“What’s to stop me from striking your head from your shoulders right now?” Stefan asked, playing the part of his old self.
“Other than the fact I’m an Alzari?” Cerny scoffed. “I have the King’s ear and men who will say you attacked me without provocation.” His head gave a slight shift toward the guards near the pillars. “And well, then there’s your family to think about. You-”
“You’re the second person to make me feel as if they’re threatening my family,” Stefan said softly. He gave the Knight General a dead-eyed stare. “Be warned, Cerny. Neither the King nor the gods themselves can save you if you make such a mistake again.”
Cerny licked his lips. “You misunderstand. I was pointing out your family would struggle without your presence.”
“Where am I going? I don’t plan to leave or retire any time soon. In all honesty, it’s you who misunderstood. In my family, I’m the weakest. I wouldn’t wish Thania’s wrath on my worst enemy. You’re far from that.” Stefan allowed himself a slow smile.
Hooves on the cobbles announced Perta’s return with the mount. Stefan purposefully turned his back to Cerny, took the reins to his favorite black stallion, and mounted. When he met the little man’s gaze once more, Cerny’s eyes were tight and his face dark with anger.
“It’s been a nice chat, but as you say, the King awaits. Shall we?” With a flick of his hand, Stefan shooed the Knight General away, making it plain he no longer wanted the man’s presence on his premises.
CHAPTER 11
The journey to the amphitheater dragged by without any further conversation. Although he didn’t fear Cerny, Stefan still kept an eye on him. He would be a fool to overlook the man now. He’d considered bringing his own guard complement, but that would have played into Cerny’s hands. He much preferred the man to be confident. Overconfident, if possible. For now, he intended to keep up appearances that Cerny’s maneuvering did not bother him. He doubted the Knight General would have the nerve to make an attempt on his life in daylight anyway. Cerny was more the type to brandish a knife in the dark.
Marching ahead of them, the Dagodin guards kept the avenues and roads clear of people on their way to the games. From the way the men managed to stay in front of the trotting horses without appearing to tire, Stefan figured they must have drank some kinai concoction before the trip. Dressed in vibrant colors and designs, the townsfolk bowed as he and Cerny rode past. The stench of sweat and unwashed bodies made him glad to be riding. Children pointed from roofs and windows, and the occasional dog’s bark echoed amongst the murmuring crowds.
“Make way! Make way!” yelled one of three soldiers at a crossroad. The other two helped to funnel people to one side or another, keeping the intersection as clear as possible.
Thousands of conversations droned in an incessant buzz. Ahead of them, a coach carrying some noble trundled along the cobbles, its driver dressed in red and gold livery. Stefan had lost count of how many such carriages they’d passed. It appeared everyone but he had remembered the games. Not that it bothered him. Dartan fights and duels between slaves did not hold his attention as they once did as a youth. However, he did understand the need for sport, especially, the games. They brought the Setian together. The coin gained filled the city’s coffers as people from all across Seti and the surrounding lands attended and spent lavishly on everything from clothes, to food, to wagers.
The huge sandstone and alabaster construction of the amphitheater dominated the landscape below as they turned onto the King’s Road. Here, the throngs packed to the sides in a milling mass as they inched forward in the lines leading to the arena’s main entrance. At certain sections, food vendors shouted out their wares beside their carts and stalls either by themselves or with criers. Their calls added to the cacophony. Smoke and steam rose from pots and cook fires. Meat roasted on spits, and stews and soups boiled in large pots. Spicy smells of peppered deer, quail, and roast chicken drifted through the air. Stefan’s stomach growled in protest. He hadn’t eaten yet. An image of the feast the King always provided brought on another grumble.
He hadn’t seen Nerian since the day he returned from Astoca. Not that he minded. The time had given him a chance to think. Whereas the Chronicles mentioned a link to the Dorn line, who was to say the King they referred to might not be someone who overthrew Nerian? Maybe even Cerny. Or could it all be some grand Tribunal scheme Galiana was unwittingly tied up in? All the years spent under her tutelage and upbringing made him doubt she involved herself in a conspiracy to harm not only the man he thought of as a father but the Seti people as well.
Whether or not the Eztezians could see all these different threads of the future was something he couldn’t simply dismiss. The Svenzar, Kalvor, seemed to believe, and so did Galiana. Head throbbing from the way his thoughts spun, he was still undecided as they rode into the amphitheater’s shadow.
“A moment, General, Lieutenant,” a gold clad guard announced.
At first, Stefan didn’t acknowledge the soldier. Then he realized the guard had used the new titles attributed by the King. Stefan gave a slight dip of his head to the man. The guard nodded toward a line of dartans crossing the street. They headed toward the ramp that led to the arena’s bowels.
Stefan frowned at the sight of the beasts. Prize fighting dartans were nothing new, but the way the handlers dealt with these ones certainly was. Normally, it took several armored men prodding and poking at the animals with long lances to keep them in line. Even then, he’d witnessed once when a creature went wild and ignored the sharp points that too often did not penetrate their tough hides. The dartan snaked its head out, snatched the closest handler, and ripped him in two. Another time, a dartan plopped to the ground and withdrew its head and six limbs inside of its shell. No amount of stabbing or poking bothered the beast. It took an Alzari’s Forging to make the animal move.
These handlers bore some kind of lengthy metal rod with a thick rubber handle. Anytime a dartan stepped the wrong direction, the handler gave the beast a jab. A jolt of blue light, much like the lightning Forgers called from the sky, arced across the rod’s tip. The beast mewled in pain, put its head down, and followed almost as docilely as a newly broken horse.
Amazing.
“Shocksticks,” Cerny said.
Stefan narrowed his eyes.
“Some Ashishin Imbuer came up with the idea.” Cerny shrugged. “They took the essences of energy during a lightning storm and infused them into the metal like any other divya. Then they attuned it to the dartans. Rather than needing a Dagodin to wield this type of divya, anyone can. Simply place the shock end onto a dartan’s skin and the reaction is instant. As you can see, quite effective at controlling those monsters.”
The practicality of such a discovery wasn’t lost on Stefan, but right away he considered other possible uses if such divya as the shockstick could be attuned to other things besides dartans. Before he drew any conclusions, what he saw next left his mouth agape.
A merchant dressed in silks was riding a dartan.
Seated in a hollow carved deep into the animal’s shell, the man waved to children and other folk who pointed and stared as Stefan did. Occasionally, the dartan swung its head around to reach the rider, but the merchant’s position prevented it from doing so. A shorter version of the shockstick dissuaded the dartan on such occasions. The man’s head and shoulders stuck up beyond the shell to give him an ample view of his surroundings. He tugged on reins made from silvery chain, and the dartan leaped forward in an easy lope that took it past the others and down the ramp.