about this whole business is what happens when I do.” He heaved a frustrated sigh. “That part of things was always Eli’s job. I’m just here to fight.”
Nico looked worried. “I don’t think he has a plan this time.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Josef said, leaning back. “Eli’s sleeves have more tricks up them than mine have knives. Well”—he shook his empty sleeve—“usually. But I’ve been with the thief a long time. If there’s anything he can pull off, it’s an escape. Trust him.”
Nico lowered her eyes, leaving a lump of things unsaid in the air. Josef ran a frustrated hand through his short hair. He understood the silence even better than if she’d spoken. She trusted Eli to run, just not to take her with him. Josef gritted his teeth. He didn’t blame her for thinking that. It couldn’t be easy to trust the thief after the things Eli had said back in the cabin. But as he’d said, he’d known Eli for a long time, and for all his flaws, the thief had never left a companion in the lurch. It took him awhile sometimes, but he always came around. All Josef could do was put it out of his mind, focus on winning, and trust that today wouldn’t be the first exception to the rule.
They sat the next half hour in silence, watching as the bandits hung every last one of the shoddy, pot-metal swords on the arena walls. It took a team of ten men to raise the giant log Izo had selected to hold the Heart. When it was fully upright, the log’s top was four feet above the arena’s edge, but a dozen from the sandy floor, too high for either Sted or Josef to reach. Josef kicked it a few times to make sure it was secure before plunging the Heart deep into the wood. The sword slid in easily, poking out the top of the pole like a trophy in a tournament. Satisfied, Josef returned to his seat beside Nico to wait. Tesset joined them this time, his face neutral as ever, despite his heated discussion with Sparrow.
Neither Josef nor Nico asked him any questions, and he did not volunteer any information. Sparrow, however, had stomped off and was now sitting in Izo’s box, swinging a blue jewel on a leather thong and apparently talking to himself. Josef watched him awhile, and then put the fop out of his mind. Even if they were officially prisoners of the Council of Thrones, he had larger problems than Council business. Instead, he jumped down into the arena, circling and getting a feel for the sand, picking out some of the least warped swords to wear at his hips for the opening blows. Overhead, the sun climbed higher into the sky and the bandits began to settle into whatever seats they could find with a good view of the arena. Izo himself was up in his box, talking with the strange, thin man in black who seemed to be constantly at his side, while a bandit poured wine from a barrel into tall glasses. By noon, a hush had fallen over Izo’s bandit city. Though no time had been agreed on, everyone was waiting, craning their heads to be the first to catch a glimpse of Berek Sted when he entered the arena.
“I don’t understand it,” Miranda grumbled, pressing her eye against Slorn’s leather-bound glass telescope and shifting her weight so that the root she was lying on would stop digging into her ribs. “And I don’t like it.”
“What’s to understand?” Gin yawned beside her. “It’s an arena fight. You humans can be remarkably savage, considering your diet is mostly plants.”
“Who lines an arena with swords?” Miranda said. “And my diet is mostly plants. I know people who could put your carnivorous ways to shame.” She shifted her position again, switching the scope to her other eye. “What’s Liechten playing at? There’s no way he’ll be able to reach the Heart from the arena floor if he leaves it up there.”
“The man is a good hunter,” Gin said, his voice deep and approving. “If it’s up there, he has a reason.”
“I just hope Sted doesn’t take too much longer,” Miranda said, getting up. “I’m going back to report to Slorn. Keep an eye on things.”
Gin laid his head on his paws, patterns swirling lazily over his muzzle. “If anything exciting happens, I’ll let you know.”
Miranda shook her head and started creeping through the undergrowth. They’d arrived early yesterday morning, setting up camp on the highest part of the rim of the stone canyon that shielded Izo’s camp from the outside world. It had been a breathless run. The legs on Slorn’s wagon weren’t there for show. The thing had scampered through the forest as fast as Gin could run, and Miranda still wasn’t sure who had been slowing down for whom. They’d cleared the distance from the mountains back to Izo’s in record time, slowing only when they reached the ring of patrols and towers that guarded Izo’s home base. There, creeping past lookouts, Slorn had led her to a place on a rocky outcropping both high and out of the way with a good view of Izo’s land. From the multiple flattened weeds in the hideout, it was clear he’d camped here before, but what had really shocked Miranda was what he’d left waiting for his return.
It was so out of place up here among the scraggly bushes, she hadn’t even noticed it at first. Now it was always the first thing she saw whenever she came back to camp. Behind the bushes where Slorn’s wagon crouched was a large… something. It was squat and lumpy, about as tall as she was, and covered in a drab cloth. A line of empty barrels made a sort of makeshift fence around it, keeping her from getting a good look at its shape, but it moved sometimes, and she could just make out the sharp wooden ends of what looked like carved spider legs poking out from the edge of the cloth. Slorn hadn’t even mentioned it when they arrived, but something in the bear’s eyes kept her from asking, and she’d never found the chance to peek. She did wonder, though.
As usual, Slorn was sitting on the stairs of his wagon, working something in his hands. It was roughly a foot long, round at one end and pointed at the other, vaguely off-white and soapy looking. At first, she’d thought it was the beginning of some Shaper project, an uncarved block he’d turn into something beautiful, but she never heard its voice and its shape never seemed to change. Slorn just kept turning it over in his hands, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
He didn’t look up from the thing as she entered the clearing, creeping low even though she was well out of sight of the city. “How’s it looking?” he asked in his usual gruff voice.
“No sign of Sted yet,” Miranda answered, straightening up. “Josef’s acting stranger than ever. He’s got them lining the arena with swords, really awful-looking ones. I’m no metalworking expert, but I can see the warping from here. Plus, he just put the Heart of War up on a stand like a trophy.” She stopped. “You don’t think he’s wagered it, do you?”
“No,” Slorn said. “Josef knows better than anyone it’s not his to wager. Still”—he raised a hand to his muzzle, scratching it thoughtfully—“putting down the Heart is a clever plan. I wonder who thought of it, Eli or Josef?”
Miranda gave him a funny look. “How is putting your best weapon out of reach for a hard fight clever?”
“Think, Miranda,” Slorn said. “What good is the world’s greatest awakened blade when you’re fighting a demonseed who cares nothing for what it eats?”
Miranda opened her mouth, and then snapped it closed. “Of course, that explains the awful swords. Metal with so many impurities is bound to have tiny, sleepy spirits, providing no meal for the seed even if he eats dozens of them. He’s set up the fight to protect his sword and keep Sted from getting stronger.” She nearly grinned at the simple cleverness of it. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“Actually, Miranda,” Slorn said, looking up at last. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a favor. How strong is your sea spirit?”
Miranda gave him a funny look. “Mellinor’s pretty strong. Depends on how much water is around.”
“I see,” Slorn said, nodding over her shoulder. “And do you think Mellinor could fill those?”
Miranda turned, following his gaze to the line of empty barrels around the cloth-draped shape. “Easily,” she said, turning back. “Why?”
“I’m going to need some water,” Slorn said. “I’d been meaning to talk to a local stream about it, but I’ve run out of time. I was hoping your Mellinor could oblige me.”
“Sure,” Miranda said, grinning. “What do you need us to do?”
Slorn opened his mouth, but he was cut off by a low growl from the trees.
“There’s Gin,” Miranda whispered, dropping her voice even though there was no chance of being overheard.
Slorn nodded and stood up, carefully placing the white lump of whatever it was on the wagon steps before coming over to join her. They crept back through the woods together, sliding in beside Gin, who was nearly over the cliff edge in his excitement. One look and Miranda could see why. The crowd of bandits, who’d been thick as flies over the city for the last day, were pulling away from a cloaked figure walking in from the north end of town. Even at this range, she could see Sted clearly, a head taller than anyone else, and behind him, stumbling through the dust on a rope leash like a petulant puppy, was a figure she knew even better.
“Eli Monpress,” she said, frowning. “He doesn’t look good.”
