Colton slipped through the city late that night. By the stream where Fianna waited for him a still mist lay, the light of the stars sparkling upon the water. She turned as he approached, her soft blue eyes searching the night’s shadows.
“Colton?” she asked.
“It’s me,” he answered, stepping into the starlight.
“Where have you been?” she asked. “I’ve waited so many nights for you.”
“I’m sorry. I would have come if I could. I’d explain, only the tale might bore you.”
“It’s alright. You’re here now, anyway. And the Games are only a week away, are they not?”
“I’ve been chosen to compete!” Colton said, enthusiasm streaming through his voice. “I’ll have a chance to free you!”
Fianna smiled. “I dearly hope you will win,” she said. “But I fear lest I raise my hopes too high.”
“Do not be afraid to hope. Whether this year or next, I shall do all in my power to give you the life you ought to have.”
“It is not only me, though,” she said, a gentle frown upon her brow. “There are so many others like me, and some in even worse a state.”
“You have but to give me their names, and when I am capable they too shall be freed.”
“It makes me sorrowful that there are no more like you upon Vellatha.”
“Perhaps there are,” he said. “But men in this world seem to seek only their own prosperity, at the cost of even those they call their friends. It is the only thing they have been taught. Yet greatness does not last… it too shall fade with their lives and high hopes. They push on, but something in me wonders if it is naught but foolishness.”
“Are you so unlike them in your ambition?”
“I do not seek greatness for its own sake, nor for a title to boast of.”
“I cannot think that you should do all for me.”
“Have I anyone else to do it for? You deserve it, Fianna, more than anyone I have ever known.”
Fianna smiled softly and lifted her eyes to the stars above.
“They are very beautiful tonight, are they not?” she murmured.
Colton gazed at the sky. “They remind me of you,” he said.
Fianna turned her smile to him, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “You only say that to please me.”
“It is the truth. In a dark world you have become a very bright light.”
“Then I have much to owe Atara.”
“Atara?”
Fianna laughed. “Do you still know so little of Vellatha? Atara is the spirit of light and day.”
“You are not made beautiful by a spirit imagined into being by Vellatha’s people generations ago, Fianna. You are beautiful because you see light in a broken world, because you are pure and gentle amidst so much filth and harshness. Vellatha’s people see only a world of violence and vulgarity, but you see what is still beautiful in life.”
“Do you have no belief in spirits or any god, then?”
Colton was silent for a moment, staring at the skies. “What I have been told of your spirits speaks only to the imagined existence of puny and powerless gods. But still, such beauty and vastness as this cannot have been the work of any man.”
Colton fell silent, but the peacefulness and happiness of the night soon began to fade.
“I should be on my way now,” he murmured.
“When shall you return?”
“I fear not until the Games are past. It is a long time, I am sorry, but I will return as soon as I am granted opportunity.”
“Then I shall wait and try to be patient,” Fianna said.
Colton began to leave, but she called after him with a final word.
“Colton!”
He turned to her.
“Be careful, please. Many men who are chosen for the Games go to their deaths.”
“I will not give up life while you still live,” he said, smiling tenderly.
And then he was gone, slipping across the hill and away upon his horse back to his barracks, returning to peaceful sleep for a short while until morning
The next week presented an intensity in training that Colton had never experienced before. For five days the ten men who had been selected rose while it was still night and worked through the entire day till night had once again fallen. With skilled ease Colton and Tyran battled these new opponents, not only enemies in a duel but now contestants for the future that could only be dealt to one of them. His mind ever on Fianna, Colton strove for the victory with every ounce of energy and strength within him. But though he would not speak a word of it, his ankle had grown steadily sorer throughout the week. It was a constant bother, but so far it had remained only that. His only fear was that the pain would intensify to a point where it hindered his fighting, for then he had little likelihood of victory.
The five days ended swiftly, and upon the following morning they saddled and bridled their horses to ride to the palace of King Alastor. Colton was unprepared for the reaction of those they passed, both peasant and nobility, for they were lauded and cheered by all who saw them pass. But even for Colton, who longed for recognition and greatness, it felt misplaced. They rode by on their high horses and with their fine capes and swords at their sides, but they were no better than any of those who bowed to them and gave them praise. If this was the life of power and high rank, Colton had no desire to be one of them. It was only for Fianna—and those others like her—that he sought greatness. It could not last, but it was a better life for her than slavery. She was too gentle to be made a slave and be beaten like a man.
They rode slowly, the other men taking in every moment of the praise they were given. A little after midday they reached the palace, and every man reigned in his horse in sheer wonder at the sight before them.
The palace rose before them, tremendous in size, and guarded at every window and corner. Two colossal columns of marble stood on either side of a doorway, twice as tall as a horse and wide enough for a score of men to walk through side by side. The doors themselves were extraordinary works of architecture. Cut from single slabs of red wood, they were nearly a handbreadth in depth. Upon the face of the wood were remarkable carvings, inlaid with gold and rubies and emeralds.
The building was castle, fortress, and palace all in one. The flag of Vellatha whipped in the wind at the highest turret, beneath it a flag of equal greatness bearing the coat of arms of Alastor’s household. The walls were formed from heavy, dark stones, one holding the thick bars of prison windows, the cheerless exterior to a far darker accommodation. Guards stood, solemn and uniform, beside every door and possible means of entrance. Their faces never changed in expression but for the occasional nod of respect, or perhaps the cold look of condemnation for those beneath them. One hand grasping a spear and the other resting upon a sword, they stood silent and still like statues at their places, as they were trained to appear.
But the construction was far more than a stronghold against enemies or a place of confinement for unruly citizens. It was the mighty palace of a king, his very throne and dwelling place. Its sheer size was enough to take the breath out of any man, spread across a vast piece of land and towering over even the palaces of the king’s seven rulers. Balconies wrapped around every story and staircases of marble and gold were the walkway of the king’s greatest lords and family. Colton could only imagine, if this was the appearance of the exterior, what lavishness the palace held within.
To call the palace a mansion was an understatement, and yet it was not the mightiest building in sight. Beside it lay the circular, pillared building upon which every man’s eye rested, not so tall as the mighty palace but of far more significance to those who had made the journey there. It was the great arena of the Games, as ancient as the first stones that had been laid upon Vellatha, and the center and heart of its world.
There, over every generation that had built the history of Vellatha, warriors had battled and given their lives striving for the great fortune which victory would bring them. It was a world of destruction and greediness, but it was masked masterfully with the beauty of the sword—not in the savagery of its blade, but in the skill with which it was wielded.
And what suddenly struck Colton as very strange was that he had become one of those men. Not much more than a year ago, he had looked on in disgust at the men’s vulgar manners and habits, and now, he could hardly be told apart from any of them. In a world of cruel callousness, it seemed, one had to adopt a similar attitude to survive. But there was something different in Colton, though he could not clearly see it, that set him apart from his companions—a certain way of bearing himself, a fiery look in his eye that spoke of a deeper understanding of life. As for Tyran, he had drawn away from the others as Bordstern instilled in him a certain disdain for the harsh, nearly barbaric, life they were taught to live.
It was these two men, men of different worlds and beliefs, that now stood together, ready to compete in a rivalry that would, by all worldly standards, tear even the closest of friends apart. The outcome rested upon each’s skill—and more than that, nobility—but should it come to the point that they face each for the final fate, their friendship would lie on a thin thread—the blade of a knife, so it would seem.
This was a great chapter!
The last sentence leaves me feeling anxious for what may happen between these two friends. Excited to see what comes next!