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Monarch - Whitefall XX
🕑 Added 2023-02-01 00:05:57 +0000 UTC“Kick his fuckin’ head in!”
I’d heard whispers of places like this scattered throughout Topside.
They called them pits. Small, underground brawling rings where disgruntled men and women tested themselves against each other. Under my father’s reign, it was one of many outlets the common folk used to vent their frustrations. But I’d never expected to find Alten in a place like this. He’d struck me as fiercely loyal and refined. And there was a world of difference between that person and the unrefined edge of this one.
The man Cephur assured me was Alten lifted his leg and stomped downward, sending a gray-skinned orc that must have outweighed him by half into a violent nothingness. Despite the viciousness of the atmosphere, the finishing blow was measured—enough force to end the fight without killing the man or inflicting permanent damage. Sweat and blood dappled his bare chest as he caught his breath, perspiration soaking his dark hair. He glared out at the audience as if daring someone to step forward, golden eyes glittering dangerously. Just looking at him, you wouldn’t know it was his third victory of the night. And each one had been just as definitive.
“Are you sure we won’t be missed?” Maya asked for the second time in as many hours.
“It’ll go on until the early morning. We’ll be back before anyone important notices.” I said, though it wasn’t entirely accurate. Most nobles at the banquet were too dull or drunk to notice, but Thaddeus’s men had been keeping pace from the moment I slipped out of the main hall. The idea of them reporting our movements to my father, and him trying to make sense of them amid a morning hangover was amusing to no end.
“Very well.”
Cephur bobbed in his seat, sick with drink, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “How are you not completely out of sorts?” He asked. “I was watchin’. You should be more in your cups than I am.”
Drunkenness in the wake of victory was expected in Whitefall. The art of drinking less while appearing to gorge oneself was the reverse of drinking more when one was expected to be sober—something I had no small experience with. To anyone who spared more than a cursory glance, it would appear as if I was the life of the party, when in reality, the very specific wine I’d been consuming in mass was barely more alcoholic than a freshly squeezed grape.
Alten twitched, as if he’d heard something he didn’t like. He scanned the crowd until his gaze settled on Cephur. Slowly, as matter-of-factly as if he was counting off on his fingers and ending with one, Alten flipped Cephur the raven.
Why?
At first I thought it was our apparel. But we weren’t the only folk of noble stock in the crowd. Like us, there were a few other nobles gathered around the fringes seated as far from action as possible, slumming Topside for entertainment. I imagined on a normal day, one without a massive banquet with many of Whitefall’s nobility in attendance, there was far more.
Cephur quickly provided the answer. Instead of taking the insult in stride, he stuck his fist out and returned the gesture. “Fuck you too, you daft prick!”
Alten held his arms wide and called over the ascending rows of people watching the festivities on flat, backless benches. “Got one more in me, old man. Come down here if you’re tired of living. Elphion’s warm embrace awaits.”
Cephur nearly rushed forward. Would have, if didn’t catch him and push him back down.
“Easy,” I said. “Guessing recruitment didn’t work out?”
Cephur shook his head, mouth tight. “Real piece of work, that one.”
“Such a wonderful dog.” Alten applauded. “Bowing at the whims of that pretty-boy master, hoping for table scraps.” Alten called over, unhelpfully. Cephur’s face turned a brighter shade of red. “Wouldn’t want to come down into the ring and make a fool out of yourself like last time, in front of that woman of yours.”
Last time? Was I understanding correctly? Alten goaded Cephur into a brawl and won? If it was true, it made sense why Cephur insisted Tamara stay at the banquet.
Cephur snarled and nearly tore himself free before I hissed for him to stop. “Think. If you go down there and lose, it only strengthens his position. If you win, it looks like your ‘noble master’ sicked an experienced officer on a commoner to defend his honor.”
Maya nodded agreement. “Neither outcome serves our purposes.”
With an angry grunt, Cephur pulled himself free and stood there, almost vibrating from rage. “He’s never lost. And it shows. The boy needs to be knocked down a peg.”
From the whispers and gazes directed our way, we were drawing more attention than I was comfortable with. Alten differed from what I’d expected, and if he was anyone else, I would have cut my losses. But I couldn’t forget the unflinching loyalty he’d shown in the dire last hours of my first life, nor the promise I’d made to find him again.
I bit my lip. “It’s time to go. I’ll find another way to approach this. Preferably when his blood has long settled.”
“What about you?” Alten called. This time, he was looking directly at me. Beneath the fierce exterior, his stare was calculating, intelligent. “Skipping out on your own party to gawk at the common folk, your majesty?”
He spat “majesty” like a foul epithet.
Any face that wasn’t looking at us before, swiveled our way. Including a set of green eyes beneath a dark cloak I’d recognize anywhere. Sera was standing in the corner, most of her features hidden beneath a hood.
She’d followed us here from the banquet. There was no other explanation.
Her presence, combined with Alten’s name drop transformed the landscape of the situation. It made it more difficult to extricate myself from the situation cleanly without losing respect from either of them. Alten’s actions made little sense. His disrespect to both my charge and my person would have given any noble with half my station grounds to execute him on the spot. Either he had a death wish, or he was spoiling for a fight. Any fight. He reminded me of my father’s men who came back from extended campaigns and struggled to reintegrate into normal life, often creating mayhem and turning petty squabbles violent.
An idea slowly formed in my mind, a way to achieve two aims at once.
I stood to my full-height and gave Alten a cocky smile designed to rub him the wrong way. “I was told I’d find the finest fighter in Whitefall here.”
Alten straightened at the praise, though he kept the same stoic expression. “Empty flattery.”
“Hardly.” I scoffed, moving towards the ring and then turning to the crowd of faces, still fixed on me. “Has he not given us all one hell of a show?”
There was a slow uprising of approval.
“And he thinks I’m pretty!”
Uproarious laughed followed. Cephur looked at me as if was losing it, but his edge was gone, and he chuckled. Only Maya looked relatively unamused.
Maya stood as if to straighten her dress and leaned in. I could feel her breath on my ear. “Your actions here will carry. Are you sure you want to make a scene? He’s that important?”
I nodded.
Then feigned a drunken stumble, fiddling with my bag and withdrawing a golden rod which I held above my head. I was overpaying by a huge margin, but now that I was back in Whitefall, it didn’t matter. “In honor of this warrior’s exceptional talent, drinks for the evening are on the crown!”
The raucous cheer was louder than the first, less cautious. For the simple price of a golden rod and laughing off Alten’s insults, I’d pulled many of those in attendance to our side, minimizing the likelihood of interference later. The muscles in the scrapper’s forearms flexed as he looked around, bewildered at how quickly things had turned. It wasn’t exactly fair. I’d had far more experience managing a crowd, while his talents lay in other areas. Still, he wasn’t stupid. He’d catch on if I wasn’t careful. Best to force his hand quickly.
I waved at Alten and gestured to Cephur and Maya that we should leave.
People were already funneling to the bar. Near the front of the line, Sera was reclining on the bar, taking in the chaos. I’d bought drinks for the room, defused the hostile atmosphere, and given us a graceful out. But I suspected that wouldn’t be the end.
“Coward.” The single-word cut through the excitement of the room like a fired knife through butter.
People froze. Voices cut off mid-sentence and heads swiveled to where Alten stood, fist clenched, wild-hair streaming down into his face, covering his eyes. Suddenly, I understood.
I’d expected him to escalate, but this wasn’t just the raving of an angry man spoiling for a fight. He’d unknowingly displaced his own desires onto Cephur. And I recognized the fragile desperation playing at the fringes of his bravado as something, in my darkest moments, I’d seen in myself.
Alten wanted to die.
The reason was beyond me, but the intent was obvious. He couldn’t do it himself—Could be pride, religious mores, or just plain stubbornness wouldn’t let him. So instead, he was throwing himself in the pit fights and lashing out at anyone who came within arm’s reach, hoping that, eventually, things would take their natural course.
My smile slipped as we faced off. I needed to at least try to give him an out. “It’s a night of celebration, and my ears are tired from all manner of talk. Surely I heard wrong.”
Alten made a harsh sound in the back of his throat and leaned forward, spitting a wad of red onto the ground. “People have spinning yarns in your absence. Whispering how the king’s son is a mythical prodigy, gone to learn magic and swordplay among the demis. All the threads of a legend in the making. But that couldn’t be more off. I bet you’re just another pompous bastard who thinks he’s better than the rest of us who took a few years touring the exotic flavors.” His eyes flicked to Maya. “Even brought a prize back with you.”
With a sigh, I dropped the drunk act. Unbuttoned my shirt and removed it, placing it gently atop my coat on the bench. At first I thought it was my scars that drew the gasps and murmurs, but it was more likely the manifested chitin on my arm and my inscriptions.
In the end, Alten wouldn’t get what he wanted. But Cephur would.
The ranger caught my arm before I turned and whispered, “He’s ambidextrous. Will favor one side for most of the scrap, and when you think you’re dialed in, shift to the other.”
I clapped Cephur on the shoulder, then descended.
People gave a wide berth as I strolled down the stairs, stretching my arms and shoulders, and dropped into the pit ending up less than a span from Alten. In the background, bookmakers were already scurrying among the crowd watching in rapt attention, taking bets.
I lowered my voice so only he could hear me. “This is your last chance to back down before things get… unpleasant. Some of my abilities are powerful and difficult to control. It’s possible you won’t get out of this unscathed.”
“Where’d you get that arm?” He was gawking at it.
“This?” I pointed to it. “Demon cut it off. I demanded he one in return. Only seemed fair.”
“Demons.” Alten said slowly. “Right.”
“We don’t have to do this. We can go to the bar, have a drink, and you can tell me what ails you.” I gestured to the crowd. “They’ll assume we settled our differences.”
Alten faltered at the mention of his troubles. Then assumed a martial stance, one foot sliding back for balance, fists raised. “Enough stalling.”
I ignored the jibe and looked back to Cephur and Maya and assumed a regal bearing. “Emissary Maya.”
Recognizing that she was being called in an official capacity, Maya gracefully rose and kept her face inscrutable. “Yes, my prince?”
I gestured to Alten. “Our friend here’s had a long night. This will be, what—his third, fourth match of the evening? Given that I’m completely fresh, would you do us the honor of healing him?”
Face still framed by his guarding fists, Alten scowled. “I don’t need your benevolence.”
But he looked me up and down again, and his conviction wavered.
“This isn’t about you.” I pointed to the crowd. “It’s about them. You’ve thrown out plenty of wild accusations this evening, but you’re not the only one thinking along those lines. Difference between you and them is that you’re ballsy enough to say it out loud. Therefore, I don’t want to give them any reason to doubt what they’re about to see.”
“So. You intend to make an example of me-” Alten winced as Maya crouched at the edge of the pit and jabbed her staff into his back, pumping life magic into him. His bruises faded and his cuts closed.
“What I intend is a bit of sport. If I win, you’ll listen to my proposition and consider it with an open mind.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s in it for me?” Alten countered. “When you’re facedown in the dirt with broken bones and a shatte,red ego. What do I get?”
I grinned. “Whatever the hells you want.”
Comments
Andreas
Nice chapter
