“Probably just wants to save time,” Sparrow muttered bitterly.
“If that were the case, he’d have asked us to meet him at the burial pit,” Tesset pointed out.
Sparrow shot him a dirty look and kept going, winding his way through the maze of barracks and training grounds until they reached the long, low building that served as Izo’s infirmary.
“Looks like they took a pigsty and replaced the pigs with bandits who could tie a bandage,” Sparrow muttered, nodding to the boy who opened the door for them. “Remember, let me do the talking.”
“That’s why you’re here,” Tesset said calmly.
Sparrow shook his head and walked faster.
The infirmary was a long hall lined with beds. Most were empty, the stained sheets dumped in piles at their feet. Izo was waiting for them at the very end with several men in drab surgeon’s smocks. They were all standing around a bed, and Izo was shouting something, his words so slurred together by rage that Nico could barely make them out.
“I don’t care if you have to stab him again!” the Bandit King roared. “Wake him up! Now! And where is that Council peacock?”
One of the doctors pointed nervously over Izo’s shoulder, and the Bandit King turned, his face going even redder when he caught sight of Sparrow.
“You!” he shouted, grabbing Sparrow by the arm. “You’d better have something to tell me. Where’s the wizard girl?”
“I couldn’t say for sure,” Sparrow said, his voice pinched with pain. “Probably off after your bruiser. You know, the one who stole our thief?”
Izo bared his teeth and jerked Sparrow up until the smaller man was within kissing distance. “You’d better watch that fancy tongue of yours, boy. I’m in no mood to humor Council dogs who can’t even keep their downed prey.”
He spat in Sparrow’s face, then dropped him. Tesset caught him before he could fall, and Sparrow nodded his thanks, pulling an orange silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face with a disgusted grimace. Point made, Izo turned back to the bed.
This time, Nico was close enough to see who was in it, and her heart clenched. There, lying beneath the surgeon’s hands, was Josef. His stern face was pale and calm, his eyes closed in sleep. His clothes had been cut away and his wounds rebound, with the exception of the center of his chest. That was where the Heart lay, and from the way Josef’s clothing had been cut, it was clear none of the surgeons had tried to move it, not even to get at his wounds. They probably couldn’t move it, Nico realized. The Heart never moved unless it wanted to. That thought, along with the steady rise and fall of Josef’s chest, made her feel better than she had since she’d first opened her mouth to tell Eli about the Dead Mountain.
After another minute of failed attempts to wake the swordsman, Izo sent the doctors away. They fled as Izo leaned over Josef’s sleeping form. He watched the swordsman for a moment and then reached out his hand and slapped Josef hard across the face. Nico lunged forward before she knew what she was doing, catching herself painfully on Tesset’s leash, but Izo didn’t seem to notice her at all. He lifted his hand and slapped Josef again, but as he pulled back for a third blow, there was a flash of movement from the bed. Whatever it was happened too fast for Nico to see, but one moment Izo was standing over Josef, his hand coming down on the swordsman’s cheek, and the next he was on the floor cursing, with Josef’s hand locked around the Bandit King’s newly broken wrist.
The swordsman opened his eyes and gave Izo a lazy, deadly glare. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Izo wrenched his hand free with a pained gasp and jumped to his feet—though, to his credit, he paid no attention to his injury. All of his rage was focused on the man lying in front of him.
“You’re Josef Liechten?”
“Powers,” Josef sighed, slumping back into bed. “If you wanted to know that, there was no reason to wake me up. You could have asked her.” His eyes flicked over to Nico. “Are you all right, Nico?”
Nico started to answer, but Izo stepped between them.
“I’m asking the questions,” he snarled. “You’re the one Sted has this big grudge with, correct?”
“I beat him, if that’s what you mean,” Josef said. “He’s a bad loser.”
“That much is obvious,” Izo said. “Tell me then what you make of this.”
He produced a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it at Josef. The swordsman caught the paper deftly and studied it with a scowl.
“It’s from Sted,” Izo said. “He left it on my doorstep sometime after midnight. He’s taken Monpress hostage and says he’ll bring him back unharmed only if you will answer his challenge. A one-on-one duel in three days’ time.”
“Well, I’m glad you told me,” Josef said, handing the letter back. “Because I could barely make anything out of his writing. I’ve seen better penmanship from five-year-olds.”
“Who cares about his writing?” Izo shouted. “Monpress is worth a kingdom to me! I want him back.”
“As he loves to remind people, Eli is worth several kingdoms,” Josef said flatly. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Izo said. “You’re going to give Sted the fight he wants or I’m going to kill you here and now. That clear enough for you?”
Josef looked the bandit up and down. “Ordinarily, I’d say you’re welcome to try, but if you just want me to fight Sted, then we have no quarrel. I was going to do that anyway.”
“Oh.” Izo deflated a bit; he’d obviously been pumping himself up for a fight. “Good then. Makes things easier.”
“However,” Josef continued, “if I’m going to get Sted to give up Eli, there are a few things you’ll need to provide me with.”
Izo crossed his arms. “Like what?”
“To start, a place to fight,” Josef said, pushing himself up into a semisitting position. “Preferably somewhere people can see him. This is a pride fight, so people need to be there to see him or his pride will not be avenged. Sted doesn’t care about Eli. He’ll give the thief up easily when he sees he’s getting what he wants.”
“You can use the arena,” Izo said. “That’s what I built it for, and Sted was an arena fighter.”
“That will work,” Josef said, nodding. “I’ll also need a few supplies. How many blacksmiths do you keep in your camp?”
Izo frowned. “What kind of a question is that?”
“How many?” Josef said again.
Izo ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Twenty-two, not counting apprentices.”
Josef arched his eyebrows, impressed. “Good. Tell them all to start making swords. I’m going to need a hundred at least, preferably more, made from the blackest, cheapest metal you can give me.”
“What game is this?” Izo said. “You’ve got the greatest awakened sword in the world right there on your chest. Why should I waste my men and resources making you pot-metal blades?”
Josef lay back again. “Those are my terms,” he said. “If you don’t like them, find someone else to fight Sted.”
Izo looked down with a snarl. “All right, a hundred blades. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Josef said. “I’m still healing. If you want me in any condition to fight in three days, you’ll keep yourself and your doctors away. The only person I want staying with me is Nico. Everyone else will have to leave.”
“Done,” Izo said, turning to face Tesset. “You don’t have a problem leaving the girl here?”
Sparrow opened his mouth to protest, but Tesset was faster. “Not if I am allowed to stay with her as her guard.”
Josef looked at Nico, who gave him the thinnest hint of a nod.
“I’m fine with that,” Josef said, making himself comfortable again. “Remember, don’t touch me for three days or I won’t be fit to fight an old man like you, much less a monster like Sted.”
Izo seethed with rage, but turned away without a retort. “You,” he said, glaring at Tesset. “Keep an eye on both of them. Nothing is to disturb his sleep. If the Council messes this up for me, I’ll hang all of you by your own guts, just see if I don’t. And you”—he turned to Sparrow—“I hope you talked with your Sara, because the plan is going ahead as agreed.”
“Assuming, of course, you hold up your end,” Sparrow said.
