across the dome of the sky.
“Slorn?”
He jumped at the voice, whirling around to see the wind waiting, circling him in worried little circles.
“Yes,” he said, struggling to keep his voice normal.
“I just came back to let you know the West Wind told me to tell you to be kind to the Spiritualist girl. Who knows why. Spiritualists are busybodies, but Illir’s word is law.”
“I’ll look after her, don’t worry,” Slorn said, managing a weak smile.
The wind spun again. “Slorn.” Its voice was not nearly so certain this time. “What were you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Slorn lied. “Nothing at all.”
The wind made a frightened wheezing sound. “It’s not good to stare at the sky.”
“It’s nothing,” Slorn said again. “Off with you.”
The wind held on a moment longer and then whipped away, flying hard and fast between the trees. Slorn waited until it was completely gone before wiping the cold sweat from where the fur met his neck. When his breathing was steady again, he walked down the slope back toward the bushes. He did not look at the sky again.
CHAPTER
17
When the sun rose on the third day, Josef Liechten woke up, took the Heart of War from his chest, and stomped off to his fight. Nico trailed him like a shadow, pulling Tesset behind her so that they made a strange sort of line pushing their way across Izo’s camp. The city was packed. Bandits wearing the Bandit King’s red and black had come from all across the mountains, abandoning their small camps and outposts for a day of glory.
“What are all these idiots doing here?” Josef growled, glaring as a gaggle of young men, some barely into their teens, made themselves comfortable on a rooftop with a good view of the arena. “This is a duel, not a circus.”
“For the men up here, the two are the same,” Tesset said. “Sted may have forced Izo to play host, but you’re kidding yourself if you think Izo isn’t going to get something out of it. The Council’s been cracking down and troop morale is low. How better to boost it than a spectacular fight to the death? It’s a clever use of a bad situation, but Izo’s famous for turning things to his favor. He didn’t become king of the bandits for his nobility, you know.”
Josef shook his head in disgust. “I just hope he remembered his end of our deal.”
“He did,” Nico said softly. “They’ve been hammering for days.”
Josef didn’t need to ask what she meant by that, for a moment later the arena itself came into view. Lying on the hard-packed sand was a jagged heap of newly forged swords. Some blades were almost black with imperfections, others were actually crooked, lying sideways across the blades beneath them. Still, hundreds of swords in all. Josef grinned and clapped his hands together.
“Perfect.”
Izo was standing at the arena’s edge with his retinue and the foppish man from the Council, whose finery was looking a little wilted today. They both turned as Josef approached, and Izo brightened visibly, grinning so wide Josef could count his gold crowns.
“The sleeper wakes,” he said, laughing. The Bandit King was dressed in silks like a lord and obviously in a fine mood as he stretched out his hand toward the pile of swords. “See, it is all here, as promised. You asked for a spectacle and I delivered.”
“The crowd is too much,” Josef said. “But Sted will probably like it, so let them stay. Neither of us will be holding back, though, so I can’t vouch for your men’s safety.”
“What bandit looks for safety?” Izo scoffed.
Josef shrugged and stared down at the circular pit of the arena, measuring the wood-braced walls with his eyes. “In that case, get some of your men started putting the swords on the walls. The blades are no good to me piled like that. I need every one of them on a hook, hilt up. I’m guessing that’s your seat?” Josef nodded toward the short tower at the edge of the arena topped with a crimson-covered box that held benches, a throne, and a balcony.
“Who else’s?” Izo said.
Josef ignored his boastful grin. “I’ll need a pillar about the same height directly across from it. There.” He pointed. “Just a simple post will do, so long as it’s at least a foot thick.”
“Easily done,” Izo said. “But why?”
“I need a safe place for this.” Josef reached over his shoulder and grabbed the Heart’s hilt. In one motion, he brought the enormous black blade over his shoulder and plunged it into the ground. The blade sank a foot into the hard dirt before it stopped.
Izo cocked an eyebrow. “As you like, swordsman. But better make it two feet.”
He snapped his fingers, and his men ran forward to get their orders. Moments later a small army swarmed into the pit, moving swords and getting the ground ready for the post Josef had requested. While they worked, Josef sat down on the arena’s edge, staring at the sandy circle until the men were shadows and all he could see was the field of battle. Behind him, he could feel the Heart’s power waiting, but he kept himself apart. As he’d slept, the Heart had been with him, fighting the fight against the Lord of Storms over and over again. Through it all, the sword never spoke, but the underlying message behind the endless fight was as strong and solid as bedrock. In their fight with Sted, Josef and the Heart had taken the first real step toward becoming a swordsman. They had achieved the unspoken understanding between sword and man. But that wasn’t enough, not for a fight like the Lord of Storms. To beat a man like that—no, not a man—to beat a force of nature like the Lord of Storms would take the greatest swordsman in the world wielding the greatest awakened sword. He had one part of the equation. Now it was time to work on the other. He crunched his knuckles together. Sted may have demanded this fight, but Josef was going to use it to his fullest advantage.
He heard a soft rustle and turned to see Nico sitting down beside him, the rope taut across her wrists. Tesset stood a good five feet away, talking urgently with the foppish man. It was the farthest Josef had seen him stray.
“They’re talking about Miranda,” Nico said. “She chased off after Eli and hasn’t come back yet.”
“Then we know the thief isn’t caught,” Josef said. “The Spiritualist girl is a better soldier than most wizards. If she had caught him, she’d have brought him back to the chain of command, and for now that seems to be the peacock man.”
“Sparrow?” Nico said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t think she likes him.”
“Like has nothing to do with duty,” Josef said. “I just hope Sted doesn’t do something stupid. He’s never been someone you could count on for sense.”
Nico stayed silent at that, and Josef looked over, taking note of the haunted look in her eyes, which now seemed permanently too bright for whatever light they were in.
“I’ll beat Sted,” he said.
“I know you will,” Nico answered. “That’s not it.” She paused for a moment, sinking deeper into the dark folds of her coat. “Sted’s a demonseed now. I don’t know for sure how, but if he killed Nivel, then I can guess. He’s not a wizard, but he has powers like I used to have.”
“I know,” Josef said. “I fought him a little back at the hut. He’s got speed, shadow jumping, incredible strength, but I’ve sparred with you, remember? I know what seeds are capable of, and Sted’s on a different plain entirely, a lower one. He may be more dangerous now than he was in Gaol, thanks to that arm of his, but it’s a brittle kind of strength. He made a bad bargain when he left the League.”
Nico pulled herself in tighter, and Josef looked over to see she was clutching her arm under her coat. “Don’t underestimate how dangerous he is, Josef,” she said quietly.
“I don’t,” Josef answered. “But I also refuse to underestimate my own abilities. Even the crooked metal pokers down there will strike true if the swordsman wills them to. I know I will beat Sted, Nico. My only worry
