specifically pointed out to him. Ariz Plunado. Kiram felt like an idiot for not recognizing that bland face immediately, but Ariz was simply so forgettable.

Now he circled Kiram slowly, testing Kiram's defenses with quick jabs. All the while his feet darted in, kicking at Kiram's steps. Pain shot through Kiram's left arm as he pulled it in close to his side. Dark red rivulets of blood trickled from under his gauntlet and dribbled down his hand.

"If it hurts you can forfeit." Ariz's voice was as colorless as his expression. His lips hardly moved.

"I-"Before Kiram could make his response, Ariz kicked his ankle hard and lunged for Kiram's chest. Kiram leapt to the side.

Ariz spun on him. "You look like you should see a physician. You're bleeding a lot."

Kiram was expecting the attack this time but it was still brutal. Ariz lunged to strike Kiram's left arm and when Kiram shifted back Ariz landed a hard kick on Kiram's knee. Kiram's leg buckled. He caught himself but hardly had time to block Ariz's thrust for his stomach.

"You look pale, Haldiim." Ariz drove him back toward the blurred white edge of the fencing ring. If he stepped back across it this could all be over. He would be disqualified. His arm hurt so badly he could hardly think. One misstep and it would be over. Javier would be so disappointed. Every bigoted Cadeleonian in the stands would be pleased, though.

Kiram forced himself to attack Ariz again, jabbing hard and fast. His muscles screamed from the effort and when his strength failed him, Ariz sprang after him, lashing out with his blade. Kiram didn't attempt to block the blow. Instead, he spun to the side as if he were dancing. Momentum carried Ariz a step past him. Kiram planted his shoulder in Ariz's back, shoving forward as hard as he could. Ariz skidded forward then spun back. But it was too late. He had crossed through the salt ring.

The judge swung his blue banner up over Kiram. Screams and cheers erupted from the Sagrada Academy stands, but he could barely hear. His own pulse hammered through his ears. His left arm hung like a limp rag and muscle cramps bit into his legs. Slowly, Kiram sank to his knees on the ground. He felt numb, utterly thoughtless. Then he was lying on his back staring up at the blue sky above the pavilion. Three back silhouettes passed over him. Crows, he thought.

A few moments later two of the judges dragged him from the arena back to the Sagrada Academy stands.

"
Ybu're going to have a great scar," Nestor proclaimed. From deep inside a haze of duera, Kiram gave him a slow, distracted nod. He had never had cause to drink the painkiller before; how completely it altered his perception surprised him.

Rambling corridors of vending wagons and open tents spread out in every direction around Kiram. Many of the tents served as small theatres. Several brightly-costumed musicians accompanied masked actors, and others played for acrobats as they flipped and twisted. Now and then the odd dancing bear or trained monkey was brought on stage. Once Kiram glimpsed a scantily clad woman holding a large snake around her waist. Then a man in a velvet coat pulled the tent flaps closed.

Between the theater tents, merchants' stalls brimmed with countless diverse goods. Just in the small area Kiram had explored so far there were cut flowers and bolts of cloth, strings of beads, garlands of garlic, powdered saints' bones, horse shoes, red squash, arrowheads, chests of spices, ivory dice and jars of pressed sunflower oil. Men in piebald coats and extravagant hats wandered the open grounds hawking dueling knives, exotic perfumes and decks of blessed cards. Their offers hardly carried over the noise of the surrounding crowds.

The wild shouts of the fair criers, bartering merchants and music blurred through Kiram's drugged thoughts. The vivid colors of the painted sign and red striped tent in front of him seemed to jump and waver before his eyes.

A man brushed past Kiram leading his newly purchased goat. A few yards away, two youths shouted out enticements as they held up squealing black piglets. A dog raced past with a haunch of roasted lamb in its mouth and two plump women came running after it shouting insults and threats, which Kiram doubted would help to attract the dog. He took a breath and thought he could smell every creature that had ever lived.

Beside him, Nestor held his kerchief and studied the yellow butterflies embroidered in the corners. He looked almost guilty when he noticed Kiram watching him and he quickly tucked the kerchief back into the pocket of his academy uniform.

"Your arm's not hurting you, is it?"

Slowly, Kiram's attention drifted down to his own forearm. A long red seam of broken skin was surrounded by a wide expanse of deep purple bruises. Black silk stitches laced the wound closed like the ribbons of a lady's dress. It was almost pretty, though it looked like it should hurt.

"I'm not feeling a thing." Kiram swayed and Nestor braced him.

"Steady now," Nestor said. "Scholar Donamillo gave you a very strong dose. Maybe we should find a place to sit down."

"No, I'm fine." Kiram shook his head. The sensation of his hair swinging against his neck distracted him; then he focused his concentration. "We have to see the fair with Javier. We're going to meet dirty Irabiim and have our fortunes told and probably get robbed."

"I'd rather not be robbed," Nestor commented.

"Where's Javier?" Kiram suddenly demanded. He stared around him. Three girls hurried after their mother with piglets clutched in their arms. A group of Yllar students passed by and then ducked into a striped tent. But Javier was nowhere to be seen.

"He's getting us some food," Nestor said. "He's only been gone a few minutes, you know."

"I know. I know," Kiram said and suddenly he had the urge to be completely honest with Nestor.

"I want to see him. But can I? No. Who could? I mean, I honestly want to, but it's just so stupid. Look at where we are." Kiram waved vaguely at a man with puppets on his hands. "Is this the kind of place for that?"

"Puppets?" Nestor didn't seem to have really grasped Kiram's confession. Kiram tried again.

"This isn't Anacleto," Kiram pronounced firmly. "And even if it were, Javier is still going to have to buy a damn monkey and -my god! Look at that pig!" All of Kiram's thoughts of Javier's obligations to wed and his own duties to his family instantly dispersed before the amazing girth of a huge black boar with painted gold tusks. The colossal animal trailed behind an old woman who led it by a chain attached to a ring in the end of its nose. Despite the packed crowd, people stepped aside giving the woman and her boar a wide berth.

Nestor grinned. "He's big, isn't he?"

"He is one of the old gods brought low by mortal flesh!" Kiram pronounced. The idea felt amazingly profound. A moment later, with the boar out of sight, Kiram forgot it completely.

"Where's Javier gotten off to?" Kiram demanded.

"He's gone to the kingdom of Yuan."

"What? That bastard!"

"Oh, look, there he is." Nestor pointed past the pig sellers, to a tall man with jet-black hair. An older, bland- looking man and two women stood with him. One of the women looked about sixty and wore a widow's veil over her white hair. The younger woman resembled the man in her plain features but Kiram guessed she was only sixteen or so. All three of the people wore black bands of mourning around the sleeves of their fine silk clothes. The black- haired man was dressed in a blue academy uniform and smiled widely up at the sky.

"That's Fedeles," Kiram said.

"Is it?" Nestor squinted intently. Fedeles caught sight of the two of them and waved both his arms in the air as if he were flagging down a passing ship. "Yeah, that's Fedeles all right."

Fedeles pushed and danced his way through the crowd. The Quemanors followed him, though they looked annoyed by the effort. Fedeles easily outdistanced them, having no inclination to either apologize for or excuse his intrusions.

"Firaj! Firaj!" Fedeles shouted and he hugged Kiram to him with bruising force, shoving his face into Kiram's hair with the rough propriety of a dog snuffling someone's crotch.

"Careful, Fedeles." Nestor pulled him back. "Kiram's hurt."

Fedeles looked shocked and quickly disengaged. He peered at Kiram's stitches and whimpered. Then he patted Kiram's head. "Don't run away. It hurts but don't run away."

"I won't." It was surprising how much Fedeles resembled Javier physically and yet his mind was so different. Though there were moments, just instants, when Kiram thought he could see Javier's expressions on Fedeles' face. A thoughtful frown would flash across his sharp features only to be engulfed in a maniacal grin.

It was almost like Kiram's thoughts right now, as he floated through a drugged haze. There were moments of clarity, which the duera distorted and consumed, so that he could hardly communicate. Was that how Fedeles felt?

"You are trying to tell me something, aren't you?" Kiram asked.

"Yss, yes!" Fedeles hugged Kiram to him again fiercely, hissing into his ear. "He wants to kill Lunaluz. Help us."

"Who?" Kiram demanded.

"Pretty!" Fedeles released his grip on Kiram and lunged after a flower seller. Nestor sprang forward and caught his arm.

"Fedeles. No!" Nestor said. "Look, your family is here. See?"

Fedeles' grandmother gazed at him with a look of long suffering affection. Fedeles smiled, but sadly, as if he knew how his behavior horrified her, as if some sane, dignified aspect of himself was trapped within his madness, witness to all this humiliatingly childish activity but utterly helpless to stop it.

Kiram wondered if being drugged really was offering him an insight into Fedeles' mind or if the idea was itself a delusion of the duera coursing through his bloodstream. At the moment it felt like genuine insight.

He turned to Fedeles and clutched his hand.

"Don't give up, Fedeles," Kiram said. "I'll find a way to get you free. Nestor and I, we're both looking for a way."

"Brave ponies!" Fedeles threw his arms around both of them.

"Lord Quemanor." Nestor pulled free of Fedeles' grip and bowed his head to Fedeles' father. "It's good to see you at the tournament. We missed you last year."

"Thank you for your compliments, young Master Grunito. Your good manners lead me to believe that you will understand why we have no wish to remain in your company at present."

Kiram wriggled free of Fedeles' arm, scowling at Fedeles' father. What had he just said? It had sounded like a kind of insult but Kiram wasn't thinking well enough to be sure.

Then out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Javier. He stood back in the shadows of a theater tent just watching them all. There was something in his expression that stopped Kiram from calling out to him, though he wanted to.

Beside him Nestor bowed slightly to Fedeles' father.

"Of course. I understand, sir. Your family has my deepest sympathies."

"Thank you. Though I am sorry to be told that members of my extended family have been offered far more of the Grunito sympathy than have those of us who suffered the greater loss."

Kiram had no idea what the man was talking about but Nestor seemed embarrassed by it.

"Come, Fedeles." Fedeles' grandmother took his hand. "Shall we go look at the horses in the auction?"

Fedeles nodded vigorously. She led him away without a further word to either Nestor or Kiram.

"That was ugly," Nestor said.

"What was he talking about?" Kiram asked.

Nestor squinted around at the surrounding crowd, then he stepped closer to Kiram and lowered his voice.

"Lord Quemanor may always hate Javier but he's just cutting himself out of society when he refuses to socialize with any of Javier's acquaintances. If it comes down to it, who in his right mind is going to side with Quemanor against the Duke of Rauma?"

"Side with him over what?" Kiram asked.

"Hasn't anyone told you?"

"You're the only one who tells me anything, Nestor."

"And I didn't mention the duel over Fedeles?"

Kiram shook his head.

"Well, it's not exactly table conversation. But you ought to know," Nestor said quietly. "Javier killed Fedeles' older brother in a duel two years ago."

"Was it during a tournament?" Kiram could easily imagine something going wrong in one of the fencing circles.

"No, it was a real blood duel. Prince Sevanyo sanctioned it. Herves Quemanor made some nasty claims about Fedeles and Javier challenged him to a duel."

"Why would Herves insult his own brother?"

"That's just it." Nestor lowered his voice to the faintest whisper. Kiram had to lean in to hear him. "After Fedeles went mad, Herves claimed he wasn't his full brother. He said that the rumors about Javier's father having an affair with their mother were true. He called Fedeles a foul, illegitimate product of Tornesal incest."

"What a rotten brother." It was the first thing Kiram thought, though almost immediately he wondered if Herves' claim could have been true. It would explain why Fedeles, of all the Quemanor children, was the only one afflicted by the Tornesal curse.

"People claim Fedeles never really understood what was happening but I think he did. I think it hurt his feelings pretty badly when Herves started talking about having Fedeles disinherited. That's when Javier challenged him to the blood duel and killed him."

Kiram glanced over Nestor's shoulder to where Javier lurked in the shadows of the theatre tent. Now he realized why his first impression of Javier had been that he resembled the mercenary street snakes of Anacleto. There was a cold assurance to the way Javier met other men's glances. He knew he was capable of killing and his gaze conveyed that.

Javier met Kiram's gaze and his grim countenance changed completely. He offered Kiram a warm, almost boyish smile. He stepped out of the shadows, swiveled between two men, and sidestepped an old woman. He held up a fistful of roasted meat skewers. In the other hand he held a reed basket full of some kind of bread.

"Are those the chips all you Cadeleonians eat?" Kiram asked.

"What?" Nestor asked.

"That basket of chips Javier's bringing." Kiram pointed.

Nestor spun around. "Good eyes, Kiram. Yeah, they're casocres. God, he's nearly here. I would have still been babbling about him when he came up, if you hadn't seen him."

Nestor was always so willing to compliment another person. Kiram felt a sudden warmth for him and his effortless generosity of spirit.

Javier reached them, handed the basket of casocres to Nestor, and frowned at Kiram. "What's the happy occasion?"

"What do you mean?" Kiram accepted a beef skewer.

"You were grinning like an idiot just now," Javier said. "Relief from Lord Quemanor's company couldn't have left you that happy."

"No." Kiram took a bite of the thinly sliced beef. It was salty and greasy and just a little sweet. He took another bite.

"I was just thinking of how lucky I am," Kiram said at last. "I could have had the worst time at the Sagrada Academy these last four months but I haven't. I've been really happy."

"Have you?" Javier handed a skewer to Nestor.

"Well, not when Master Ignacio berated me or when he struck me or when Genimo cropped me, but other times, with the two of you. I've been happy and it's because you're good people. Don't give me that look, Javier. You are a good man."

The smirk didn't drop from Javier's face but he managed to look somewhat contrite. "Has he been like this the whole time?"

"More or less. He's a nice-tempered drunk, that's for sure." Nestor ate several of the crispy chips.

"I'm not drunk," Kiram objected.

"Not exactly sober either." Nestor handed Kiram the basket of casocres. Kiram took one of the small triangular chips. A thin layer of cheese had been melted over it, and there was a strong scent of mustard on it as well. The chip was amazingly crisp and it tasted delicious with Kiram's beef skewer.

"Try these with the meat." Kiram offered the basket to Javier. "They're amazing."

"Really?" Javier gave him an amused look.

"You already knew they went well together, didn't you?"

"I had reason to suspect so, yes. I'm glad to know that you agree though." Javier turned to Nestor. "So, what did Quemanor have to say?"

Nestor floundered, so Kiram answered for him. "Apparently, he came over to tell Nestor that he wasn't going to talk to him. Quemanor said it nicely enough I suppose but it was still a rude thing to do and I didn't understand what was going on at all because I didn't know about your duel with Fedeles' brother."